Fatherless
Episode Four
Soon, Mom came and knocked on my door.
She might have noticed my silence throughout our conversation, and I had already fallen asleep while hugging Dad’s portrait.
He had lied to me about seeing him when I closed my eyes, because I didn’t seem to see him at all while I was asleep.
She woke me up with a knock at the door, and I rubbed my eyes with the back of my palms before opening it.
“What took you so long?” she asked when I opened the door.
“I heard you knocking in my sleep,” I responded with a smile.
She glanced around my room and noticed the portrait on my bed. She gave me a stern look, indicating that she had seen what I was doing.
“I know you were crying, and you obviously didn’t want me to know,” she finally said. I didn’t have anything to say because she had already seen what I was doing in my room.
Although I wasn’t crying, I was just trying to accept everything that had happened to me.
First, I lost my father, and then I had to change schools to a government school, something I hadn’t thought about.
Everything just happened unexpectedly, and now I have to get used to living without a father. It’s so painful.
Every day brought new thoughts on how to become a man at fourteen, even though I knew I was still a teenager.
I did my best to fulfill my father’s desires of being an ideal son, even though it was hard to be perfect.
But then the worst thing happened. It was on a Saturday after my mom and I finished cleaning the house and making breakfast.
We sat at the dining table, and she asked me to pray. I started, “Dear Father, please bless this food,” but I didn’t even finish when someone knocked at the gate.
We weren’t expecting anyone, and my mom had stopped accepting condolence visits, especially from friends.
But people from my dad’s family still came to sympathize with her, even though I wasn’t okay with it.
Especially Uncle Sipho. He lived in Pretoria, just 50 kilometers away from Johannesburg, with his family.
I didn’t like him at all because he was always rude to my mom when he came to visit.
I rushed to open the gate, and it was Uncle Sipho, dressed neatly in Shweshwe, our popular South African attire.
I welcomed him with a slight bow, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he barged into the house, leaving me at the gate.
His expression seemed like a war was about to start.
I quickly followed him to find out what was on his mind, and there he was, shouting at my mom in a way that I completely detested.
“You only have one week to leave this house,” he said, pointing his fingers at mom, who didn’t show any expression.
I just stood there, watching them. “It’s either you marry me and keep the house, or you leave with your son.
We don’t owe you anything. My brother took care of you until he passed away,” he continued, his face wrinkled.
Mom started crying, and I felt the urge to protect her from him.
I knew Dad’s family never liked Mom when he married her. They said she was a city girl and Dad was supposed to marry someone from the village.
I overheard mom and dad talking about it one day while I stood at the door.
They both laughed it off as they talked.
Dad always stood up for Mom and supported her against his family.
Now that he’s gone, I felt old enough to confront Uncle Sipho and tell him to stay away from my mom.
I wouldn’t let anyone insūlt her like that.
I missed Dad in that moment, wishing he was there to protect her.
It was hard enough that I had to leave the school where I had made a family, and now Uncle Sipho was planning to kick us out of my own father’s house.
I wondered how Mom was feeling and how everything had turned so bad in just a few months.
Uncle Sipho stood there without saying another word to Mom. It seemed like he was thinking of something else to say, but there was nothing left.
Mom was already crying. He left, and I felt a heavy weight on my shoulders.
I cried inside, still trying to be a man. As he walked away, I rushed to hold my motionless mom.
I shook her, but she didn’t move.
I shook her, but she wasn’t moving. I shook her again, and she snapped back to reality.
It seemed like she had traveled far in her thoughts. Then, she looked at me and started crying.
I felt so weak and gently touched her face. I couldn’t help but ask her, “Are we really losing our house?
Where will we stay? Is Uncle seriously kicking us out to live on the streets?”
“No, Nathan!” she screamed, holding my face in her hands. “I won’t let this happen.
I will fīght back. We won’t be thrown out onto the streets like that.
We need to fīght back.”
I pulled away from her grip, feeling like I was losing control, and I just screamed, “How?”
Thessycute Ekene
