DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL

One day I found myself outside my body lost in a mind field. I triggered the bombs with a detonator of audacity, an audacity to look back, a courage to know and a braveness to endure. To unravel the nuclear fear that if I sojourn in this mind field, irreparable damage would be a certainty, but faith in a different ending fuelled me.  Just as Simba had to eventually face scar it was my turn to look at my scars. The deepest, most detrimental scar I had to address was you, Daddy.

Allow me to first revisit the blissful beginnings of daddy and daughter.

There is that place. You know that place, don’t you?  Were your soul is warm and your spirit is still. Where peace resounds so loudly. Yes, that place. Maybe you know it as your home, no, not me. Me, I know it as my father’s arms. A fortress of was protection, love without prejudice, adored, delicately taken care of. Blissfully bliss, not that I knew what bliss meant then; now an adult equipped with the words I can say without shadow of a doubt that was my safe heaven. Though fleeting, my joy came from there, unfortunately I couldn’t be attached to your hip, daddy. Every time I was gnawed away a tear, a breaking, an overcoming of fear would fill my heart.

Fear of what?

Being left exposed, vulnerable to the hyenas, patiently waited for your back to turn so they could pick me apart with their word curses. I can hear their chanting now; you are fat, and you are spoiled. Ignorance ruled them, in their eyes the words would humble a young little girl. Words that were damaging me, bruises that presented as strength for the larger part of my existence but words that formed a small tumour that would fully grow and reside in my heart and mind, infecting the very essence of me.

Their chants just weren’t for me, but also for you daddy, they would sit in groups, their faces filled with joy powered by gossip, sustained by jealousy. Name calling, re-telling tales of your abusive nature, condemning you.  The words attempted to enter my heart, like a dart to a brick wall they bounced off. I knew them and I knew they didn’t always tell the truth, after all I wasn’t spoiled or fat. What did they really know?

Clues casually conceded through my mind, I remember my beloved grandfather finding the strength to stand in his old age to refuse you entry into his home. I never understood why and I never asked instead I parked the thought and continued with life.

The tide of the west returned and washed away my what was left of my foundation as you too left for England to join mummy. I was alone, alone.

I discovered time travel and childhood finally felt rhythmic again. I kept myself company, travelling from place to place in my mind. I saw London and I declared it in my heart that I would reside there and I patiently waited for it to be.

“Your mother is taking you to England”, my grandmother confessed it to me.

My vision realised, returning to my foundation with both anchors, filled me with a great joy, but sometimes dreams turn into nightmares. Finally, we were together again, however the sweetness turned bitter quickly as mummy had to face the consequences of her choice of words. The bruising of my spirit and soul continued, life never seemed to be without struggle, I did have a silver lining. I was with you, I finally could be protected and loved.

Still counting my years on this earth with my fingers, my soul premature and ill-equipped to stop the charging train steamed by anger. Not in my life had I seen such, fear. The hyenas maybe weren’t wrong after all, my eyes recorded the evidence to support their claims and my heart would render a judgement sentencing you to hate, loss of your crown and status, effective immediately relegation from daddy to dad. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. You physically hurt them and they would heal but you internally hurt me and there was no ice pack for that.

The train wreck triggered my brain, bringing forgotten memories into the forefront.

A memory resurfaced…

All I can remember is being in a cot, my mother screaming in pain. I remember trying to scream, paralysed by the pain I could barely move. There is a gap, a gap of darkness, baby’s first blackout. I came to, I opened my eyes and, on my mother’s, back I was. I looked down at my mother’s feet and she was barefoot. My heart flooded with sorrow, I knew it was him, I knew it was my daddy. Internally I knew where we were going, baby’s first discernment. We were going to mother’s safe place. Were her soul was warm and her spirit still, where her peace resounded loudly. YES, that place. She called it her daddy’s house.

We walked the streets, well she did; so bravely and boldly. I couldn’t see her face, but I didn’t feel shame exuding from her instead what I felt was determination and courage. My memory fails me but I’m almost certain she didn’t shed a tear. If experience is anything to go by, this is truthful. For I’ve only ever seen tears stream down her face only in death. My mind returns to blackness as we continued our journey down the last road before we entered the street of safety, where everyone knew us and where we would be protected. The memory stops right there.

The courage and braveness displayed by my mother spewed out of my blood and I had the audacity to heal and walk through that mind field and addressed the two people who were responsible for my existence other than the Almighty. According to my daddy this isn’t real, however mummy confirms that it’s real as the day is bright.

I was so in Love with you Daddy and I am hurt by your careless actions. Honesty was his only lifeline, and he didn’t take it. What do I do now? Can I still love you? I dream of hurting you? If I do will peace become me or will an endless war within me be birthed. Will these bombs be filled with freedom or bondage?

A war it was, and I was fully stocked with all the ammunition to destroy a small continent. I chose to treat you poorly, I decided you didn’t deserve my love and attention. I coped with only way I knew how; I supressed all these feelings. I found a way to smile and a way to exist, true to what had served me well before. I lived in my imagination; I created a world of what would be. I took stock of all the things I didn’t want to repeat, and I imagined myself in a better future. Regrettably, this way of coping wasn’t bullet proof and I eventually found myself in a sea of emotion, drowning unexpectedly. Tears would attack me from nowhere, just like my mother I didn’t cry.

In mourning I cried from the depths of my soul, the person I had created to face the world was tired, she was resigning, these tears and pain were her notice. I was in denial and I didn’t know what it was that I was fighting. This wouldn’t pass I would continue living in this torment, called depression.

With my life on the line, I was forced to participate in a foreign ritual, something we had been warned against. I was reluctant but the choice was no longer mine, I had to do what I could. Swarmed with intrusive thoughts of harming myself I did the non-African thing, and I went to see a psychologist. And she was clear daddy it was you. Your actions from the day I was in a cot till now had caused irreparable damage. That led to this mental illness. So yes, I must address you. I have chosen healing although I severed you from my heart a long time ago, I have to return to us. I have to confront you. What will it be daddy? Will you give me honesty? Will you show me your scars so I can see how deep your wounds were? Why are you like this? What happened? Let’s change the narrative and confront this together.