Dear father,
A strange thing happened today father. How long has it been since I hurled dirt at your face, 6 years? And not once has a thing like this ever happened. I feel like it's a dream; but I know its not. I know dreams father. They're full of caricatures and replete with light or darkness. Most of the time you're there, full of colour and waving to the sun or the moon and me. I've stopped chasing you father, for I know I'll never catch you. You're always so fast though you never move. I've stopped wondering how too.
I wish you were here to see today, father. Though its clear in my mind, the right words fail me. Have you ever had that feeling; like you've been working immortally in a searing forge, and one day, you go to your forge and instead find an ultra modern office, with snow falling inside? Well I had something like that feeling today father -only, not quite as I expected.
It was exactly 4 hours since I left with my second round of groundnuts. I returned home and home was not on fire. Home was quiet. Home resembled home. Mother was lying on her bed, with her eyes open, looking at the ceiling as I walked in through the door. I was late. I knew I was late and I was ready for the usual spouts of liquid fire, father. I'd already steeled my insides but no heat came. Only the cool of the quiet swarmed against my mind. But they came in waves far too strong for me to fight against. In no time, I became hellishly uncomfortable, father. I wanted to scream at her to yell at me. But I couldn't bring myself to disrespect the woman that killed you; she does deserve respect.
I went out to the side of the house to cry. I was confused father, asking myself, what I'd done wrong this time, why she wasn't shouting at me like she usually does. Why her voice, that rained heavy water on my heart every day had chosen to leave me dry. I didn't want dry father. I don't know dry.
She didn't call for me father. Father she didn't call for me. Usually, she blasts my name of her lips as carelessly as a child fiddling with a toy horn. Father, those 30 minutes outside were the longest I'd ever been made to endure peace; and to be tortured by quiet. Why does it feel so painful father? More than all the tongue bashing and whip lashing. Why does it feel more torturous than even the bite of the snake around her waist? Why is it harder to bear than the pain of seeing her turn your picture upside down as another man enters the house; minutes before her loud wails devour my ears. Then again, I wonder why she dusts that picture every morning.
I needed her chaos now like an evil drug. I got up and paced back and forth, my tears free falling; my nose free running; my hands clasping and unclasping. I felt like I'd been forced to sleep in a small alabaster box with three hot, sweaty and smelly men. I couldn't take it anymore.
So I rushed into the house to look for chaos; to dig my saviour out from her depths. Why was trouble hiding from his friend? Come out now, I won't bite. How long have we been together? Days even the calendar finds difficult to count. Take it. Take my hand. Let's walk again into the open like the disaster has passed over. Let us be the sparrow and the sparrow; One and akin, savoring air and laughing at men. Do not worry. They know. They'll understand. They made us. I won't tell anything you don't want me to. I won't tell. I promise. You won't tell too right? You won't tell that I dropped the rat poison into the melon pot early this morning right? You watched me do it. You were there by my side. You knew she never gave me food in the morning. Ah, my friend. You are wise indeed. Come out now. Don't be shy. We'll be free. Free though we be slaves; but free because it is what we want to be; free because we know the truth. Come away now. I'm tired of talking. She might wake soon and send me on an errand to bring back the king of Egypt. I'm leaving. Are you coming?
Father....
Father...
...
...
Are you there?
