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As a kid, I've always seen my father as a strong man. A man who feared nothing. Maybe because of the way he comes running whenever I scream at night after a bad dream. Or the way he walks through dark paths at night without fear of the unknown or unseen shadows.
Back then, I never knew how hard the world could break even the strongest men.
Of course, even Superman gets beaten down sometimes.
For years I wondered how fearless he was. How he did it. Looking fear in the eye and never backing down. Until one night the fire tried to take me, that was the day I earned the truth.
He wasn't just fearless. He was brave too.
That evening was just like every other evening. We had just turned off our generator and it was finally time to sleep. I had bid Papa and Mama goodnight. Since it was a hot evening, I dragged my pillow to the living room and curled up near the window where the night breeze sometimes passed.
I can already see my dreams coming slowly and softly. Until something in the air changed. The smell was hot and choking. I felt hotter. Although I was sleeping, I could still feel a bit of everything, from the heat on my cheek to the smoke choking my breath.
Suddenly, I sat up to see that the whole darkness had turned into a fierce glowing orange. My heart stumbled inside me.
“Daddy?” I called, but my voice was small and laced with fear. I could see movements on the other side of the fire.
Then I heard my mother scream. “Fire! Help! Fire! My child! My child is still inside there”
Those were the words that fueled the fear in my bones. I could already hear voices outside screaming, calling for more help. But none dared to get closer. I could tell because their voices came from one area.
The fire by now was enclosing me fastly. I was choking so bad. I coughed, cried, screamed, and called for help. My little brain was thinking of a possible way a fire burn would hurt less.
It wasn't long until I heard my father's voice scream my name from the other side of the fire. His footsteps were closer exploding against the floor. And when the fire seemed to clear a bit, I could see his face hard and his eyes searching wildly until they found me. He had a wet towel wrapped around him
“Son, don’t move!” he said, voice deep but shaking under the surface. "I am coming for you."
He took a step back like he was waiting for the right time before rushing towards the fire. I thought it was crazy yet a superhero move. Humans, I know, would rather run from a fire than into it. It looked strange but love had tied his legs to the danger. He jumped over to me and took me in his hands.
Now, the flames were eating our dining area, moving quickly to the sitting room. I could hear glass bursting. Plastic melting. The roof is whining from the heat. Smoke rolled into the living room like a dark wave, swallowing everything I knew. The fire raged and roared as it burned everything in its way. I coughed again, harder, tears filling my eyes. The heat became a hand pushing me back.
“Daddy…” I cried, nestling in his body tightly.
He didn’t panic. “Look at me,” he said quietly. “I’m here. I’ve got you. And we're getting out of here"
I buried my face in his chest in tears. He smelled of smoke and familiar sweat. He wrapped a towel around me. And a part of it around my nose. Sparks jumped at our backs. The fire was eating up the sitting room now. The heat was getting intense and burning up our skin from every side. Something heavy fell behind us with a loud crash. I realised it was the ceiling breaking apart.
My heart screamed. I dug my hand deep into his skin in fear. I watched him closely as he scanned the room. Possibly looking for an easier way out. But the easiest way out was through the fire.
He shook me lightly. "Hey, stop! I won’t drop you,” he whispered, coughing. “No matter what, don't struggle, just let me get us out of here."
I could hear my mother screaming outside. It has increased more. I could hear neighbors pouring buckets of water on the flames.
Without thinking, Papa charged into the fire. We got into the kitchen, where the fire was already devouring the last part of the room, to see the door locked and in flames. Papa tried opening it with his bare hands, but it was so hot that it burned his palms.
I was choking. Smokes filled my lungs and pain in my nose, but still clinging to his skin. Then he started kicking the door with his legs, severally but the door wouldn't bulge.
He was gradually losing strength and coughing so badly. Almost at the point of giving up when the neighbors outside broke the door down from the other side. Papa quickly dashed outside as a neighbor grabbed me. Mama rushed over and grabbed me trapping me against her chest as she cried and kissed my head over and over.
I turned to look at Papa as he stood amongst the crowd of neighbors who were patting him down. His chest was rising fast like a man who had just fought the devil and survived. A part of his shirt was badly burnt. I could see a blister on the back of his arm. Yet he still tried to smile at me as his eyes caught mine.
He walked over to me. “How are you?” he whispered, brushing my hair with his hands.
I nodded weakly still shocked from what just happened.
He kissed my forehead. "You're safe now."
I could still hear the neighbors talking, water splashing, and smoke rising from what used to be our home.
Papa looked at Mama. She had dried tears on her face. "Mr Brown, our neighbor, has volunteered to drive us to the hospital in his car. He's waiting."
Mama nodded.
Gently, Papa held us together and we walked to the gate with Mr Brown. The firefighters' truck could be heard now in the distance.
"Finally," Papa said.
