I was too young to fully understand what was happening but I was sensible enough to know that something was wrong. Trouble had been brewing for some time before then, with mom bearing the brunt of dad's constant abuse, both emotional and physical.
Our house on that particular day was quiet, too quiet for comfort. I remember everything that happened so clearly, I remember coming back from school one day to see mom huddled in a corner of her room, weeping. It was a common sight in those early years of confusion. I was barely five.
Then I heard dad's voice, loud, shouting, cursing. With my heart in my mouth, I entered his room. He was packing his suitcase like someone who was going on a very long journey. He refused to acknowledge my presence, even as I pleaded with him not to leave us.
"You can't stop me from leaving, you little brat." He said furiously as he shoved me aside.
Then the storm came crashing down and my world split in two. What had started as whispered arguments had turned into something more hostile and horrible.
Dad walked out of the house without a backward glance.
Just like that, he was gone. He walked out of our lives, out of our future, plunging us into years of nightmarish struggles.
“Mummy, is Daddy ever coming back?” I had asked days later, as I returned from school and still met dad's absence.
She slowly raised her head from her laundry and looked at me with unease, I could see tears glistening in her eyes. That was all the answer I needed.
Dad wasn't going to come back anytime soon.
Mom was a full-time housewife, having remained so at dad's instance, but after he left, and with no money, she had to find a job. Even then, it still wasn't enough.
Dad refused to pay “child support”. I grew to know hunger, I grew to know the shame of being sent home from school over unpaid fees.
Mom ran from pillar to post, trying to raise money for my siblings and I to remain in school. Then she sold her wrappers and jewelries, to buy notebooks and to pay the fees.
She did everything, she became "Jack of all trade". She sold fruits, hawked rubber spare parts, washed people’s clothes, did home lessons, was people's nanny, anything. I would watch her hands turn raw and cracked from too much work, but she still found a way to smile at us.
“You will all go to university, graduate with good results and make me a proud mother of graduates” she would tell us, forcing cheer into her voice, “you’ll all go to university one day. I believe it.”
“No, Mummy,” I would reply, curling up beside her on the bed. “Daddy said that you would only be able to send us to the university if pigs can fly.”
Her smile would flicker, almost break.
“Then I will make them fly, my dear. I will.”
And I nodded my head even when I didn’t believe.
Years passed. The struggle continued and even got harder as we grew older, but mom never gave up, she kept on moving. My siblings and I helped however we could. I sold sachet water after school, I helped her with home lessons and with taking care of the children she was being paid for. At nights, we would share one kerosene lantern to do our homework.
Dad shut us out, remarried and moved on, as if we never ever existed.
But Mum kept moving, working harder and harder. My heart bled whenever I saw the strain on her beautiful face, and felt so helpless that I could do nothing to help reduce them.
When my WAEC results came out, I ran through the streets screaming.
“I passed! Mummy, I passed!” I ran into the garden where I knew she'd be tending to her vegetables.
She dropped the hoe and hugged me tightly with her soiled hands. “God! My God! You are good! You never sleep nor slumber!”
Then she knelt and prayed, her tears soaking my dress.
But our celebration was short-lived.
“Getting admission into the university is one thing ,” she sighed later, wiping her eyes. “But how will we pay school fees, ehn?”
I said nothing. I knew she was already skipping meals just to feed us. The idea of paying tuition felt like chasing clouds.
That night, I heard her sob again. But this time, I heard something else—anger. Not the type that lashes out, but the type that pushes forward.
“God,” she said aloud in the dark. “I will not let my children rot in this life. You hear me? I will not!”
Two weeks later, she started a garri business. Took a loan from a women’s cooperative and traveled to distant villages to buy cassava in bulk. She would leave at 4 a.m., come back smelling of sweat and dust, with sacks on her head and bruises on her arms.
“Mummy, rest,” I would plead.
“I will rest when I see you in your university gown,” she replied, limping into the house one day.
When I got the scholarship email that said "You’ve been selected to study abroad", I screamed so loudly the neighbours came running.
I found her washing clothes, as usual.
“Mummy!” I shouted, waving my phone. “Mummy! I got it! I got the scholarship! I’m going to the university—Abroad!”
She paused. Then slowly turned toward me. Abroad? You mean...you’re not joking?”
“No! It’s real!”
She sat down. Silent. I knew she was in shock, tears spilled from her eyes like heavy raindrops.
She held my face in her hands. “You made pigs fly, my dear. You did it…”
“No, Mummy,” I said, voice thick with emotion. “You made them fly. With your blood, with your sweat, with your tears.”
Now, I walk through foreign streets, my head held high because a woman with cracked hands and an unbroken spirit made it happen.”
Every day, I call her on video.
We gist far into the night.
We laugh.
But when she thinks I can’t see, she wipes a tear.
One night, I told her, “When I graduate, I’ll bring you here. You’ll sit in the front row, and I’ll say your name. Loud. Clear. With pride.”
“And what if I cry, ehn?” she teased.
“Then you’ll cry on this foreign soil,” I replied, grinning. “Tears of joy.”
To the world, I’m a student abroad. A young woman defying odds. But I know better. I am the daughter of a woman who turned broken dreams into flying pigs.
And one day, the world will know her name.
The photo is mine, taken with my iPhone.
🌸My Motto is work at making yourself proud of yourself.🌸
Thank you very much for taking time to read me. Have a wonderful day!
