I wanna start telling my story: The night I walked away
I’m not burdened, people just might learn…I love my aunt, and I have always made up excuses for the way she behaved towards me…so this is not to make her feel bad, you will never hear her name in the story, just take it as a random read.
i will never forget that night it got too much I had to leave. I called Irene who was no longer in Abuja, just told her I had to leave but I had nowhere to go. She spoke to her boo, now her husband, he called a friend in London who had sparekeys with a relative in Abuja, he asked his friends in Abuja to come pick me and give me the keys to the house.
That night, I was not even confused, I would rather be with those strangers than to spend another minute, I didn’t know them, they didn’t know me, but I couldn’t wait. I started moving out my stuff, already packed since more than a week ago. Mummy was the only reason why I hadn’t left. She said don’t leave when there’s a problem, families don’t leave like that.
All these family norms and traditions that only make you a sheep headed for the slaughter and nobody gives you credit for but instead you will be judged for having stayed because the food and the accommodation are free. It was sad that I couldn’t eat. If I ever slept, it would be because my aunt had travelled. My life was mops and kitchen as long as I was under the roof. Everything that went wrong was technically my fault, you must never tell your elders that they are wrong, or try to reason with them, it is always you. This is Africa. And I’m just a troubled sad young girl…lol
I never want to speak about it, because of family, you never want to write, you don’t want to be the unforgiving one, but I have forgiven, I just can’t forget, and everytime I see a mop, I remember, everytime I’m in the kitchen I remember. Everytime I see a travel bag…I do, I remeber that night the way my cousin helped me carry the last box on his head, it contained my books, it was the heaviest. I was touched. But I couldn’t stay… “what are you waiting for now?” he asked, as he stood out there by the road with me, waiting for nothing in that very awkward silent moment.
“Some guys are on their way, I don’t even know what they look like”
A car pulled over,a buff guy stepped out, in sort of a bluish short sleeve tight polo, “Are you Love?”
And then he started loading the boot with my stuff, he and the one who was previously behind the steering wheel.
They drove me to this house where I was all by myself, they helped me take my stuff in, gave me a tour, called the guy in London to say that I was ok.
“Call us if you need anything”
And then they left… I never called, I never needed anything…I just needed new air, and I had it. That night I listened to music, cried and prayed and asked God to help me forgive. It didn’t happen easily but it took about a year, now when I think about it, I smile, and if I write about it, it’s just because my heart wants to let the story out.
Always choose happiness, create it, force it, and share it.