One day I will tell. I will tell a truth, I will tell my pain. And though the world may not understand __ not that they even understand a little of what it means to live in my world, yet I will give my troubles a voice and tell the strange acts in my home…..
I was six years old when my mother returned me home to my father, Somewhere in Gashua, yobe State. Mama told me of how she came to serve her fatherland in Yobe state.
(I still don’t understand how serve your own father land in another land… What is a father land?)
She met Yusuf, a kind merchant. Love happened, they got married and I came forth. Two years into the marriage, their arguments were developing into a consistent rift. Mama says my fathers traditions were too demanding. She was from the igbo tribe and a Christian. Father was Hausa and Muslim. I guess they had too much to quarrel about. Mother had to leave, to her fathers house.
I had my early years growing up with Mothers family. But something was always odd with me, I felt a little different from other kids. I would prefer to stay on my own than play with other kids. I didn’t understand things exactly the way other people do, kids usually hear and do them differently. I see different images in my head (I still do) and they excite me. I feel others see or feel what I feel, but just they shake their heads and frown at me. Mother always look like she is disappointed in me. I would have felt entirely rejected, but Grandpa was too kind. I had my early years growing with grandpa. He told a lot of stories and even repeated one many a time. I listened attentively even though I understood nothing. His smiles made me feel safe.
When mother had refused to take me back to school, grandpa read to me and thought me how to write some letters.
A big uncle was always coming to see mother. They were too close, then Grandpa suddenly tells me that I have to return to my birth father so mother can move on with her life..
So I did…
Wait!
I hear noises outside.