I grew up thinking my stepdad was my real dad. I was very young, four or five years when I saw him around. He wasn’t a man who will dote on me every time he sees me around but he did just enough to let me know he cares about me. One day, my mother moved to live with him and when I grew just enough to understand who a father was, I developed the understanding that he was my father. And then my grandmother came for me. We were living in the same town but I wasn’t allowed to live with them. On weekends, my mom will come for me and take me to stay with them just for the weekend. That was when I started thinking of the man in a different way. “Maybe, he’s not my father that’s why I can’t live with him and my mom.”
Later my grandmother confirmed my suspicion and when I was in class five, my mom held my hand and took me to my father’s family. The reception was grand. It was as if I descended from the sky that day. Everyone wanted to touch me and wanted to have a conversation with me. Most of them said, “Oh wow, he has grown quicker than expected.” A woman came for me and took me aside. She identified herself as my father’s mom. She said, “Forgive your dad no matter what. He’s all you have even though he’s not playing his role. I’ll talk to him. He’ll be ashamed one day if he doesn’t take care of you.”
The man, my father, came around and I met him for the first time. They said I looked like him but the man in front of me looked nothing like me. “So you’re my father?” I asked him. He nodded and turned away from me. From there, he did everything just to avoid me. It looked like I was his shame and he didn’t want to have anything to do with what was shameful. My mom came for me when the evening came and sent me back to my grandma. When I was old enough, I started asking questions. At first, I thought my real dad got involved with my mom and later realized she wasn’t the woman he wanted and left her. But as time went on, I realized my father had a daughter who was older than me and even had a son who was also older than me. Does that mean my dad was already married when my mom got involved with him?
I started hating my mom for that. It was internal hatred. I would see her and judge her choices. She’ll scream at me and I’ll rebel thinking she had no moral right to correct me. “After all, you’re not that good yourself. You slept with a married man. How dare you scream at me as though my mistakes are worse than yours just because I’m your child?” My grandma started the story but she couldn’t finish. She only said, “It’s your dad who lied to your mother.” She didn’t explain the lie. She didn’t say anything about how the lie happened.
In 1994, my mother had a child with my stepdad, my brother. The day I went to see him, I didn’t want to leave. I was mesmerized. I wanted to play with him all day. When my grandmother took me away, I cried. “Why can’t I live with my own mother and brother?” I saw my own brother growing up but I couldn’t play any part in his growth. I should have been there to teach him to walk but he walked without my help and each day when I saw him, he was a bit bigger than the last time I saw him. My stepfather was into politics and had the money to spend on his growth. He grew differently while I grew up under the shade of a grandma. I still had hate for my mother until I got the whole story when I was in JSS.
According to my mom, she didn’t know my dad was married until she got pregnant with me. She was happy though she was not married to him. She felt the pregnancy will push my dad to make a decision about their future. They had dated for a little over a year and my dad had done everything right to deserve a spot in her heart. She told my dad that she was pregnant and my dad said, “Don’t let anyone know about it. If someone asks you who is responsible, you can’t mention my name. Just keep it this way and later we’ll decide what to do.”
My mom told her mom and her mom told her cousins and it became the news. They gathered and went to meet the man responsible for the pregnancy, it was there they realized my dad was married with two kids. My mom cursed the day she met him. She was broken, especially when everyone was blaming her for getting pregnant for a married man. My dad accepted the pregnancy but never showed up when I was born or did anything to show that I was indeed his son. It was my mom who shouldered all the responsibility until she got married again and pushed me to my granny.
I had completed SSS when my grandma died. I had nowhere to go so my mom took me in. My stepdad, may God bless him wherever he is, he did everything for me as if I was one of his own. All I needed to do was call him and he’ll provide. When I completed the university, it was he who ensured I had a good place to do my national service. After service when I was struggling to get a job, he did the magic for me. I didn’t even have to attend an interview. I was called to come for the job because I was his son. All of a sudden, I was his son and he, my father. We developed this strong bond that made us talk about anything at all. At some point, he treated me like a brother than a son.
I remember when I was about to get married. I took my fiancée home and he blessed us. He said, “You brought a good woman home. When it’s time for the wedding, leave all expenses to me.” He carried every cost and played the father’s role perfectly until the wedding was over. I named my son after him. He was everything and everything was him.
In February 2020, he fell sick and went to the hospital. He didn’t come again. He died while my mom was busy fixing his breakfast. He was sixty-six years old. I was shattered. It felt like my world has come to an end. The greatest person I’d known all my life was gone. It was time to rally together as a family and plan a befitting burial for him and that was exactly what we did. Two years after his burial, my mom is back together with my dad, the man who abandoned her after pregnancy, the man who had a son with her and abandoned her, and the man who lied to her and later caused her shame.
I don’t know how to make it make sense but my mom is back together with a liar and an irresponsible man for that matter. I got to know it through a childhood friend who lives closer to my dad. I didn’t want to believe it. He told me, “What I’m seeing is exactly what I’m describing to you. You may not believe me but you have the right to investigate it yourself.”
I haven’t spoken to my father since childhood. When his wife died, I got the news but I couldn’t attend the funeral. When my father’s children called and asked me to attend the funeral, the question I asked them was, “As what? I’m sorry you lost your mother, I can sympathize with you but I don’t want to give the impression that I have a connection with my dad. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t get the time to investigate what my friend said to me so I went straight to my mom and asked what was going on. She laughed as if my question was not meant to be asked. She said, “I’m friends with him that’s all. He lost his wife and I lost my husband. It’s just empathy we feel for one another and that’s all.” “The last person you should have empathy for is that man. You’ve forgotten what he did to you and me? You have no respect for your husband’s memory? What at all has come over you?” She said calmly, “I’m fifty-nine. I’m not a child to hold on to grudges. I choose to forgive him at this moment when we’ve both lost the same thing. Don’t think about me, I’ll be fine. Just don’t go around telling everyone what’s going on. Leave your mom to live her last days the way she wants.”
My other siblings don’t know about this. I don’t know how that will make them feel but I can foresee trouble when they do. They might even think I have a hand in it. Currently, I’m doing everything to break that silly relationship before it catches fire but do you think I should inform my siblings about it before they get to know about it themselves? That’s my worry now.
