Dear Father: what is the cost of your love?

prodigal son embraces his father

“My father called me” Khadijat blurted out as I picked her call

“Which father? I was confused

“Alhaji”

“Wow!” I returned “How did it go?”

“I did not pick” She said resignedly

“What do you mean you did not pick?”

“He is calling me because his beloved daughter is now a divorcee. And his golden son called his bluff and moved out”

“How do you know that is why he called though?”

“They told me before he did.  I knew when he requested for my number from my mom. He goes about showing off with me. I hear everyone calls him Baba Star. Seems the fact that I am an Influencer has erased the other fact of being an unmarried mother”

“But babe, why did you not pick his call?” I bit my tongue from further remonstrating

“Why would I? After Nine years? What if I had died when he threw me out? Have you forgotten what I went through? Sadeeq almost died or have you forgotten that night when you drove like a maniac to the hospital? You were driving, praying and telling me to stop crying. Do you know why I was even weeping that night?

“Tell me”

“You made me cry”

“Moi?”

 

“You came back from work on the Island. Tired and in bed before my scream roused you. Yet you threw your own son in the car and we set off that night. In the same city where I had a family. I kept looking at this stranger who had taken me into her house. A tired single mother who should be sleeping. I cannot forgive him”

“Khadijat, are we still on this forgiveness matter? If you can forgive the man who abandoned you with a child why not your own father? I have never understood her logic

“Jide is not my father. He is just a man. Has my sister’s husband not left? A man who courted her for six years and they were married for twelve years with four children? Men are men”

“So why not toss your father into the mix? forgive him, he is a man” I entreated

In the ensuing silence, my mind drifted to the biblical father of the Prodigals. A man who shamed society by breaking all conventions.

Imagine this scenario: your younger son comes to demand why you have refused to die? His goal is to tour the world and have fun on your account. A goal you keep thwarting by remaining alive. He cannot inherit until you pass away and since he wants to enjoy his life right now, can you please allot to him his share of your inheritance?

You do so.

He squanders it and dares to return. You run out to welcome him! A wealthy man that you are!

Everyone would understand if you instruct your servants to deny him entrance. Nobody would blame you if you refuse to see him for weeks on end. Or maybe banish him to the Servants Quarters

Instead you threw a lavish party and invited your neighbours and associates!

Ego. Honour. Anger. Shame. Position. Status. All forgotten.

That father is the colour of love to every child. Which leaves me wondering; those fathers who throw their daughters out for getting pregnant, is her error as grievous as that of the prodigal son?

 

cancer missed this birthday

“Amara are you crying?”

“No, you are not”

I shifted under the Comforter in bed. Sniffling.

“What is it?”

“Why are you crying now when you are almost drifting off to sleep?

I sat upright as the strains of a song filtered into my room from the hallway.

‘God You’re So Good’ A Duet by Passion, Kristian Stanfil & Melodie Malone.

That song always gets me. However this night was different. I have been a mesh of emotions for the last week. And it culminated today when I was writing that letter to him.

You see, tomorrow is my son’s birthday. The threshold of his teen years. A new phase of life entirely. This morning before he went to school, I did what mothers across generations have always done. Laid hands on him and prayed out the old year. Reminding God of how grateful I am. And thanking him for the helpers, teachers and guides he has positioned on this boy’s path for this new season of his life.

Then in the afternoon, I wrote him a letter. It is not even that I will give him the letter. I left it inside a journal he barely uses. And left a caveat that I do not know when he would find or read it.

Writing that letter though, unlocked a surge of positive emotions. As I regaled him with stories from way back, a fresh realisation of how blessed we have been floated all around me.

This night again, I paid him a visit where we played and laughed on his bed.

Then laying in bed, I hear the words of this song weave through the air. And I can relate to every lyric.

His Goodness is why I am here, alive for another birthday. If God had dropped the ball, who knows whose house my son would be in this night? Maybe I would have been like that woman of whom my mother always recounted her story. The one people find her ghost wandering around. Yet each time it was that one question she asked anyone – “did you see my children? have they eaten?”

Both of us have lived the experience of God’s faithfulness in all shades. From the day I found out I was pregnant, I have not lacked for anything. God has set up a community around us so much so that even in a strange land, dealing with cancer, he remains our portion in this land of the Living.

the roulette master

“does he even hear?” I muttered petulantly as I envisaged myself walking away with a resigned look.  “you know he does” “does he really care?” “do you think he doesn’t?” “flipping answer the question and stop throwing it back at me.  I ask the questions here!” I screamed out in my head at the 6am … Read more

The horticulturist

“How do you know to do that?”  I poked at her leaves Silence. “I mean, how and when to fold your leaves like that” I gingerly jabbed at the leaves again Who talks to a plant, right? Although walking this treacherous road has almost had me questioning my sanity, especially at those earlier stages, I … Read more