Childhood trauma and beautiful melodies

There was a time I deeply resented my mother.

I didn't even know I could be capable of hating someone.

I knew that hate was a strong word but I couldn't help but feel that way.

My parents had just returned from the hospital after my mom went in shock when she received a call informing her of my big aunty's death.

She had gone into cardiac arrest shortly after a kidney transplant and didn't make it.

The news devastated my mother.

Two months before, my parents visited a fertility clinic for an IVF to finally bear a male child.

I had never seen her so happy until the doctor told her that the zygote had successfully implanted in her womb.

And then she lost the baby due to the shock.

I did my best to comfort her even though I wondered why getting this male child was so important to her.

"Mommy, it is well. I'm sorry about big aunty and the baby. But you don't need a male child okay? I'm still here for you," I said.

Her shoulders stiffened under my palms and she turned to me, eyes blazing, and slapped me across the face.

"How dare you say that you this selfish child? I know that you never wanted me to have a son. This is your fault! You've been the one blocking all our attempts at finally having a son."

My cheek throbbed with the force of the slap, tears stung my eyes with the weight of her words.

Every word she uttered felt like a lance through my chest, piercing me over and over again.

All the times she complained and argued with my dad about not having a son flashed through my mind.

The weight of the fury I felt threatened to pull me under.

Frustration boiled and bubbled inside me; the words started coming out of my throat and I did nothing to push them down.

"I hate you," I muttered.

"I hate you!" I said again.

This time louder and with finality. As soon as I said those words, I immediately regretted it. The hurt expression on her face prompted me to take it back but words like that, once said aloud, could never be retracted.

"What did you just say?" She asked in a low tone.

I sat down on the bean bag closest to me amongst the two others I had in my room.

I couldn't believe I told my mother that I hated her.

She had hurt me deeply and I was incensed and frustrated but I didn't hate her.

"I've said too much. That wasn't meant to come out," I thought.

I stayed silent with my head bowed and refused to speak.

I couldn't afford to look her in the eye.

I heard her footsteps recede and the door slam close as she left.

Although I didn't mean to say those words to her, I still held on to that resentment I felt in me.

In the weeks that went by, I didn't speak to her unless it was necessary and went on errands passively.

Even my father noticed the tension between us and tried talking to me about it.

I nodded my head as he talked and talked but I still kept on with my behavior.

But even with all that anger inside me, I still missed her.

It was a war of emotions inside me as I tried to battle the indignation I felt and the crushing feeling of guilt for hurting her emotions.

I missed when we'd gossip for hours about our neighbors when she'd braid my hair into beautiful styles never once complaining about how hard it was to comb my afro; when she'd fan me gently on hot nights while I slept.

This feeling made me reflect for hours and as I did, I finally realized the efforts she was making to make up for slapping me and blaming me for the loss of her baby.

I couldn't see them through the fog of my anger but as I thought back, I remembered everything from her bringing fruits for me every evening with a hopeful smile on her face as I thanked her dryly and ate; trying to engage me in our usual gossip to which I oohed and aahed with feigned interest, to heaping my plate with food and meat during dinner.

She never actually said the words "I'm sorry" and even though I wanted her to, I didn't hold my breath because I knew that her "Nigerian parent" mentality wouldn't let her utter a verbal apology to a child.

After my self-reflection, I caved in and apologized.

"I'm sorry for saying I hated you. I shouldn't have said that to you," I said as we sat on her bed one evening.

She had this expression of relief on her face as she pulled me into her comforting arms and hugged me.

I hugged her back tightly and all the resentment I felt before completely evaporated from my heart.

I felt lighter without all that anger and it dawned on me that anger and resentment only deeply hurt the person that feels it.

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"Chisom, I have given you this talk before but as you're entering university next week, I find it imperative to reiterate," My dad said as we sat in the living room on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

"You have to always remember the daughter of whom you are. You know why you're going to university. Nobody chose this course for you, you chose it yourself so you must make sure you see it through.

"Do not allow any man or woman to deceive you or influence you negatively. Surround yourself with reasonable and sensible people who can help take you to the peak of your journey. It is well with you my daughter," He advised.

"Thank you very much, sir. I will do my best not to disappoint you," I said.

I already knew what I was going to school to do nevertheless I still appreciated his advice.

I was going to make myself proud and by so doing, also make my family proud.

Just then, my mom called me and I excused myself from the living room and rushed to her room.

My mom was seated cross-legged on the bed when I entered the bedroom.

She patted the space next to her in invitation and I sat.

"I'm sure your father has talked to you already but as your mother, I will also have to give you my counsel. Please make sure you join an active fellowship while you're there. It will help you. Also, biko, E choo ka m gbisara ikpere n'ala rio gi, m ga-eme ya. Do not let any man deceive you. Shine your eyes and be wise." She said, wagging her right ear.

"Okay Mommy, I have heard you ma," I replied despite knowing that I wouldn't join any fellowship in school.

She hugged and prayed for me fervently.

She followed me to my room to help me finish packing my bags.

"Chisom! What have you packed this girl?" She asked, her hands on her head in surprise.

I was good at packing clothes in suitcases but not at packing up provisions in "Ghana must go" bags.

I had thrown in my bags everything ranging from foodstuffs like rice, beans, garri, and dried fish; chocolate powder and powdered milk to my body cream, haphazardly and without care as to how the zip would close.

My mom removed all the items from the two bags I had and fitted them into one bag and zipped it up effortlessly while I cheered her on.

"Mama the mama! After you na you o! Thank you!" I hailed, punching her on her arm lightly.

"You are not serious. Abeg leave me alone," She said, laughing.

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That night, everything was prepared. My ID card, phone charger, and flight ticket were in my shoulder bag, all my clothes, shoes, provisions, and toiletries were packed in bags and suitcases and heaped in a corner of my room.

I laid on my bed in a spread-eagle position as I savored the feel of my queen-sized foam for the last time.

My phone vibrated with an incoming call from Tobi and I eagerly picked it up.

"Fine girl, what's up? Hope you're prepared for your flight tomorrow?"

His voice filtering through my phone speakers invoked a smile on my face.

"I'm all packed and ready to go. I can't wait to finally begin a new chapter of my life."

"This one you're happy to go like this. I hope those Abia boys won't snatch you from me immediately you get there o," He joked.

I chuckled, "How can? You know that you're the only person I'm interested in."

"Let it be as you've said ma. I don't want to keep you up late since you have an early morning flight," He paused.

I cocked an eyebrow, wondering what he was going to say but I kept quiet and waited.

He later continued, "Let me sing a song for you so you'll dream of me this night."

"Are you for reals? I've been begging you to sing for me for weeks now! What changed your mind?" I asked.

"I just want to. Now keep quiet and let me sing." He cleared his throat and began to sing in a deep, rich melodious voice.

I was entranced.

The smile on my face grew slowly with each belt of a tune.

I felt loved.

I closed my eyes and let the sweet melody of his voice wash over me and dreamed of us dancing slowly under the stars.

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Glossary: "E choo ka m gbisara ikpere n'ala rio gi, m ga-eme ya"- If you want me to beg you on my knees, then I will.

Ghana must go bag: A Nigerian name for a plaid, woven plastic bag. Its name was coined from when illegal Ghanaian migrants were forced out of Nigeria.

Abeg: Please.