An Ode To A Broken Man

For All My Boys

One day you asked me why I always called you proud. And I said it’s not that I thought you were arrogant, so pride was not the right word. I only threw the words at you to ‘drag’ you playfully. I also said it wasn’t because you always walked with your shoulders high and your arms in a semi-permanent akimbo. I said your ego was just too much, and I knew that guys generally had a lot of ego, but yours was extra. That’s not all I wanted to say, but that’s all I said because your voice had a way of twisting my heart and making me blush like a fool. There were other things I wanted to say, but they stayed in my head.

I wanted to talk about how I liked drama, and I found ways to perform one every now and then, but it didn’t move you. I always wanted you to join me— to argue a little, to explain yourself, but you never did. You’d just watch me, your face expressionless, and then you’d smile a little lopsided smile. And my heart would melt, so I’d switch from being angry to grumbling.

“I wanted you to follow me.”

“I know.”

“Then, why didn’t you follow me?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I did. I said, ‘Will you just leave me to go on my own?’ And you said, ‘Yes.’ So, I left.”

“If you wanted me to follow you why didn’t you just say it?”

I wanted to say that I didn’t understand you fully, but I was trying to. Your annoying calmness, like the world could burn and you’d be unmoved, baffled me every time. But it also scared me. I was wary of the fact that you wore a steel armor, and I would probably never be able to reach some parts of you. And when you smiled at me, and the warmth poured from your heart into your face, I couldn’t help but see the cold, dull spark in your eyes. I think it’s why your smile was mostly never complete— always a lopsided curve or a full curve that filled just a quarter of your face.

You tried to convince me that you were happy, but it felt like you were convincing yourself too. That day like most days, I held your face in my hands and tried to massage your scalp beneath the forest on your head. You liked it, but you were not comfortable. I could feel how you struggled to suppress the urge to stop me. You played with the frills on my skirt instead. There were war scars on your broken heart. Somehow, you knew I could see everything— the tears you didn’t shed that turned to acid, the muffled screams and cries for help— and you didn’t like it. You’d rather remain invincible. So, eventually, you stood up, and you planted a kiss on my forehead to appease me.

Your dad left.

You were not the child who wondered why anymore. All that was in the past now. Answers didn’t matter; you were a man now. You vowed that you’d be a better dad and that your children wouldn’t spend nights crying and longing for you. But there were nights when you couldn’t sleep because your inner child was still crying.

I was so scared the night I opened my eyes only to find you watching me. We had talked all evening into the night. It was our special monthly pizza-movie night, and you had teased me endlessly about dipping pizza slices into my chocolate ice cream.

“Babe, who does that?”

“Leave me joor.”

“Shior. Agege baby. Well, in your defence, it is technically bread and tea.”

“Hmnnnnnn… Deep!”

I laughed and almost choked, but that didn’t stop you from dragging me like a generator. One thing I had come to enjoy after one year of being with you was how you always made me laugh. And you just smiled and watched me giggling uncontrollably. The best moments were when I was in your arms, laughing so hard and trying to bury my face in your chest, but then you’d start tickling me, and I’d go haywire.

But you never let me go, no matter how much I kicked. You would just stop a little and give me time to catch my breath; then you’d throw in some more teasing and some more tickling. It always ended with the warmest kiss on my cheeks and my heart feeling like it was swelling beyond the limits of my rib cage.

Oh my God, Sugar, I wished I could make you laugh that way, but I didn’t know how to. I had made you giggle a few times, but it was always so short. You were not ticklish, so there was no shortcut, and I didn’t have so many jokes like you. I tried all sorts of things, though, and my mischief always shocked you.

“Tope, you’re such a baby. A playful child.”

I wore your size 44 shoes on my size 39 feet. I wore your clothes. The other day, I tried to scare you with powder all over my face, arms, and legs. I hid under your bed once and tickled your feet when you came out of the bathroom, but you were too concerned about me getting hurt. You didn’t laugh.

All you did was smile. But I learned to appreciate the fact that when I was around, you’d smile more. I always longed for those smiles that made your eyes narrow and made my knees weak as my insides turned.

You were smiling at me like that again as I dipped another slice of pizza into ice cream.

That night, when it was time to go to bed, you asked me to stay on the call and prop my phone in front of my face. You wanted to watch me sleep. I dozed off while you tidied your room. But at 4 am, I opened my eyes and saw you in bed, still watching me.

“I couldn’t sleep. Sorry…. I’m sure I’ve drained your data and battery.”

“It’s okayy… What’s going on? Why can’t you sleep?”

“I’m just a little troubled.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I… Baby, I’m still healing from a lot of pain. Some nights, I have flashbacks that make it so difficult to sleep.”

“You still think about him leaving. Yeah?”

Your eyes were wet now, and your voice started to break.

“Not just him leaving Tope. Everything I had to go through because he left. My broken childhood, heavy responsibilities, and navigating life without any fatherly guidance. Seeing my mother in so much pain and trying to wipe her tears away when I was still crying too.

I got my fingers burnt on the streets. I broke into many parts. I figured it out eventually, but mahn, the journey was too rough. I have horrible memories and this gnawing feeling of helplessness and loneliness.”

“Baby, you’re not alone.”

“I know. I know. It’s just that those feelings are stored somewhere in my subconscious. I’m healing gradually but some cuts are so deep that I still feel them as freshly as on the days I got them.”

You had told me about the menial jobs you did and about your mum’s bruised fingers from washing too many clothes. You told me how you escaped the cultist boys in your street but also how you contemplated joining them to feel like a man. The first day I saw you cry was when you mentioned how your neighbor made you a man, and she did it over and over again.

But your face broke into a smile every time you mentioned university.

“I found brothers and fathers. I found God.”

You said that’s when life started to have meaning— the day he came and sat on your bed. He was Tomi, the guy who always came to your hostel on Wednesday evenings and Saturday afternoons. Everyone knew him, and some boys dodged him. But that hot afternoon, you were on your bed, sick and hungry, and as he tried to talk to the boys in the room, he noticed you.

He laid his hands on you and prayed for you. Then he waited for you as you took a shower and changed your clothes. You both took a bike to the Buka, and you ate Abula to your satisfaction. Then he gave you water as you strolled together, and you accepted. That evening, you felt a strange peace and strength. He came to take you to church in the morning.

“It was like I had been floating and all of a sudden, I had something solid to stand on. For the first time I had people to lean on.”

I was still staring at you, and you were trying so hard not to cry.

“Baby.”

Then you started sobbing, and tears were flowing from my eyes too.

“Everyday, I feel God working on my heart and tugging at some old strings, asking me to let them go. But still, I find it hard to release some things because of how long I’ve held them. I don’t want to forget the kind of man I never want to become.”

It was the days of deep longing and consistent tears that stole your laughter. Navigating life on your own exposed you to the hardships that hardened you.

“What kind of man do you want to be?”

You paused and looked away for a while. I could see flickers of the emotions raging in your heart.

“The one God is leading me to become.”

It dawned on you gradually that the struggle was over. You wiped your tears and sighed.

“I want to hug you babe.”

“Tight the phone to your chest.”

You threw your head back and laughed.

Broken. Not destroyed.