Look What I Invented
“You can't succeed.
No matter how hard you try, you won't succeed!” my mother said as she pointed a finger of accusation toward me.
Tears swelled up in my eyes, they had to. All I did was take a story I'd just written to her—to showcase my skill.
Big mistake.
How could I have been so naive? I should have known she would react that way. After all, she'd always hated me…
It was a cool evening that fateful day. The sun was almost lost behind big clouds. But the evening breeze ruffled through our clothes. My mother and I.
Lost in her scornful look, I wept. Steamy hot tears poured down my cheeks as I cried into my arms.
There was no use crying, it didn't make any difference to my mama. If she had a heart, I was afraid the days I prayed she would show me some were over.
“But you haven't even looked, mama.
Please look.” I begged with both arms clasped, seeking her approval just once.
“I don't need to look, even if I did, all I would see is FAILURE!” she cut in, hoarsely.
Her voice sounded like a provoked thunder, the type that has even the bravest soldier shake.
This instantly crushed my soul.
My mama didn’t yell or scream, yet somehow, her words were harder than rock. They seemed to smash through my heart, destroying everything in its path.
I grabbed at my shirt.
My heart broke.
I knew It’s always been broken, but this time—my heart broke the loudest.
Failure! This word has echoed in my brain from the moment I could remember. It follows me around like a suckling child does its mother's breast.
But how could I be a failure when my name was Blessing?
In Africa where I'm from, it is believed that a child was as great as the name they bore.
And I wasn't like other girls. I didn't change my name to a fancy and chic-like one as they all did. No, I couldn't afford to play with my destiny like that.
I didn't bear a nickname. I owned mine, my full name. Bob-Manuel Tamuno Boma, Boma meaning Blessing.
And I answered that name in pride. Even when the kids would laugh at me for not picking something cool and easy on the tongue.
My name was my name.
It was my identity.
How could I forgo that?
Ah, what was the point? These days even people that answered to Judas were being more favored than I was.
Tamuno Boma, God's blessing. How could that turn into a curse?
My thoughts were interrupted by the splash of a wet slimy substance on my face.
I used the back of my palm to wipe it off and realized it was saliva. My mother had just spit on me.
“Witch!” she yelled. “Dirty witch!”
She turned to her side, refusing to lock her eyes with mine anymore.
My mother’s arms were thin and her back was extremely huge. Almost every bone in her neck was visible, and I always wondered how her tiny legs carried her enormous body about.
Her nails were sharp and long, I don’t ever recall seeing her trim them.
Her hair was blunt, scanty but the edges remained blunt. You could see her skull without even trying.
I was beautiful, at least I always begged myself to believe that.
Young, chubby, round eyes, white teeth, long hair, I even had a dimple cut perfectly across my left cheek. So how could I be the dirty witch amongst us both?
My mother was 67, but frankly, I had seen corpses look more beautiful than she did. But I dared not say that, not to her hearing at least.
Promise me, this would be our little secret.
“I know you plan my demise,” she said, “Painting me a fool in all your stories, but I bet you; no one’s gonna read them.”
She laughed hysterically. Exposing all her broken teeth and very poor dentition.
I loved my mother, by God I did.
I cared about none of the things she said to me. I had learned to get used to them as a child.
She was lonely and miserable, I was her punching bag.
You see, my mother was the worst case of an introvert gone wrong, and I hated seeing her like that. But hell, she was so stubborn you couldn't talk to her. So depressed she'd make you hate yourself for even trying.
I had kept telling myself that she didn't mean any of those things and that she loved me.
All the while I had been lying to myself.
Singing lullabies in whispers because no one would sing them to me.
Reading about love in the shower because she would hit me hard on the head if she found me with any books.
It was almost like my happiness played a trick on her. And she had never been fond of puzzles.
Most times I wasn't supposed to breathe, so I'd hold my breath for as long as I could until I was coughing out my lungs.
My mere existence was always too much for her to handle. But she loved me, right? I mean she had to. She was my mother!
I missed my father. The idea of him. I didn’t know him, but I missed him nonetheless.
I know I was supposed to hate him, after all, his absence caused my mum this pain and me—this abuse, but still, I didn’t hate him.
I only wish he’d never left.
I wished to have grown up in a family where I wasn’t the only child.
A family where I had a father who wanted me and a mother who adored me.
I wish I had siblings as well, you know? Tiny baby brothers running around in their underwear. I chuckled, the thought of that bringing some sort of comfort to me.
“Ahhh!” my mother exclaimed, “She laughs at me.” she threw her arms apart.
“Mother, I would never laugh at you,” I said, going close to her.
I fell hard on my ass after she pushed me away, throwing my effort to the wind.
“Don’t you dare touch me, child! Not after what you’ve done to me,” she said.
Her gaze was cold, too cold. It was my turn to look away this time.
Finally, there it was!! The reason my mother hated me!
My father left after he had warned her to abort me when he found out the sex of the child.
She didn’t, calling his bluff, and that day, he tipped his hat.
He was gone.
Just like that, he left.
I had never met my father, and she had not seen him again since then.
Single parenthood was not in any of her plans. For an overthinker, she never saw that one coming, not with the way she and my father had loved. No, no one saw that one coming…
Growing up, I'd heard stories of my parents' love. When my grandparents were alive, they would sing them to me.
In the small town of Abonnema where my parents grew up, people assumed they would be buried together because of their fondness for each other.
My father had loved her since the day he set eyes on her in their primary school days. On that day, he vowed that that was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with.
“The mother of his unborn children,” he would proudly call her at occasions and spray money on her, making the hearts of every other female at that gathering be filled with envy.
“Mother of his unborn children”, yet he fled after just one.
The story wasn't clear, not yet it couldn't be.
How could my father, the kind-hearted man they all sang about, the hopeless romantic; how could such a man turn out to be the devil, incarnate?
Or was it my mother's scorn that pushed him into hell???
How could you love a person so much today but leave without looking back tomorrow?
For a reason like this…
A male child!!! That would have made my father stay.
I hated my existence. Even my mother did too.
Maybe she didn’t plan for it to get so out of hand. I mean, which mother would? Still, grief affected people differently. She loved my father. Even the rats in our house knew that.
Here I was defending her actions when many would have spat on them.
Still, I couldn’t hate her, not after all she’d been through. Not even after all the trauma, she’d put me through.
Unfortunately, my love wasn’t enough for her.
I wasn’t enough…
She was always reminded that my presence was my father’s absence.
God doesn't answer prayers. I concluded on that many years ago.
I don't doubt His existence, I only think He's picky with the miracles He performs.
Because I've begged with a bleeding heart.
I've rolled naked on His altar floor.
I've ran miles under the rain, stopping at the center of the road begging HIM to take me away and bring my father back.
Still, here I was, and here—my father was not.
“Here,” I said, pointing to my heart, “Stab me here, mother, maybe that would take your misery away”.
Perhaps it was shock or awe, but all I saw in her look was hatred.
I could be wrong, but I swear delight loomed in her eyes for a few seconds after I’d said those words.
“Go on, mom, I promise you, it’s alright,” I said again when I noticed she didn’t budge.
“Out!”
“Out of my sight, NOW!” she commanded, pointing to the door.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t.
Something had to be done today. I couldn’t keep living like this, holding my breath whenever I walked past her.
This was my mother for Christ’s sake, wasn’t she supposed to love me???
“I…said…LEAVE!” she ordered again and took her hands up, commanding the sound of the wind as she brought it down towards my face.
For a brief moment, her nails caught the light and I could tell they would tear my skin when they landed, hopefully taking away my sight if I was lucky enough.
I closed my eyes as if that would help ease the pain the impact would give.
After a few seconds of waiting for it to land—which it didn't, I fearfully opened my eyes, looking around in disbelief.
I was suddenly so sweaty. And what was that cloth I had on?
I looked around the room in confusion. Everything was different.
Staring into the distance, completely lost, I wondered what was going on.
A few seconds later realization hit me, the weight of it too heavy I had to hold my head in fear of it collapsing.
“This was all a dream,” I said in relief. I must have fallen asleep amidst writing.
I looked at my book, doubting it was ready. Still, I snatched it off the table and dashed to my mother's room.
“Hey mom,” I said as I strolled into the large room, anticipation plastered on my face. “Look what I invented”.
I quickly handed the book over to her.
I sat quietly at the end of her bed watching her read it.
She had an expression I cannot put into words because I didn't understand what it was myself.
Did she like it?
Had I struck a nerve? I wondered.
After she was done reading, she turned to stare at me, completely mesmerized.
“Oh, my darling girl,” she said as she touched her heart, “The world is gonna love this!” Then she landed a kiss on my forehead.
I stretched my arms around her, turning her kiss into a warm embrace.
My mother loved me!!!
At least in this universe.
