It was Friday, 11th February 2022.
Looming valentine clouds on the horizon didn't stir me, just a pep—instead, my heart experienced tremors, decompressed resonating suppressions of love waiting to erupt. Nestling into a Valentine crib would be great, but a dad's burning to behold his daughters' loving warm embraces after almost two long years was the impetus to travel.
I climbed into the rickety AKTC bus at Eleme terminus and made my way to the back seat. Unfortunately, even paying for two seats did little to improve the comfortability. Therefore, I kept both knees tucked and angled away from the centre in front to prevent squashing and cramping. The company had extracted the factory seats and fitted an extra row for additional income. So now we paid for it; giant-sized sardines crammed in a tin bus. It was the reason I had to settle for the last bus, my only chance of making it out of town that late afternoon.
From the outset, the whole journey took two days: A flight from Lagos, a rickety bus ride, a stopover at my cousin's, and another more pleasant bus ride to Calabar. I made it just in time for Val — I'd promised.
I commuted on a motorcycle to 13 Richard Nui and climbed the paved steeped slope to House 3. Each step took me further away from my anxiety and closer to the long-awaited reality of meeting my family. First, though, I diffused hovering thoughts of resentment. Kense had accused me of negligence over the phone. She hated that I chose to stay out of their lives and refused to come home, not even at Christmas.
When would she be like other girls in her school whose dads walked them to school, parted their locks, planted warm kisses on their cheeks, and waved goodbye? Her dad was never available at school, home, church, or birthdays. Kense's friends had asked of her dad. He was never there, a sign he didn't love her. She felt life would be better without an unloving dad. I had deprived her of the essence of her childhood, creating a distasteful void of emptiness and regret.
I couldn't explain that her mother and I had a rift, torn apart by her allegations of marital incompatibility. I'd pleaded with Emem to let me make things right, but she'd taken her stand to leave. Sadly, our once closely-knit family experienced severance from its roots, lying lifeless, unable to transpire in the afflicting barren circumstances. The children were the worst victims, floundering in a thicket of despair, in bewilderment of the lost family bonds.
"Listen up, darling. When dad gets home, he'll make it up to you. You'll like my pleasant surprises."
"Dad, you're full of broken promises. You're the worst dad ever!" Kense lamented.
"Soon, we'll be together again, just like the good old times," I implored.
I did my best to sound convincing to a hurtful 11 year old who couldn't understand why her daddy, her maestro, had deserted them.
In addition to mum, how could I explain my grapple with unemployment and the unsuccessful engagements and side hustles to make ends meet to a child? The struggles of a loving dad enmeshed in a titanic battle with the strangleholds of poverty, but relentless to provide for his needy children. Although we survived on the trickles, I was ready to do anything legitimate to feed them and give them a decent education. Yet, I couldn't afford it despite mitigated challenges.
Shani complained about her school. That week, the teacher lined them up to recite their states and capitals, but she fell into the category of those who couldn't. Then, Mrs. Lukeman clustered the perceived failures together in front of the class and got the rest to mock and taunt them. They chanted 'shame' and laughed them to scorn. My 7-year-old daughter cried her eyes out and refused school the next day. We made a fuss at school, and they promised to change, but that was the extent of our profitability. I was handicapped. I couldn't afford the shift to a better school where teachers loved children, gave them self-worth, provided inclusion and pastoral care. Finally, we coaxed Shani into bearing with her predicament and the hope of a better school in the offing.
I unlatched the mini-steel gate and knocked. Soon after, there was a rumble in the living room, and finally, Kense and Shani tumbled to the door. They ran into my enveloping arms and lingered, with radiating warmth and delightful cries. Shani held me tightly around the waist and pressed her cheeks into my ribs, where she could hear the tick-tock of my heart beating. Every chamber echoed with unrestrained affection. I dug my chin through her braided foliage and nestled delicately on her scalp, gratifyingly inhaling the gelatinous wax conditioner mingled with hair and skin.
In unison, I ruffled Kense's afro, lifted her chin, and looked into her eyes; there was a sparkle in her hazelnut pupils, a message of forgiveness and rescindment of hate. I felt her unfettering the shackles of resentment.
"Daddy, daddy, I love you. I'm glad you're back."
She jumped on me and wound her arms around my neck. A steamy mist covered her glasses, then tears spilled and flowed unhindered in rivulets wetting her face. We all held onto each other transfigured in the ecstasy of the moment, bonded by a silent tethered resolve to stand by each other through thick and thin.
We spun and frolicked in a joyous coalesce. Then, in the euphoria of the moment, Emem, my darling wife, joined us.
