My father is a man who prides himself in his ability to provide for his family. Born ninth out of ten children, his parents named him Nkrumah. My father is not educated, he can somewhat write, though I have never seen him read. His masculinity is everything to him, a golden crown bestowed upon him by God. I’m the first-born son of three children, both my younger brother and I have names that have to do with being ‘gifts’. My younger sister’s name is Afia, which simply means ‘born on Friday’. My father says he loves us all equally, but how he treats my younger sister; compared to me or my younger brother is questionable. He doesn’t believe in her abilities as much as he believes in ours. One day when Mama was sick, he reprimanded me for doing house chores.
“Your mother will see to it once she gets better.”
I often wonder how he ‘fell in love’ with Mama, how he convinced her he was the man she should spend the rest of her life with. How does one find beauty and love in something they despise?
My father’s gripe with women became prevalent, when Mrs Adomako came to our house to collect 50 Cedis that my father owed Mr Adomako. My father yelled at Mrs Adomako; Mama tried to calm the situation, but that only fanned his blazing rage. He continued screaming even after she had explained that her husband was away and had instructed her to collect the money.
“How can that man send a woman to address me?”.
“Now I am disrespected in my own house!”
He got up with his chest out to fetch the money, when he got back, I mustered all the courage I could and asked:
“Father, why do you hate women?”
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Read – The Kiss of Loneliness – A Flash Fiction by Tu Turton, South Africa
