MY FATHER’S DAUGHTER

“Kai, don’t hold your little sister without washing your hands first”. Those, I was told were my father’s command to my elder siblings whenever they attempted carrying me as an infant. My mother would say, my father raved about how much of a beauty I was when he looked at me swathed in my baby blanket in the delivery room. I was light skinned and so he believed I was his oyinbo child and so didn’t want me to become black due to too many dirty hands carrying me.

It was love at first sight. The eternal love of a father for his daughter. I was his jewel, the one child who was an exact replica of him. With a long, aquiline and dignified nose, you could say similar to a Caesar’s. Our bond was enviable, I was the delicate beauty who took after his physical features and whom he carried everywhere with chest puffed up. 

My earliest memories of him was he in his white boxer shorts with me being carried on his shoulders. Sometimes, he fed me sugarcane which he had peeled and diced into small cubes to make it easy for me to chew on. 

He had a constant smile on his face and almost always wore his “Abacha” rimmed glasses; to conceal an eye infection I later learnt, but to me he was the perfect man-god. I was a completion to the family, he wanted no more kids, hence the translation to my name “Misurinum”. Which Stands for ‘I am satisfied Lord’. Much to the chagrin of his mother, (my grandmother) who was hoping for a litter of young ‘uns. 

Growing up, I was unabashedly a Daddy’s girl and my mother always says we were inseparable, but that’s not hard to believe as we were identical, in features and in manner. And many years later my mother would say, in brains also. I faintly remember my favorite nap position was to lie on his bare tummy. And my mother always told a rather embarrassing story of how I once sucked my father’s navel in quest of breast milk. 

With the tender love he had for me, he was still a disciplinarian and my biggest fear was being reported to him for having done something bad. Though he was rarely home, (as he worked in a different town), every time he was to visit, the house was thrown into a frenzy of feast and festivity. 

This was all well over 20 years ago. He lived a short life and passed on before his fortieth birthday. But I still remember him fondly whenever I look myself in the mirror and mimic his flawless pearly toothy grin. More so today, as Nigeria celebrates Father’s Day. Rest on Papito.

My greatest pride and joy however is the person who resumed the role of father, mother, disciplinarian, care taker, bread winner, family head and spiritual guide – My mother. A strong and resilient woman who lost her husband in her 30’s, never remarried and who has single handedly brought up four children for the past 20 years. Even though the eldest was barely 10 years old when Daddy died. Big ups mother. You always put up with my errant self. You are one in a million and the apple of my eye. My earthly god. I Love you.

Happy Father’s Day to all good and responsible fathers. And importantly, Happy Father’s Day to my mother and all the single mothers out there who are both mothers and fathers! God bless you all.