The Abomination

When my father died, my mother wept the most. She pulled off her wrappers and rolled in the dust for hours. She wailed the death of a great man, her husband.

I don't see the reason people cry after losing a loved one because crying wouldn't bring them back. I didn't shed a tear when my father died, maybe because I felt his death was too strange. The relationship between my mother and father was the best. It was a relationship that was envied by every other couple in our village.

Some time ago, our compound was full of people who had come to seek relationship advice. But the problem was that my father wanted more children and my mother did not. My father had felt the more children, the merrier his old age would be, but my mother vehemently refused.

This was the bone of contention between these two love birds. They often fought every day over this issue. One night, my mother had run out of their bedroom naked with my father chasing after her. This made the relationship between my parents wind down. They stopped eating from the same plate and refused to go to the farm together. Mummy also stopped making daddy's meal with the giant bushmeat she always uses. Their friendship fell apart, and I suffered. Then Daddy became my best friend.

He would spend hours with me after returning from the farm, and sometimes when his back ached, I would give him a gentle massage. Daddy called me his "little wonder." He said he was surprised how I was able to draw him out of the depths of darkness Mummy had put him in. I introduced Daddy to my friend Sonia and together we had fun. I remember the day Sonia celebrated her birthday in our house. Daddy had specially made the meals. He used all his money to buy strong palm wine, and we all drank in a stupor. I remember how Mummy had screamed at us. She was angry, but daddy was happy. It was a few days later that bad things started to happen to Daddy. 

His stomach became swollen, and the big sore in his left knee radiated big pus and an offensive odor. As the day went by, Daddy drew nearer to his death. My mom cried as she nursed him. She wept because she knew she was going to lose her husband. I told Daddy to remember his promises to me, and so he shouldn't die. He had insisted on visiting his yam farm that fateful day. He wanted to go and count the yams in his barn, so he set out with his old, rusty bicycle. A few minutes later, the tragic news came. My father had fallen off his bicycle and died immediately at the spot. No amount of tears my mother shed proved her innocence to the villagers; they believed she had killed my father because she didn't want to bear him children anymore.

The story was the other way around. Mummy didn't kill Daddy. Instead, someone else did. Mummy was just too scared to tell Daddy her fertility issues. She didn't even tell Daddy that I wasn't his biological daughter. In a bid to conceal one sin, she committed another sin. She had gone to meet Sonia, my friend to be Daddy's new wife, so her inlaws would stop disturbing her for another child. But I had given Sonia a better offer, Kill my father and make my mother pay! Besides, they weren't my real parents. And so, when My father died, My mother was hung on a tree as the tradition of our land demanded. She was labeled a witch and so must be killed!

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