Mama says to me : “Ayomah, I have sinned” 

 I’m now sitting on the water closet. Releasing the internal residents of the human anatomy. I can hear Dad bellowing orders at Mama.

   “Let the boy know the truth!” It’s your fault!”

   Mama was so quiet. Not responding to Dad’s orders. She’s now contrite. Suffering from a sense of guilt.

   “Ayoma will not forgive me if he knows the truth.” I hear Mama say.

   What’s this truth that’s so difficult to be told? Why has Mama kept the truth from me for so long? Is it that I was born before marriage was consummated between Mama and Dad? Or is it that Dad, after all isn’t my biological father? I’m insisting on knowing the truth. But will I be able to handle it? I might even be better off not knowing the truth. I’m now heading into my bedroom. I had already packed up and cleaned my bedroom. Thinking I will never have to return to it for a long time to come. The bedspreads had been washed, ironed, packed neatly into blue bag that Dad bought for me when I was fifteen and .was going to boarding school.

   I’m lying on my bed in a supine position. As I gaze at the ceiling above me, I can hear the screeching of the bedstead. It’s now 11 am. My luggage is still in the living room. I hear someone open my door. It’s Mama. Sitting on the bedside table, she says,

   “Ayoma, I’m so sorry to have kept you in the dark for so long. Please do forgive me. As living beings, we’re not allowed to know how our time on earth may slip away. As you‘re about to travel, why shouldn’t I have the courage now to let you know who you are? After all, I don’t know whether we’ll ever meet again after you leave.”

   Mama is speaking to me as if I’m a fetish priest. I’m now yawning from the mid-morning heat and swatting at flies as Mama continues her confession. The last sentence I heard from her was: “Ayoma, I‘ve sinned.” As I struggled to gather my wits, sleep overtook me.

To be continued…