Tears Are Not Enough

Tears Are Not Enough

“Just so you understand why I'm asking,” I
continued: “do you not think it sadly odd and
shameful for any child to not recognise their own
father. The same who raised them, even from a
crowd?”

Again, he said nothing.
Only pensive looking.
One might suggest he was deep in thought.
Otherwise, deliberately melancholic.
As for me at that moment, I couldn't have cared
any less, if I was the reasonable cause to see an old
man looking sullener than a Trout.
“The funny thing is, you weren't even standing in
the midst of any crowd. Not one that I could
physically see. You stood by yourself. And still, I
managed to drive past you twice. I need you to help
me out here Dad. Because I'm really struggling to
understand why. You looked like someone who’d
been kicked out from a hunger concentration camp.
Still do! Whatever happened to all the monetary
allowance we remit to your account on a monthly
basis?”
Dad shifted his sitting position slightly, as though
the sofa had become a little too warm on his arse all
of a sudden.
But, when he cleared his throat, I genuinely
thought:
Here we go!
At least we were all about to get some answers.
Some sensible explanation.
Or so I thought.

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“Thank you, my son, for asking,” Dad began.
Every one of us sat upright.
Attentive, expectant!
Myself being the chief rebel.
Wilco and Meme too.
“The money you do send to me helps out quite a
bit. But usually not enough. Besides, you don't remit
on time.”
“I beg your PARDON?”
I was aghast.
I'd never been so furious with anyone in my entire
adult life, like I was right this moment with this
stranger father in my home.
The part of my brain solely responsible for
manufacturing impactful choice words, was half filled
with such likely vocabulary I seldom used during
respectful adult conversation.
I mean, literally.
Comments like, what an ungrateful SOB.
Words like, ingrate, arsehole and such like were
clamouring to break out and be heard.
“What?” Wilco spat.
“Seriously Dad? Are you kidding me?” sighed
Meme.
He glared at Meme accusingly.
“It was your turn last month. Wasn't it? I didn't
receive anything from you. Did I?”
I figured that this man in front of us, my, no, our
father, didn't quite understand the reasoning behind
my question.
Or maybe he pretended he didn't.

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For him it seemed like the meeting was about
sorting out who paid what and when.

Perhaps, this was what he had intended all along.
To turn the entire process into a ludicrous farce.
A charade of finger pointing nonentity.
It really wasn't going to happen.
Not if I had anything to do with it.
Luckily, I did!
This was about determining how he managed
whatever funds were given as maintenance.
As it stands, the physical evidence in front of us
all, does suggest that something was seriously out of
sync.
My father wasn’t telling us all he knew.
And I, of all persons gathered here this day, was
determined to find out what it was, and why.
“Dad, please! You're missing the point. Tell me.
Are you actually saying you spend an entire fifty
thousand every month, whenever it gets paid to
you? I'm confused.”
“Things are a lot more expensive than you know.
You don't understand.”
“What?” Wilco spat again.
I believe Wilco was totally bewildered by such a
statement.
Like I was.
And Meme too.
Wilco jumped to his feet, meaning to walk away
from the meeting.
I flagged him down quickly.

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This isn't the kind of matter I'd want to ignore by
letting Wilco’s penchant for being upset get in the
way.

I wasn't prepared to carry on wasting any more of
my hard-earned monetary resources, towards
supporting one parent, who arguably was trying so
hard to avoid being questioned, over explanatory
accountability.

At worst, I was beginning to consider the
whispering thought as to whether my father was
actually scamming his own children on purpose.

Or just deliberately being economical with the
truth, about what's really going on.

It definitely has to be one or the other.
“Of course, things got expensive all over the
world. Nigeria isn't an exception. Neither is Portugal
spared such similar increases, Provence or
Scarborough. Commodity prices go up all the time
due to location supply and demand. I get that.”
He looked at me again as though trying to decide
if I was now on his side.
Or whether he'd somehow won me over with
such-like lousy argument.
I also did note something else, by his demeanour.
Dad was absolutely uncomfortable with all of this
querying and scrutinising business.
For the first time in his life, he must have felt as
though his own children had ambushed him onto a
hot seat.
Which not so long ago used to be solely his
preserve.

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“I just need clarity Dad! We all need clarity. Don't
we guys?”

I quickly glanced at both my brothers.
They nodded in support.
“To at least understand what's happening here.
So, you actually spend all of fifty thousand you get
each month to the last kobo? All of it? No change. No
reserve. No savings. Is that right Dad?”
Again, he shifted in his seat.
I believe, in readiness to tell us something more
convincing than his previous attempt.
And then he paused.
From the twitching of his eyelids, the subdued
posture of his head, to the rapid pinching of the
corners of his nostrils with two fingers. They were all
too familiar indicators that my father was attempting
to find any loophole in the question.
But there wasn't one allowed.
I'd already made sure of it.
We required a simple Yes or No answer.
Not gaps for manoeuvres.
I sucked in a deep breath.
Wilco and Meme waited.
We all waited!
Dad was a clever man by all accounts.
And clever people are thought to know when they
were cornered.
If they don't, they would cease to be called clever.
Won't they?
So, I guess he was left with arguably three
options.

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He could possibly own up straight away, and
declare to us truthfully how he’d been spending his
beneficial allowance.

Otherwise, he could lie.
Which would mean, holding down his conscience
in contempt of his own scripture-inspired faith.
And totally in denial against the principles he’d
held for so long, as a staunch member of his
Christian association.
Or, he could refrain from answering the question
at all.
And then risk ending any further future
remittances.
Of the three options above, the last one I believe
didn't have much appeal for any consideration.
What was he going to do or say?
At that moment, Mum popped her head into the
living room, apparently wanting something.
She must have guessed that some sort of male
only meeting between father and sons was taking
place, when all three pairs of eyes stared up in her
direction, except Dad.
She didn't say what though.
Instead, she grinned and quickly withdrew back to
her bedroom, not wanting to disturb proceedings.
I had deliberately not mentioned the intended
meeting to Mum for a reason.
Being that I personally didn't want her to get
emotionally involved.
It seemed obvious that Dad never bothered
either.

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“Dad?”
“Okay, okay!” he said, with a raised right hand to
silence us all.
He got silence alright.
Silence that was only disturbed by the click-clack
sound of hastily heels walking down the street,
outside the communal pedestrian sidewalk of my
house.
“I have needs too, in case all or some of you have
forgotten.”
The three of us straightened up in sharp surprise.
Such an answer was highly unexpected.
We raised eyebrows at each other.
And exchanged glances.
I believe thinking similar thoughts.
Disgusting!
Dad noticed.
“No, no, no!” he protested, waving both hands.
“That's not what I meant. Not that sort of need!
What do you take me for?”
“Well, Dad! That's the problem, I don't. No, we
honestly don't know what to think anymore. We
don't actually know what you mean either.”
Wilco once again was getting impatient, I noticed.
His face was drawn and he looked a bit listless,
shaking his head.
Utterly puzzled!
“This is the bit I'm really struggling to get to grips
with,” Wilco suddenly volunteered.
“You live alone as far as we know. Yes? You don't
have any need to pay rent because you live in your

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own home. You also have no further children
responsibilities. Mum has been with Jamie for years
now. So, the only person to look after and maintain
is yourself. And to cap it easy, you're paid a
whopping fifty thousand smackeroonies each month
to do just that, with effortless ease, and yet?”

Wilco forced an uncomfortable grin
simultaneously, at myself and Meme.

His eyes were searchingly curious.
So was ours.
But no one person in the room had the answers
we sought, other than our father.
Meme shook his head.
I guess, being with anyone in a familiar
environment for far too long, makes it easier
sometimes to lose sight of the mundane.
I believe that’s what Meme had lost - the sight of
picking out what so easily blended into the ordinary.
He was the brother closest to home.
Hence, his supposed natural responsibility of
keeping an eye on our old man.
To be fair, I guess life pursuits also got in the way.
It's a great example of what I'd refer to as
unintended subjective negligence.
For him, everything about Dad looked normal as it
were.
Until the unusual was pointed out.
Sometimes, all it takes is another fresh pair of
scrutinising eyes to pick out what the tired one had
gotten so used to. They can no longer observe
objectively.

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“I owe money to some very bad people. They
have been threatening me ever since,” Dad finally
confessed.

“No, you don't!" Meme interjected almost
immediately, like he was absolutely certain that
Dad's storyline was fake news.

“I’m confused,” Wilco said.
“You always quoted part of scripture as a constant
reminder to its stark warning. About the uneasy
relationship between borrowing, debt and servitude.
And just to be clear, was that verse only selective in
practice? Or didn't apply much to those fathers who
said it so often?”
“All right boys, all right!” Dad acknowledged.
“I'm not proud to admit this…” he paused again.
Inhaled deeply and then slowly exhaled a long
cumulative breath.
We all waited, again expectant.
“I have been scammed!”
Once again, we brothers exchanged raised
eyebrow glances.
Surprise, surprise!
Which is the truth?
This was coming from a man who used to be chief
accountant for AJ Seward.
During his time of office, was one of the profitably
renowned divisions of the mighty UAC group.
Everybody knew that Dad had a good head and
eyes for numbers.

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He’d also spent the better part of his adult life
processing figures and crunching numbers for the
same company, until the inevitable happened.

They finally forced him into retirement.
Wilco laughed out loud.
Not because it was a joke.
I believe being SCAMMED sounded far too
preposterous for his ears.
How could he possibly be scammed, knowing
what he knew?
People like my Dad were supposed to be scam-
proof.
It made me wonder though.
Was there something about ageing, that made the
likes of my father, vulnerable or carelessly foolish?
I for one had always been under the impression
that longevity made the aged robustly tough.
You know, having survived all manner of life
experiences.
It must be some kind of achievement worthy of
note. In so much, that anyone almost certainly would
want to depend upon their wisdom.
I guess my Dad was quick to prove otherwise, that
any such-like notion was hopelessly flawed.
Well, trusting in the knowledge that they've seen
quite a bit, and lived through most things now
seemed like taking it too far.
“How?” Wilco wailed emphatically.
“People usually get scammed for three reasons:
Greed. Trust and Love. Surely, most scam victims
must be head over heels convinced and taken-in by

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the proposition of the scammer in the first place, to
even consider parting with their hard-earned money
- right?”

I nodded in agreement to Wilco's summary
analysis.

He was one of two philosophy degree holders in
our family.

So, logical thinking was his forte.
“Which one is yours, Dad?”
My father said nothing.
“Okay! How were you scammed?”
Dad wiped the corners of his mouth looking shifty.
If I wasn't terribly vexed about this sort of
behaviour. And wanted to get to the bottom of the
truth, I almost certainly would have felt sorry for the
guy at this point.
Still our father, nonetheless.
“I foolishly invested in a scheme I honestly
thought the numbers made sense, enough to make
me a small profit at the time.”
“Are we seriously talking about pyramid
schemes?” Wilco queried.
“I thought…”
“How could you Dad? You knew there’s no such
thing as fast money. Fast food on the go? Maybe!
But fast yielding money tree? It doesn't exist! You
taught us so.”
Meme coughed.
“Please correct me if I've got any part of the
things you said totally mixed-up.”
He paused to clear his throat.

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“Here's what I'm hearing, Dad! That you had all
the best productive time of your youthful life to
invest for the future. For some reason you never
quite got onto any investment train. As a matter of
fact, you cancelled. Then they retired you. It was
inevitable. Younger brains were queuing up for the
same position you occupied. That's okay too.
However, all the while we've been remitting
maintenance money to look after yourself, that's
when all of a sudden; your hands became too itchy
to spend. Remember such a statement? Those were
the actual words you used to say to us when we
were growing up. Itchy fingers? The funny thing is:
with all your years of experience, it seems to me you
had this fake eureka moment, where you woke up
one morning and suddenly decided, right! I'm going
to put all my money into a get me rich quick scheme
and make myself a mint. I haven't missed out on
anything so far. Or have I?"

Meme gazed at Dad expectedly.
There was an unmistakable sarcasm in his voice.
“Remind us again, how old are you?”
Dad did not answer.
I didn't think he would.
Even Meme himself wasn't actively expecting an
answer.
Dad's head was bowed.
Whether it was because of the shame associated
with being found out, amidst his deliberate
distraction attempts. Or the fact that he'd made bad

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decisions, which in the end cost us all money, I still
don't know.

What I do know is fact.
And this humble assessment is purely derived by
looking at the aged man in front of us, and summing
up the results of part of his catalogue of errors, that I
could remember.
No one has ever clawed back missed or lost
opportunities of their youth in old age.
It's impractical.
You definitely cannot win back all of your youthful
losses much later in life. Not after retirement on any
pyramid scheme.
Never!
Winning large sums via the national lottery?
Maybe!
But the absolute chance of such, ever actually
happening to my father, was always less likely with
any betting odds.
“How much in total did you actually lose? Do you
know?” I couldn't resist asking.
“All of it!”
“Yeah. I thought so! You couldn't have had all that
money being sent to you and still looked like a
starving prisoner of war. And I mean the one who'd
suddenly made his great escape in peacetime.”
Then I heard my wife’s heavy footfalls as she
came down the stairs. My little one tagged along
behind her mother.
As I looked up, I briefly caught Mas's stare.

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She grinned at me while our shy little one,
disappeared down the corridor toward the kitchen
access door.

Our meeting paused for a moment.
I believe most of us used that much unexpected
short break, to reflect on our father’s confession.
Shortly afterwards, both my wife and daughter re-
emerged. Only to hasten back up the stairs.
We all heard the thudding of heavy and tiny feet.
I did turn around quickly enough though.
Just in time to catch a glimpse of my little girl
clutching a bag of her favourite junk snack, as she
went.
Spiced Doritos.
“Meme's remittance remains outstanding with
interest until paid,” Dad insisted unapologetically. As
though he was being rudely defiant after what we’ve
just heard.
We all looked up and gave him the dirtiest glare
imaginable.
I'm sure it was more expressive than any word
combination the three of us could have verbally
uttered collectively.
Does this man actually believe we owed him some
sort of recompense or restitution?
Some kind of payback?
He must have.
Come to think of it, however broadly.
What did he actually do for his children, aside
from payment of boarding fees?
Our generation enjoyed free tuition.

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Alright, he spent on our school’s books list.
Food on the table for our then little bellies.
Clothing on our backs to hide our nakedness to
the outside world?
Big deal?
I think not!
Those were any reasonable parent's
responsibilities and obligations anyway.
So, no gongs here.
You don't bring children into existence.
And then expect somebody else to take on
broader responsibilities.
Which may include fulfilling on all other levels of
their physical growth, well-being, educational, moral
and emotional needs.
And except for the very exceptional circumstances
of an untimely parental demise or reasons of
debilitating ill health, it wouldn't be right.
Would it?
There probably should be statute law limiting the
number of children any parent could legally have,
based upon their sustainable affordable income, and
emotional competence.
We've already seen that income affordability
alone, may not necessarily be the paramount
prerequisite to raise a child.
Money does play a huge part, but no potential
parent proven to lack the much essential emotional
capability, should be anywhere raising anybody.
My father, I believe was hopelessly bankrupt in
that department, period!

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I still don't know how much I'd been impacted
upon, or even permanently damaged by his non-
existent expression of emotional care.

Sincerely, I hope not.
I guess time will tell.
If there's any one thing I'll keep reminding myself,
after all of this: it’s the fact that I do not for one
moment ever wish or want to be nothing like him.
I'd rather strive diligently to be the best husband
to my Pinky bride.
And hopefully win the best fatherhood award,
only approved by the gorgeous children we've made
together.
The funny thing though is this: lately, I've caught
upon my wife's eyes on very few occasions staring
strangely at me.
I don't actually know what that means.
She'll probably tell me one of these days when I
terribly offend her.
Anyway, she's already hinted to me once or twice,
that my smile seemed to have faded.
She tells me that I don't smile much like I used to,
when we were dating.
She claims it's a joke.
I doubt it!
Well, I worry if that's a sign.
Perhaps not!
Maybe I suddenly realised that people usually
tend to want to change the rules of engagement
when things don’t suit them anymore.

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Maybe I’ve finally woken up to the fact that

human beings can be less trustworthy, after having
suffered tremendous loss for doing the right thing.

Maybe I’ve had it up to my hairy nostrils with
people letting me down.

Or maybe I’m sickened to the pit of my stomach,
with being taken for a ride all the time, even when I
try to help.

Maybe I’m just putting myself first!
Maybe!

166

7

So, the environmental conditions on this day were
nearly perfect.

As the temperate Sun began to rise above the
firmament, giving warmth to all things beneath, so
also was a deservingly westerly wind fanning cool
breeze across the landscape.

Better still, it was a Saturday, leading up to a
Monday public holiday.

An expectant long weekend, if you will.
The weather, as said, looked clemently peaceful
with bright blue skies.

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An absolutely gorgeous day, it was looking to be.
My wife and I soon decided, on behalf of
everybody else, that it probably was the best
opportunity we would ever have; to take a drive into
Greenwich. And hopefully do something fun as an
extended family unit.
A boat trip experience along the River Thames
into the city of London seemed like an attractive
option.
In our company, were my Mum and Dad, our two
little children and Meme.
Finding free car parking spaces in Greenwich, was
like trying to catch freshwater Trout with a shallow
bowl in the deep.
Each square footage of land outside of prohibited
common parks, garden spaces and the odd off-street
residential parking were meter chargeable.
Which on its own by the way is a highly profitable
income yielding cash cow for the council.
Worse for any visitor driving into town, adamant
on parking anywhere near Greenwich vintage
market.
That being said, on this gorgeously blessed day,
‘lady luck’ if there was one, was definitely smiling on
our side.
We finally found a spare parking space closest to
the Cutty Sark for £4.50 per hour.
Mas and I knew too well that parking meters here
were grossly extortionate.
Still, we made a conscious decision to pay for six
hours upfront.

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Thereafter, we all proceeded happily to making
the short walk back to the banks of the Thames.

That's when I first noticed.
Something fascinating was happening.
An elderly couple walked in front of the rest of us.
It was strange and sweet at the same time.
Watching the procession of these two people from
behind.
I couldn't even begin to pretend to imagine what
it was like for their generation on romance.
Behold, before me and anyone else who cared to
observe, the couple proudly held hands together, like
two teenagers who were bent on showing the world
they were an item of love.
No better place to begin, than on the banks of the
Thames.
It was the first I'd ever seen both my parents
display any sort of public affection towards each
other.
I thought it was amazingly weird in the best
possible way.
The thing is, you see: I couldn't let such a beautiful
witnessing event pass me by, without alerting any of
the people I was with.
I looked at Meme.
He hadn't witnessed the scene I was looking at.
He seemed fascinated alright.
But for the wrong reasons.
Hence, he was totally distracted by other
surrounding attractions along the way.

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Understandably, it was his first time on this path
too.

My father was actually holding his wife's hand
romantically.

How could anyone miss that?
As I walked behind and watched, it simply
occurred to me that history was being made in no
other place than historic Greenwich.
Since Meme nearly missed this show of affection,
I deliberately shoved an elbow right into his left ribs,
making sure it was hard enough to get his attention.
It worked partially.
He glanced at me with his version of what-do-you-
want expression, as though I was the nuisance.
I didn't care.
Because with a grin as wide as both my earlobes
combined, I quickly directed his gaze to where they
ought to be, so he could see for himself.
He gave me a nod.
Is that all he could do?
Haphazardly too as it were, with a faded
acknowledgement smile.
I nudged him again, harder.
This time he grunted; his glare unpleasant.
People were teaming all around us.
Having fun.
Talking at the top of their voices to be heard.
All those people could have been anyone in the
mix.
Tourists.
Students.

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New lovers.
Old lovers!
Local residents.
It felt like a carnival celebration.
Only without the steel drums, music and the
parade of scantily dressed female dancers.
The town was buzzing.
Wherever I looked, Greenwich was alive.
Which made it look like everyone and more were
out on this beautiful day.
The noise association was deafening.
I suggested that Meme captured this rare
moment with his camera.
At first, he was reluctant.
But soon, obliged me with a few memory shots as
he suddenly understood my excitement.
I still couldn't contain myself.
So, I tapped on my wife's shoulder, pointing out to
her the couple in front.
As you can imagine, my face was still plastered
with that ever-widening grin.
Priceless! Absolutely priceless!
We got off at Embankment pier.
Then undertook a walking visit on the bridge
overlooking the palace of Westminster. Otherwise,
popularly known as the Houses of parliament.
They noted the tower which housed the famous
Victorian clock, the world usually identifies as Big
Ben.
The architectural design of the palace of
Westminster was absolutely breath-taking!

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We carried on sightseeing, only stopping briefly at
the London Eye to admire the gargantuan
mechanical steel structure with encased glass pods.

Amazing!
There was a massive queue of people waiting
patiently to get upon it to experience the ride.
We've already been a few times before.
So, I looked over at Mum and Dad.
"Do you care for a ride?"
Mum shook her head.
That's a NO!
Height wasn't her kind of thing.
We then carried on and had something to eat.
Soon it became clear that the strain of walking
was already telling on both our two young children
as well as the elderly.
Finally, we all turned around.
And made our way back to the pier.
Homebound!

172

8

Dad could be described as the type who caused
offense easily with a strong stare in another's
direction.

It wasn't a compliment!
I used to think that time mellowed the aged and
weakened the strength in their eyes.
Well, guess what!
Not with my father.
His kind of intimidating fiery stare remained
remarkably robust.

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For some unidentifiable reason, he had it in his
head that he was still the same tough guy he used to
be in his youth.

Hence, his unmitigated belief of entitlement to
some sort of warped privileges from those around
him.

He’d barely only been in my house for a week and
a half or so, before the inevitable kicked off.

From my upstairs bedroom, I heard raised voices
ricocheting against walls within the ground floor
bedroom.

I didn't know what the disagreement was about.
Honestly, I couldn't care less who started it.
What I wouldn't do however, was to create any
false impression whatsoever, to suggest that I would
be an easy walk over.
No, no, no!
Such a notion is not allowed.
I wasn't going to give any room for my guests,
parents or not, to even consider the thought that it
was okay to waltz into my home dragging their
overrated ego into my domain without
consequences.
Not today.
Not ever!
And so, without hesitation, I marched heavy
footed, straight into the source of argumentative
voices; the guest bedroom, to which my kids had
since nicknamed Grandma's.
Dad perched on one corner of the bed.

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Meme stood probably a foot away from the
entrance door.

Meanwhile, my poor mother; who’d been caught
up in this sudden unease, stared out through the
double-glazed window, into the rear garden, like she
was invisible.

Anyone could have felt the simmering tension in
the room.

Male testosterone was cruising high up to
unacceptable crescendo levels.

Like I said before, if I felt it, so could anybody else.
It was there.
Right in my face.
Between one older generation and the younger.
Father and son railed against each other at the
top of their vocal cords.
None bothered listening to what the other was
saying.
Instead, both were too proud.
Too wrapped up in pushing their individual point
of view to be heard.
How selfish!
I stomped in like Bigfoot.
And hushed everybody up, with a tone which
sounded so determinedly vexed.
How dared those two!
I was vexed.
The reaction was surprisingly exhilarating in a
powerful way.
Both father and son zipped it pronto without a
word.

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“Thank you!” I said firmly amid the absolute
silence which encompassed the room.

I even heard a bird tweeting gladly upon a treetop
located left to my next-door neighbour's garden.

Turning to my mother who was already looking
fed up with all the noisy hassle, I deliberately asked
her in the most softly and calm voice I could attempt
under such distressing circumstances.

I said: “since you’ve been with us in this house,
have you ever heard anyone, me, my wife or our
children, engage in any sort of shouting match to
decide whatever the matter with another?”

Mum dragged up her face like it was an
unpleasant chore she'd rather be excused from.

Gave me a painful look and shrugged her
shoulders.

I guess she wasn't in the best of cheer for
questioning, considering the circumstantial
loggerhead, between her husband and her son.

That's family for you!
But I got that.
Her body language provided the answer to my
question.
It was a CAPITAL NO!
And so, swiftly turning to both my father and
Meme my brother, I then added: “what makes any of
you think you could swagger in here, throw your
lousy weights around, with your unnecessary
shouting match. You then disrupt the peaceful quiet
that abounds in my home. Have you not yet
observed how this family works?”

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Honestly, I didn't expect any answers.
And so wasn't particularly disappointed when
none was given.
The response I got were two pairs of remorseful
stares, which at the time didn't mean a damn thing
as far as I was concerned.
Both should be ashamed of their behaviour.
“I will not have anyone, don't care who, be
disrespectful to my family or attempt to frighten my
children. Just because you couldn't control the
pomposity of your emotions.”
Then I remembered my father's famous
statement, which he never failed to deliver to
whosoever was naughty when we were growing up.
“There won’t be a next time," he'd say, in his
threatening monotone: "only the doorway out for
whoever shall commit an offense against his house
rules.”
I borrowed and adapted those words for
maximum impact.
l was done!
And then very calmly, I walked away to let the
warning sink in.
I believe the menace with which the message was
delivered got through loud and clear.
A few days later, Mum was packed and ready.
She called me into Grandma's room.
Dad was also seated by the corner of the bed.
He listened as Mum spoke.
“My son,” she began, in her usual soft-spoken
calming voice:

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“Now that we're about to return home to base, I
want to thank you immensely. Also, to your wife and
lovely children too, from the bottom of my heart.
The hospitality both of you have shown me over the
years that I've been here, have been nothing but
wonderful. You've done your job well. You've catered
and taken good care of an old me as much as you
could. Thank you for all you've done to fix me. And
for all your patience, even when I knew you were
under a lot of stress. I remain humbly grateful. But
remember this always! No condition is ever
permanent. Not until you have given up trying. Death
is like a roll call to slumber with no orderly criteria
and a kick in the teeth. My prayer as always is; for
the Almighty to continue ‘to bless and keep you all
my children wherever you choose to call home. May
his face shine upon you and be gracious to you. May
the Lord’s face bring you favours and grant you
peace’.”

Between the three of us seated on the bed, we all
chorused: “Amen!”

I exhaled a deep breath.
I wasn't expecting that.
As it turned out, Mum wasn't done yet.
She continued: “And finally, as we prepare to take
our leave from your house, may you, your wife and
kids, continue to share and enjoy the love that I have
been privileged to witness since the day she arrived. I
am grateful that I was here to witness the birth of my
beautiful grandchildren. Please ensure you look after
and guide them as the scripture mandates. Pray for

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them always. Never do anything deliberately to
offend them. But if you do, please be quick to
apologize. A kindly worded correction with subtle
encouragement always works wonders. I'm sure you
already know so. As much as lies within you, strive
more not to antagonise anyone.”

Wow! I thought.
That was a lecture, a prayer and advice combined.
How amazing!
“Thank you!”
There was a moment's silence before Dad cleared
his throat.
“I don't think there's anything else better I could
have added to top such comprehensively inclusive
speech. Your mother seems to have covered it all for
both of us. Better not to spoil it.”
I nodded.
He was right.
Now it was my turn to respond.
“Thank you once again for your kindly
encouraging wise words and prayer. It's often been
said that advice is not always one directional. So, as
parents are known to advise their children,
sometimes where necessary, children must also not
overlook giving the same to their parents too.”
Both nodded in acknowledgement of such a
simple fact of life.
“I believe both of you have now attained the age
of wisdom. You’ve also passed the lifetime of three
score and ten. Meaning, you are approaching those
twilight years people always talked about. In my

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opinion, this is it. It’s your time to pause and reflect.
Perhaps, on the life you've led so far. Age is nothing
but a visionary map of past events. It allows for the
experience of hindsight. And more insightful analysis.
If there's one wish I may ask of you; Dad, when you
depart from here. It is that you respect your wife as
you should, always. I don't know whether you ever
really appreciated the fact that this same woman
seated beside you, has in more ways than I could
imagine, been the best home manager anyone could
have hired without paying a fortune in service fees. I
don't know for sure how much housekeeping you
allowed Mum when we were little.”

I noticed a sharp grin spread across the corners of
my mother's lips.

Then she shook her head slowly.
I believe I understood what such body language
actually meant.
“What I do know is this: whatever she was given,
pittance or a bagful, Mum diligently performed her
managerial magic. She ensured we all had enough to
eat. Not just anything, but deliciously tasty
homemade grub every time. Her kitchen pots were
anti-food drought. She never complained.
Sometimes, I wonder why not? I believe she knew
best. As a child, it wasn't my place to make a fuss. My
guess is that she understood the temperament of the
man she married. That may be true. But I later
realised that Mum also wanted to keep the peace at
all cost. That being said, you never quite saw the
skills your wife brought to the party. Nor how she

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strived so hard to ensure that the food laid out upon
your table when you came home from work. And
ours after school, was made possible by the genius of
this one highly skilled home manager. This is the
same woman whom we’re so forever indebted to.
And proud to be called our mother. She is your wife,
and you ought to cherish her more. I just thought I
should mention it. Because the ones we sometimes
take for granted, are usually the most dedicated to
our lives. They never get a thank you note while busy
sorting out everybody else!”

Dad straightened up and scratched his left ear
looking more pensive.

His response.
“I applaud your mother for her courage and
intelligence. I'm sure this will come as a pleasant
surprise to her ears. Hearing me admit this fact. If
there was anything at all, that I could terribly be
accused of being envious of your mother, it would be
her calm and joyful disposition at all times. I am
guilty! Her patience and forbearance have been
legendary even under crisis. I envied her for that.
Sometimes I wished I had a bit of her spirit.”
Mum was shocked alright!
What I couldn't work out was whether the shock
was for being thrilled at her husband's confession, or
something else.
It didn't matter whichever way the wind blew
over a Cockerel's back-side, it will usually expose its
arse.

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What mattered was the expression I saw on her

face.
It was absolutely priceless.
For the first time as an adult, I genuinely believed

that my father was expressly being deeply honest
with his wife.

It wasn't something easy to admit.
And above anything else, he seemed humbled.

182

9

It was late August, the day Mum got on that early
morning flight back to Lagos with my Dad.

I had to put up a front and pretended as if
everything was alright.

In all honesty, it wasn’t.
The journey was very emotional for me and I
nearly shed a tear.
When I looked at my mother, I realised she was
still full of life.
I was glad to note though, that her diabetic
condition was tightly guarded.

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Thoroughly monitored, and was reasonably under
control.

Before now, she had mastered how to self-
manage the condition, so it doesn't become an
undesirable life sentence.

She wouldn't need any assistance henceforth.
Not from me or anybody else.
She was capable of taking her medication so long
as I continued to fulfil the re-supply of her
prescriptions, whenever they ran out.
She walked up straight and her knees were
without any deformity anymore.
No more crutches to aid her walking.
Her eyes were sharp and alive, shining through
behind her chosen varifocal prescription lenses.
She looked absolutely stunning, like her old self
again.
As I waved them both my goodbyes, I suddenly
muttered expressively under my breath: “I love you
Mum. You're the best!”
If I had dared to say it any louder, I probably
would have burst into tears.
So, I did not.
Nobody at the airport wanted to see a grown man
shed emotional tears in a public place, just because
their mother was returning to base.
Instead, I stood and watched, while they
manoeuvred through airport passenger screening
barriers and security.
It was for the same reason I now do remember
thinking gladly to myself, that Mum has been fixed.

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Well, almost!!

185

10

So, why do I shed these tears then? I hear you
wonder.

I'll tell you why.
You see, I finally received the dreaded phone call I
knew would come at some point.
Sometime! Someday!
Not today, because this is a narrative of what has
already happened.
It first came from Janet.
Yeah!
You do remember my little sister. Don't you?

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The one who knew the direction she preferred her
life's course to take, better than the one I thought I'd
figured out for her?

Yes, that one!
She broke the news to me over a very nervous
telephone call, telling me that our dearest mother
had a fall.
“Why?”
"When?”
"How?”
“From where?”
I seemed to have queried all the above too
simultaneously.
Totally distraught before catching my breath.
“I don't know!” she replied.
“You don't?”
“Aunty Chi found her. She must have gone to use
the bathroom and…”
The story sounded a little too familiar.
It felt like a previously closed door leading into the
depths of darkness, has once again swung open,
dredging up heart skipping memories I'd rather
forget.
My mind raced.
Back to the night Mum fell in my home.
And then suddenly, I had the weirdest feeling of
déjà vu, run through my entire body.
An unusual worrying chill simmered down my
spine.
My body shuddered involuntarily.
This wasn't going to be the same.

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Everything about this news was different though.
A lot was flying through my mind, you see.
Thoughts!
Trying to piece together all the bits of
information, in order to make sense of the whole
thing.
From location to floor covering.
To other circumstances, which might impede
proactive action, including the general lacklustre
attitude to haste, which is common amongst the
people.
Add that to the general belief that things happen
for a reason, and you're left with stupendous
resignation of the worst possible outcome.
“Where is Mum now?” I finally managed to ask.
“She’s with aunty Chi and Alika. They are on their
way trying to get her to the nearest hospital.”
“Trying to? What does that even mean? Are they
in hospital yet or not?”
“That's what I meant. They're on their way.”
“Is there any possibility that she might have
banged her head against any solid object, like your
concrete flooring?”
“I don't know. They’d call me as soon as they get
to see a doctor.”
“So, you know nothing other than the fact that
Mum had a fall? Could you not have asked whether
she hit her head? Last time I checked; she was
staying at your house.”
“I'm sorry bro. I panicked and didn't think to ask.”

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“No, you didn’t! Anyhow, please keep me posted.
I'm just a bit concerned. If it turns out that she did hit
her head on your hard-concrete flooring, then we
may potentially have a bigger problem in our hands.”

Shortly afterwards, I got this email:

-------- Original Message --------
From: Alika
Subject: Mum.
Date: 13.09.2017, 12:19
To: Jamie

Hello bro!
How are you doing?
I sincerely hope you’re well.
How’s your family?
Believing that all is well with your family over
there too.
I’m really sorry if this email arrives in your inbox,
looking like unsolicited spam.
It wasn't intended as such.
Rather, it is to alert you about a sudden current
development, which is now shadowing over our
dearest mother, like sunken clouds.
You see, early this morning, sister Janet called me
up to report that Mum apparently had a slip.
Meaning, she fell. Only a few feet away from the
bathroom door.
Myself and aunty Chi had to rally round and
rushed her to the hospital.

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As I am writing this, Mum remains in the
emergency room.

The doctor seeing to her has already suggested
she will need to be properly admitted, for in-depth
examination.

Without which, it may be difficult to determine
the reason behind her fall.

According to him, Mum’s pulse is poor. And they
were trying to assist whichever way possible to
improve upon her breathing.

When informed about Mum being diabetic as a
possible factor, the doctor had gone on to reassure
us that her blood sugar was perfectly within normal
levels for her age.

Hence, was quickest at dismissing any concerns to
the alleged suggestion that her prescription
medication, or blood sugar, had anything to do with
it.

That said, Mum seems to be in great pain.
Currently, she is unable to stand or walk.
We had to physically move her.
The medics insist that her continued distress may
very well be as a result of the fall.
No surprises there then!
The thing is, nobody has yet confirmed to us,
whether she suffered any internal fractures or not.
So, as of this moment, that is the situation we’re
in.
Just thought you should know.
Anyway, we are still at the hospital, waiting for
the doctors to advise us their next move.

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Once again, my sincere regards to all that is within
your household.

Alika.
---------------------------------------------

My response was as follows:

From: Jamie
Subject: Mum.
Date: Sep 13, 2017, 14:25
To: Alika

Thank you for bringing me up to speed on detail.
It has been very helpful.
More than little Janet would ever have explained.
I'll send you some money to assist with costs as
soon as I can. I know you'll be needing it.
Please endeavour to keep me abreast of all
situation events as they unfold.
In the meantime, well done for your proactive
efforts.

Jamie.
---------------------------------------------

And then much later, I received the following text
message from Janet.

“Bro! Any chance you could send us some money
to assist. Aunty Chi and Alika have already been to
three hospitals regarding the matter at hand. None

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were willing to allow Mum full access to medical
treatment, without us paying down a hefty sum as
deposit. Whatever you can. It's urgent, please.”

What?
Again, not much detail.
That’s exactly how generic my sister Janet can
sometimes be!
At other times, she could very well be blooming
marvellous.
But it was past eight at night.
And what does a hefty sum mean?
How could this be happening?
Why wasn't anybody in my family thinking with
their heads screwed on?
Why couldn't they rally around each other and
deal with such a critical situation, without first
sending me this sort of desperate request for money.
Why does it always have to be me and Wilco who
are so often called upon for a rescue plan, whenever
lightning strikes a family branch. Or its undergrowth?
Yeah! The reason is obvious.
Isn't it?
Everybody else it seemed, was jealously guarded
against the full protection of their own little egg nest.
None was willing near enough to commit to
spending thousands on a collective project.
Which on the face of it, doesn't usually look as
though any such expenditure would ever be
recovered!
Funny though, how something could be so
unfunny at first.

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And then suddenly turn out to be as hilarious in
hindsight. Even when nobody has actually fallen over
themselves with cracking laughter.

On this occasion, I wasn't laughing!
Rather, I felt the exact opposite.
Totally worn out, up to my loins.
All of this was happening in a country where
complaining was second nature to mosquito bites,
and everything else.
Moaning wasn't just about not having the luxury
of frequent electricity, or communal clean water
supply.
More like institutionalised lack of progressive
vision, by corruptly elected officials, who do nothing
more than enrich themselves and their cronies.
The circle of continued degradation is then
worsened, by total apathy of a people so worn down
by decades of dysfunctional governance, from
Sokoto to Akwa Ibom.
Meaning, that irresponsible neglect is so endemic
to the core of indigenous population, it's become
undesired normal.
Therefore, it is presumed easier to spend on
somebody else's hard-earned remittances, than dip
into own local resources.
Here, even the banks are profiteering by taking a
commission for the service.
There's also something else.
A recognisable myth within the local population.

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About how better, nearly all citizens, who for
various reasons chose to emigrate overseas, have
fared financially.

This notion, apparently based upon misguided
fallacy of composition, was noted to be on the
increase.

Worryingly amongst the very young and
ambitious.

Sadly, this same delusional myth, continues to fuel
the growth of other associated bizarre unrealities.

Like, money being made easily somewhere else
overseas without too much fuss.

Seriously?
My heart bleeds!
This myth is exactly that!
Misguided fallacious baloney!
But here's what I don't understand.
Why don't people with resources, water the grass
where they are, even when it may seem greener
across someone else's bridge?
Usually, it would take the hunger and creative
genius of people like you, me, her, him and them,
with determined selfless sacrifices, to bring about
the necessary change of things we don't like, for the
better of all citizens.
If only these young people knew how precariously
steep some of the dodgy mountains, a lot of
immigrants have to climb over there were.
Yes! If only they understood that snow may look
freshly appealing when seen on television, but also
wickedly treacherous when slippery.

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If only they knew how some of those who
encouraged such misconceptions, may have to
return to cramped rooms in shared accommodation.

To begin all-over again, the process of
replenishing emptied wallets, only after a short
seasonal flamboyant display of unnecessary
extravagance.

If only they knew! Perhaps they may begin to
understand that life beyond the local shores, isn't
quite as glittering for everyone as perceived.

If they only understood that the streets of
London, New York, Moscow or Paris could be
extremely cold and depressingly lonesome, with no
leisurely visibility of gold or silver coins littering
anywhere for easy pickings.

And yes, this isn't no illusion.
It's a fact!
There are actually very poor people in all of these
places.
And not everyone is essentially well off.
There are too many people with mental health
issues, which others call mad.
Destitute beggars are visible eye sores upon some
high street store entrances.
More abound around most train stations.
Rough sleepers without any permanent
residential address to call home.
Yes! These people all exist in most of these
overrated foreign cosmopolitan cities across the
world.
In Glasgow too!

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These are part of the sad realities of life abroad,
which never gets made into a movie for international
broadcast on television.

All such stories about the very rich, leaving out
properties in the street for free collection by the less
privileged, is just that - stories!

In Africa, similar kinds of things happen too.
Albeit, on a different level.
People dump out what they don't need.
It's called the dumpster.
If only they knew the full story!
Then it hit me.
Really hard.
Like an explosion of thoughts combined with
flashes of searing heat wave.
Quit wallowing in self-pity!
I quickly realised that this whole thing wasn't
about me.
Yes! For once, it actually wasn't.
And how surprisingly refreshing to note that such
a feeling was deeply solemn.
This was about our beloved and dearest mother.
Whose life as I now understood it, seemed to
hang delicately in the balance of a tipping medical
scale, quite literally.
It could slide either way.
This was about the woman who’d given us all
she's got, in so many ways.
She’d been our all-in-one connoisseur, as much as
she could.
Our mother, the errand chef.

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Unpaid home keeper-cum house help.
Child comforter.
Peaceful advisor in times of emotional crisis and
so on.
She was all of the above and more.
This same woman would have freely donated her
arm to any of us, without a second thought, if it
actually came down to it.
But now time was of the essence.
The strongest hand should strike first, right?
And then perhaps ask questions later.
I pulled myself out from the depths of this
undeserving wallowing in self-pity.
Then sucked in a prolonged deep breath.
As I exhaled, I went ahead and texted the
following response back to Janet.
“OK. It's rather too late in the evening. There’s
really nothing much I could do at this time. However,
I will speak with your husband if he could take care
of any outstanding emergency bill request, in order
to ensure that Mum was attended to quickly without
all this faffing about. Time was already running out. I
will arrange some funds transfer to Alika in the
morning.”
I couldn't imagine how long Mum had been kept
waiting unattended to properly.
One thing was crystal clear in my mind.
The more she was denied effective medical care,
the more time was wasted.
Meaning; damages already caused will deepen
irreversibly.

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In my opinion, that meant the less likely she'd
survive this one.

Thereafter, I called Janet's husband.
He said he would be happy to help wherever
possible.
Then I read AIika’s email below.
------------------------------------------

From: Alika
Subject: Update on Mum
Date: Sep 13, 2017, 20:10
To: Jamie

Bro! Sorry to bother you once again.
Just wanted to ask you if we should go ahead and
admit Mum.
They are threatening to move her out of the
emergency room.
The common excuse being that they needed to
attend to other paying patients.
So, while waiting for the money you'd already
promised to pay into my account, I guess maybe we
could just plead with the authorities here. In the
hope that someone, somehow, may have a pitiful
conscience. A change of heart that could necessitate
advancing the admission process, and hopefully elicit
some helpful treatment for Mum.
In the interim, I will be asking a very good friend
of mine for an assistance loan advance of about
N150.000.

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It will be on the clear promise to pay back within
twenty-four hours. I am hopeful that before then,
the help you’re kindly offering would have come
through.

On a thoughtful note, it's heart-breaking for me to
even begin to consider how we have gotten to this
low. Where we are stranded out here at the hospital,
it seems, looking hopeless, as though Mum has
nobody of timber and calibre.

None of substance at all?
While two of her sons have homes overseas!
Please don’t be upset.

Alika.
------------------------------------------

Don’t be upset?
I’m not!
Why should I be?
There was no reason to be upset over situations I
can't control from afar.
In fact, I thought he was being proactive in his
approach.
And actually, doing something helpful.
The truth is, Alika's last email paragraph nearly
brought tears to my eyes.
Was he right?
Perhaps!
It also did something else.
It unleashed the fire within my stomach, and set it
raging with flames.

199