My elder brother Steven has a different father, and my sister Martha does too. Then there’s me, the youngest. I also have a different father. My mom married three times. Twice she divorced; the last husband was my dad, who died a year ago. They were married for twenty-five years.

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My mom lives with me. She looks tired and mostly sick. I don’t leave her side since I’m the only child close to her. We talk a lot. Stories from when she was young and stories about the family she grew up in. But I realized there were some stories she steered away from, like her marriages, so I intentionally started asking questions about them.

My elder brother’s father was a driver when they got married. He could travel for days and return with foodstuffs. That was all he provided in the marriage. After coming home with the food, the rest of their living expenses fell on my mom.

My mom was a secretary to the boss of a small company. Back then, secretaries were people who sat behind a typewriter and typed away. You didn’t need a degree or any sophisticated courses. You just learned how to use the typewriter, and you were a secretary.

My mom didn’t have much, but she also didn’t complain because they had a small family. One day, her husband came home with a child who was older than my brother Steven. He said the child belonged to a family member, so my mom took the child in, thinking it was a temporary arrangement.

The truth came out. That child belonged to her husband. Not only that, but the child’s mother was pregnant again by her husband. She packed her things, carried Steve on her back, and left the house. She never went back until her family returned the man’s drink to formally end their marriage.

“He’s a dog who doesn’t have money,” she said. “All he did was go around impregnating women without taking care of them or the kids.”

Steven’s father has eight children from five mothers. These are the known ones. He’s old, grey, and alone now.

She said she left Martha’s father because he drank too much. He lost money, his reputation, and his job because he wouldn’t stop drinking. Some evenings, she would have to roam through town looking for him because he’d be too drunk to find his way home. And there were days strangers would bring him home because they found him sprawled on the ground next to a gutter.

“What didn’t we do about his case?” she said. “We traveled to spiritual places looking for answers because they said it was a curse. We had to take him to a river at dawn for spiritual cleansing, but he would come out of the river and celebrate his perceived freedom from alcohol with more alcohol.”

But my mom didn’t leave until one evening when, she said, he turned on her, beat her mercilessly, and accused her of being responsible for his situation. He demanded sex while drunk. Martha was only three months old when that happened. She said she left home for the baby’s safety, but spending time outside the marriage gave her a kind of freedom she never had in the marriage. She didn’t go around looking for a husband at night. Strangers didn’t bring a husband home, saying they found him by the gutter. She didn’t go from bar to bar settling debts she didn’t acquire. She had learned to live alone, so she left the marriage.

She loved Martha’s father, from the way she described their marriage and how she described him: “A beautiful, soft man who allowed alcohol to eat his life away. But he was a kind man. He wouldn’t touch another woman because he had me.”

And then my dad came along. She said my dad met her when she was tired and looking for a home where there was a father figure for her kids, so she didn’t play hard to get when they met. She said my dad was the only man she slept with while they were unmarried because she was eager and defenseless. They married within a year and moved in with my half-siblings until I came along.

I never saw them fight or quarrel for a single day. My mom had moved away from her secretary job and was running her own business, teaching young people how to use the typewriter for money. She stayed home because my dad asked her to, so she could have time for the kids.

In my mind, they had a great marriage. In my mind, my dad played a fatherly role for all three of us because I never saw him favoring one over the others. He paid our fees himself and usually came home with something in his hands for us.

My brother Steven left home right after JHS. Martha also left to live with an aunt after JHS, so it was just us until I went to school. I was doing my national service when my dad died.

My mom didn’t want to talk about her marriage with my dad. She would say, “You saw everything, so there’s no need to.” Then she would make a face that said there was a lot she wasn’t going to say.

One day, she opened up: “Your dad is the worst among the men I married. I would have left him if I wasn’t tired and scared of what society would say. He wasn’t the man everyone thought he was. One day, you’ll realize that you’re not his only child.”

According to my mom, my dad had a child with another woman while they were arguing about her own kids. The woman disappeared with the baby when she realized my dad was married, so she couldn’t live with him.

My other siblings left home not because they wanted to but because my dad wanted them out of the house. According to my mom, they started fighting about it a year into the marriage. Because of that, my dad didn’t spend a dime on them. If my dad paid their fees, it was my mom who gave him the money. For all the time they lived with us, my dad didn’t give my mom housekeeping money, but Mom had learned not to complain.

Now, these two siblings avoid my mom. Steven hates my mom so much because, to him, she abandoned him, and the sad thing is, my mom isn’t doing anything to bring them closer. She said, “They are right to hate me, and I’m too tired to explain myself. I’m happy they’ve grown into something. That’s all that’s important.”

I Was Fine Until I Was Alone In My Room

I had judged her until I heard her full story. She tells me, “Don’t marry to leave. Make the right choice from the start. But you see, if he changes in a way that steals your joy and makes you depressed, don’t hesitate to come home. You’ll live to regret it if you endure your marriage instead of enjoying it.”

I don’t know how my life will turn out, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget this advice—to always come home when it’s terribly bad.

—Mavis

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