We are three children from three different fathers. I’m the eldest. Growing up, I watched my mother struggle to raise us. Sometimes things were so difficult that we didn’t know where our next meal would come from. I don’t know everything that happened between my mother and our fathers. What I know is that none of those relationships worked, and my mother ended up carrying most of the responsibility.

As the eldest, I grew up faster than my age. When my mother went out, I looked after my younger siblings. I helped them with homework, cooked when necessary and sometimes missed things my friends were enjoying because someone had to stay home.

I didn’t complain much because I understood our situation. I told myself that when I started working, I would help my mother so she could finally have some peace.

Then, when she was forty-six, she met another man. I didn’t have a problem with her dating but when she announced that she was pregnant, I couldn’t hide my disappointment. I asked, “Why are you having another child at this age? Haven’t you struggled enough raising the three of us?”

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She got angry. She asked who I thought I was to tell her what to do with her body. She nearly cursed me that day. She said because I had started working and earning a little money, I thought I could control her life.

We hadn’t even recovered from the difficulties of our childhood. My younger siblings were still finding their feet, and my mother was struggling financially. I asked whether the man was prepared to take responsibility. She told me to mind my business.

Before the child was born, the man disappeared. Just like that, my mother was alone again. When the baby arrived, I tried to help. I bought diapers, clothes and other things she needed. Sometimes I sent money for hospital visits and food.

I loved my little sister. None of what happened was her fault. But gradually, I noticed that my mother was beginning to treat her responsibilities as mine. Whenever the child needed something, she called me. If I said I didn’t have money, she became angry and reminded me that we were family.

I already sent her money every month from my salary. I don’t earn much, and after paying my rent, transportation and other expenses, there’s hardly anything left. Sometimes I have to postpone things I need because my mother has called with another problem.

I wanted her to become financially independent, so I saved money and opened a small shop for her. We stocked it with goods, and I encouraged her to take the business seriously. I believed the income would reduce how much she depended on me.

The shop didn’t last a year.

She didn’t have time to sit in the shop and sell. Eventually, the capital was gone. I was disappointed, but I didn’t fight her. I simply continued sending whatever I could afford.

My mother called one weekend and said she wanted to visit me with my little sister. They arrived, and we spent the evening together. My sister was excited to see me. She followed me around the house asking questions and telling me stories about her friends.

Before going to bed, I prepared somewhere for both of them to sleep. The following morning, my mother was gone.

She hadn’t discussed anything with me. She hadn’t asked whether I could accommodate my sister or whether I had the resources to raise another person. She simply left. When I called, she told me to enrol the child in a school near my house. “This child is for you than she is for me. If you don’t take care of her, who should?”

I was so angry I began shaking physically. To make matters worse, she cut the call on me.

For four days, my little sister stayed with me. I had to arrange someone to look after her whenever I went to work.

One evening, my sister asked, “Am I going to school here now?”

I didn’t know how to answer. That question also made me realized my mom had told her everything before leaving her here. She looked happy about the possibility of staying with me.

I called my mother again. I told her to come for the child because I had no space in  my life to cater for a child. She said, ‘You have a house. You have a job. You live alone. Are you telling me when you give birth today you can’t look after that child?”

Early Saturday morning, I carried my sister to the bus station and we boarded a bus back home to my mom. When she saw us, she wanted to run. I said, ‘If you leave, I will leave here and go back. I don’t care what happens to her.”

She asked whether I wanted the little girl to suffer. I told her, “I’m not going to live the rest of your life for you before I start my own life. I also deserve a fresh start.”

She called me selfish and said I was being wicked to own sister. I told her I’m young and waiting to start my own life. I didn’t want to explain to next man who would come into my life why I was living with a child.  I asked her when I would be allowed to think about my own future.

When  I was leaving she said sorrowful, “One day I will die and you’ll be the same person to take care of this child. If I were you, I would start now.”

I told her that even if she died today, my little sister would be on her own. “If you don;t trust what I’m saying, let’s test it. Die and let’s see.”

My mother cried. She said she never imagined she would give birth to a daughter who could say something so wicked. I left her house with anger and pity burning side by side inside my chest. I know my little sister didn’t ask to be born. She doesn’t deserve to suffer because of the decisions her parents made. If something happened to my mother, I wouldn’t want that innocent girl abandoned.

But I also don’t want my mother to force me into becoming my sister’s parent. I’m still young. I have things I want to achieve. I want to save money, build something for myself and eventually have my own family.

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Since I returned my sister, my mother has been telling relatives that I’ve rejected my own blood. Some have called to advise me to take the child because I’m the eldest and should understand my mother’s struggles.

I asked why everyone was talking about what I should do when something happened to my mother instead of discussing what my mother should be doing while she’s alive.

I was a child when I started helping my mother raise her children. That’s enough child raising. It’s about time my compass came to the north when it comes to my mother’s children. I don’t mean to punish my little sister for anything. But I also don’t want to spend my life paying for decisions I had no part in making.

Am I being wicked?

—Daniella  

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