My biological father was practically just a sperm donor. He disappeared from my mother’s life when she told him, “I’m pregnant with your child.” My mother, who was only a teenager at the time had to face all sorts of criticisms and hardships alone. According to the story she told me, my father would sometimes appear out of nowhere and apologize for leaving her. And then he would promise to stick around. She was young and filled with hope so she often believed him, only to be left standing alone as soon as the bills came piling up. His disappearing and reappearing act continued until she had me. Then one day he disappeared and never came back.

His absence left a void in my life. I remember how I grew up looking for a father figure in odd places. Whenever things got hard, I would go to this happy place in my head. In that place, my daddy loves me. He comes home to our family every day after work. And he buys me all the pretty dolls I could ever play with. In my happy place, my daddy was a superhero. He came to my rescue whenever I was in distress. They say escapism is not good, but in the harsh reality of an absent father, escaping into my daydreams was the only comfort I had.

Things became more difficult for me when my mother remarried. In the beginning stages, I was happy. I believed I was finally going to have a daddy. I told myself, “Now when my friends talk about their fathers, I can also say something about my new dad. He will protect me from bullies, and buy me pretty dolls.” But I was just a child; full of hope, and wishes. I suppose I inherited that from my mother. And boy, was I disappointed. The moment the newness of our family wore off my stepfather revealed his true face. For whatever reason known to only him, this man despised me. Every little thing I did at home earned me bodily harm. He would hit me and make sure there was a wound to prove the brutality of his bullying. And every time this man hit me I would crawl into a corner somewhere and cry, calling my biological father from wherever he was, to come and rescue me. But he must have been too far away to hear me. I’m sure that’s why he never showed up.

In case you’re asking the question; “But where was your mother when all this was going on?” The answer is, she was there all along. She saw all the things her husband did to me, but she chose to say nothing. Maybe she was scared that if she stood up against her husband, he would also leave her as my father did. You know the lengths some women go to protect their marriages. So I endured whatever I had to suffer at home till I turned eighteen. At that age, I was legally an adult. My body had also shed all traces of girlhood. One look at me, and you would know that I am a woman. This caused a few men to dally around me, in an attempt to win my heart. I didn’t pay any attention to them, but my stepfather did. He hated the idea that any man would consider me loveable.

One night one of the guys vying for my affection was found lurking around our house. I had no idea that he was there. Yet my mother’s husband said I was the one who asked him to meet me there. That night this man beat me black and blue. Again, my mother looked on and did nothing. After he finished, my mum said; “It’s not normal that my husband will hit you like this just because a boy is interested in you. Maybe he wants you for himself. I may be wrong about that but we can’t take that risk. That’s why you can’t stay here anymore. I have packed your things already. Hurry up and leave this house before you ruin my marriage.”

Honestly, I thought I was hallucinating. I thought pain had turned me delirious. That was the only explanation for what my mother was saying. It couldn’t possibly be true that the woman who birthed me was throwing me out into the rain, right after her husband battered me. I shook my head in an attempt to clear the fog hovering over me, but nothing changed. My mother was standing over me, shoving a small bag into my closed hands. When I hesitated to take the bag she screamed; “Didn’t you hear me? Take the bag and leave.” In a confused state, I took the bag and dragged my broken body through the rain, and headed out. I didn’t know anyone to go to so I went to the safest place I knew, church.

I sought refuge in our church auditorium that rainy night. My pastor and one of our deacons found me in the morning. I was so injured that they rushed me to the hospital. They took care of me in the hospital and took me to the mission house after I was discharged. All of this happened in 2006. As soon as I recovered, I got a job and saved enough money to get my own place. After I moved out, I worked harder and saved some money to further my education. I enrolled in the Korlebu midwifery and nursing training college. When I was in school I met Kofi. He was a medical student who lit up every time he saw me. Unfortunately for him, I found men repulsive so his attention only got on my nerves.

However, Kofi was not deterred by the way I always dismissed him as if he didn’t exist. He also didn’t push himself to cross my boundaries. He was a calm guy, while I was a scared girl hiding beneath layers of brashness and aggression. With patience, he won my trust one layer at a time. It actually took me nine years of studying him before I agreed to be his girlfriend. He gave me all the love that I never got from my family and I am happy I gave him a chance. He is my world now, guys. Shortly after we started dating we started preparations for marriage.

In the process of our preparations, my family members insisted that I go and look for my biological father and invite him to take part in the ceremony. I objected at first, but they said it was the way of tradition. So against every fibre of my being, I reached out to him. When I heard his voice on the phone I didn’t feel like I was talking to my father. It felt like I was talking to a stranger. He asked me questions; “So how has life treated you?” “Life was unkind to me when I was a child but now things are better so it’s all good.” He asked me questions about the man I was going to marry, and I told him basic stuff about Kofi. The moment he heard me say, “He is a doctor,” his tone changed.

READ MORE: I’m Torn Between Giving Birth Out Of Wedlock And Letting The Pregnancy Go

My biological father started rambling on about how he was facing a series of hardships. He then listed all the things he needed to make his life better and demanded that I provide those things for him. That day I surprised myself because I listened to him calmly. I even said “Okay, I’ve heard you,” at the end of the call. After I hung up I blocked him. I told my family that I didn’t want my father at my marriage ceremony and I stood my ground. My stepfather was also too ashamed to talk to me. But that didn’t bother me, I still invited him. He was the one who ignored all the invitations I sent to him.

So on the day I got married, my mother’s uncle stood in as my father and received the items my husband’s family brought. At the end of the day, I married the love of my life. It didn’t matter that none of my dads showed up. My mother was there alright. She tried to get close to me but I didn’t allow it. I forgave her long ago but I keep her at arm’s length and love her from afar. I have a daughter of my own now, so the best I can do is learn from my mother’s mistakes and love my daughter better. I am sharing my story because of Mavis’ story. I just want to tell her that sometimes toeing the line of tradition is not the practical thing to do. She should do whatever is best for the situation and ignore the demands of tradition.

— Abena

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