I grew up in Lekki, in a kind of duplexes with large gates and marble tiles. Individuals all the time mentioned I used to be fortunate. My “dad and mom” had been rich and revered. My dad was a retired basic; my mum ran a boutique. I went to the perfect colleges, had my very own driver, and by no means lacked something.
We had home helps come and go, however one lady stayed longer than anybody else, Mama Eka. She was quiet, older, all the time carrying wrappers and rubber slippers. She wasn’t just like the younger women who got here for fast money. She moved like somebody who had historical past. And he or she had this manner of me, like she was watching one thing she’d misplaced.
I by no means paid her a lot consideration. She was simply there, serving meals, cleansing, sometimes asking me how college was. I referred to as her “Mama” out of respect. I by no means imagined she was truly mine.
Every thing modified once I turned 22.
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I got here again from college one weekend and overheard a heated argument between my dad and mom. They thought I used to be asleep, however I heard all the pieces. My mum, or the girl I assumed was my mum, was shouting, “If she ever finds out the reality, all the pieces will disintegrate!”
I froze.
That evening, I went to Mama Eka. I don’t know why. Possibly deep down, one thing had all the time felt off. I requested her, “Who’s my actual mom?” Her eyes widened like I’d slapped her. She tried to disclaim it at first. Then she broke down crying.
She instructed me the entire reality.
She broke down crying
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She gave delivery to me when she was 17. She’d been a househelp in my father’s navy house. He received her pregnant and despatched her away. His spouse, the girl I’ve referred to as “mum” my complete life, couldn’t have kids. So when Mama Eka had me, they took me from her and introduced her again years later to work in the identical home because the maid. To “hold an eye fixed” on me.
I couldn’t breathe. I assumed I used to be dreaming.
Every thing began making sense. The way in which the girl I referred to as mum by no means confirmed actual affection. How she all the time launched me as “my husband’s daughter.” How Mama Eka as soon as cried throughout my secondary college commencement for no purpose. That wasn’t a maid’s delight. That was a mom’s delight.
Mama Eka checked out me with delight
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I confronted my father. He begged me to maintain it quiet. Mentioned it might “destroy the household’s identify.” I haven’t spoken to him since.
Now, I dwell with the girl who gave delivery to me. We’re strangers in some ways, however she holds my hand like she’s afraid I’ll vanish once more. I look within the mirror and see her nostril. Her eyes. Her resilience.
I misplaced all the pieces I assumed I knew. However for the primary time in my life, I do know who I actually am.
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