Chapter 1; The Pandora’s Box

We had done some general cleaning that day and we were really tired. We had decided to retire after the hectic day, as I remembered that I had seen some old newspapers somewhere under my mother’s bed. In no time I was there, the old newspapers were aged and turning into pale yellowish colour, all in all, they were in a good state. I took them and scurried to my bedroom so as to avoid questions and scrutiny from my mother.

As I was reading through them hastily, I came across this article with a bold headline “HAPPINESS AND GRIEF“… What a conflicting title? Couldn’t help but think about it. Maybe it’s an interesting story? Just as I thought, so did it. I buried all my attention to the story which had happened about 16years ago and was as old as me. It was written with an italic font and read as follows;

On 9th July 1970, in the city of Nairobi, something extraordinary has happened. A man was at work ready to go home when he was interrupted by a telephone call from the hospital informing him that his expectant wife was admitted to Kenyatta National Hospital. He ran to his car as soon as he realised he was soon to be a father. At this time blood was rushing through his entire veins and excitement had taken over.

As the realisation of fatherhood was settling in his mind, he subconsciously continued to accelerate from 60km/h to 80… to 100… to 140 and so on. As he was on his way to the hospital so was his child to the vast fast world………. BUM! BUM! BUM! that was the sound reported to have been heard from the witnesses around. The car was upside down and one of the back tire was still spinning,the man inside the car was bleeding profusely like water from a tap.

Inside the hospital the mother had just pushed out a bouncing baby boy who was at that time held upside down, suspended by one of his limbs, then spanked which made it to wail and breath it first breathes unfortunately as this was going on so was its father giving up the ghost with a sigh…

OH! What a tragedy? How can a new born encounter such a cruel thing? Life can be totally unfair, I couldn’t help my thoughts. At least am not in that baby’s shoes. It would kill me to know that my father had died as a result of wanting to see me… Anyway, I have a dad even though we are never in good terms. I sighed and continued reading…

“… the infant’s mother was met with an unexpected grief moments after a heart filled happiness of delivering a bouncing baby boy by the name Mal...”

What, are my eyes playing tricks on me? No! No! No! This can’t be right. Am I in the wrong dream? but I have a Dad and Mum. Maybe our names are just similar. Taking a second look I notice the date on the article was exactly the same as my birthday and they had also mentioned my mother’s name. I could not hold the rage and I was bottling up ready to explode. I took the article and stormed into the sitting room, where I found my mother relaxing on the sofa.

“You, you,… Hired, liar, mother of good for nothing, how could you do this to me?” my eyes were bloodshot and I was breathing hard like a wrestling bull.

“Ddddoo.. do what my son?” her face was perplexed, she could tell there was something wrong but she completely had no idea what it was.

“Don’t give me that innocent look,” I snapped and threw the newspaper, with the article, on the table.

She took it and skimped through the article, like a surprised woman she held the back of her head with one hand then bit a finger from the other, and dropped the paper “am sorry son… I really am. I wanted to tell you when u were older..”

“Older? Older my left foot, my big toe…” she had started crying and before I could continue my torture, a deep voice bellowed.

“don’t talk to your mother like that or…”

“Or what?” I could feel the beast in me wanting to overpower me, “Do you think you will lay your hands on me? Never again. I will have to die first” I sounded like a rattled snake ready to bite and win the battle.

“Leave him be baba Malvin,” a soft crying voice was heard as soon as my father, oh!meant my former father, tried blocking me from leaving the room.

“I heard that, and for your information, he is not baba malvin but baba nothing..” I walked past him and as soon as I was in my room I banged the door behind me.

The tears that had watered my socket couldn’t be held back anymore and they came sweeping my cheeks off, I could not help but feel betrayed especially from my mother. The only person I was supposed to trust, how could she? Nevertheless, the mistreatment from my so-called father now made sense, it was because I was not his biological son.

I could not bring myself to forget all those encounters with him, a couple of times he had given me a black eye and one time he had even broken two of my ribs. Could not help but remember the worst day of it all.

It was an ordinary school day and I was only 7 years old, It was the first week of school and my first day at school, unluckily there was a boy called Marktosh, fat and bigger than all the other students. He had severally tried to bully me but I was cunning enough to elude him.

He was not happy about it and he kept telling me he will beat me up right after school, how I dreamt that school wouldn’t end that day. If you imagining his size and my small body, that terrified me. I didn’t know who to turn too and what to do, as a time to go home was ticking the rain started to pour down.

When the bell rang, I ran out of class and planned to run all the way home, in order to avoid a beating from Marktosh, but unfortunately, he caught up with me just a few meters away from the school gate. He pushed me, where I fell into the mud with a thud, and before I could pick myself up he stepped on the back of my head and I swear I must have drank a glass of muddy water.

When I managed to pick myself up everyone was laughing at me and I really felt embarrassed, all I could do was cry and walk slowly towards home. When I reached our homestead I found Dad sitting outside drinking his beer, when he looked at me I could see the disgusted look he had. He immediately removed his belt and whipped me accusing me of being a bad-mannered child, even without asking what had happened…

And I was just 7 years old, I could not control the amount of dark reveries that were crisscrossing my head, the more I thought of him the more my mind clouded my judgement and that’s when I had a crazy idea…

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