September 4, 2016 - 17:28
June Jordan (1982), author of Report from the Bahamas, “The ultimate connection must be the need that we find between us. It is not only who you are, in other words, but what we can do for each other that will determine the connection.”
I am a child of separation. My parents separated thirteen years ago when I had just joined first grade. I must admit that the discord has surpassed all heart aches I have encountered hitherto. My father was an alcoholic. He had actually turned out to be a Daily Drinking Officer in the local pubs in my village. He would come home in the wee hours of the night shouting insultive remarks about my mother. Time came when my mother could not keep up with his antics any longer so she decided to lock him out. I recall this particular day when dad came home in his norm. He knocked at the door and my mother did not open. He broke the hinges and the door flung open. My siblings and I were astounded. He bossed us to leave and go to our room.
We were shocked. Shocked because of our poor innocent mother who had been left in the hands of this man who seemed to be violent in the mere hours. “Hey, can you serve me food!” He bellowed. My mother said there was no food. She had not defied this one because the cold truth is, we had gone for days without food. He did not contribute anything toward the welfare our family. All his salary was used to quench his alcoholic thirst. My mum was unemployed at that time and used to do irregular blue collar jobs. Her meagre wages were used to pay for rent, meet our tuition fees and whatever remained would buy food and there he was, with the audacity to order food. He slapped her hard on her face. He pushed her to the wall and confined her. He choked her and before she could make a move, she was met with a flurry of stools and chairs. She cried.
It was not the first time this was happening. My very own mother had become subjected to battering but that day, we did not expect such kind of sensation. She laid on the floor helplessly while the ruthless man was recording her and mimicking how she cried. It was dehumanizing. We cried. I mean, it is so humiliating to witness your parent especially your mother being tortured. He was still raging. He knew we were watching but he had no sympathy to spare her. He had no respect for her. He then lit some cigarettes that had remained in his pocket. He leaned and started burning her with the ash on her neck. After he was ‘done’, he came laughing to where we were and told us not to worry about the incessant fights. Then he left. We ran to her rescue. She looked at us with tear strained eyes and assured us that everything was going to be okay.
Up to date, I still don’t figure out why she did not file a law suit against him. That was the last time I saw him for he left never to return or to hear from him again. We did not care about him then. After all, he did not have anything that could make us cling to him. My mother went back to school after a well-wisher heard about her and funded her education. She is now a clinical officer. However, I must admit it has been hard to grow up without paternal love and care. I became one of the minorities in school because majority of the students had both parents.
The incident was a tipping point in my life. I gradually developed the urge to help other children who were facing separation or divorce. Of course, I didn’t have sufficient knowledge at that time but at least I could refer them to my mother who could offer counselling services to them. When I joined high school, I started up a club with the help of my teachers and colleagues. Its sole purpose was to form an arena to comfort the few students who happened to experience what I had gone through a few years ago. I’m glad it still runs even after I completed school. This has shaped who I am today and how I relate with other people.
The extract from June’s report intrigues me. She is conscious of social class and clearly links common and individual identity in her example of the South African lady; Sokutu. Sokutu faces domestic abuse from her alcoholic husband. She approaches June about the issue. June is taken aback by her story and seeks help from all over the campus. Cathy, a student, comes in really handy to help Sokutu. Cathy shares in her pain because apparently she has faced that kind of problem but through her father. Cathy and Sokutu have nothing in common. She is actually a white Irish lady. However, she throws care to the wind and goes against all odds to help this poor, emaciated black colleague. She downplays discrimination and unites with her in her struggle.
Forming real connections with the people around us is key to finding ourselves, who we really are and more so being socially conscious about people.