African fathers: “Idara this one looks just like Essien.” – Idongesit

I grew up with a typical African father but unlike the majority of African fathers, mine was intelligent yet the “Africannish” was still in him.
The world had to center around my father; at home, it was statutory impress that his superior position was be acknowledged at all times. A culture enforced with sheer brutality even at the slightest challenge.
My African father also never said “I am wrong; I am sorry; please teach me.” These were taboo phrases like they are to most African men I have so observed.

 
I hated the old man; the violent and proud man but when I grew up to become a man myself, I saw in me the stark similarities all so telling. This horrified me and I loathed the face I saw on the mirror everyday that a scar would have fixed this particular dilemma; a quick slash on the cheek and voilà! I would be recognized and distinguished by my scars rather than the much hated remarks from family and friends;
“Oh Idara this one looks just like Essien.”

“You are exactly like your father!”
These remarks haunted me and I hated the idea that society was oblivious to the pain and bile such would stir within me. I sometimes think my African father’s flaws as a human being has shaped me and my philosophy in life too much that I at once become appalled at the influence that negativity can have on one’s life but am I justified in my quest to be the antithesis, the “gegentail” always running towards the opposite direction?
While my father was violent, I chose nonviolence.

 
While my father suppressed women, I chose to uplift these beautiful souls.  While my father became a pastor, I asked the world “how that was possible?” If there was a god, surely he would call good men to mount his sanctum!
As I grow even older, the resemblance become more striking that I pretend the voices of suicide are just a call to save the world from another man just like my father. I even look back at the horrors of a missed childhood, I shriek at the idea of marriage that I too might not be responsible for another generation that would look just like my father in their insecurities and vulnerabilities.

 
In times of quiet contemplation, I hug my soul. I alone can correct the cycle or at least end it with the bravery of celibacy and wisdom of an apologist in lamentations of sorrow for a generation.
My African father wouldn’t explain his behavior neither would he ever apologize for any wrongdoing, so in the spirit of the “gegentail” I’ve learnt to say;
“I am sorry for existing.”
“I am sorry for anything I’ve done wrong.”
I will keep saying that with pride and courage; at the end of this very short life, be it 2 scores plus a dozen; I will say “I am sorry” to any query, that pride never hinders the apologies of sorrow; Sins of fathers.

Written By Idongesit