A young woman’s story of a loveless parentage which as left her adrift in a passive world….. The unkind chills of neglected childhood become more intense when it dawns on the victim that she could be on the verge of a hopeless and drifting voyage even as an adult. A Genevieve read-

er knows all about this as she finds herself caught in a wicked web spurn by the separation of

her parents

y name is Biola Olaleye and from my story you can tell that loneliness is not so much

about how many people crowd around you,  as it is about how many of them live in your

heart; near or far. Life has taught me that  love, care and guidance are about the most

important ingredients for a healthy and robust  childhood and growth into adulthood. These

elements play an important part in whether a child turns out a princess, a vagrant or a drifter. It also affects what kind of wife or mother you become. To start out, my father is well and alive somewhere in Lagos, my sur- name – Olaleye – is not his. It belongs to my maternal family. I know that also sounds odd, but all my life, I’ve known little outside oddity. In truth, that’s the overriding emotion about my life. Yes, I feel lonely, forgotten and odd in this world with its indifferent and passive faces. Recently some people were beginning to also say that I talk odd, appear odd and act odd too, psychopath is the word they are looking for. I am the sad reminder of my parents’ awry past: their bitter separation which has left me trapped in the middle, and their selfishness in all of it rings out loudly in my heart. My Odyssey began some 21 years ago when I was born as the fruit of a blossoming romance between two adults. I grew up like a normal kid – or so I thought – and knew nothing or cared for nothing else except understanding that my only family was my maternal grandmother. With age came a natural curiosity that follows growing up in that sort of circumstance; that is, without the love, intimacy, selfless guidance and care of a nuclear family. That was when I discovered that I was the love child of a love gone sour; of two adults who mutually agreed that their love was a miscarriage and their union stillborn, and so felt that their marriage destiny lay with other people. My mother is based in Italy with her new husband and family.  She would come home occasionally, lodge in a hotel and call me to meet up with her. She would then give me money to tally with the list of needs I would have drawn up. Thereafter, she would issue me a stern warning to stay clear of grandma; that is, her own mother whom I lived with until recently. I think afterwards she would attend to one or two personal businesses in Lagos and then disappear into thin air; probably back to Italy until about another three or four months again when she would surface. That is how I have lived; the only semblance of family intimacy I knew – although by its own merit that wouldn’t even qualify as a family relationship. My other said grandma is a witch who is responsible for all the misfortunes in her life. She doesn’t see eye to eye either with her elder sister – my aunt- whom she accuses of aliciously working with grandma to cause her downfall  (My aunt also lives in Italy). My mother says my aunt had always been grandmother’s favourite and that grandma would do anything – including recking her other children’s life – to see my aunt triumph over them. Grandma in turn does not hide her hatred for mother and detests even the mention of her name. She calls mother irresponsible, a prostitute and witch. My aunt does not like my mother’s face either and would square up to her at the slightest provocation. It is a whole big evil web spurn by sibling rivalry and a shell family spilling over so dangerously and insidiously, in which I have been helplessly entangled. And instead mobilised soldiers from the air force base, where she used to work, to beat him up and forcefully take her daughter (my mother) from him.  He said my grandmother said he wanted to thwart her plan to send my mother abroad for “greener pastures,” like she did for her other chil- dren. According to my grandmother, all her children had a better destiny which people like my father couldn’t have possible fitted into. My father said he slid out of the Olaleye’s purview to save his head and find happi- ness elsewhere. My mother sometimes calls him to deal him with harsh words over his total negligence of his paternal obligations to me, but he never budges and would even want to cajole my mother into an extra-mar- ital affair. At least, that is what my mother hinted me. Now everyone (my dad and mum) has gone ahead to rebuild their lives and look for happiness and I am the biggest loser – or so it seems right

now. My whole life appears to be in shambles – no real education, no healthy social life, no permanent home and no clear idea of what I really want in life. I know some life motivators would say every person is the cap- tain of their fate, but I am very handicapped. No one was there to teach and inspire me to expect success, to banish the fear of failure and to develop an optimistic attitude. The few attempts I have made to further my education beyond SSCE have ended in a deadlock, simply because there was no guidance and attention from my parents or anyone that

would have offered them like a parent or blood relation would. So I just drift along life like the traveller in Gulliver’s tale, hoping that someday, somehow, somewhere, good fortune will look my way. Then I will unlock all the love and joy secured away in my heart all these years and shower them on those that deserve them. I know that that would like- ly be a man and my kids MY FATHER’S ATTITUDE IN ALL OF THIS IS MOUTH-GAPING; ALMOST

OUTRAGEOUS; that is, if I could at least occasionally excuse my mother’s troubled relationship with her filial family on account that she sometimes cared about my financial needs (even though that too is ever short of my

real needs). I never even knew my father existed until I found out by chance. Each time I sought to know from my mum and grandma, they would dismiss my enquiry – and that so offhandedly – that he is an irre- sponsible man who never cared for me. Even though I initially found that hard to believe because it ran against every known notion of the African family culture that I was taught in school, the fact that he tried to hide his identity from me for a long time lent some weight to my mother and grand- ma’s allegation against him, even if it also leaves a very bitter taste in my

mouth. My elder sister and only sibling was another person not in good terms with my mother because she had a big quarrel with mum when she want- ed to marry her present husband. I understand my sister is in the care of

the UK government, where she lives, because she was sick for a long time and they said she was showing signs of lunacy. Of note, my mum is the only blood relationship I have with my sister – we have different fathers. I worry about that a lot because I later found out that my mum’s fortune with men had a similar tale with grandma, whom I learnt never lived with her husband and raised her kids alone. Could all of this be a generational thing? I don’t know. I only want to believe that I am immune to that. I SAW MY FATHER FOR THE FIRST TIME AS AN ADULT AT THE AGE OF 18! And that was after my mother had endured so much angry enquiries from me. She eventually gave in and handed me someone’s (his former neighbour) contact that could lead me to my dad. With the help of the

man, I traced my dad eventually to somewhere he arranged we could meet – somewhere in Ogba. He seemed nice at the time we met and assured that he would always be there for me. But that was all to it – sweet talk! He only calls once in a blue moon, giving flimsy excuses. Of course, now I know that he has left me to my fate. I understand he also has his own family and is trying desperately to shield his present wife from knowing about me. So you could understand why I don’t even know where he lives because he wouldn’t let me. I’ve stopped trying too. In fact I’ve stopped trying anything with regard to him because I think little of him nowadays though. That was especially after I

became livid when I heard he said he would only show up again on my wedding day to give me in marriage to a man! It felt all so excruciating thinking about how people could mindlessly exploit the African culture of respect for elders and be so abrasive and audacious in their assumptions. I’m so sure I don’t know how I will relate to him if he dared his plan – because I know I don’t love him like  a child would her biological father. I DON’T LOVE MY MUM AND GRANDMA EITHER, even if it is not to the degree I loathe my father. I have had several bust-ups with grandma, often packed out of her home and occasionally threatened that I would simply look for a permanent way out of the quagmire by getting pregnant. Truth is, I can’t really say now if that had been a threat or a plan. But I usually

make such threats in the heat of our squabbles, particularly whenever she tags me irresponsible and a tramp “just like your mother.” It is so painful and I often cry my eyes red sore for the throes of my life. I have tried living with the young couple my mum said I should stay with instead. But I guess I just couldn’t stay with the family because I don’t really find the wife agreeable. That has made me a drifter without a permanent home. MY FATHER HAS GOT HIS OWN STORY TOO. But what excuse will justi- fy the fact that he sacrificed his responsibility to me and my happiness for his own? He said my grandmother was overbearing and was a bad influ-