DEJI
DEJI
“Daddy,” the sound was a whimper rousing Deji from the depths of his dreams.
Deji forced his eyes open at his daughter’s voice. In the darkness, he couldn’t tell which one she was as they were still in the phase where they enjoyed dressing alike. However, it was only Lola who struggled with nightmares and often climbed into their bed at night for comfort.
“Lola?” he called, sitting up.
“Daddy, I’m scared,” she whispered.
Deji swung his feet off the bed and reached for his daughter, wrapping her in a hug.
“Do you want me to come snuggle with you a bit?” he asked, feeling the pulsating of her heart. Sometimes it marveled him how fragile his children were, how much they needed comfort and security and reassurance. There were times he had none to give, times when he was as scared as they were – like the time Lara had been diagnosed with pneumonia and she lost so much weight that he was terrified she was wasting away. He had come to accept that parenting was a roller coaster – there were exciting moments, moments that thrilled you and made you feel more alive than ever, and there were the moments that made you feel like throwing up.
“Can I come in your bed?” Lola asked instead.
Deji sighed, turning on the bedside lamp. He and Ivie had agreed to discourage Lola’s co-sleeping tendencies especially since Tolu was born. He glanced back at the bed to see if his wife had woken by any chance during the conversation.
He blinked.
Ivie’s side of the bed was empty.
Oh God. What now?
“Daddy?” Lola’s voice was tiny.
Deji scooped her up in his arms. “How about I tell you a story in your bed instead and then tomorrow, you can come snuggle in our bed?”
Lola slipped her thumb into her mouth and nodded before placing her head against his shoulder.
As Deji padded across their bedroom, he couldn’t help the thoughts racing through his mind. Where was his wife?
Dinner tonight had been delicious, as usual. Seafood pasta and fried plantains. Ivie was an excellent cook; it was one of her many functional skills and she seemed to enjoy cooking. When they had first gotten married, he had been in awe of her cooking skills. Even though she had been working full time then at the hospital, she always found a way to ensure that dinner was a feast and Deji had felt pampered and well cared for. He remembered that while growing up, their father’s taste buds determined what the family had for dinner. Their mother didn’t cook until she had found out from their father what he wanted for dinner and unlike other fathers who sometimes threw caution to the wind and said “anything”, their father seemed to have precise responses to the question “what do you want to eat tonight?”.
Deji wasn’t like that, though. Even if he was, Ivie never gave him the opportunity to determine what she would cook for dinner; he would have been losing out on a lot of delicacies if she did. The kitchen was one of her happy places, he had come to realize, and he often watched her transform from miserable to mildly excited whenever she cooked up something.
One of his favourite memories with her when they were just married was how she used him as a taste-tester for all her meals. Is the pepper too much? Do you think it needs more salt or maggi?
And then when she gave him tasks to do like fry the fish or meat, she laughed at the way he James-Bonded after dropping some in the hot oil.
“Once upon a time, there was an old tortoise who decided he wanted to go on a trip to find out what was on the other end of the earth…” he began telling the story to Lola, reining his thoughts about his wife in.
As a child, he had always wanted to be a dad. Strange, because it was usually girls who knew they wanted to be Mums from an early age. But he had known early, maybe from when he was eleven or twelve that being the caregiver for his own children was something he wanted to do. Perhaps this desire had stemmed from the fact that his father hadn’t been exactly nurturing to any of them. The man hadn’t been kind to their mother either and Deji who was always a fixer thought that he could right this wrong by doing better and being better as a man and a father. He had been close to his mother, had watched her tenderness with his siblings and desired to be that person to his own children. There were times he heard his mother sobbing quietly in the bathroom after an altercation with their father, times when he wished he could tell her to stand up for herself, to stop taking their father’s brutality. He was the oldest, but he also knew he was the weakest. He was too afraid of their father to stand up to him himself, rather his own way of creating peace was to bow to his father’s desires for him. The closest he had come to being courageous was using her phone to send a text surreptitiously to his uncle – his mother’s younger brother when he was a teenager, and after a particularly bad episode.
Please come quick, Uncle. He hates my mother.
No one knew what he had done until Uncle Badmus showed up in his Peugeot 504 and told their mother to enter, that he was taking her for a drive. It was a weekend, and their father was at a viewing center watching a football match so the coast was clear.
“I can’t leave my children,” their mother had protested as if she knew what Uncle Badmus was asking of her was more than an evening drive.
“Your children need you alive,” Uncle Badmus said, standing at the door and refusing to enter the house.
“Who called you? Why are you here, Badmus, ehn?”
Deji and his two siblings stood in the living room – twelve year old Benjy holding eight year old Ore’s hand – watching the events unfold. Deji was watching the clock – the football match had about fifteen minutes more and if their mother didn’t hurry, their father would be back soon.
Something had propelled him forward – perhaps the same thing that had given him the courage to send that text – and he took his mother’s hand and pulled her towards the door.
“We will be fine, Mummy,” he said.
“Oh, my boy,” his mother turned and cupped his face. At fifteen, Deji was an inch or two taller than she was.
“Go, Mummy,” he said.
“But where will I go? You children are all I have.”
“No, you are all we have. Please Mummy, just go.”
She turned then and hurried over to where Benjy and Ore stood. Ore was crying but Benjy was standing tall and knowing, like he understood the significance of this moment. Their mother hugged and kissed them, wiping tears from her face before swishing through the door with Uncle Badmus.
Teenager that he was at the time, Deji knew it was one of his finer moments in life. He had learned then that courage was not the lack of fear because even as he encouraged his mother to leave, he felt the trembling in his soul.
Some days as a husband and father himself, he wished he still had a drop of that courage. He wished he could get rid of the catatonic feeling that came over him when he thought about his wife and her problems. Why wasn’t he handling it better? Why was he being such a coward?
“The end,” he said the words to his sleeping daughter in a hushed tone. “Goodnight, little butterfly.”
Before leaving, he peeped into Lara’s bed. His older twin was a fitful sleeper, so she had one leg almost hanging off the bed and the blanket in a bundle beside her bed. He gently placed her foot back in the bed, picked up the blanket and tucked her in again before exiting their room.
Tolu’s room was next to the girls’ room, so he decided to make a quick stop to check on him.
The door was shut which was unusual because at two years, Tolu needed reassurance that the rest of his family was within earshot and so they often tried to keep his door open so they could hear him cry out.
So why was his door shut now?
Deji pushed the door open and peered into the dimly lit room. His eyes widened as he saw a bulk curled up on the floor beside his son’s toddler bed.
He moved quietly, peering into the bed first. Tolu was sleeping peacefully, releasing the occasional snore.
His wife on the other hand, lay on the floor and at first Deji didn’t understand what he was seeing.
She seemed dead to the world, and yet they were tears streaming down her face as she made whimpering sounds.
“Ivie? Honey?” he knelt beside her.
“I can’t,” she sobbed. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Daddy,” the sound was a whimper rousing Deji from the depths of his dreams.
Deji forced his eyes open at his daughter’s voice. In the darkness, he couldn’t tell which one she was as
they were still in the phase where they enjoyed dressing alike. However, it was only Lola who struggled
with nightmares and often climbed into their bed at night for comfort.
“Lola?” he called, sitting up.
“Daddy, I’m scared,” she whispered.
Deji swung his feet off the bed and reached for his daughter, wrapping her in a hug.
“Do you want me to come snuggle with you a bit?” he asked, feeling the pulsating of her heart.
Sometimes it marveled him how fragile his children were, how much they needed comfort and security
and reassurance. There were times he had none to give, times when he was as scared as they were –
like the time Lara had been diagnosed with pneumonia and she lost so much weight that he was
terrified she was wasting away. He had come to accept that parenting was a roller coaster – there were
exciting moments, moments that thrilled you and made you feel more alive than ever, and there were
the moments that made you feel like throwing up.
“Can I come in your bed?” Lola asked instead.
Deji sighed, turning on the bedside lamp. He and Ivie had agreed to discourage Lola’s co-sleeping
tendencies especially since Tolu was born. He glanced back at the bed to see if his wife had woken by
any chance during the conversation.
He blinked.
Ivie’s side of the bed was empty.
Oh God. What now?
“Daddy?” Lola’s voice was tiny.
Deji scooped her up in his arms. “How about I tell you a story in your bed instead and then tomorrow,
you can come snuggle in our bed?”
Lola slipped her thumb into her mouth and nodded before placing her head against his shoulder.
As Deji padded across their bedroom, he couldn’t help the thoughts racing through his mind. Where was
his wife?
Dinner tonight had been delicious, as usual. Seafood pasta and fried plantains. Ivie was an excellent
cook; it was one of her many functional skills and she seemed to enjoy cooking. When they had first
gotten married, he had been in awe of her cooking skills. Even though she had been working full time
then at the hospital, she always found a way to ensure that dinner was a feast and Deji had felt
pampered and well cared for. He remembered that while growing up, their father’s taste buds
determined what the family had for dinner. Their mother didn’t cook until she had found out from their
father what he wanted for dinner and unlike other fathers who sometimes threw caution to the wind
and said “anything”, their father seemed to have precise responses to the question “what do you want
to eat tonight?”.
Deji wasn’t like that, though. Even if he was, Ivie never gave him the opportunity to determine what she
would cook for dinner; he would have been losing out on a lot of delicacies if she did. The kitchen was
one of her happy places, he had come to realize, and he often watched her transform from miserable to
mildly excited whenever she cooked up something.
One of his favourite memories with her when they were just married was how she used him as a taste-
tester for all her meals. Is the pepper too much? Do you think it needs more salt or maggi?
And then when she gave him tasks to do like fry the fish or meat, she laughed at the way he James-
Bonded after dropping some in the hot oil.
“Once upon a time, there was an old tortoise who decided he wanted to go on a trip to find out what
was on the other end of the earth…” he began telling the story to Lola, reining his thoughts about his
wife in.
As a child, he had always wanted to be a dad. Strange, because it was usually girls who knew they
wanted to be Mums from an early age. But he had known early, maybe from when he was eleven or
twelve that being the caregiver for his own children was something he wanted to do. Perhaps this desire
had stemmed from the fact that his father hadn’t been exactly nurturing to any of them. The man hadn’t
been kind to their mother either and Deji who was always a fixer thought that he could right this wrong
by doing better and being better as a man and a father. He had been close to his mother, had watched
her tenderness with his siblings and desired to be that person to his own children. There were times he
heard his mother sobbing quietly in the bathroom after an altercation with their father, times when he
wished he could tell her to stand up for herself, to stop taking their father’s brutality. He was the oldest,
but he also knew he was the weakest. He was too afraid of their father to stand up to him himself,
rather his own way of creating peace was to bow to his father’s desires for him. The closest he had come
to being courageous was using her phone to send a text surreptitiously to his uncle – his mother’s
younger brother when he was a teenager, and after a particularly bad episode.
Please come quick, Uncle. He hates my mother.
No one knew what he had done until Uncle Badmus showed up in his Peugeot 504 and told their mother
to enter, that he was taking her for a drive. It was a weekend, and their father was at a viewing center
watching a football match so the coast was clear.
“I can’t leave my children,” their mother had protested as if she knew what Uncle Badmus was asking of
her was more than an evening drive.
“Your children need you alive,” Uncle Badmus said, standing at the door and refusing to enter the
house.
“Who called you? Why are you here, Badmus, ehn?”
Deji and his two siblings stood in the living room – twelve year old Benjy holding eight year old Ore’s
hand – watching the events unfold. Deji was watching the clock – the football match had about fifteen
minutes more and if their mother didn’t hurry, their father would be back soon.
Something had propelled him forward – perhaps the same thing that had given him the courage to send
that text – and he took his mother’s hand and pulled her towards the door.
“We will be fine, Mummy,” he said.
“Oh, my boy,” his mother turned and cupped his face. At fifteen, Deji was an inch or two taller than she
was.
“Go, Mummy,” he said.
“But where will I go? You children are all I have.”
“No, you are all we have. Please Mummy, just go.”
She turned then and hurried over to where Benjy and Ore stood. Ore was crying but Benjy was standing
tall and knowing, like he understood the significance of this moment. Their mother hugged and kissed
them, wiping tears from her face before swishing through the door with Uncle Badmus.
Teenager that he was at the time, Deji knew it was one of his finer moments in life. He had learned then
that courage was not the lack of fear because even as he encouraged his mother to leave, he felt the
trembling in his soul.
Some days as a husband and father himself, he wished he still had a drop of that courage. He wished he
could get rid of the catatonic feeling that came over him when he thought about his wife and her
problems. Why wasn’t he handling it better? Why was he being such a coward?
“The end,” he said the words to his sleeping daughter in a hushed tone. “Goodnight, little butterfly.”
Before leaving, he peeped into Lara’s bed. His older twin was a fitful sleeper, so she had one leg almost
hanging off the bed and the blanket in a bundle beside her bed. He gently placed her foot back in the
bed, picked up the blanket and tucked her in again before exiting their room.
Tolu’s room was next to the girls’ room, so he decided to make a quick stop to check on him.
The door was shut which was unusual because at two years, Tolu needed reassurance that the rest of
his family was within earshot and so they often tried to keep his door open so they could hear him cry
out.
So why was his door shut now?
Deji pushed the door open and peered into the dimly lit room. His eyes widened as he saw a bulk curled
up on the floor beside his son’s toddler bed.
He moved quietly, peering into the bed first. Tolu was sleeping peacefully, releasing the occasional
snore.
His wife on the other hand, lay on the floor and at first Deji didn’t understand what he was seeing.
She seemed dead to the world, and yet they were tears streaming down her face as she made
whimpering sounds.
“Ivie? Honey?” he knelt beside her.
“I can’t,” she sobbed. “I can’t do this anymore.”
