Nigeria doesn’t always happen to us.

Sometimes it is family, academics or that relationship we failed to let go of, the list goes on but most of the times, I think it is family

Family forms the basics of every individual and most times, even years after we have left home, the mentality would not just go. It sticks. It begins to affect how we act, what we say, the way we think and everything we do, but at the end of the day, since love is a miracle, it just means it can change anyone and anything at any time, because that is what miracles are about.

Daddy never felt the records necessary, but I took count of everything.

From the way he hit sister Folake, to the way he yelled at mummy even in the market place to the way he talked down on brother Femi in front of all his friends whenever they came around the shop to drink their local Agbo. I took note of every hurt

I was always daddy’s favorite, so I never got a share of the pains, but I was more hurt than the others, because something in me broke every time they ran back to the room to shed their tears and rant, every time I saw mommy cry secretly in her bedroom. I took count of the scores

If it was a game of daddy to us, then his scores were way over the bar, and no matter how much he would want to apologize later on, it just would not add up. Or so I thought.

That time of the year had come again. We were either going to go to the village where we had our ever bragging relatives or spend it at home, with daddy gulping down as many bottles of beer as he could per day, and mommy clearing up his mess when he was done.

When people talked about the concept of love, I often misunderstood because why would mommy and daddy be married if people married because of love. Why would daddy beat sister Folake every time she made a mistake in her homework if he loved her? Yet, I knew of another love so tender, daring yet endearing. Mommy talked about it most nights before we went to bed. She always read it from a small book that had some love letters written in red.

It was on the 15th of December and mommy had just finished speaking with sister Folake on the phone. She was not going to be home for Christmas

“Fola, your daddy loves you and you know it, just…”

“Please don’t call that mad man my father again or I’ll hang up” Folake countered, I could feel the tension rise

“If that man was truly my father mommy, why would he abandon us like this, mommy why?” her words choked as she stiffened to hold back her tears

“Fola what do you mean?” mommy asked like she was oblivious to the obvious

“Mommy don’t act like you dot know how this man treats us” “how did you even end up marrying such an impious ma” she sharpened up

Sometimes it did feel like daddy abandoned us, but the synonym of abandon was to “leave a person” as Mrs. Adejare taught us in class two days before, so how could sister Fola say daddy abandoned us when he still lived with us every day in the house. I contemplated

I wanted to ask, but I knew better not to interrupt mommy and sister Fola when they spoke, they were more of sisters than we both were

I sat quietly with my head rested on mommy’s laps as she stroke my hair. I think I felt something wet drop on me. But I did not want to ask. It must have been mommy’s tears.

It was not up to sixty seconds ad the door barged open.

“When is that stupid girl coming back home from school?” daddy barked as he rushed at mommy

“Honey I don’t know. She said next week” she replied standing to her feet as she pushed me away from their middle. “bisola go and play outside with femi, I dey come” her voice cracked as she spoke, everybody knew what was next.

Daddy raised his hand to hit mommy, I placed my both hands against my ears, I did not want to hear her scream, and still, I heard a scream.

I sat still cold outside the room door, waiting to hear mommy hit against the wall, and daddy yelling at her some more. Mommy screaming out loud for her Jesus to save her, raising blessings on daddy as he would hit her some more, but this time, I did not hear all those

“Honey, what’s the matter nau” “speak to me” mummy cried as she rallied around daddy’s body to check for his pulse.

I rushed into to the room to peep, I saw daddy on the floor and I felt a leap of joy. Did mommy beat him this time? But if she did, why was she acting all scared?

“Honey talk to me nau” she continued to cry as she romanced his face features

Few minutes later, daddy was rushed to the hospital. Daddy had a stroke and could not speak. The doctors said it was a seizure caused from shock. Whatever daddy was shocked about, I don’t know, but I was glad it took him to a place he could not hurt us anymore.

“He’s in a coma and would not be able to speak for now” “but you can see him” Dr. Ade said as he showed us to the room where daddy laid vegetable.

Mommy sat beside him and cried all night long. She prayed so much I thought Jesus would come down and save him that moment.

Three days later, we got a call from Dr. Ade at 5am in the morning.

“Your husband is awake”

“Doctor!” mommy screamed in relief.

“This is nothing short of a miracle ma’am” he reassured

I woke up to her Yoruba praises

“Iwon aloba, Eledumare o” (You are king, God)

“Alagbara, alabgara, your outstretched hand has lifted me” and she continued to sing some praises to God in our dialect I did not understand

When we got to the hospital, daddy was quiet with tears in his eyes, mommy ran to his bed to give him a hug. He did not shrug, he did not move. That was unlike him

As she sat back in her chair, he started to speak

“I know the bible says greater love hath no man than one should lay down his life for another like Jesus did, but you Titioluwa have shown me love in ways I cannot imagine”

“Titi you’ve poured out your heart to me and all I ever gave back to you was hate and guile” stifling, he continued

“I’m sorry for the bad old days Titi”

“If you’ll forgive me, I’ll make things right again in our family. Titi, I love you, because you first loved me”

Whether it was the doctor that told him of how mommy had closed her shop and spent the past 4 days at his bedside, or he met an angel who told him of her love for him. I cannot explain the encounter, but three days later, Fola called and said she was bent on her decision to remain in school for Christmas, and daddy did not hit mommy for it.

Brother Femi spilled water from the bowl onto the floor where daddy sat while trying to serve him food, but daddy did not insult him for that. He simply laughed and collected the bowl from him so Femi could go get a rag to clean up

Daddy paid my school fees for the next term that year and said we were going to get new clothes and go to church for a thanksgiving.

Love indeed is a miracle, and no man is too hard to escapee its force.

Mine is a story of my love saving Christmas for my family and in turn changing the narrative of our lives. It has been seven years now since we started attending services on Christmas day and travelling for holidays as a family. If this is a dream, I really never want to wake up.