One side of the story

My father had never been ecstatic about my joys. He wasn’t even familiar with them. I was a curious child. I was fascinated by stories and the endless world of imagination. I wanted to be in every comprehension passage I read. I wanted to enjoy Christmas time with Mr Nwosu and his family of eight. I wanted to live in Calabar with Edet. I wanted to be Ige-Adubi, the Vanguard. It gave me immense joy to collect pieces of those worlds and make a home for them in mine. It was a miracle of being; to travel shores without leaving the confines of my surroundings.

I nursed my joys privately, but it was public enough that reading was my favourite form of living. My father cared about this in one way only: sending me to school. I did not get bookshop visits. I did not get book gifts. I got promises to top the ocean whenever I took the first position, which wasn't rare. These promises made me feel weightless, extremely joyful, and so light that I could touch the sky. Were promises unfulfilled, not enough proof that I was not invisible? My father was not particular about what little joys life gave me. But perhaps he shouldn’t be concerned about those trivial things. I sailed through my primary and secondary education and passed my O’Levels, and he heaved a heavy sigh that I had managed to do that without getting knocked up. 

Peace Adzo Medie’s Nightbloom mirrors my father-daughter relationship — in some ways. Akorfa and Selasi are like two peas in a pod, but life draws a wedge so expansive between them that ageing cannot condense. Their fathers, though brothers, couldn’t be more different. Akorfa’s father is comfortable; one could even say rich, and he is a provider. Selasi’s father is the opposite. His presence is an absence felt in a hundredfold. The curious thing is that Nightbloom is scarcely about the father-daughter relationship, yet this theme permeates the narrative, composing one-quarter of the story. I reached for moments of communion with my father as I read this book. I wanted to shuffle back in time and wish a camaraderie between me and my father to life. I wanted to talk about books and boys because my mother was resting six feet deep, and I needed my living parent to be there body and soul. I wanted him to share my joys as much as my sorrows. And even if we couldn’t talk about books and boys, we should be able to sit in silence so comfortably that we would hear our hearts beat in sync if we listened well enough. Akorfa’s father provided, but he was unapproachable. He was more of a father to Selasi than her father was.  “And if he was a father to me, it was because you refused to be my father.” 

I had never thought of belonging in vivid terms before I made life in human form. I was alone while growing up. My siblings were fine; they were as present as possible, but I lived my childhood completely detached. I had no childhood friend, no confidant, and I grew up detesting the word ‘bestie’. I wasn’t treated like an anomaly, but I wasn’t treated at all. I am nearing the third decade of my life, and my most treasured memory of belonging was visiting my son when he was on holiday with family, and on seeing me after a long time, smiled at me wide enough to part seas. Throughout my visit, he never let me out of his sight. I thought, ‘Now, here is someone I’m forever tied to, someone who will always belong to me till the end of my natural-born life.’ Selasi, as much as she tried, couldn’t belong to Akorfa’s family. Her life was a mishmash of coming and going. And even though Akorfa’s father was more a father to her than hers, he wasn’t wholly present. “Now, sitting at the side of the road, my feet red with dust, I didn’t belong to anyone.”

There are two sides to every story. That was what Peace was trying to achieve with this book. If I could ask today what my father thought of all those years of being present without leaving much impact, he would tell his side of the story. But I couldn’t. So, all you’ll get is this one side to the story. Akorfa told her story. Selasi did hers—this birthed Nightbloom. The perspective might be repetitive at a point but it lends the story enough background to build on and for readers to form their opinions. It made me like Akorfa a little less. This begs the question, ‘Can we be genuinely unbiased even after hearing the two sides of the story?

I had a great time with this story, and because of that, I’ll recommend books that also explore father-daughter relationships:

How to Say Babylon by Safiya Sinclair

Maame by Jessica George

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Clap When You Land by Elizabeth Acevedo

Funny Story by Emily Henry

Western Lane  by Chetna Maroo

The Bee Sting by Paul Murray