I found an old poem I wrote that is so telling.

Between 2009-2011, I did a creative writing program which exposed me to different genres of creative writing. During one of the semesters, we explored different types of poetry and were encouraged to mine our emotions and memories, and write our own poems.I must, at this juncture, state that poetry is not really my thing, but I did give it a go!

Anyway, I had totally forgotten that I wrote a poem of longing about my father!

Today, cleaning through some old files and boxes of paperwork, I found the poem which I wrote in 2010.

It’s so so telling! I clearly wrote it at the time when I was desperate to find some way of connecting with my father. This was after my father missed my graduation, stood me up at my wedding and had passed on so many opportunities to engage with me and his first grandchild. At the time, I couldn’t understand what had become of the father I knew. He had become a recluse and had barricaded himself away from all his family and friends. I could not make sense of any of it.

Of course, the memoir I am writing now, all these years later, is all about my father. Against the backdrop of economic and political change in Nigeria, I chart my father’s background from rural Yorubaland to a life of education, business success, sporting prowess and wealth. I also describe his shocking demise and the discoveries I made after his death that explained everything.

But in 2010, I was clueless and this poem really reflects that. Here it is. Enjoy!

Dear Daddy, by Anike Wariebi

Dear Daddy, its Noush Noush
Although these days l’m known simply as Nia
The rains and the power cuts are a distant memory
The sprawling concrete and go-slows almost alien
Green surrounds me now – the woods to the East and the wild Heath to the West

Mina is almost two now and chatting profusely
Tall as a three-year old, I’m told – full of opinion already
You would recognise her, though you’ve never met

On the radio yesterday there was a debate about fencing
Fencing of all things, but it reminded me of you
How odd you must have been, an African fencer
Your stories of hours of practice, sweating and hungry, failing but getting up again and again
Of backbreaking toil with the cutlass, slicing through the high grass
I would have liked to have known you then
Mina reminds me of you then, turning the shapes over and over
Striving for a match, determined to succeed

I have a new life now

I wonder, can the years of silence be repaired?
Be our guest; visit with us – me and my new life
We can walk the woods and wander the Heath, trampling through the fallen leaves and the brittle branches
Recount the stories of a time before the recent past
Attempt to experience the beauty of now

Mina calls so I must go
Please reply, dear Daddy; it would be good to hear your stories
And visit with you once again.

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