Where were you?

That day she came to you, tears in her eyes, wringing her hands, not aware of what you were going to say but she sure was anticipating the worst. You did not disappoint. You said you were not the father. You even said the doctor had pronounced you sterile and three months before. You kicked her out into the streets like a dog. There she overturned bins looking for leftover chicken and fruits because her father could not stand the shame his family would be subjected to. She worked two jobs till she could not work anymore and walked herself to the maternity ward, bringing forth a child unloved by all but the womb she came from, a child with a mother but not a father. She came to you one more time but saw your wife-to-be seated at the door. She did not knock, she did not say how evil you were. She walked away dejected and heartbroken with determination her only weapon. Where were you all this time? Probably regaling your boys with tales of your illicit conquests. A man is not all about the privates you know.

Education had to take a back-seat for a year so the child could suckle and have a chance in life. The little ball of sorrow started forming into something robust, vibrant and beautiful with an infectious smile and her mother’s gait. She went to kindergarten then primary school, breezed through high school and college. Where were you all this time? Probably having fun with the boys who have all become old men, probably still showing your shrivelled bottom to the world, quite unaware that your head had started balding and greying. Where were you all that time she was out there unclogging blocked toilets, sweeping the squares and cleaning dishes in the restaurant so she could afford a living? Where were you when parents were called in to check their children’s progress in school? Your daughter knows only one hand, her mother’s. This is the hand that bought her bread, changed her diapers, comforted her and helped her navigate the twisted path of puberty. It is her mother’s conviction that kept her going. She knew her mother would never leave her like you did because to her she is an angel. She never found a reason to call your name or wish you were there because her mother was always there, to wish her goodnight and drop her off to school in the morning. She never needed you to tell her she was beautiful because her mother did it every day.

News of her reaches your ears, she is a voice to reckon with, a future leader, a champion in the field of social development and justice, and all of a sudden you remember you had a daughter. All this time you never knew the wild oat you sowed would become a large field and feed the entire universe. You never knew the little seed you dropped onto the ground in reckless abandon would become a great oak that will shelter birds, lions and butterflies. Why do you want to harvest love and acceptance from a field where you planted hate and rejection?

Where were you when they ate pain for lunch and bitterness for supper? Where were you when she went for her first date? Where were you when she was taunted at school, and when her mother was segregated and called immoral for having a fatherless child? Don’t you think it’s too late, my fair-weather friend to claim what you lost eons ago? Don’t you think the past forgot your name and the future recognizes not your face? The train left the station and you were not on it. You have no place in her life. So go back to where you were, and continue wishing for what you will never have, or what you would have had before you let go, for what you thought you had destroyed has built itself, and the little shack has become a giant sky scraper. Harvest what you planted, not what you wish you did. It is too late for wishes, for her world was built by sweat, blood and tears, not dreams and fantasies.