by Gimbiya Galadima

She was crying again, and you resisted the urge to shake her. To tell her how much you loved her and wanted her acceptance. It was worthless trying, she would reach for the big Bible beside her bed; then tell you what happened to children who disobeyed their parents. You remained a child in her eyes, even though you were weeks shy of twenty. It hadn’t always been like that, Dad’s passing put the taste of life’s bitter-leaf in your mouth. There was no one to talk to, and your razor blade provided some relief. The tattoos masked the scars on your arms and the haircut covered the bald patches your fingers had ripped out themselves. You thought of Dad, and the suffering that swallowed the house. Your arms wrapped around her as she cried this time, your Mille. 

Source: From the Rebel Issue (October 2019)


 GIMBIYA GALADIMA is a fourth-year medical student at the University of Benin and a creative writer. Her hobbies include reading, writing, cooking and watching movies. She is very passionate about African literature and mental health affecting young people.



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