MY SISTER'S HUSBAND

It was five o'clock in the morning when Mom came to wake me up from my sleep.

- Mom, why are you crying and not sleeping?

- It's your father," she answered, "he's not recovering.

Dejected, I lowered my head and rolled a tear from my left eye. That morning, Mum and I began to cry.

Dad had been ill for a long time. He's been on bed rest for almost two years now. Sometimes our wealth brings us death. Dad is a good person. At thirty-five, he's the richest man in his region. Yet there are rich people in the family, but his wealth is in the highest degree. Let me tell you, we've suffered a lot. I wasn't born into his wealth. With my father and mother, I've known what's called poverty and misery. Yes, there were times when Dad, Mom and I shared just one scoop of akassa to break our hunger. Sometimes, it's at 3 p.m. that we have our first meal of the day. Meanwhile, I was only eight years old. I was eight years old and in CE¹, Cours Élémentaire première année. I was too smart for school in those days. I was always top of my class and my principal liked me a lot. I was held up as an example to the lazy kids in my school.

Dad had suffered and that suffering had bent over us too. Yes, Dad was the head of the house, which meant that whatever happened to him happened to us. But in the end, God answered his prayers. Every day, he fought for our happy lives. He went from left to right to put a smile on our faces, but since his hour of glory had not yet come, we had suffered for years. Only one day he was at home when his phone rang. After his conversation with the correspondent, he asked my mother's permission and left. A few hours later, he came home with a big bag full of meat. That day was a feast. We, who have a hard time getting enough to eat, were happy. Yes, that's how God opens the doors of happiness to his beloved ones. From that day on, our lives changed because Dad found work. He was working and making lots of money. And since Dad is not interested in luxury living, he never goes to nightclubs because he was aware of what he endured before reaching his glory.

Slowly, he renewed our room. We lived in a hut in the village, in the family home. Being aware of what it's like to live as a family, he bought a plot of land far from the village and built a beautiful house on it. We left the family home and within a few months, he bought a nice car. With this car, we regularly go to church every Sunday to praise the Lord of Lords. Mom and Dad are Catholics, and being Catholics, we need protection. I won't say much.

So Dad became rich in no time. Wealth is the best thing in life. When you're rich, life seems very easy. This wealth is sometimes the one and only thing that brings us death, because many are born poor and proud of their laziness, they don't want to do anything to be counted among the rich. And because they don't want to become rich, they don't like the fact that others next to them are also rich. Yes, that's what it's like in Africa.

Dad's wealth brought him misfortune. Only one morning, he woke up with paralysis.

Dear readers, be afraid of man, for it is man who is death. When you remember death, tell yourself that it is your loved one who is that death. The real death is the one that comes to us in old age. But the death of youth, tell yourself there's something behind it. Otherwise, God didn't send anyone on earth to die very young. To this sentence, I say no and no again.

The proof: when you're poor and have nothing, you live just as long. But when you're rich, the bad guys have their eye on you and wherever you go, they follow. You can feed them morning, noon and night, but they'll make life difficult for you because they don't want to see you enjoy your glory.

Let's go back to my father's story, because it's the origin of my own story.

So Dad woke up with both arms paralyzed. We thought it was all in good fun, but Mum wasted no time getting him to hospital. In less than a few hours, Mom spent two million CFA francs on him. There was plenty of money in Dad's bank account. And as you know, you can't store money in a bank and let death take it away. There are people who do it; the unconscious, of course.

We were talking about Dad's paralyzed arms, and in less than three days, both feet followed. The bad guys were determined to finish Dad off. The religion we followed didn't have our time. Yes, it's not like evangelical churches where, when a faithful member falls ill, we visit him to pray for him.

That's how Dad's illness began, bit by bit. From his arms to his feet, and only one day did Dad lose his vision.

Can you see how evil the black man is?

The black man has the strength and power to make life difficult for his fellow man, but is incapable of improving his own condition. Don't you think that's unconscious? It's unconsciousness of course; total unconsciousness.

They killed my father alive. Yes, a blind man is already half dead! Every day they spend on my father, and instead of him regaining his health, the disease gets worse. The enemy wanted to take back all the fortune God had blessed him with.

Easy as that, Dad stayed in bed for two years.

Now back to the present. I was telling you about my mother who came to wake me up in tears. After reminding me of my father's health, which wasn't improving, we all started crying. Yes, we had no one. Everything Dad had in the bank had gone up in flames. His big car was put up for sale. All the money was spent on him. He had bought two other plots; one for me and the other for my mother. Both plots were put up for sale. All the money was spent on him. Mom was doing everything she could to buy his life back because as soon as he recovered, everything that had been lost could be bought back. Mom did everything, but nothing improved. Having exhausted all the savings, Dad came home. In a word, let's say the hospitals swallowed all my father's fortunes and with nothing left, we came home, hands powerless. Dad, in his deep pain, invoked death on his life. Yes, he was in excruciating pain. You had to be in his skin to experience what he was going through.

He cried all day long. My mother cried too. I cried more than anyone else. Meanwhile, none of Dad's family came to visit. On the contrary, they called my mother on the phone and threatened her. They told her they were going to take her head off if she ever dared say my father was dying.

Real shit.

All this gave Mum insomnia because she didn't know where to put her head. To escape this misfortune, Mum had gone into debt to give Dad a safe and healthy life.

In fact, Mom, after crying with me for a long time, had left my room and returned to the room where my father was lying. With feedback, I thought of our past, a past in which we had suffered a lot and in which eating was very difficult. After that came the period when everything had turned rosy. It was after these two memories that the new life we were living came back to me; a life without help; a life crappier than our past. At this, my tears multiplied. I was crying with great vivacity. For the first time, I doubted God's existence, because if He really existed, my father wouldn't be forced to go through all this suffering. I was crying and crying when suddenly I heard my mother's cry. I ran to her and, lying on top of my father, she shook him in all directions with hot tears all over her face. Frightened, I refrained from approaching her because a voice was telling me Dad was dead. Indeed, that's what it was; he was dead because my mom was shouting: "You can't die...you can't die".

And that's how I became a fatherless eleven-year-old.