Some prisoners doing life without parole have obviously conceptualized breaking out. However, life isn’t a prison break series and Michael Scofield just never shows up. If he did, I’d be free from this concealed jail.
I stare at the ceiling in my room from dusk till dawn ,and I’ve learned a solitary life isn’t so bad once it becomes quotidian.Going to visit a friend or taking a stroll is not a bad idea, howbeit, owning only two pants and sweatshirts from five years ago as well as using my mums phone draws me back. Also, being around friends in varsity escalates my anxiety and college topics are all greek to me. Dreadlocks and casual look subjects are my specialty on the other hand. But maybe if I had money, I wouldn’t be so casual. I’d toss my buggy sweatshirt and trainers in the air and surprise my body with a corporate look, people would hear my heels clack from miles away like Alicia in her song,”One step at a time,”plus my family would have enough food to cobble dogs with.
Every girl dreams of the day her father will walk her down the aisle, but in my dream,He chases me like Freddy Krueger and it’s a nightmare on elm street. His love for alcohol more than family has left us helpless and pariahs in our community.He curses us, throws away our food and extends his savagery to the neighbours ,who as a result, want nothing to do with us.It has been like this since time immemorial. Memories of calling out for help while he dangled by a rope trying to commit suicide, as well as my sister hiding all the knives replay in my head.This childhood terror has left me battling with trauma based disorders and he’s the reason my life has more holes than Swiss cheese.
My mum, siblings and I bake to sustain ourselves, even so, a dollar a day doesn’t go a long way.Maybe one day he will change ,when pigs fly of course. Maybe one day I will let go, nonetheless, little Natasha will forever be stuck in a terrifying childhood and will never know how being taught how to ride a bike by her father feels like. This explains why adult Natasha cannot ride a bike.
I’ve thought of leaving many times but what about my mum and siblings? Plus, I just have nowhere to go. Saying my father has caused us great pain is an understatement, and like a bull chasing a matador, I am exhausted.
But as ridiculous as this may sound, my locks taught me to never relinquish my dreams. When I started my dreadlock journey, every day was disheartening as my hair just never locked. People with long thick locks were my role models, so I always asked them how they achieved this. I was told,” The time taken for hair to lock varies from person to person due to different hair textures. However,it all eventually locks.Keep on retwisting and never give up.” After heeding what I was told, my hair eventually locked seven months later. I now feel like Bob Marley’s niece but my Jamaican accent in the mirror isn’t so good though.What was meant for hair is what I see life through.
Every person goes through different struggles(hair texture),but if one keeps on trying(retwisting),their life eventually changes(locks).See why I said dreadlock topics are my specialty?
I believe that one day my history will be rewritten. Hope is what keeps me going and rekindles every flame that my tears put out. I am an eager beaver who stays up all night to write in English which is not my native language and someday somehow,I will write my way out. I’ve shared my story because it is not a cock and bull story, but my reality which I know will change.This is a place where I can turn every emotion into words.I don’t live with it, here I leave it, it’s my therapy. Maybe writing about adventure would have been more fun than this and I would show my mum. But how can I write something I don’t know? Every person has a story, this is mine.
Furthermore, I wrote to reach out to even just that one person who will find a reason not to give up if they read this.For if I’ve not given up, then nobody should.I still hold on to hope and people need hope.
If something good comes out of my writing, then people are gonna know how powerful one’s gift can be,this will make them search within themselves for that one thing they can use to change their lives. If more and more persons come out to share their stories,—solutions will form and healing will take place.
Like Andra Days song which got me an earworm: I’ll rise up, in spite of the ache and I’ll do it a thousand times again.
Natasha Mofia writes from Lusaka, Zambia.