Father Dilemma When Love is A Wait

If there's one thing I've gleaned from the experience of fatherhood, it has been this: the people who are supposed to be the ones never fail to leave, and the ones who swear on staying can also change their minds at the worst possible moment. I have discovered this through my daughter's life, Baaba. Now she is six years old, and she has become a little sunshine who has also given me the name Daddy Davi. She says it is because “it sounds better.” I find her words always amusing. Children are so remarkable; they can dost the mending of our souls without even being aware of what they are doing.

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My connection with her mother, Maabena, was anything but trouble-free. In fact, it fell apart the instant Baaba came to the world. We were in constant disagreement over every aspect—bringing up the child, financial matters, family relations, etc. It was like living in two different planets where loving each other was the only thing we had in common. When Maabena decided to leave and marry another guy, she gave Baaba to me like a hand that is no longer needed. “She is your daughter, too. I have done all that I could for the past three years. Now it's your turn,” Maabena said.

That moment will always be etched in my memory. Baaba was only three years old, carrying a tiny pink school bag and a teddy bear, and utterly baffled by the scenario. She was looking at us alternately in confusion. I took her to my mother, who immediately accepted her into her arms. My mother reared me by herself after my father's death, hence she is deeply conversant with the art of loving.

Every time I could, I made a point to be with Baaba. I took her to the parks, gave her toys, candy, and clothing, and plaited her hair when my mother got worn out, besides helping her with other things and praying with her before sleep. At my voice, she would be all excited, her little feet running up to the door as she shouted, “Daddy Davi! You are here!” This was my healing.

Then again, two years later, I met Louisa. At first sight, I noticed she was lovely, kind, and a little too perfect for this earth. The way she was very slow to speak made me wonder if she was one of those very meek women who are afraid to be treated harshly. I quickly and strongly fell for her and she seemed to be the one that God had sent through my hardships. From the beginning, I told her all about Baaba. I wanted clear-cut and simple hence no drama, no complications in this new chapter. Louisa smiled and said, “It’s alright. When we are together, your baby becomes mine as well.”

I should have known that raising a child is a promise that is made easily but not so easily kept.

When Louisa came with me to meet my mother and Baaba, I thought I was dreaming. Baaba made a friend of her instantly, got on Louisa’s lap, and played with her hair and asked her to draw butterflies. Louisa’s replies were warm or at least that is how they looked. She was bringing every time gifts, sweets, toys, and little dresses along with her. Every weekend she was like, “Are you bringing Baaba? I want to see her.” 

I was sure/perfectly convinced that I had found the most suitable partner, someone who would give my daughter the same amount of love as if she were her own. I began to praise God for giving back the joy that I thought was gone forever. In the course of our two-year engagement, Baaba was always a part of our plans. We vowed that we would take her home with us right after the marriage ceremony.

Then the marriage happened, and the whole thing was a new ball game. The very first time I said, “Let’s take Baaba home,” Louisa grinned and answered, “It’s just the beginning for us. Why don’t we take a little break then?”

I am not the kind who fights back. Patience is a virtue in love, hence I stayed silent. A year of waiting passed. I raised the issue again, and she answered, “Why don’t we wait until we have our own baby first? It will be easier for Baaba to get to know her brother or sister.”

It was a plausible argument, and desiring a quiet home, I yielded again. Another year slipped by. So did another one. Now we are married for four years but still childless. My heart suffers, not because of the empty womb, but because of the empty promises. Each time I bring up Baaba, Louisa comes up with a different excuse, a new delay, a new reason that sounds so nice to keep my daughter away.

However, this last quarrel broke open something inside me. I told her I had reached my limit of waiting. I needed my kid. I felt as if losing her already since she was growing without me. I couldn’t be at my mother’s house like a guest and not like a son. Louisa stared at me and said, “It’s that you have a child already that you are not considering giving me mine. If you bring Baaba into your life, you will forget about me.”

Forget her? How could I forget the woman for whom I moved mountains? How could I forget the woman I chose after suffering? Forget the woman I prayed for? I was in pain. It was such a deep and painful hurt because she did not understand how much this was tearing me apart, that Baaba had already gone through abandonment once and was now experiencing it again. This time, by me, her dad.

Baaba is yet to catch the drift of things. Despite the circumstances, she keeps on ringing me up nightly and urging, “Daddy, when will it be time for me to sleep in your house? When will I come and be with you both? I want to see the cartoons on your TV that is so big?”

The interrogatives hewn by the child pierce me to my very core. The little girl does not see the reason why the father who used to come every weekend has now become an infrequent visitor. She is not aware of the reason for my reluctance each time she asks if she can come to my place. She is not aware that I am torn between the child and her mother who wants her suffering to be the way.

Louisa is the most agreeable person you could ever meet, yet the duplicity of her character is that of shrewdness which I refused to see. She is clever and always gets her way by turning her words around to a semblance of wisdom. But I’m in a state of weariness. I’m lying on my back, wide awake, looking at the ceiling and asking myself: for how long can a father wait to be a father? Why should I have to make the choice between my marriage and my daughter? Is that the right way to express love?

Baaba is not worthy of this kind of treatment. I also do not deserve to be treated like this. But I am the one who is bound, lost, in pain, and frightened of the day when Louisa will put Baaba through the same ordeal of resentment that she hides behind her courteous smile if I dare to insist on the matter. I cannot put my child into a house that she will be unloved. So I’m asking…

What should I do then? Because it is really the case that I am losing not just my daughter but also myself in the process.

—David

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