PUNS.

CHAPTER: 1.

*****

I have always said that life is cruel and in truth, it is. When you were born, you never got to choose where this journey would take you. You're just a victim of fate and whatever it wishes to do with you, it does, and there is nothing on earth you can do about it.

You can't change it either.

We became puns in the fierce grasp of fate.

It picks you up by the head and shuffles you about pointlessly, you are left to catch yourself, to stand your grounds.

Some say it eventually leads you to your destined place in life but I don't buy that for one day.

Well, I almost didn't because I gave up on trying.

We are only humans after all and there is a limit to what we can take.

No matter how strong you are, life has a way of bending us until we are reduced to our outermost vulnerability.

And you just have to live with it, whether you like it or not because to not live with it would be to kill yourself and that's just a permanent solution to a temporary problem, at least that's how I see it.

But, sometimes the problem doesn't seem temporary at all especially when you look around as years go by and realize that hope is farther away from reaching you than you ever thought.

I get it.

I understand how that feels.

But, no condition is permanent unless you're six feet under.

•••°°°•••°°°•••

I'm from West Africa Nigeria. Let me tell you a little bit about my country. Nigeria has 36 states and in these many States, there are different cultures and traditions. I came from the Eastern Part of Nigeria, popularly known as the Igbo Tribe. Everything has a certain way it has been from the time of their ancestors and until now so anything that isn't of the norms is a big No and very much frowned upon.

I was born into a family of four. I have an older brother, an older sister, then there is me and my baby sister. The numbers pretty much summed themselves up matching with the genders so there was no cheating.

The last girl child is by far the most beautiful girl I have ever set my eyes on. Her skin was rich in chocolate, she has the brightest of brown eyes with high cheekbones, a pointy nose, and beautiful red lips. I have heard many people say that I looked so much like her but I don't see it. She could easily pass as an angel but I; not so much and I am just one year older.

My mother has these habits of telling us basically our life stories from the day we were born whenever it was any of our birthdays. She had graciously told me that I was only three months old when she got pregnant for my sister. Now, don't ask me how that was possible, ask her, not me because it wasn't in my place to ask questions. My place was to sit still and listen while she recounts these stories over and over and over again on every birthday.

Talk about repetition.

Back to what I was saying. She said, after she had Obinna, who is the oldest boy and practically the father of the house whenever the big man isn't home, he barks orders and we the little ones are bound to obey because to not do that means you'll be punished. And then four years after that, she had Ada who in turn is the oldest daughter and as well the mother of the house when the big woman isn't around, same rules apply to her when it came to obedience and then there is me, two years after that and then Chichi one year after and because she was pregnant for Chichi she had to end my breastfeeding time at six months and I was forced to be independent on my own after that.

I began eating grown-up foods and my mother would always push me to go stay with Ada, she became my mother, literally. If I was hungry, she fed me. If I needed a bath, she took care of that as well as number two.

You all know what number two means, right?

The one that comes from the other side...

Well, moving on.

I pretty much forgot about my mother until she had the last girl. She became the jewel of the house, very beautiful and I soon grew fond of her so much that I loved her more than my other siblings, well, that was until I started getting punished and I realized that she wasn't beaten for any wrongdoings, not even once. She gets pardoned so easily while I get punished so quickly.

It wasn't fair.

They favored her more than they did me.

I was a clueless little boy.

My life was a rollercoaster of complications. First, when I was four years old, I had insisted my older sister paint my nails because I saw her doing the same on her nails. She refused and told me that it wasn't for boys but I fell and threw a tantrum until she did it. I loved the color of the nail polish on my fingers and toes so much that I went about showing it to my older brother who scolded me, I ignored him, and then when Daddy and Mommy came home, I showed them too and they ordered that Ada cleaned it up immediately and she did.

I was pissed in my four-year-old mind.

Why wouldn't they let me have the nail polish even for a day?

Ada gets to paint Chichi's nails. Why don't they ask that she cleaned it and I was older than her?

See what I mean when I mentioned, clueless.

It didn't end there.

When I was five, I insisted I wanted to wear a particular red flowery dress that chichi owned. I would not stop crying until my mother wore me that dress, I went out and showed every passerby who cared to see my new dress.

They made fun of me.

I didn't know that clothes had genders.

But everyone told me that day that I should take them off because it's a girl's clothes and I am a boy.

"What are you wearing?"

"Take it off, you're not a girl"

"That is a girl's clothes."

Boys and girls my age pointed and laughed at me.

It didn't stop there.

Obinna said the same thing to me when he came home from school, Ada did the same and when Daddy came home he was furious.

"I have told you, people, to stop wearing him these clothes!" He barked at my mother. "He is a boy and it's high time he starts knowing it. There is no better time and age to correct him but now!" He glared at me and I shrunk into myself. "Take that dress off." He commanded. "You're not a girl so stop wanting girls' things!"

That episode passed after that.

Then I was seven years old.

The day I would never forget, I have the scar to always remember that day. Ada came home from shopping and she bought beautiful red heels that she was going to wear to church on Sunday.

That Sunday, I had finished dressing in my Sunday best and was heading to Obinna's room so he would help me put my shoes on when I saw those red heels and by God were they the most beautiful shoes ever, they have a certain glow around them, it was sparkly and my little head couldn't walk by without tasting it on my itching feet.

I looked around about four times to make sure no one was seeing and then I slowly dipped my slender feet into them and instantly my feet were swallowed up in that shoe. I did a few walks in them, I staggered and nearly fell countless times but I eventually got the hang of it and I loved them immediately. I couldn't ignore how beautifully they fitted into my feet even though they were two times too big for me.

Being the child that I was or the dumb clueless one at least, I went into Ada's room to show her.

Biggest mistake of my young life.

"What are you doing in my shoes?" She shouted and I ran out of her room and stumbled into my father's legs who had just come out of his room all dressed and ready for church.

"Ada!" He yelled out for her and she rushed out in a hurry.

"Sir." She muttered, angry eyes burning into mine.

"What have I said about putting girls' things on this boy?" He yelled out in the Igbo language while pointing in my shaky direction and I saw her shaking her head vigorously.

"No, Daddy, I didn't." She emphasized by waving her hands. "He saw the shoes in front of my door and put them on." She was quick to defend herself and I don't blame her. When Daddy is mad, everyone fears for their lives.

"Come here!" He beckoned me over and I came, without the slightest knowledge to at least take the damn shoes off. As I got closer I heard the sound of his belts unbuckling. As soon as I was close enough, he pulled me by the ear and threw me on our worn-out sofa in the living room, and there he began whipping me with the belt.

He beat me up and down, back and front, black and blue. My mother rushed out at some point, begging that he should let me go but he didn't listen. My baby sister came out, she sat under his feet and tugged at his trousers while she cried and begged that he let me go. I supposed he listened to her wailing and finally let go of me.

That was a day that I was never to forget in my life because his belt broke my tender skin and I hurt for weeks and the scars remain as a constant reminder of my clueless childhood.

From that day onwards, I stayed clear of girls' things.

I see my sister's clothes and I am running the other way.

She is braiding her hair and I am begging to get a haircut and it doesn't matter whether I needed one or not.

I became closer to my older brother after that.

He started teaching me how to dress neatly in my boys' clothes.

He became my mentor.

My teacher and I were eager to learn all that he had to teach me.

I never wanted to be beaten by my father again.

That memory ain't blurry at all.

I wanted to grow out my hair but that would be an indecent act. As a good Christian boy, I must be in a lowcut, that way I am decent and give off good examples so others my age would follow.

I didn't know when I became someone that others should imitate.

I don't want anyone to follow me.

I haven't even finished following myself.

My life as far as I know was anything but perfect.

I was young but I knew that because I knew I was different.

There are just certain things in our lives that even if we are not sure about the rest, that particular one would always be confident in our minds.

I look at myself in the mirror and I see this chocolate-skinned boy, with brown eyes and a face so small and I just know.

Either that or I might just be confused as fuck.