CHAPTER 1-“THIS FAMILY CALLED MINE: COLOUR US UP”

©️ Opeyemi Akintunde

My name is Mololuwa Clarke, the third child of the Clarke Family. The name Mololuwa means “I Have God,” but growing up, everything surrounding my life and family seemed to contradict that meaning. The question that constantly lingered on my sisters’ lips and mine was…

“Why was God so unfair to our mother?”

What else could you call it when a woman gave birth to four daughters in a family where her husband was the only son of his vicious, heir-demanding mother?

Life was hell growing up.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, my heart panting. The road leading to my father’s house was as familiar as it was suffocating. Tall palm trees lined the dusty path, standing like silent guards, watching my return to a place filled with unpalatable memories.

It had been three years since I last stepped into that house… though I had made sure to call my father every single day until his last.

His last day.

Just yesterday.

Who would have thought such a day would come so quickly?

Who would have thought Stephen Clarke could be humbled by death?

The news of his passing had met different but scary similar reactions when I broke it to our fractured family.

As the peacemaker; the only one who still kept in touch with him…I had been the first to hear of his demise when I called his nurse.

“Finally… he’s gone!” one of my sisters had screamed.

“God has killed the stingy man!” another said bitterly.

“When are we sharing what he left?” my younger sister asked, unbothered.

“Everybody, my father is dead!” one of my stepbrothers had announced coldly.

Yes… Stepbrothers.

And there were the cousins too, who also had to be informed.

“All roads lead to the Clarke horror mansion to share the will,” my stepcousin had remarked with a chuckle, as though it were some grand party.

As I drove closer, the old house loomed at the end of the driveway.Nothing had changed—the same weather-worn bricks, the same iron gate that had once felt like a barrier to joy.

Fear gripped my heart as I neared the gate.

And just like that, my childhood played back before me…

****

BACK THEN…*

I saw us…my sisters and me…playing in the garden, our laughter filling the air.

We were four girls: Oluwasetemi, Morayo, Mololuwa, and Pamilerin.

Then, the dreaded sound came…the unmistakable honk of our father’s Peugeot 405.

It was like a warning bell from afar, a signal for survival.

We knew the drill. We scattered like startled birds, running for cover, leaving Setemi, the eldest, to bear the brunt of his frustration.

Mother would already be in the living room, setting the table for him…the King.

The rest of us would sprint to our rooms, peeking through the curtains, watching, hoping, and silently praying that Setemi would not say anything to provoke his anger.

We always held our breath.

“Welcome, sir!” Setemi would say, rushing to take his bag and suit.

“How was work, sir?” The same question every day.

If he was in a good mood, he would reply sharply…”Fine.”

But on bad days…days like that one…

“If you were a boy, you would have reduced my stress. If you had strong hands, you would have massaged my legs for me. But no… God decided to curse me with four weak girls.

“That day had been one of those days. Someone must have angered him before he got home.

My father was an artist. But when we were younger, he was a failed one. He would paint beautiful works of art and take them to his roadside gallery. Sometimes, he would even hawk them in traffic, standing in the sun, hoping to sell at least one.

Some months, he didn’t sell a single painting.

And when frustration built up in him… we suffered for it.

*PRESENT…*

I parked in front of the house, inhaling sharply before stepping out.

The air was thick with the scent of earth after rain, but it did little to calm the storm brewing inside me.

This house held too many bad memories.

And yet, this was reality. My reality. My sisters’ reality.

Our father had become successful… but none of us could say the same for ourselves.

And now, with his passing, we were all about to face the aftermath.

This homecoming was going to be interesting and scary…

To be continued….

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