Let’s continue with the banter, shall we?
The earth should have opened and swallowed me. The wind should have whispered the truth in my ears. The hard me should have faced this tough situation like no other. But I was in my weakest when I walked out of that building. I shook yet it was hot, my hands became dead cold, my throat tightened, tears pierced my eyes and I called the people who put me in this mess. The people who should have known that after a child is two years it becomes problematic to change their birth certificate. The people who should have immediately sorted this out way before I started weaning. The people who would have put their roles ego aside and each aided in getting that damn paper. This people, my parents never saw what was coming. Anger, bitterness, I could have smashed a glass or turned tables were they there. I was going psycho.
“Who is my father?’ That was the first question I uttered when she received my call. “Who is Harrison? Why are they telling me you gave out those names minutes after you had given birth to me?” I quickly responded before she could answer. I don’t usually cry in public but that time I just let tears flow. Even in funerals am the type that says ‘we will all die so why should I cry?’ I ended that call there and called the next person. “They say you are not my father,” I said. I wasn’t giving anyone time for explanation. I wanted to be done and over with before I had face to face confrontations. “What happened?” He asked. “Let’s discuss this at home,” I sharply interjected. Going home the ride took forever. My head throbbed, I was lost in deep thoughts. The thinking that makes me overthink, the one that makes me lose a kilo or two in two days!
That night I blamed them. They blamed each other. He said they were his names, she said she had warned him from interchanging names. She said she didn’t give out the names, he accepted he did. He said there was a pronunciation to *Hezron they must have heard *Harrison. (I wasn’t here for teachings. You can bet I rolled my eyes.) She blamed him for taking long to get the paper, he blamed her for losing the notification slip. He assured me all would be well, she told him to clean the mess. I was in a cartoon dilemma. The one you keep swinging your head left, right to hear each side of the story. And I was done. “You sort this out. I am not going to suffer because of your mistakes. Do you know how many times I have missed opportunities in the name of lack of a passport? And I keep singing. Don’t you want me to travel? Do you want me stuck here that even going to simpler East African Countries is a problem?” I uttered a lot and left for sleep. I even promised myself I was going mute till they took action.
Yes, I went back to collect the birth certificate with its many errors because it had already been printed out for the next course. I was told to get a deed pool and as you can bet I heard dead pool (since that is how some old fella pronounced it). Here I was thinking of Marvel’s dead pool and what it had to do with my certificate. How I wished it was him to heal my wounds, slash the rude man and hunt down those who wanted to ruin my life. Confusion reigned as I repeated that word but heavens came to the rescue as someone wrote it down on paper. Since I volunteered in an NGO firm that had lawyers I enquired further and was enlightened. Going to court is not an issue but I don’t know which lawyer has been feeding my father that I can actually use that certificate as it is. Someone slap some sense into him. This year am applying for that passport, come rain come sunshine I will get it. But if this man thinks him not been co-operative I will give up, I also know you can divorce your parents! In this shithole am all alone and I have to figure it out before September.
The End for now.