“Am I a witch?” worriedly I asked my self this question. “But I am a boy and I can’t be a witch” another thought flashed through my mind. As tender as my heart was i could not fathom this misery. Growing up in this part of the world where childish behaviour can some times be taken for witchcraft by over spiritual parent like mine. In my tender mind i used to believe that a witch was any old woman whose hair was all white and whose teeth were scanty as many of them would have fallen from maybe too much blood sucking. This was the reason why i got so scared when it was time to travel to our village for our regular xmas trip. “There were many of them there i often thought.” I remember my father beating me terribly one time because i refered to his mother as a witch because she fits this description. “Honey i think our son is a witch” i over heard my father say to my mother one time. Scared as I was because of the many tales I had heard of witches who were most time killed or subjected to rigorous torture by prophets in the name of deliverance, i began to imagine what in the world would make my biological father conclude that I was a witch. Nevertheless i started to think of my sleep, i slept and woke up on my the mat with my urine soaked pant and my other beside me like every other normal child. I have never woken up at night to fly to any meeting like “they” do, my mouth was never stained with blood like the witches they show in movies, moreso our iron door was alwaus locked. How then would i be able to fly at night without my parent knowing when i sleep inches away from them?
“Honey can’t you see how strange our son is behaving? At his age he still wet the bed and others. I think its time we bring that prophet.” “But dear i still think he is only a child cant we give him time?” “A child screamed my father you mean Tolani is still a child? At age 12 that he is i was farming for people to live because my parent had died. You dont see a problem in him still being in primary 2 when his mate are in Jss 1? Well i wont fold my hands while an evil spirit finish my boy I am taking him to baba” my father yelled as he stormed out of the house. Sighing deeply my mother prayed silently that he changed his mind as she knew the so calles deliverance ordeal. But all this was usless as my father’s mind was made and nothing was going to change not even mumy’s tears.
One cool afternoon , i returned from school and met my father discussing in the room with another. I began to get scared as I was convinced that he was the acclaimed prophet. He’s looks says it all, he was looking rather too rough and carried some lockes on his head which i think he had been carrying from his childhood. As i entered our bedroom, my fear was confirmed as my mum hurriedly wiped har crying face with the loose end of her wrapper. She had begged my father to give me more time which he refused on the ground that time has been wasted already. She drew me closely to herself increasing my fears.