It all started two weeks after the abrupt closure of schools. This first incident did not seem like much, until things began to get out of hand. The country was gradually going into full lock down.

On this particular day, my mom decided to send my brother some stuff to last him a few weeks into the lock down period, hoping it would end soon, since he didn't have an opportunity to come home. The airports were closed already, so she planned to give it to a bus driver from a nearby transport company for delivery in form of waybill. Nigerian drivers are known for breaking the rules no matter who made them so the inter-state lock down was absolutely none of their business.

We were packing the things that would be taken to the transport company. I left her for a moment, when my father came into the living room to get a gift for my brother. When I came back, the atmosphere was sour. The tension in the air was so much that it literally grazed my skin.

They must have quarreled again, I thought sadly. My parents weren't the ideal couple. In fact, I often wondered how they got married. Their own union was one of tolerance, founded upon emotions I could not decipher.

One thing I despised about the lock down was the unnecessary problems it brought with it. Their quarrels were becoming too frequent and when I looked at the reasons for those quarrels, I always saw they had no basis whatsoever.

"Buchi, get my things into the car, I'll be leaving for the office soon," came my father's voice, disrupting my thoughts.

I was shocked. My father never called me Buchi unless I did something wrong. That was reserved for outsiders. He and the rest of the family called me by my pet name, Nma. That's when I knew he was about to take his anger out on me, as usual. I silently went to get his stuff ready and into the car. I heaved a sigh of relief when he finally left with the driver.

I forced myself to think what happened that day was a simple misunderstanding until it kept happening. My parents would argue then my father would take it out on me as if I was the cause of it. I used to stand up to him but of course, doing that had consequences. It only made him worse. He never physically abused me. Instead, he would use piercing words on me.

At a time, he switched to lying against me to my siblings, who didn't believe him because they knew me well enough to tell that those were lies. I wondered how and why my father would stoop so low. He kept doing that until I began to feel subdued and betrayed. I lost all sense of emotion except anger. That's how bad it was. When standing up to him made things worse, I gave up. I resorted to talking to my brother, Keith because his voice always calmed me down. Even that didn't help. It only made things worse until I told him to stop confronting our father so that I wouldn't die before my time.

After a long time, my father stopped his antagonistic attitude towards me. At least that was what I thought.

"Buchi come here," he said to me one day. Honestly, I was tired of this nonsense of calling me by that name but I remained silent on that matter.

I replied, "Yes."

"I want to teach you something. It's my duty to teach you because soon you'll be old enough to leave the house for college and live on your own...."
I braced myself because I knew what was coming next.

He wanted to insult my mother's side of the family, in his usual manner.

"I don't want you to be like your mother. Always put God first. Don't join her in her idolatry..."

I snapped. "What idolatry? If there's a heathen in this house, it should be you."

He had the guts to defend himself! "I'm only doing my duty towards you," he said.

I actually spoke up for the first time in a long time. "Is your duty is to make me hate her? Is your job to turn me against my mother? This is a woman who relentlessly prays for you! Please if you have anything meaningful to say, say it, if you don't, then stop wasting my time." When I finished, he dismissed me.

He was fond of that rubbish. He believed in 'divide and conquer'. I wonder who told him that having a family automatically means war.

Unfortunately for me, I thought I was having a bad time already. I didn't know this wasn't even the beginning.