Letters To My Daughter

weekend muse with kunbi black penastory


Bolat Flats,

Ilaje, Bariga.

Rainy Day:  13:00hrs

My thoughts float around, unfathomable feelings that run through my spines like electrons passing through a thick wire. These feelings that won’t just go away. I have pondered on what a mess my life had become at this very time of the year. This time of the month of April. She would have been five years old now, all dressed up like a princess, the princess of my dreams; the very one I had always imagined.

April came with her coldness and rain. The drench of heaven washed away all the beauty and love and brought with it memories of a dark day; an unforgettable day. A day whose sky is iron grey in my imagination. A dinner with the goddess of love and beauty. Her love towards me and then the sudden resentment! I wish I could go back in time to as far back as the 5th century, right to the presence of this Greek goddess who deems it fit to punish me. I would present a gift before her, begging her mercy to relieve me of my pains and agony.

As the days go by and the sun hide its face from the moon, as the months turned hurriedly into years and the sun unleashed its wrathful glory on the souls of men, I began to find solace in words born out of the series of my thoughts. I am empty! For I have lost that one precious gift given to me by the creator who gives peace. Fate is a barrier in the lives of men; I always knew that I would end up doing that which have been predestined. I cannot therefore have back what I have lost, her.

Trapped in the distress of my room, the month of April brings to me the memory of a rose not given a chance to blossom- a young  flower killed in its bud; my little angel – my daughter.

I am Kunbi Black, an On Air Personality/Entertainer.





Bolat Flats,

Ilaje, Bariga.

Rainy Day: 13:15hrs


Dear Daughter,

To be candid, we did not know so much, but something was certain and we were convinced that you saw us. You may be far but certainly not far from the echoes of our hearts, soiled in the deep melancholy of our emotions. I cannot explain how deep these emotions are, for they have clouded me so badly and you are the light I am drawn to. The last message I heard from Angel Michael was that you never stopped crying and nagging.

“They hate me, they lack love, their hearts are too dark, they never settled for the answers to their prayer, they are too self-centered.” I am sure you will never realize how hard these words strike our hearts. Heaven knows I and your mum love you like our eyes.

My angel, you know life is not one, it is in between. We have wished and still wish for things that we can never get. How I wish life had stepped out of her comfort zone and made her way ahead of us. I wish your mum wasn’t sixteen then. Even now we wonder if it would have been right to have set you free on this path filled with thorns and thistles. We were not free to set you free. The land held us captives and lambs for the altar of unpaid wages. I couldn’t have stood the sight of watching you starve. We loved you so much to want to rip you from your angelic stewards, and your mansion on the streets of gold to our abode, where you have to struggle for your life.

For Christ sake child, we were nothing but innocent students with a pack of werewolves looking up to us as their Alpha and the way out of their struggles. They had all sealed their love and lust in contributions for our first class certificates and honourable white collar jobs. My dear, you in the picture then was like throwing a stone on their glass heart.

My adorable daughter, in life certain rules have to be followed, we ran ahead of those rules and we are back right where we belong. I grieve like you every day when I think of you but things were not just right for a safe landing: we loved you and still love you. We want you, cannot hurt you, and desperately look forward to watching you sleep on your cradle bed.

Yours like None,




Boys Quarters,

Ikoyi, Lagos

Sunny Day: Evening


Dear Daughter,

What eyes have seen, the mouth can’t tell it all. It promised to be the best teenage bash in town. Invitation cards were flying everywhere in the neighborhood painting it all Da-costa. Despite the wild publicity, my angel, we needed no soothsayer to foresee that we were only gate crashers (owanbes), because our status was not equivalent to those who got invitations.

Segun Da-costa’s father was one of the biggest business moguls of that time, and we knew him based on our status; our parents were working for his parents. We were never allowed to make friends with Segun and his siblings even when they came knocking on our doors seeking friendship.

“Femi, please can you teach me how to play tennis? My dad just got me the table and kits but I have no one to teach me or play with.” He said once but my mum was quick in responding on my behalf.

“Oga Segun, Femi has a lot of assignment and would not be done till seven.” I knew my mum clearly wanted the boundary. Segun was so down to earth and I wanted to attend his party.  After all, it was still in the same compound. Your mum found it easy to win the heart of her father, the chauffeur, after pleading for thirty minutes. My mum, the cook, on the other, was head-strong, and I had to plead for two weeks before she finally gave in.

Ifeanyi, the love of my life (your mum) and I sat at one corner as we munched the plate of rice and chicken in front us. The chicken was probably the largest piece I had ever had to myself. As I battled with the chicken, my face went up and then I realized your mum had long since stopped eating. She sat, just staring into space- I could tell what she was thinking. She was most definitely asking herself the same question I had asked myself earlier, “what on earth are we doing here?”

Can you blame her or should I say us? The difference was crystal clear. Despite the fact that we wore our best clothes, we still looked odd beside the other rich kids, definitely out of place as if the poor can never look like the rich. They all looked like kids who didn’t know what it meant to soak ‘garri’  before bed or go to bed hoping to get served a better meal in dreamland.

As the party grew more intense, the boys took their female partners to the dance floor and they all looked great. Initially, Ifeanyi and I were reluctant to dance but the eyes upon us seemed to question our reluctance, thus we had no other option but to dance.

Soon enough, your mum complained of a slight headache and body pain. I assumed it was because she was unaccustomed to this sort of life; parties and all. We decided to walk back to our part of the mansion; the boys-quarters, so she could rest. Now my daughter, this part shouldn’t have happened in our twist, if your maternal Grandpa had remembered to drop his keys before driving Segun’s dad out on a business meeting. Your mum seemed worn-out now and was running a temperature.

“Femi, I can’t stay outside, I feel like my head is going to blow,” she said.

We had just walked into the room I shared with my mum when she made that statement. Soon we began talking, lost in a reverie of intimacy. Our walls of self-control of many years fell apart. It was almost six weeks before your mum noticed certain changes. She was scared, and I was sinking in the same boat. We were both lost at sea, but we knew our parents’ finding out was not just an option. We but wanted a solution, and I found it first, I found it in Segun.

Yours like None





Bolat Flats,

Ilaje, Bariga.

Rainy Day: 14:00hrs


Dear Daughter,

I wept whenever your mum did, I tried to console her. I took the blame like I had raped her. We had never meant it that way; we wanted you but it was not attainable. “Femi, you suppose don smart pass all dis one na. At nineteen, shey na only book you sabi ni? Why you go do flesh to flesh? No tell me say you be touch and grab!” Segun had retorted in a mocking laugh. I was less concerned about his mockery. What mattered most to me was that he said their family doctor could help based on his recommendation.

I lost count of days, when I saw you looking adorable, yet unhappy. Daily you asked me in my dream: “Why? Why did I think I was smart? Why did I think I had right to shut you out even before your first cry.” Your mum also complained of the same mystery; you haunted us so bad that we couldn’t think anymore.

My angel, it was not so hard to send you back in few minutes. But those minutes have become unhealing scars in the last five years. We hurt more because it seems you don’t understand that we loved you so badly, that we could do anything to make you happy, what we did was just to hinder you from coming into this evil world. I longed to call you my baby girl, buy you a teddy bear, sing you a lullaby but my dear you were just too special to face the world then. Your mum and I would only have been bloody thieves if we had acted on the spur of the moment, stealing your hope and joy by bringing you into this world of absolute darkness, strife and greed. So, my dear, its best you stay back for as long as you can in light, far away from darkness, because five years after the decision we still can’t say we are ready to let you come home finally.

Baby girl, Ifeanyi and I are still desperate to make things but the society seems to enjoy frustrating efforts. It’s been two years after graduation yet we still are both jobless. Out of frustration, your mum opted to learn tailoring while I intern at Unilag radio and host few petty gigs just to keep body and soul together.

We hope you understand that we did it for you and not for us, for we have resigned to sorrow for all we did to you. Till we meet again.

Yours like None,



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One Response to Letters To My Daughter

  1. Opara says:



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