I remember those days you would visit, they would call me from the play ground and tell me that ‘Daddy m Jos’ had come. I remember the pride and love in your eyes as I walked in. I remember the malt you left for me that day, and how you were heartbroken when I said, “My aunty told me not to take things from strangers.”

It wasn’t your fault, fate tore us apart. She had died and we were separated. I remember the toys, clothes and beverages you brought for me.

I remember the first day I followed you to Jos. They had told me you were my dad and against my aunty’s wish, I followed you. I remember your jacket, yes I remember that smell of comfort and safety, and your cap you gave me in the bus because it was cold, while you managed with that thin shirt. I remember when we arrived and I met my step mum. She dished my food; eba and soup and I rejected the food. I wanted tea. I remember you going out that night to buy bread.

I remember you washing my school uniform and socks and my step mum complaining that I was old enough to do those things. I remember when you would call me into the kitchen when you were cooking and you would tell me the reason why you put in every ingredient. You knew I didn’t get along with my step mum, so you took it upon yourself to teach me how to cook. I remember you being a father and mother at once.

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