My Parents’ Default Question That Turned Me To a Rebel, a Runaway, and Eventually, My Own Autonomous Woman

This is not a tell-it-all, but a necessary unpacking of the wounds I carried, and still carry.

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Trigger Warning:

This essay contains descriptions of emotional, physical, and verbal abuse, parental neglect, and suicidal thoughts. Reader discretion is advised.

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Breaking Generational Expectations Begins With One Person

I was 17. Barely two years out of secondary school. Most of my classmates had gotten admission into university. But I was there struggling with JAMB despite terms of being the best Chemistry and Physics student in class.

I couldn’t focus. My parents were always fighting, and I was the scapegoat for their frustrations, physically and mentally.

I was hit on the head with iron rods for speaking to a male neighbor.

I was refused entry into the house for returning home late.

I stood outside in the dark one time, getting eaten alive by mosquitoes. I would sit there stuck for hours, crying, wondering if I was truly their child.

And when I was finally let in, I was denied food as punishment.

Another time, my mother dragged me out semi-naked from the house to the compound. Neighbors begged her to let me go as I desperately struggled to cover myself.

My offense? Not cleaning the house at the speed she wanted. She beat me while calling me all sorts of names.

That was the nail on the head. The final act that got me packing my bags. I knew that she was dealing with a lot with my father. But why was I the one paying for it?

Not too long after, I went to squat with a girl I had met just a few weeks before.

When I returned briefly to gather my things, my father was home alone. I remember the sad look on his face. He begged me not to go.

But he knew deep down that I didn’t have a choice. He had said nothing through the abuse. He let it continue. He partook in it, even. And he fell chronically sick as a result.

So I knew if I lingered there, I might not make it.

It was his worst nightmare to watch his daughter leave home, watch her become independent, living outside his roof.

What Will People Say?

They’ll say your daughter has finally become a runs girl.

It broke my heart to go against what he believed in. But I knew I had to choose myself. Choose dignity. Choose life.

And I never looked back. But it was hard… oh! so hard.

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Rewind to a few months back

Looking back, I wished I had told my parents to get a marriage counsellor, and a therapist. But I was too young to fully grasp what was happening.

Sometimes it felt like I was in a Nollywood drama, my parents were the main characters, and my siblings and I the supporting cast, or extras.

I wanted space and time to read. I wanted peace and quiet.

A full week without witnessing an unraveling scene. But it never came.

And so I decided that I was going to move away.

But knowing my parents, they wouldn’t let me go unless it still allowed them some control. So I presented the idea of a pre-degree program in Nnamdi Azikiwe University while staying with a trusted family friend.

They liked the idea. She was from a good family. Perfect.

That was how I made it out of my father’s house for the first time.

But shortly after I moved to Awka, I realized it might not be for me. Or maybe I just wasn’t prepared for the school husband-wife culture in the hostel.

My family friend fully participated in it. She cooked for her school husband, spent time with him and other couples. Soon, a guy started pushing to be my school husband.

I freaked out.

What Will People Say?

And by people, I meant my parents. What if they found out they sent me to school and I was there frolicking with a school husband?

So, I avoided him. And on some days, I missed having my father to chase guys away. If he knew how vulnerable I was to the male gaze, he probably would have hitched a ride and stayed with me in my hostel.

But he didn’t know. And I needed a covering. Badly.

So I finally said yes to that guy. I briefly entertained the idea of being a school wife.

But it didn’t last.

Bills started piling up. I started working to complete what my parents sent for my fees, but the math wasn’t mathing.

So I came back to Lagos. I abandoned everything, including the young Oga that would rather be a campus husband than focus on his education.

My parents were livid. Disappointed.

What Will People Say?

Our daughter has dropped out from school.

But they didn’t know I came back to avoid getting caught perambulating with a boy. My father would have definitely killed me.

And I couldn’t keep pretending like it could work. But that also meant I was back to the drama. And it got worse.

I became a punching bag. The nuisance that returned from school.

I was called an Agbaya. An Ashawo.

The chaos continued. Some days worse than others. And I wondered if cozying up with an emotionally immature boy was probably a more peaceful option.

But what if he had gotten me pregnant?

I would never hear the last of it. Never would have recovered.

The thought of it alone made me super-vigilant about sex.

So I continued to take all the projections until my emotional tank overflowed.

And for the first time in my life, I thought of offing myself. But it was a brief, momentary thought that went as fast as it came.

Fast forward

I moved out. Found a place. Got a roommate. It was hell.

I kept moving. Because in Lagos, a single girl living alone is an easy target. I faced disrespect in every house I stayed.

And I still carried the voices of my parents screaming, What Will People Say?

I worked and supported my family in the little ways I could. But they kept asking: “When are you moving back?”

Back to what? There was no space. No room built in the new house for me. Still, they asked.

At one point, my father said he could add a room for me if I paid for it. I was 19, maybe 20. I had just started writing screenplays. Barely surviving.

Still, the judgment never stopped. And I wallowed in shame, even though I was only trying to survive.

As my parents, I imagined that they missed shielding me from the harsh realities of the world, but with them I was constantly in fight or flight.

I visited home sometimes, but it was always chaotic. I was treated like an outsider. The one that left. The one that brought trouble. Soon enough, I started to believe I was the problem.

Eventually, I got a flexible job and enrolled in university. I juggled school and work, and buried myself in it to drown out the noise in my head.

My dad was happy that I was in school again. We talked often, and got closer. But we didn’t agree on everything.

He believed a woman with a car scared men away. That I should marry first before buying one.

That I should only marry an Igbo man. Yoruba men, according to him, were promiscuous and not family-oriented.

I would listen, laugh, and ask questions. But I knew that promiscuity wasn’t tied to tribe. And I silently refused to inherit such judgments.

I wanted to live freely. Authentically. That was the only way to attract what was truly mine.

What Will People Say If We Left Our Children and Divorced?

That question kept my parents in a miserable marriage.

They stayed for appearances. But deep down, they were both sick, mentally and physically, from being with each other.

A few days before their 25th anniversary, my dad told me he was depressed. His kidneys were failing. He drank to cope.

I begged him to move in with me. I wanted him to choose happiness. To live.

The evening after their anniversary, he was gone.

At his funeral, I watched my mother cater to the village uncles, fulfilling all the traditional expectations. Performing widowhood like a ritual.

And behind closed doors, she was chronically stressed, dealing with postpartum depression, and relied on medications to sleep every single night since maybe 2007.

And I asked myself: Is this the life I want?

The answer in my head was loud and clear.

The rest of that year, I worked endlessly while silently grieving. Until I snapped.

I cut my hair and dyed it gold, then brown, then pink. Pierced my septum. Then my nose. Twice. I smoked for the first time. Went to EDM parties. Kissed a stranger.

It was my rebellion. My way of mourning the version of me that could never live up to their expectations of what a perfect daughter should be.

Then I bought my first car. Outside marriage. No ring. No husband. Just me. Very single.

My sister was happy. My brother left the family group chat. My mother called me crazy. Some said I was faking my life. Others thought prostitution had finally paid off.

Male road users hated me. My tyre screws were removed. My car was banged on. I was insulted. Threatened. Bullied. I even considered selling the car.

That’s when I finally understood that “What Will People Say?” isn’t just a question. It’s a Warning.

People will talk and people will act. And they will also try to shrink you for not conforming. And if they can’t shrink you, they will jeer at you. And they will try to ostracize you. But they won’t succeed.

I finally understood my father and his warnings. He was saying “Conform if you want to survive.” but I was asking, “Who made the rules?”

The Way I Was Received By Different Types of People Was Definitely a Reality Check

I cried. I doubted my ability to actually survive on my own.

And for a moment, I thought maybe my father had been right about everything.

But he wasn’t here anymore, and the best I can do now is honor his memory while living my life in the way that feels the truest to me.

The best I can do is fulfill the promises I made to him, including graduating from the university, which I did!

And the promises I make to myself every day in my journal:

To grow and glow. To step out with courage. To love and be loved.

To let my heart experience the complexity of being a human in an imperfect world where nobody is a saint.

To let my body feel sensations of pleasure that it was created for.

To let my soul experience heightened levels of spiritual growth and intimacy with God.

To let my beauty and my talent shine so bright without worrying about whose eyes it was blinding.

To let myself be seen and felt and heard and understood and held delicately.

Because at the end of the day, who cares what people say?

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Check out my Novella

What happens when a woman stops apologizing for who she is?

Strings follows Regina ,  a rising star whose fame can’t protect her from the secrets she thought she left behind. When betrayal pulls her back into a world she escaped, she’s forced to confront old wounds, dangerous legacies, and a name she buried long ago. If you’re drawn to character-driven fiction layered with suspense, vulnerability, faith, and fire… welcome in.

Read here: https://medium.com/@ezinneakam/welcome-to-my-story-strings-eee094ffa7fb

The Author

Ezinne Akam is a movie and TV producer, actress, writer, and founder of EBE Talent Collective, a startup talent agency based in Lagos, Nigeria. She has worked on movie projects that have won local and international awards including the Africa Magic Viewers Choice Awards (AMVCA). Hailing from Ebonyi, Nigeria, Ezinne draws inspiration from her Igbo heritage. She is driven by a passion for storytelling that celebrates Africa, addresses social issues and promotes women & children’s rights.

Her recent body of work include:
Prime Video: Soft Love, Breath of Life, When Love Strikes, The Perfect Arrangement.
Netflix: Shanty Town.
Showmax: Slum King.

Get to know Ezinne better at http://www.ezinneakam.com.

Subscribe to Ezinne’s Lens : https://ezinneslens.substack.com/

By Ezinne Akam · Launched 5 months ago

Nigerian Girl Issues. Social Structures. Family Dynamics.