I’m not over it. I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. And, that’s okay. Some things that happen are not meant to be forgotten or recover from. They are meant to stick to your heart, mind, spirit, and soul to remind you of who you are and what you will accept.
Someone had arrived at our doorstep to give my Papa some unfortunate news- one of the goats he had hired someone to care for had been stolen. The good news perhaps to comfort Papa’s ears was that someone that morning was witness to who stole the goat and could lead Papa to that person.
It was not long before loyal and trusted young men who had arrived at our doorstep to help were clearly present due to their respect for Papa. Someone had suggested that they could simply approach the alleged thief with the news that Papa had work for him. This was not to strike anyone as anything odd as people knew Papa to provide temporary labor work for those in need. Papa didn’t have much, but he provided help to those around him with what he could. Since no one had known that the goat had been Papa’s, the alleged man would think nothing suspicious of the offer.
By early afternoon, the plan had worked. However, as the young man, short and masculine, came closer, I recall standing in that front yard of my aunt’s home where they were to bring him, with much confusion as to what would happen next.
Something told me this man was beginning to feel uneasy as he got closer to the home. I could see it in his eyes. However, there had been at least 5-6 men walking with him. I saw that he managed a smile upon seeing me from a distance.
I recall a chair had been placed in the center of that front yard and how he had been asked to sit down by one of the men who had escorted him. I sensed hesitation from the man, but witnessed how he calmly did as he was told. At this point I must have stepped into my aunt’s home recalling that the air had gotten thick and uncomfortable for me. I was around six at this time, but I understood trouble.
I cannot recall how much time had passed, but the next time I took a look outside, the man had been tied to the chair. By then, the man was looking straight ahead, giving no eye contact to anyone as the men around him began to ask him questions. It was at this time I remember Papa standing at the front door, me standing to his right. My older siblings were away, I believe at school. Mama was nowhere around me so I found best comfort next to Papa. I do not know if the man had seen Papa because by this time, I remember how he just kept looking ahead, straight-eyed.
There is this adrenaline I somehow understood growing and rising amongst the men encircling this man who had continued to be tied to this chair. Perhaps it was seeing Papa standing there or simply because they were young men with much testosterone built up from within, but the calm and collect answers the man was giving seemed to only raise any growing anger amongst the men around him to worsen. That’s when men’s forearms began to strike this man’s face. And yet, there was this man, tied to this chair, returning his facial posture to continue to look straight ahead after each strike, responding back with every question asked of him to answer with the calmest voice. And then, that one last blow to the right side of his face, sending blood to trickle down from his ear.
I know now it was no mistake that I was there. It was I sent to be present to put a stop to the madness that escalated before me. Had I not been there, the men would have kept going. It was that last strike to this man’s right side of his face that made me grab my Papa’s leg and bellow out a gasping yelp. Perhaps coming to the realization I had been standing next to him to witness it all, at that point, Papa demanded for all to stop and thankfully the surrounding men backed away- the blows coming to an end.
The man, with strength in his demeanor and honor still presented by his masculine shoulders looked directly at me as the blood from his right ear continued to flow down. He never did look at any point, scared, to me. Instead, his piercing glare into my eyes spoke the combination of anger and shame seeing that I had witnessed the accounts, as he sat there, still tied to that chair. What thoughts he had as he looked at me, depleted of that smile he managed to give me earlier as he had approached the home, I will never know.
Upon an agreement that all would be forgiven once he bring the goat back to where it had been, the man confessed that he had no knowledge the goat had belonged to Papa. He had admitted that he had sold the goat for some wood to help build his home.
He had sold the goat for some wood to help build his home.
