The Silent Battles of Home
Chapter 1
In many African homes, walls hide secrets that never reach the open. Stories of pain, silence, and survival often live behind closed doors, where laughter is stifled, and love is confused with fear.
This is the story of one such home. On a sunny coast in the Bossa Local Government Area of Minna, Niger State, Nigeria.
A Father’s Anger, A Family’s Prison
Mr. Uza is a father of two beautiful daughters and a lovely wife whom the streets of Minna knew by his nickname—Daga. On the outside, he was respected. He spoke confidently, dressed neatly, and gave gifts to neighbors at weddings and festivals. People admired him. They greeted him with respect, thinking he was a generous man, a strong family head.
But at home, Daga was a storm.
Inside his compound, his wife and daughters knew him as something else entirely: a man whose hands were heavy with violence and whose heart was blind to their pain.
A mango stick. A wooden cooking spoon. His fists. These were the tools of his anger. He used them without hesitation, without remorse. His wife and children carried the marks—scars not just on their skin but on their souls.
And his punishments weren’t just physical. They were designed to humiliate. He would drag his wife into the compound, force her to kneel under the blazing Niger sun, and make her raise her hands high. Then, in front of neighbors, he would order her to say, “I am sorry to you and to God.” Sorry for things she had never done. Sorry because he said so.
For Mr. Uza, this was discipline. For his family, it was nothing short of abuse.
Chika and Udoka
The two daughters lived through this nightmare differently.
Chika, the first daughter, carried the worst of it. When her younger sister was sent away to boarding school in JSS1, Chika was left behind to face the full force of her father’s cruelty. Each day she endured the blows; each night she soaked her pillow in silent tears. Food became her only comfort, and slowly her body grew bigger. But with the weight came shame. Neighbors whispered, children mocked her, and her self-esteem crumbled. Behind her eyes lived a sadness that no one seemed to notice.
Udoka, the younger daughter, loved her father but hated his actions. She was his “favored one,” allowed to escape into boarding school life early. There, she found safety, but guilt followed her like a shadow. Every holiday was torture. While other children ran home with joy, Udoka dreaded it. She counted the days until school resumed, desperate to flee the compound filled with screams, blows, and silence. At night during the holidays, she lay awake listening to her mother’s muffled sobs and Chika’s broken silence, wishing for a miracle she couldn’t name.
The Mother’s Silence
Their mother bore the weight in silence. She wasn’t weak—she was strong in ways few could imagine. But strength did not shield her from pain. Mr. Uza never allowed her to work. She had no money of her own, no independence, and no safety net. Leaving him wasn’t an option. Her only weapon was endurance, her only hope: that somehow, someday, Chika and Udoka would break free and live better lives.
So she stayed. She stayed through the beatings, through the humiliation, and through the endless fear. For her children. For a future she could not yet see.
The Disappearance
One day in the evening on 20th August 1975, after a heavy downpour of rain, Daga came home with words that pierced his wife’s heart. He told his wife that her father back in the village was gravely ill. Panic and sorrow overwhelmed her. Without hesitation, she packed her bag and left for the village.
But it wasn’t love or concern that drove Daga’s words. It was a lie. A trap. He wanted her gone.
For weeks, the house was quieter but not at peace. Chika felt the absence like a fresh wound. She carried the full weight of responsibility now—enduring her father’s anger alone, caring for the home, and drowning deeper in despair. Udoka, away at school, cried silently into her pillow, worrying about her mother and sister.
Neighbors noticed too. People began to ask Daga, “Where is your wife?” The whispers spread through Minna’s streets. Rumors grew, and questions multiplied. For a man who prided himself on appearances, it was a problem.
Daga loved to look good in public. He boasted of generosity, gifting money to friends while his own children lacked basics. He smiled widely in public and played the role of a kind man, a respected neighbor. But behind closed doors, his family lived in lack and fear.
The whispers became too loud. And so, after a month, he called his wife back. Not out of love. Not out of regret. But because he could not stand the shame. He needed her back to maintain the mask.
Chika’s Silent Struggle
When their mother returned, life slipped back into the old rhythm of cruelty. But something had shifted in Chika. Years of humiliation had left scars too deep to ignore. “Her self-esteem crumbled, dimming the vibrant personality she once carried.” She avoided mirrors. She avoided people. She carried her sadness in her silence, her body, and the way she walked with her head bowed.
Chika’s pain was invisible to most. But Udoka, whenever she returned home, saw it clearly.
Udoka’s Silent Escape
Boarding school should have been a challenge, but for Udoka, it was a blessing. While her classmates longed for home-cooked meals and family laughter, Udoka longed for the cold safety of her school dormitory, carrying both relief and guilt in equal measure.
The Man Called Daga
In public, Daga’s reputation remained untarnished. He spoke confidently, dressed neatly, and gave gifts at weddings and festivals. Neighbors esteemed him as a generous man, never suspecting the storm that raged behind his compound walls.”
A Story Not Yet Finished
For Chika, Udoka, and their mother, life was a cycle of pain and survival. Each day marked by fear, each year scarred by silence.
But their story doesn’t end here.
Because “Even in the darkest night, the possibility of dawn remains.”
To be continued…
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Written by Patience Cyril Iwuoha
Content Writer Intern BAC Growth