A Father’s Cover

Blessing Digha — A Father’s Cover

Good evening. I’m the first child and daughter of a pastor. I grew up as the only child for eight years. And I was very close to my dad. He used to call me his princess, his Cinderella. I used to get piggyback rides and use his afro to pretend I was a hairdresser. [audience chuckles] We were that close. But you see, as a pastor, you get to share your time, your emotions, your resources, your space, and your family with the rest of the society. Everyone just wants a part of you. Some people want to pray, others want to come for counseling. People just want you to be there for them. And slowly, my father and I, we begin to drift apart.

As a pastor’s daughter, you are expected to be actively involved in church. And I was actively involved. I used to sing in the choir. I love singing. I used to act dramas, take Bible quizzes. I was everywhere in church, doing everything I could do. It seemed as if I was a mini pastor myself. In Nigeria, pastors and their families are not expected to do anything wrong. They are held to such high standards, as though they were second to God. And then, I get pregnant. An unmarried teenage daughter of a pastor. 

I was brought up in a Yoruba community. The Yorubas are one of the three major tribes in Nigeria. They have these high values and morals, especially when it comes to sex. They frown against premarital sex. They applaud virginity. In fact, when you’re getting married in Yoruba communities, they give your husband a white handkerchief to put under you during your first intercourse. He would later show everyone that handkerchief to show that you are a virgin. And here I am, a 17-year-old teenage unmarried daughter of a pastor, breaking the code of the community and of the church. 

I think of my father. Mostly, I think of what the church will say. And so, I try to sort things out myself. Abortion is illegal in Nigeria, except of course, the pregnancy is harmful to the life of the mother. So, most times, abortions are unsafe and done at the backyards. And I went to one of such backyards. The environment was dirty. I wish I could describe. And the equipment very hideous. I went the first time, I ran away. And I think of my father again and I come back. But the environment is still dirty. 

In fact, I think it’s more dirty this time. And the equipment is still hideous. So, I get scared and I run away. And I feel, what could go wrong? I’m not going to have this abortion in this dirty place. The worst that can go wrong is to own up to my parents. So, I decide to tell my father. And no opportunity presents itself, until one fateful morning, my father and my mother are having a discussion. I keep lurking round corners. My father calls out to me, ​“Blessing, do you have something to say? I notice you lurking round corners.” For lack of better words to use, I blurt. ​“I’m pregnant.”

My mother is shocked. You know how women are. We can be very dramatic. [audience chuckles] She is shocked. She is furious. My father sits there silent, trying to take in what I just said. He asked me what I want to do with it. I explained to him, ​“Of course, I’ve tried to have an abortion, Dad, but I couldn’t.” And he goes, ​“I hope you can live with the consequences of your actions.” And I wonder, ​“What consequences? What could be harder than telling you, my father?” ​“But you see, those consequences are not far off, because I’m no longer active in church. I stopped going to church. And people are beginning to talk. People are beginning to have– They begin to have their own suspicions.”

And in fact, at that period, many people who come to my house for counseling just come under the guise of counseling, but they really want to confirm if Blessing is pregnant. Many of them go the extra mile and ask my dad, ​“Oh, how is Blessing? Where is she? It’s been long. We saw her.” And then, my dad has to call me out to say hello, and he looks at me closely to confirm if I’m pregnant. I feel ashamed. And most times, I feel pity for my dad, because people are judging him because of me. 

One Sunday morning, my dad would later admit that he heard someone pass a snide comment about me. So, during service, my dad walks up to the podium. And I’m in the congregation wondering, ​“What is he doing?” Because, you see, my dad never breaks protocol. He wasn’t built to speak that day. So, I’m wondering, ​“What is he doing?” He walks up to the podium, one like this. But he removes the mic and he goes, ​“I’m not here to preach. I’m here to tell you that Blessing is pregnant.” 

And time freezes. Everyone goes silent. People who are walking, who are moving, they freeze at the spot. You could literally hear a pin drop. And where I’m sitting, I’m like, ​“Oh God.” I wish an earthquake would just happen and swallow me. And he continues. He says, ​“I know you all have high expectations of her, but I’d like you to let us handle this as a family in our privacy.” You see, in that moment, my father was accepting that he was human and that his family, me included, a human, too. 

Teenage pregnancy comes with a lot of stigma and discrimination. But you see, that act by my father went a long way to reduce whatever stigma and discrimination I was eventually going to face. My father walks off the podium gallantly, as though he’s not dropped a bombshell on everyone. I was seven months gone at the time. Two months later, I’d welcomed a beautiful baby girl into my life who my father named Glory. And he was there. He was there for me. From the moment my father made that announcement to the church, he was there for me. We became closer. That distance was not there anymore. He became my closest confidant. There’s nothing I cannot talk to my father about. 

Because you see, my father in that period, he didn’t think of his position. He didn’t think of what the society taught. He didn’t think of everything he had built. He thought of me. He thought of my future. He knew that I could become something greater, and he held my hand at every step of the way. He still holds my hand. My father let me realize that no matter what we go through in life, there will always be someone or that group of people that will hold your hand, that will keep nudging you on. And that family will always, always be family. Thank you.