Tough Love?: A Candid Diary of an Assiduous Girl

By Philippa Peters

Philippa Peters, the second child of four, was just six years old when her mother dropped her off at her godmother’s home. In the twinkling of an eye, Peters’ life changed drastically, as her circumstances meant she had to grow up very quickly, missing out on positive childhood experiences. In Tough Love?, Peters narrates her powerful, poignant, and engaging story of a young girl who against all odds, fights to stay on the right track of morality.

This memoir tells how she demonstrates courage, perseverance, and resilience in the most difficult of situations and proves that in a negative environment, an individual can choose not to be a product of that environment. Peters communicates that her life’s experiences were instrumental in shaping her into the strong, tenacious, and resilient woman she is today.

Tough Love? shares how the author’s faith sustained her throughout her experiences while offering a different perspective on domestic child abuse. It chronicles her experience of growing up, overcoming extraordinary challenges, and staying true to faith, family, and friends.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jul 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665724241

Philippa Peters

Philippa Peters grew up in West Africa where she qualified and practiced as an Anaesthesia Assistant. She moved to the UK to top-up her qualification from Diploma to BSc (Hons) in Perioperative Care, and intends to obtain a further degree in the nearest future. This is her first book, inspired by true events in her life. Apart from working in health profession and seeking new ways to improve both personally and professionally; in her spare time, she enjoys reading, dancing, singing, listening to music, cycling and writing. She finds writing as an opportunity to express her views on issues that are important to her, and is currently working on a second book in which she explores a cumulation of contemporary global issues, through storytelling.

Book preview

Copyright © 2022 Philippa Peters (JOSJ).

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by

any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author

except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher

make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book

and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

Archway Publishing

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

844-669-3957

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture marked (KJV) taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Scripture quotations marked (NIV) are taken from the Holy Bible, New

International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica,

Inc.® Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.

zondervan.com The NIV and New International Version are trademarks

registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.®

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2423-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2424-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022909587

Archway Publishing rev. date: 07/20/2022

To God Almighty, Who has always been there and has never failed to look

after me in every and all circumstance. To my father, who, although now

deceased, still holds a great place in my heart. To the three special people

in my life, who stepped up and stepped in at various instances. Although

you’d rather not be named, please know that I am eternally grateful

for showing me such great kindness. THANK YOU VERY MUCH!

CONTENTS

Introduction

Chapter 1     Godmother

Chapter 2     The New House

Chapter 3     Leaving Mama and Baba

Chapter 4     Mother

Chapter 5     Leaving Terebeth

Chapter 6     Back to the City

Chapter 7     My Unfortunate Encounter

Chapter 8     After the Unfortunate Encounter

Chapter 9     The Cathedral, Part 1

Chapter 10   The Cathedral, Part 2

Chapter 11   The Cathedral, Part 3

Chapter 12   The Cathedral, Part 4

Chapter 13   After Leaving the Cathedral

Chapter 14   The Engagement

Chapter 15   Going to College

Chapter 16   In College

Chapter 17   After College

Chapter 18   The Transition to Practising Anaesthetics

Chapter 19   Practising Anaesthetics

Chapter 20   In the Pursuit of Higher Education, Part 1

Chapter 21   In the Pursuit of Higher Education, Part 2

Chapter 22   In the Pursuit of Higher Education, Part 3

Final Thought

INTRODUCTION

Domestic abuse is a serious problem in any society. It’s a problem we all share in different parts of the world, regardless of how developed or underdeveloped the country might be. Domestic violence can have devastating and life-changing effects on its victims. And even though most developed countries are doing serious work to tackle this problem, in my country, it is still a big problem that is under-recognised and easily minimised. Domestic violence can be physical or emotional abuse against another, and it leaves a devastating effect on its victims. But when such abuse is directed towards a helpless child, the long-term ruination of personhood can be significantly damaging and irreversible.

Not many victims of domestic violence make it in their lives. The few who do end up as either criminals committing various degrees of crime, or as further victims of individuals with ill intent, who exploit their situation. In my case, I can confidently say that my Christian upbringing and personal relationship with God made all the difference. But what about those in a similar situation who are not so fortunate? These victims should have a place of refuge to run to where they can feel safe—a place where they can be guided to realise their dreams and become the best version of themselves. In the long run, this would be beneficial to their immediate environment/community and the world at large.

For international organisations such as the UN—who are passionately involved in dealing with the problem of domestic violence—getting these victims off the streets, where they could be exposed to all forms of immorality, violence, and crime, should be a priority. It may be too much to ask. But in my country, where, sadly, the government may not recognise this as a problem worth its time, only charity and human rights organisations like the UN can be trusted to step in and help the helpless. Help can also come from the church, who as a Christian entity of one body in Christ, can step up alongside charity organisations. Denomination should not matter, as we are all one in Christ. If these organisations try to tackle this problem by catching these victims while they’re young, and guiding them towards the right path before they become untameable adults, it could help reduce the crimes and mishaps that we see in our day today, which can sometimes be traced back to domestic child abuse. This problem is not peculiar to any particular nation but, rather, affects us all universally. We should all tackle it together, on a global level.

The aim of Tough Love? is not to cast blame on anyone but, instead, to point out areas where, except by divine intervention and besides the personal effects on the individual, domestic child abuse could lead to a problem that affects us all, whether directly or indirectly. The book is not about sharing the most intimate details of my life’s story with everyone. It is, rather, about shining a spotlight on a problem I believe can be helped by using a different approach. Although my life’s experiences have been instrumental in shaping me into the strong, tenacious, and resilient woman I am today, I could have easily fallen into the wrong hands and could be telling a different story today.

I hope that telling my story in this way will help the reader see domestic child abuse from a different perspective. Although this narrative also includes other aspects of my life, I can only hope the points I’m trying to make can be easily deduced. Please remember that this is just my narrative of domestic child abuse. There are several forms of domestic abuse, and no two stories are the same. I may not need help anymore (thankfully), as I am now an adult. But there are several children out there, in different abusive situations, who do. We can all do our bits to give each other a chance to live in a better world, especially helpless children in my country from deplorable family backgrounds. A little goes a long way. Every child deserves to feel safe in the home.

CHAPTER ONE

Godmother

54012.png

I remember being just six years old. It was a Sunday morning, and apart from getting excited about getting dressed up in my Sunday best to go to church, I was also excited I would be eating my favourite food that day, as it was the tradition to prepare rice on Sundays. That day was especially special because my mum prepared this delicious kiri rice. All I could think of at Sunday school was lunch.

The Sunday school was within the same compound in which my family and I lived. So was the big church, in which, I understood, only adults could attend Sunday service. My father always dressed in a white robe and left the house before the rest of us, which made me understand he was one of those holy people we were taught at Sunday school to always revere (a priest). My teacher taught passionately about a Bible topic. But all I could think of was how exceptionally delicious my breakfast was and how quickly I wanted lunchtime to come.

Suddenly, my mother appeared out of nowhere and asked my teacher to excuse me from the class. Without saying a word to me, she took me by the hand, and off to the bus stop we went. We arrived at a gated compound that was unfamiliar to me. It was very quiet, which was not surprising because it was Sunday, and church services all over the city were still ongoing. Then, I spotted an elderly woman on a balcony. She had a pile of books next to the seat she sat on, and when my mother tried to speak to her, she made a gesture with her hand, asking to be given a minute.

She finished reading her Bible, sung a hymn, prayed, and then turned to my mother and apologised for keeping us waiting. She explained that she’d had an incident in the kitchen earlier on and could not go to church with her husband that morning. So, she’d decided to hold a service by herself at home, using the service sheet for that Sunday.

Then she turned to look at me and exclaimed to my mother, She is very small. What can she do?

To this, my mother replied, Do not be misled by her size. At her age, she can already sweep and wash dishes as an adult would. You can ask her to do anything now and be amazed at how well she will do.

There will be no need for that, she replied, "as the house has been swept and cleaned this morning. I will take your word for it temporarily and see how well she does in the coming week. I will ring you if I have any concerns.

Where is her luggage? the elderly woman asked.

Oh, I forgot to pack a bag for her, my mother replied. We got on the road as soon as you called, and I wanted to get her here as soon as possible; I had to ask someone in the church to look after my baby, and I need to get back before the service ends. I can bring her clothes tomorrow if you want.

That will not be necessary, the elderly woman replied. I have some clothes here that my granddaughter used when she was her age. I am sure they will fit her perfectly. All right then, I will come down and open the front door to let her in.

As she made her way downstairs to open the front door, mother looked at me and said, This is now your new home. You must do whatever this lady asks you to do, and make sure you sweep and wash the dishes here as well as you did back home.

The door opened, and still in shock over what had just happened, I waved goodbye to my mother, wondering when I was going to ever see her again. The elderly woman took me inside and asked if I was hungry. When I answered no, she put me in a chair in the sitting room and went back out onto the balcony to continue her self-led Sunday service.

I could not help but wonder what life was going to look like for me henceforth, without my family here. I was the second child of four. My eldest sister had been taken away the same way I was, long before I could even make sense of what was happening around me. I knew I had a sister, but I knew nothing else about her except that she was not living with my parents and my two younger brothers. I could not remember much of the relationship I’d had with my immediate younger brother, but my youngest brother was still a baby and I had developed a bond with him from the few times I was allowed to hold him. Reality started to kick in—I was alone and was not going to see my family anymore.

The elderly lady’s husband returned from church, and they both went upstairs to talk for a while before coming downstairs for lunch. He asked me my name and age, and that was the extent of the conversation we had. She told me to call her Mama and her husband Baba, which was how I addressed them throughout my time with them. She presented me with a plate of white rice and stew and said she was going to rummage through some of her granddaughter’s old clothes after lunch. Although I had no appetite, given that I was still in a state of shock at how much my life had changed within a short time, I managed to nibble some spoonfuls of food before timidly saying I was full. After lunch, I was made to try on some clothes and taken to a room upstairs, which was to be mine. The whole experience was still very surreal for me, but I made up my mind to take each day as it came.

I became very quiet and reserved, feeling unwanted and unloved by my parents. Each passing day was a blur, as I was like a robot that could only respond to commands but was not allowed to voice its feelings. I did whatever I was asked to do and barely made any friends in the compound. There were a lot of children living with their parents in the compound, in rented bungalows owned by Mama and Baba. I soon realised that Mama and Baba owned several properties at different locations around the city, which was their major source of income.

Seeing how withdrawn and reserved I was, Mama sat me down one day and asked what was wrong. She ran many scenarios with me and each time she asked, Is that it? I would shrug my shoulders and answer no. I could see in her eyes that she truly cared and wanted to help me, but I was either not able to put my feelings into words or was too afraid to truly say what I was feeling—which was wanting to go home. Not knowing what else to do, she decided to send for my father for a visit.

I was outside one day, sat in the corner as I usually did, watching other children play. I looked up, and to my amazement, my dad was walking towards me. With a big smile on my face, I ran to him and gave him a big hug. He carried me in his arms all the way into the sitting room. I was elated with joy that my dad was here and, at the same time, excited about the prospect of leaving with him. We had already had lunch when my father arrived, but Mama asked me to serve him lunch, which I was eager to do. When he was done eating, he sat me down on the ground, facing himself, and asked me how I was doing. All I said was I wanted to go back with him, still smiling. His face dropped (as did mine momentarily).

Then he said, I understand, Philippa, that this is a difficult transition for you. But we are no longer in the city. I transferred to a parish in a village, and all I want for you and your sister is to have a good life in the city with better amenities and civilisation. You may not understand it now, but when you get older, you will thank your mother and me for allowing you to have this opportunity. Life in the village is harder than you can imagine. I would rather your brothers were living in the city too, if not because they are too young and most good families prefer girls to boys (people preferred girls to boys because girls tend to be better at home chores than boys). Then he asked, Is Mama treating you badly?

I said, No.

He went on to say that he trusted Mama with all his heart, not only because of how well she had treated him as a young catechist but also because she was my godmother. He told me to be grateful for the opportunity I had for a good life, as many others did not.

I could not make sense of what he was saying. But one thing was clear at the end of that conversation—leaving with him that day was not an option. To make my situation bearable, my father suggested to Mama that I should be enrolled in the same school as my sister, which she thought was a good idea. At the time, my sister was living with my paternal great-aunt, who owned a small private day care, nursery, and primary school. Mama and my great-aunt attended the same church and were in the same prayer group—although Mama was more committed and fervent than most of the women in the group. Knowing I could see my sister every time I went to school gave me a sense of relief and something to look forward to. She was in a similar situation to me, and my dad told me she was handling it well and was very happy. On hearing that, I was determined to make my father proud by enduring the situation. I thought to myself, If my sister can do it, so can I.

However, my sister was more reserved than I was. We never discussed our situation. For some reason, I never once thought it necessary to share my deepest thoughts with her or vice versa. There was always this big topic between us that was never addressed. She was only two years older than I was, and although the woman she was living with was biologically related to us, I felt sorry for my sister because my living conditions were much easier and better than hers. Besides doing the house chores by herself at such a young age, she was also a carer to my great-aunt’s sister, who was elderly and disabled and a nanny to her grandchildren. She always came to class late and went back home early, as they were living on the top floor of the building, with the downstairs part of the building being the school, along with other separate structures within the compound. To be fair, my sister had it tougher than I did. She had to work from the moment she got out of bed until bedtime. Even though she was still a child, she could take on tasks most adults could not even handle. Although she was very quiet and never complained, I always knew she was not happy. On several occasions, she was pulled out of class because someone upstairs needed something done, even though that was the only time she had to rest.

I was not happy with her living condition and wanted her to get in touch with our father. Both women (Mama and my great-aunt) attended the same church, but Gladys (my sister) never came to church. Mama always let me come to church with her and Baba, and I was allowed to attend Sunday school service each time. At the end of Sunday service, the women would get together to catch up on each other’s life (something I found very tedious; by this time, I would be very hungry, as the Sunday service itself usually lasted over four hours). When I approached to help Mama carry her usually very many books to the car (which she used for Sunday service), they would stop to talk about me. They all seemed to know and have high regard for my father and were usually kind to me because of him. They always knew where my father was currently stationed and would tease that they would get in touch with him via the Bishop’s Court if I were ever naughty. This was how I found out that my father could be contacted via the Bishop’s Court. We always passed by the Bishop’s Court to and from church. So, I knew exactly where it was and how to get there.

Mama was in a prayer band. Everyone who knew her knew she was always away at church every Wednesday, fasting and praying with other women, between 9 a.m. and 6 p.m. She usually prepared breakfast and lunch for Baba and me, before leaving for her prayer meeting. Knowing she would be away for long hours on a particular Wednesday after school, I went to the Bishop’s Court to contact my father for my sister, who to me was living in hell. When I got there, I introduced myself to the people there, who happened to know my father very well. They were nice to me but informed me that I had just missed my family, who were there a few days before, in transit to my father’s new station. They even took me to the flat where they had been lodged just to prove to me that they were telling the truth. I was heartbroken and did not know how else to help my sister. They asked me what was wrong, and I naively told them I wanted to help my sister, who was living under bad conditions. They promised to let my father know I was