The WWE Heavyweight Championship

You know as a kid, many things are unclear - why your mum gives you this really scary look when a family friend offers you refreshments, why your older siblings made fun of things you said, or why your dad kicked against your going to your girlfriends’ house to play because of their big brothers. All these puzzled me too but one particular thing puzzled me the most – why my parents played so rough and real dirty.
Then, we watched WWE in my house and it seemed fun until my parents decided to start their own wrestling entertainment in the house. It was usually bloody and they spared no objects or assets. From shoes, boxes, heels, wrenches, knives, stools to televisions, iron rods and what not. They smashed things, threw valuables around and scattered our home.
My father would pull my mum’s hair and slap her silly while my mum would bite close to my dad’s testicles and scream her lungs out. It was beyond depressing to watch this. I would sob, cry and wail. Small me would run in between them and try to push them apart but I was too small. I would beg and plead but I was too small to be seen. My big brother would scream and ask them to stop but it all fell on deaf ears, so he’ld go sit somewhere and hold his head tight like the noise would cause his head to fall. When my mum could run to safety, she would cry and scream curses and insults at my dad simultaneously. My dad would guffaw like Sango and tell my mum he was not done with her and that he would kill her soon.
The funny thing was one would expect them to behave themselves and pretend everything was fine when we had guests over, but once the devil knocked, they just had to open. I remember one time when my maternal grandmother was home. The old woman had been hearing of how her son-in-law had consistently battered her beloved favourite daughter. The marks and scars on her child’s former flawless skin were enough evidence. She acted her age and only spoke wisely to the couple. Little did she know that she would be a witness soon.
And so Grandma was at home ‘chilling’. My illiterate grandmother was still trying to get a hang of the white men throwing themselves around in the movie “Evil Dead” when we all heard the noise from the section of the house where my parents’ rooms were located.
“Aye iya e oni da. Babanla baba e o to be”.
“Baba ati iya mi lo fin wole abi? O ba iya iya e naa. Ko ni da fun e, iwo oloriburuku ma shanfaani yii”.
…directly translated in Nigerian English to mean:
“It will not be well for your mother. Your great grandfather cannot try it”.
“It is my father and mother you are disrespecting like this shey? Your insults will extend to your mother too. It will not be well with you, you this unfortunate and useless human being”.
You can imagine the shock on my grandmother’s face. She was right there while my father was issuing curse on her.
We all ran to where the noise was coming from and behold, my mother’s dress had been ripped and my father was bleeding behind his left ear.
That same night, my aged grandmother who was suffering from arthritis fell down on the sitting room glass centerpiece in an attempt to separate the WWE champions of our house while my small self was flung away. When I tried to get up, I realized my kneebone had shifted. I had to wear a bandage for three months before my knee got back in shape.
One particular day, they started again and this time I was in no separating mood. I stormed into the kitchen and found the sharpest knife and then went straight to my father and said, “Daddy if you do not stop, I will stab you and stab myself”.
What did my father say?
He ran to the kitchen too and brought the second sharpest knife and said, “Oya take. You must kill me today o. Me, your father, you want to kill me. Oya, I’m here”… and then he laughed like Sango again.
All of a sudden, I became so irritated at how unremorseful this man was. How could you not see anything wrong with your barbaric actions? How?!
I charged at the motherfucker. Luckily for him, my brother was there to stop me in time. The knife slit the side of the motherfucker’s left lower arm. You would think he would laugh and lick the blood like we imagine Sango would. He didn’t laugh. He cried like a baby. Like a child whose bicycle had been taken forcefully. Very sad.
Then he came at me and started to hit me continuously on the face. I fell on the floor and then he started to kick my sides – where they said my kidney was located. My mother and brother tried to stop him but he wouldn’t let go.
Unknown to us, Esu Laaroye had planned to have a fun filled day with our family.
My brother who did not lose his temper often, did not only lose his temper, he threw it into the red sea.
You know the way those wrestlers slam each other in the ring before they count three and win the match… yeah… that’s what he did to my dad. The motherfucker screamed so loud the gateman ran in without pressing the bell as he always did. Unfortunately for him, he ran out the way he ran in. My mother who wasn’t wearing much had slapped and bitten his neck, telling him that he should mind his business. She held his ear and told him that grown men minded their business and if they did not, they ended up on the floor like her husband. The poor gateman begged for forgiveness; to make sure what my mum had advised him stuck. My brother kicked the poor man so hard on his bum that it seemed like he flew out of the door.
The motherfucker was still sprawled on the floor while my mum and brother tried to take care of me.
The motherfucker never touched my mum again.
Who would have thought that my brother would win this championship?!


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