Shadows of legacy

THE END AND THE BEGINNING

September, 2022

I looked at Mum, oh what an actress she was. The tears that had streamed down her face at the funeral dried up the minute we got into the car. But who could blame her? Twenty-eight years in marriage to a monster was finally over—or so it seemed. I turned to my sisters, Chinwe and Amaka, who looked far too excited about Father’s death. I, on the other hand, felt neither happy nor sad. I was a bit hurt, having lost the only male figure in my life. But why would they care? Father treated them like trash and favored me. They were but little dust in his sight, insignificant wasteful creatures—the words he used to describe them times without number.

The Rolls-Royce stopped at our mansion, a grandiose structure that stood as a testament to our family’s wealth. Servants in their hundreds dressed in all black lined up along the driveway, while Father’s portrait was hung largely at the entrance of the mansion. He always kept a stoic look, never smiled at anything. I sometimes wondered how he was as a boy.

“Nkem, come,” Mother called out. I hadn’t realized I was standing there, staring at Father’s portrait for so long that it had grabbed her attention.

I followed her inside, past the grand foyer adorned with marble floors and crystal chandeliers. The house felt emptier than ever, despite the crowd. The weight of Father’s presence—or the lack thereof—was palpable. His rules, his judgments, his expectations, all hung in the air like a suffocating mist.

That night, after the house had quieted down and the last of the mourners had left, we gathered in Mother’s room. It was the first time in a long while we had sat together like this. Mother’s room, with its soft lighting and warm tones, felt like a safe haven amidst the turmoil of our lives.

“Nkem, Chinwe, Amaka,” Mother began, her voice firm but gentle, “we need to discuss the will and how Father’s assets will be divided.”

Chinwe and Amaka sat up straighter, their excitement barely contained. I, on the other hand, felt a sense of dread. This was not going to be easy.

“Father left a considerable estate,” Mother continued. “However, he had very specific instructions on how it should be divided.”

Chinwe scoffed. “Of course he did. Control freak till the very end.”

“Chinwe, please,” Mother admonished, though without much heat. “Let’s get through this.”

Mother unfolded a piece of paper and began to read. “To my beloved wife, Adanna, I leave the family mansion and a monthly stipend to ensure her continued comfort. To my daughters, Chinwe and Amaka, I leave enough to ensure they never need to work, but not enough to squander. And to my son, Nkem, I leave the bulk of my estate and the controlling interest in the family business.” This had probably been the first time my father used the word “beloved” in addressing his wife. All through their marriage years, Adanna experienced so much abuse, from verbal insults, to physical beating, once he had tried to r*p* her because she wouldn’t perform oral s*x with him. All the same there’s a high chance my father didn’t personally write this will, it would have been one of his dozen aids at his disposal and all he had to do was look through and officiate it.

Chinwe and Amaka exploded into protest. “What?!” Chinwe cried. “That’s not fair! He’s barely out of school!”

Mother raised a hand to silence them. “This is what your father wanted. We must respect his wishes.”

I sat there, numb. The burden of my father’s expectations weighed heavily on me. To everyone else, I was the son he always wanted. But in reality, I was not. I was Nkem, a girl forced to live as a boy to fulfill a legacy I never asked for.

Mother looked at me, her eyes softening. “Nkem, I know this is a lot to take in. But your father believed in you. He believed you could carry on his legacy.”

I nodded, though I felt anything but capable. The truth of my identity was a secret that only Mother and a few trusted confidantes knew. To the world, I was Nkem, the male heir. It was a role I had played my entire life, and it had become second nature. Yet, in moments like these, the weight of the deception felt almost unbearable.

As the night wore on, the discussions about the will continued, but my mind wandered. I thought about the future, about the enormous responsibility that now lay on my shoulders. Could I continue to live this lie? Could I uphold the family’s legacy while hiding my true self?

Chinwe and Amaka eventually stormed out of the room, their anger and frustration palpable. Mother sighed, looking more weary than ever. “Nkem, you should get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

I nodded and stood up, but before I left, Mother reached out and squeezed my hand. “You can do this,” she said softly. “You are stronger than you think.”

I forced a smile and left the room, heading to my own. As I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I thought about the path that lay ahead. The family business, the expectations, the deceit—it all felt overwhelming. But beneath the fear and doubt, there was a flicker of determination. I had survived this long, hadn’t I? I could keep going.

Morning came all too quickly. I dressed in the formal attire expected of me, the tailored suit that fit my slender frame perfectly but felt like a cage. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw the image of the son my father had always wanted. But behind that facade was Nkem, the girl who had been hidden away for so long.

Downstairs, the house was already buzzing with activity. Lawyers and advisors had arrived to go over the details of the will and the transfer of assets. I took a deep breath and joined them, ready to face the day.

Before the meeting began, Mother was approached by the board of directors. These men had been Father’s trusted advisors, helping him build the family empire. Their presence now was both reassuring and intimidating.

“Adanna,” one of them said, nodding respectfully. “We need to discuss the future of the business and Nkem’s role as the heir.”

Mother nodded and gestured for me to join them. “Of course. Let’s speak in the study.”

We moved to Father’s study, a room that still smelled of his cologne and held his imposing presence. The directors took their seats, and I sat beside Mother, feeling their eyes on me.

“As you know, your father had great plans for this family,” one of the directors began. “His legacy is built on hard work, discipline, and vision. Nkem, it is now your responsibility to uphold these values and continue his work.”

I nodded, my mouth dry. “I understand. I will do my best.”

“We will support you, of course,” another director added. “But we must ensure that you are prepared. Your father’s wish was for you to attend Okoro University. He believed that the education and connections you would gain there are crucial for leading this family and the business.”

I nodded again, understanding but not liking it. Okoro University was known for its elite status, its rigorous academics, and its strict social hierarchies. It was a place where my every move would be scrutinized, where my secret would be harder to keep.

“We trust you will excel there,” the first director said. “Your father believed in you, and so do we.”

The meeting continued with discussions about the company’s current projects, financial standings, and future plans. I tried to absorb as much information as I could, but my mind kept drifting back to the reality of my situation.

Finally, the directors stood to leave. “Nkem, we have high expectations of you,” one of them said, shaking my hand. “Make your father proud.”

After they left, Mother turned to me, her expression softening. “You did well, Nkem. I know this is a lot, but you are more than capable.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of her words. “I hope so, Mum.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings and preparations. By the evening, I was exhausted. I retreated to my room, grateful for the solitude. As I sat by the window, looking out at the sprawling estate, memories of the past flooded my mind.

I remembered the day my deception began. I was five years old when I realized Mother was dressing me up in boys clothing. Teaching me to walk and act like a boy. At that age I didn’t need any voice training then and I was always bathed strictly by my Mother. I was never left alone and remained indoors for most of my early years. No real friends, no parties, nothing. Everything was provided, from exotic foods and drinks to anything a child could ever want for fun. It was lonely but money truly made everything better. From what I’ve heard about my birth. Mother had just given birth to yet another girl. Her disappointment was palpable. She had cried holding me in her arms while been consoled by her matron. The matron had been the one in the labor room when both Chinwe and Amaka were born. Father had not been there with her as always, he had thought in his heart “Another wasteful creature” as he often regarded my siblings. That night, she made a decision that would change our lives forever.

“You will be raised as a boy,” she had told me, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. “It’s the only way to secure our future.”

I didn’t fully understand then, but I trusted her. And so began the charade. Mother cut my hair short, dressed me in boys’ clothes, and taught me to walk and talk like a boy. It was confusing at first, but I adapted quickly.

My sisters, Chinwe and Amaka, were sworn to secrecy. They resented me at times, feeling the sting of Father’s favoritism, but Mother kept them in check. “This is for all of us,” she would remind them. “We must stand together.”

Father never suspected a thing. He was too busy with his business, too absorbed in his own world to notice the truth. To him, I was the son he always wanted, the heir to his empire. He groomed me for leadership, teaching me the ways of the business, instilling in me his values of hard work and discipline.

But beneath his stern exterior, there was no warmth, no affection. He saw me as an extension of himself, a tool to achieve his goals. There were times when I longed for his approval, for a sign that he loved me for who I was, not just for the role I played. But those moments were rare.

His expectations were high, his punishments severe. I learned to be perfect in his eyes, to never show weakness or doubt. I became adept at hiding my true self, at presenting the image he wanted to see. But the cost was high. I lost a part of myself in the process, became a shadow of who I could have been.

Now, with him gone, the future felt uncertain. The responsibilities he had left me were overwhelming, the expectations even greater. But I was determined to honor his legacy, to prove that I was capable. I would carry on the deception, continue to play the role he had assigned me. For my family, for our future.

As I sat there, lost in thought, the night deepened. The weight of my responsibilities pressed down on me, but so did a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to be true to myself while fulfilling the role he had left me. It wouldn’t be easy, but I had to try.

I took a deep breath and stood up. Tomorrow would be another long day, but I was ready. I had to be. For my family, for myself. For the legacy that now rested on my shoulders.

The Guardian of Secrets

 *flashback begins*

   July 2003,

The night air was thick with tension as the sound of footsteps echoed through the grand halls of the Okonkwo mansion. Mr. Chike, the chief butler and Eze Okonkwo's right-hand man, stood hidden in the shadows, watching with bated breath as his master, Eze Okonkwo, stormed through the corridors, his face twisted with rage. "Adanna!" Eze's voice thundered through the house, his eyes wild with fury. "Where are you? Don't think you can hide from me!" Chike's heart pounded in his chest as he heard the desperation in Eze's voice. He knew that something terrible was about to happen. Eze had always been a man of control, a man who demanded absolute obedience. But tonight, something had snapped. All the maids and workers squirmed and ran on hearing their masters thundering voice.

Eze burst into the master bedroom, and there she was-Adanna, his wife, standing