Childhood experiences are very formative. It can be humbling to trace the impact of words or actions from one’s parents and the lasting impact on the rest of a person’s life. For the parents, it might be just a normal Tuesday. For the child, it can become a memory that affects the way they view everything and everyone else from then on.
The reality of growing up in a Nigerian household can sometimes be depressing — a deeply entrenched hurt that so many adults have experienced and carry all their lives without ever seeking help, because doing so would mean accepting that their parents were wrong or flawed. It would mean realizing that their parents may have also been hurt, and lashed out because they didn’t know better. It’s an unpleasant experience for anyone and a worrying cycle.
Culture Custodian spoke to five Nigerians who bravely shared the most hurtful things their parents have ever said to them.
Nneka, 21
I grew up in Lagos, isolated because we weren’t allowed to play outside and whatnot. My parents were strict and I grew up in such fear that I got sexually assaulted twice, but I couldn’t open up.
We moved because of family issues to a new environment and my mum was always angry and trying to pour her frustration on others, especially me. So when my dad passed away in 2020, it was like everything came crumbling down. She would always get mad whenever things didn’t go her way, we were always arguing coupled with the fact that my dad’s family didn’t care.
She’s been forcing marriage down my throat since I was 17. I’m 21 now and that still hasn’t changed. She wants me to meet one rich man so it’d be her escape route out of all her struggles.
The most painful thing she has said was when we were exchanging words as usual one day and she told me, “You’re useless, you should’ve died with your father.”
I have yet to recover from it.
Vicky, 20
The most painful thing wasn’t even said to me directly. My parents are divorced and my dad has another wife. He trusts her more than me, so anything she says, he believes.
I stayed with my dad for a while, and he never stopped complaining about everything I did. His friend came over one time and asked after me, and then he started saying hurtful words. He said, and I quote because I remember it like it was yesterday, “Vicky? She’s just useless to me.”
I smiled at the time to mask my emotions, but the moment I went inside I couldn’t hold my tears. Even my mom has protested how he talks about me to her, like I’m not his daughter.
Mercy, 22
I can’t even pick just one thing. Is it from my mother, or from my father?
At an early age, my dad was barely home. He worked at a hotel and only visited once a week. When I was 6, he rented a place to run his own hotel business and we moved in. My dad was busy and my mom was absent-minded. She only cooked when she was hungry, and didn’t really care about me. Eventually, we had to move, and she left. The time she visited years later, she said, “I only gave birth to you to prove I could. You’re nothing to me.”
Allison, 25
I was sexually assaulted by a priest when I was 10 years old, and when I finally got the courage to tell my mother about it, she called me a prostitute. She doubled down at my protests and insisted I must have enjoyed it, and since then, I’d rather die than tell her anything about my life.
Prince, 27
When I was 18, I wanted to go to Uniport but my y parents preferred Rivers State University (RSU), even though it was more expensive, because they just didn’t want me out of their sight. I refused.
A week after, I went out to buy something and passed by my mum’s shop, not far from the house. Before I knew it, I was dragged inside. My mother had gathered her friends to convince me to change schools last minute. I listened to what they had to say and still refused. Then they got hostile, one of her friends even threatened to beat, kill, bury me, and cover it up all while my mother nodded her head.
I left there angrily and hit the window of one of my dad’s old cars, a Mercedes’ Benz 190 that he didn’t drive anymore because he just didn’t feel like it. Since it was covered with tarpaulin, it took me a minute to realize I’d broken the window with my hit. I ran to my friend Micheal, who was like an elder brother to me, to help me sort things out with my dad.
But my dad had already found out by then, and as we both walked to my house, he hit Michael and I with his other car. The one he did feel like driving. Then he came down, grabbed us both and started bashing our heads with rocks. At a point he left me alone and focused on Michael, who told me to run. But I refused.
I begged my father to let Michael go and I’d come with him. He did. He grabbed me and pulled me towards the 190 Benz, wrapped chains around me, splashed kerosene on me, and threw me inside the Benz. Mind you, there were multiple cans of diesel, kerosene, fuel etc, inside. He lit a match and threatened to burn me alive, and everyone in the street started begging, but by then I was honestly just ready to die.
After all was said and done, my mother came to me that evening and told me my father said he wouldn’t sponsor my university education if I decided to go to a school that wasn’t RSU. So I submitted.
I ended up dropping out and running away after a month.
