200 DAYS

...my heart is pounding, and tears flow down the corner of my eyes staining the pillow that I lay my head upon. I cry for my daughter, thinking of the pain and confusion that her little world has been subjected to. How can she understand that I and her father love her dearly, but that circumstances that could lead to peace and financial stability are the key reasons for our separation from her?

I landed a job opportunity that would take me to another West African country that I had dreamt of residing in for a while. I was happy but nervous at the prospect of leaving my daughter behind even for a day. Nevertheless, I had to consider our financial freedom and the things that I would be able to provide for her on my own. I’d naively thought that the job training would take a maximum of two months or so, but I’m now staring at my fingers as I mention the number seven. Seven months of heart break, pain, anger, confusion, guilt, and more guilt.

I was angry at God for giving me a more lucrative job offer two months after I had accepted the one that separated me from my child; I was angry and bitter at my father for forcing a separation between my daughter and her dad; I was confused and angry at the management of the company for stretching the training period for no reason into six months; I was bitter towards my daughter’s father for not doing the right thing by us when he had the opportunity to; and I felt guilty that I was the architect of my daughter’s unhappiness.

Today would mark the 200^th day of our separation. I have been with her for only seven days in this period of time, and the change that I’ve witnessed is nothing but heart wrenching. She is no longer the chubby bubbly girl that I left behind...she is now skinny with scars of mosquito bites all over her legs, and shows signs of fear at the sight of certain people. It breaks my heart that I pray to God every day to unite us quickly but he doesn’t seem to hear my plea.

I recently found us an apartment that we could call home, and all I needed was to furnish it and bring her over this weekend. My boss has sort of altered this plan by insisting that I get my money back from the house owner, and look for another house closer to the office all at the company’s expense. It seems too good to be true, and whilst any sane person would be over the moon at the thought of having that kind of cash to play with, I am once again enveloped in sadness at how slow the entire process is. Now, I have to go through the bureaucracy of authorizations here and there which would only lengthen the time away from my daughter.

This write-up is a plea to God for help, to re-unite us and take away all the pain and bitterness that has shrouded my life and made my daughter unhappy.