I was always selective about what I ate as a child. I grew up in an average family with a lot of love. This love was even more intense because I happen to be the last born and the only son. It was normal during my childhood to prefer junk to the nutritious meals that my mum always prepared and most times, I refused to eat just because I didn’t want to. It was fast becoming a bad habit. I was getting skinny and looking malnourished and the fact that my health condition required that I ate enough food — delicious, balanced and nutritious meals that would keep me healthy and fit — made my parents worried. They’d tried everything to make me eat more, even stocking the house up with beverages, eggs and noodles but to no avail. It was biscuits, doughnuts and egg rolls with soft drinks I preferred. Eventually, my sisters learnt to make these things at home and mum tried to make provisions for flour and butter so that we could have the snacks ready at home. I was overjoyed. It didn’t matter that it was causing a strain on my parents’ monthly budget or that I was still getting tiny that I had to fold my shorts to have them remain on my waist or that I was constantly bullied because I looked so tiny. Wetin concern me? But then, dad was already getting fed up seeing me consume junk and continue to look sickly and weak. It happened on a certain day, that my mum had prepared a delicious meal of Moi-Moi. I had watched her prepare the meal, adding boiled eggs and bits of fish to the seasoned paste before wrapping it up and placing it on fire to steam and immediately, I had made up my mind that I wasn’t going to eat it. Yes, I was something else then. The food was ready, then and everyone tried to get me to eat but I remained adamant and they left me alone. At exactly 9:00 PM, a Toyota car pulled into the premises of block 18 Santa where we lived in the Barracks. I had heard the sound of the revving engine from the parlour where I sat and I knew without being told that my father was back. My father’s eyes sought me out — on the sofa where I had sat sulking — from the door post where he stood with his briefcase and a black package. Immediately, the strong aroma of well-grilled suya wafted into my nostrils and I rushed from the sofa to hug him. “Wait!” He said coldly. “Have you eaten?” He asked and his eyes became hard and glinted ominously at me. You see, my father was a disciplinarian though, not so hard or harsh but as a child, I had always avoided incurring his wrath because I was one who always wanted to be in his good books. Call it men things if you like. “I’m not hungry,” I said looking down at my toes. I could tell that it was going to be a long night because dad hadn’t even dropped his briefcase as he looked down at my tiny form. “Who said so?” He asked and lifted my wrist which was as tiny as a broomstick. “Oya, carry that side stool and sit by the table”, was the simple command he gave me. As I walked to the centre table holding the stool, dad asked one of my sisters to quickly make enough custard and bring two huge wraps of the Moi-Moi. He had set the briefcase on the sofa and handed over the huge package of smelling suya to my mother and then, he had taken off his coat and folded up the sleeves of his white shirt. I knew! oh yes, I knew without being told that it was going to be a night of war! And dear Lord, I shivered in anticipation. My sister brought the food and placed it on the table. A steaming bowl of custard that was almost spilling out unto the table and two mountainous Moi-Moi. I stared with incredulous intensity at the steams that emanated out of the suicide feast in front of me and concluded that my sister didn’t love me. “Very good!” My dad said unbuckling his hard leather belt, making his trousers sag a bit to reveal the mound of flesh that was his belly — covered in a white singlet and which pushed out of his unbuttoned shirt with determination and his eyes blazed down at me cruelly. “Eat!” He commanded. I grumbled and picked up the spoon but I certainly had no intention of eating. Of course, I was ready to have us awake the whole night. I just kept tapping into the bowl of custard and playing with the spoon around the plate of Moi-Moi while my father — whose form was towering over me — looked down at me impatiently. “I said eat!” He exploded fiercely and I shivered when I saw the muscles of his tummy contract aggressively. “I don’t have the appetite”, I said shakily. “No appetite?!” He asked with mock bewilderment. “Okay, we will fix your appetite.” My mother chuckled and my sisters giggled tauntingly at me as my father took off his shirt and advanced towards me, eyes holding sinister intentions. He grabbed my tiny arms carefully but firmly with a powerful left hand and reached down for my jaws with the fingers of his right hand. “Oya, grab his legs!” He commanded my sisters who gleefully surrounded me and clamped down on my tiny legs firmly! “Hold it very tight!” “Nye Ega, put two spoons of custard in his mouth!” He said to my mother who dropped the package of suya and reached for the spoon. My father squeezed down on my jaws and it was effectively pried open. I lay there helpless with impotent rage surging through me as I watched my mother fill my mouth up with custard and deftly clamped down on my