THE FATHER'S LOVE

 

THE FATHER’S LOVE

In the Republic of Haiti the Western Island of Hispaniola, there were a group of five children. They were friends. They lived on the outskirts of the city and all attended the same school called The Guardian Group of Schools. It was a huge structure situated in the city centre. They were always seen going to and from school. The children, between five and seven years, were fond of contestation about their fathers. 

Each of them would argue that the father is the most caring compared to the others, by which each would give evidence and instances of his father’s love and care and raise his voice to outshout the other. There was the youngest among them who never indulged in this raucous babble but would remain silent in the affray. When others would provide instances and give evidence of outings, gifts, and so on to prove their claims, he had nothing to say. His uniform was old and a poor patchwork. He had no sandals or school bag or a flask. It appeared his father cared not. The other children, often amused by his silence, would taunt him, “Don’t you have anything to say about your father?” His reply was always the same, making them wonder more. He would say that “I know my father loves me.” Or at other times, “I know no matter what, my father would never abandon me!” 

This continued until a certain disaster occurred. On a usual day, students were in their classes learning and workers and businesses were busy with their affairs. It was an hour before noon. A great tremor on the earth occurred which tumbled its peace and life. It was an earthquake of great magnitude that wrought great disaster. Humans and buildings collapsed and were submerged or made up rubble on the surface of the earth. The disaster did not spare these five children in the same class and others with them. All that could be seen of the storey buildings was debris so that, no man could imagine a single life still existed within the pile of dust. 

When the commotion and fear had subsided, everyone scampered for their loved ones or what was deemed valuable. The parents of the children in the school began to gather. Before long, they were on top of the heap of the school wailing aloud for their children buried within. The school was the worst hit. The rescuers and aid workers had affirmed there could never be a survivor so they had turned their attention to places of possible survivors. So it was, the next day and the day after, all the parents had lamented enough and began to lay wreaths for their children. It took him two days, the father of the youngest of the five children, to arrive at the scene when he heard of the disaster. He had travelled far off as a workman. He was running at some point when he could not be conveyed by vehicle; all the time wailing, “Oh my son, my son, my son…oh my son!” He came upon the heap that was a school where his son lay beneath and climbed to the top wailing and digging with his hands, feet, and mouth as though he was demented and all the time crying, “Oh son, my son must not die!” 

The law officers, rescuers, aid workers and sympathisers all came to console and plead with him to leave without success. They would drag and carry him off but he would run back to the heap. How come, they wondered, every parent had resigned to fate except him. Fed up with him, they locked him up twice in a room but no one could tell how he broke out and returned to the heap wailing and digging out for his son. He was considered a nuisance. People called him mad. "Is he the only one who suffered loss?" They asked rhetorically. Then they took a more severe measure against him. He was beaten and bound up to weaken the strength of his spirit. Still, no one could tell how he broke loose; until everyone agreed that he was truly demented or possessed. He was left alone like a madman to his impulse until he would give up. Some even mocked him that they would need no more excavators. 

“Oh my son, my son, my son…Oh, my son…!” The father cried; his face and hands and knees gashed and bloody. He kept up digging out from the fall of dusk to the wee hour of dawn and dug to a considerable depth into the rubble, removing and moving slabs, stones, woods, and pieces of furniture. Two men who were awed by his sheer will got hold of tools and took up the task to dig out along with him the dead children. But they gave up at some point.

At one time, the father thought he heard a faint sound in the depths and kept digging with the last of his breath. Part of the rubble gave way. Then he picked up distinctly the faint voice of his son, “Daddy, I am here!” and the father cried aloud, "My son's alive!" When the rescuers took up their duty, they discovered some children, among whom were the five children. They were caved in by pillars, roof slabs, and beams beneath the rubble.

Two weeks later when the children had been fully revived, they were brought before the press. The youngest of them, whose father has now from madness become a hero, was singled out and asked what he had to say about his father. “I told my friends that, no matter what, my father would never give up on or abandon me,” was all he cóuld say in tears.