It did not matter if it was a wedding, a funeral, a birthday, or just a normal Sunday gathering. There would always be arguments, people shouting, cousins refusing to talk to each other, and even at times, grown adults exchanging blows in front of the kids.
It was so shameful.
I used to dread family events. Instead of being happy to meet my aunties and uncles and cousins, I would start getting headaches days before. It was always chaos. People competing, gossiping, forming small camps and refusing to greet each other.
My mother cried so many nights because of how the family was breaking apart. My father gave up trying to bring people together. Even my grandfather, a man of wisdom and calmness, once said sadly that he had failed his family.
At some point, I thought maybe this was normal. Maybe all families are like this. But when I saw how my friends’ families would laugh together, pray together, and support each other, I knew something was very wrong with us.
We were cursed with hatred. That is how it felt.
Things became worse when land issues came up after the death of my grandfather. Brothers turned against brothers. Sisters insulted each other. My own father was called names by people he helped raise. It broke my heart.
One day after a particularly ugly fight at a family meeting, I decided enough was enough.
I could not stand to see my parents so stressed.
I could not imagine my children growing up in such division.
I needed a solution, and it had to be strong. Stronger than the bitterness and anger that had grown roots in our blood.READ FULL STORY.