The Life Story Never Told... So Here It Is

Copyright © 2023 by Fidelia Iwegbu.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below through mail or email with the subject line Attention: Publication Permission.

All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible. Public domain.

This publication contains the opinions and ideas of its author. It is intended to provide helpful and informative material on the subjects addressed in the publication. The author and publisher specifically disclaim all responsibility for any liability, loss, or risk, personal or otherwise, which is incurred as a consequence, directly or indirectly, of the use and application of any of the contents of this book.

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ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-956135-82-4

ISBN (Hardback): 978-1-956135-84-8

ISBN (ebook): 978-1-956135-83-1

Table of Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Prayer

Other Books Written By This Author

Sources/Reference

Notes

Answers to the Bible Trivia

About the Author

Dedication

I dedicate my work to my son and my mother, who stood with me through thick and thin. To my mother, whose words of encouragement and push for tenacity ring in my ears. My son, you have grown as you continue to grow, and you have become an adult—you are still my boy supporting me throughout the process. I will always appreciate you and continue to pray for your strength and resilience.

Acknowledgements

I am using this opportunity to give special thanks to some professors who have inspired me. I have published some books and believed that I did enough research and gathered enough information, coupled with my personal life experiences and Bible references, and shared it in the books. The books were not flying off the shelves, so I decided not to write books anymore but rather be focused on my dissertation project. It took some professors courage to let students know what they are good at. For this reason, I appreciated their compliment and decided to continue writing.

Books written by this author can be access online through Amazon or Barns & Noble, or Walmart. These books are:

The Life Story Never Told…So Here It Is

Voluptuous Spirited Skipper (Another book written for movie)

Pigmentation As You See It

Need Sleep to Dream? FindOut

Are We Really Human; Come Join Me, Let’s Talk

Money! Is It the Root of All Evil?

Why Marry?

Preface

I am happy to open my bulky journal and pull out my experiences, memories, lots of events of life, and observation entries; and excited to share this remarkably unusual life story for the purpose of making an extraordinary entertainment movie, believing, and trusting that many will gain knowledge and insight of a different life from theirs as they watch the movie.

This is not a snapshot, fiction, or fairy tale; it is a fully unfiltered, uncommon, uncensored, and unedited real-life story of the author that has never been told.

Chapter 1

I was growing up as a little girl in a wealthy-parent home. Even though we came from Delta State in the Midwest, we lived in Port Harcourt, one of the historical landmark cities in Nigeria. I found myself happy as a child even though the definition of happiness was not well known to me at that age. Looking back, I was a spoilt child, if I may add, being the only child at home at that time. I remember as a little girl, I would invite some little girls of my age to come to our house after school; an average of three to six girls would show up, especially those that live in the neighborhood. Those living blocks away are usually dropped off by their parent. I would order our servants to make more food. I gave them all the food and watched them eat it. We ran around and played plays that are different from plays seen in the advanced world today.

Television, computer, and toys were not in vogue at that time. We had an imaginative way to have fun as children and with magical childhood moments. I had a bicycle but never rode on it because my friends did not have one. I would rather jump rope with them and build mud houses and play in the rain.

We played without the restriction of routine play, schedule, responsibilities, and demands that exist today. I am at fault now because I restricted my son from free play. I applied all the structure of limiting free play time that I grew up with because the American society we live in focuses on academics, technology, and mostly safety precaution.

As we were playing one day, one of the girls fell on a sand ground. We screamed at her to get up and get the ball to throw, but she won’t get up. What do we know? Because we all girls live in the neighborhood, we all ran to her house to get her mother. The mother came with us. By the time we got back to the girl with her mother, there were people on the ground with the girl helping her. The girl was the youngest of us at five years old. I was six-plus then; one of the girls was seven. I remember the mother was so furious. She complained that the play was killing her daughter. The girl’s mother said we should leave her daughter alone because she was not as healthy as we are. Whatever she was complaining about was not clear to us then. Health education in the developing countries then was zero, especially at the age we were then.

When I think of it now, I wonder why I was not hungry then. Do you know that I would sit down and watch my friends eat all the food prepared by my fathers’ servants just to please them so they will come again for play? I guess there are things that we will never understand. After we played, there is a certain time they must be home to do their homework. I can’t wait to wake up in the morning to go to school and come back to play with my friends. I believed that they felt the same way too. One of the girls and I go to private school, while the rest of the girls that come to play with us go to public school. We never looked down on any of the girls because, for us, we don’t really know the difference between private and public schools at that age. We do not have parents that tried to separate us from other children.

When I turned eight, I hurt my left thumb playing with the girls. I did not want to tell my parents because my father will take me to the hospital. My father noticed that my left thumb was bothering me because the pain was so much. My father looked at my thumb and said it was a boil. He asked me what happened; I said I banged my thumb on something while playing with the girls. As I suspected, he took me to the hospital. They burst my thumb opened and removed some pus out of it, stitched the open thumb, and bandaged it. That was the scariest thing I ever saw. It did not hurt, but I was screaming on top of my lung. From what I know now, it was numbed; hence it did not hurt. After the hospital horrible experience, I had pain, but I kept it secret, so my father won’t take me back to the hospital. When it is time to go back to the hospital to take off the stitches, I cried from house till hospital. When the doctor touched my thumb, I screamed on top of my lung. It did not hurt; I just don’t want to be touched by somebody wearing a white coat.

My father was a well-known rich businessman. He owns hotels as well. The happy home did not last long. It quickly turned into a battlefield when my mother discovered that my father had fathered children with a close relative known to my mother. Now, as I am a grown woman, it makes me wonder why my mother would be unhappy about the situation because the custom and culture allow men to marry more than one wife. It is legal, and no crime was committed, and no law was broken. Besides, my father was rich enough to marry more than one wife because he can afford to maintain them. It is a common practice among rich Nigerian men to marry more than one wife. The wives live separately. While the man lives with the first wife, he visits his other wives. The situation brought a rift between my parents.

My emotional turmoil that comes from watching my parents under enormous stress became worse when my mother and father separated. My father remarried another woman, but not the woman he has children with. I was a young teenager. Any teenager who has gone through what I went through, separation of a parent, will confirm that it is tough and difficult. The children go through what the parents exactly go through anger, depression, fear, and abandonment. In fact, in my case, it was more traumatic because, at that age, I did not know why this happened, what to make of it; neither did my parents tell me something a child will understand. The silence of not being told what was happening then even made it worse. The friends I played with at that age helped me to cope with the separation, and I came out of it better. It may be culture, but parents do not tell their children that they love them neither do they hug their children. I did not experience that affection, neither did I see any of the children experience the affection either, but parents are there for their children. Who said one cannot break tradition? From the time my son was born till today, I continue to tell my son that I love him and will hug him. I will tell him how good he is—adopting the western culture. Many African parents are adopting the western style of telling their children how much they love them depending on their background, educational level, culture, family sizes, and religion. Though many Africans are adopting the western style of raising kids while living in the western world, the African culture is still very much being practiced in Africa by African men.

Technically, my parents did not officially divorce. Customarily, men can marry more than one wife. When couples separate, the culture automatically gives the father custody of the children. Because culturally, children belong to their father. When separation occurs, the