I grew up in Lagos, Nigeria in the 70s and 80s. My mother was Irish and my father Nigerian. 

On the surface we were financially comfortable and enjoyed all the benefits that came with that privilege. My father was a doctor and did well in his profession. My mother worked as a PA. But from a young age I sensed my father was different from other fathers.

I remember he would often sit in the lounge staring into space, other times he had these bursts of energy and would pace about, having intense arguments with himself, gesturing and waving his arms around as though he were talking to someone but there was never anyone there. When this happened I saw fear in my father’s face, his eyes became round and bright and he clenched his jaw. I believed he was seeing monsters, the creatures that I imagined came out at night to eat little children.

I was not just afraid of him, I was afraid for him. When he had his episodes my father’s behaviour created a palpable tension in our household,  my siblings tiptoed around him, my mother’s face was often strained. At times he was very cold towards me which contrasted greatly with my mother’s affectionate nature. When he wasn’t agitated he sank into a lethargic state, his facial expression became wooden, his voice slurred and eyes lifeless, as though everything that made him human had been stripped out.