Does Your Daughter Hate You?

"In your pursuit for revenge, be prepared to lose everything because hatred will always bring more harm to the hater than the hated."

Labadi Beach Resort Hotel, Accra, Ghana

It was 4:30 p.m. local time when the all-day training for top government officials from Nigeria ended. My rubber-soled, black lace-up shoes had become tight from standing all day. I stepped out of the training hall and headed towards the beach. The soft sand greeted me as I dropped my bags and documents by a nearby tent and kicked off my shoes. With each step, I let the cool waves crash gently against my legs, feeling the tension slowly release from my body.

I wandered into the water until it reached my knees, letting the waves pull my feet deeper into the sand with each passing moment. For ten minutes, I stood there, savoring the calm beauty of the sunset and allowing the cold saltwater to wash away the stress from my body.

I longed for a cold shower and the comfort of my pillow, so I made my way back to the hotel along the concrete path at the beachfront. A young lady walked past me, and I greeted her with a smile. She smiled back and waved, then stopped to say, "I really enjoyed your session. It was very inspirational."

Her words caught me off guard—she wasn't part of the group I had trained, so I asked how she had seen the session. "I was in the next hall," she explained. "The walls are collapsible, so I could see and hear everything."

We exchanged pleasantries, but just as I was about to continue my walk, she called out to me. "Do you have a minute to talk?" she asked.

I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to rest, but I agreed to listen.

"I've been thinking a lot about what you said in your session about emotional smartness," she started. "It made me reflect on my family situation. I haven't spoken to my father in years. I’m 18 now, and I’ve stayed silent because of what he did to my mother nine years ago."

She paused, looking at me intently. "Am I emotionally smart?" she asked.

In that moment, I wasn’t sure how to respond. She seemed like she needed someone to unload her emotions on, and I was the only stranger nearby. I wasn’t ready for this, but I nodded, signaling her to continue.

She introduced herself as Yaaba. We sat on an old bench overlooking the beach, and she began speaking, her voice low and heavy with years of unresolved emotion.

"I know my father had something to do with my mother’s death, but I can't prove it," she said suddenly.

The statement hung in the air, and I leaned in, completely unprepared for what was to come next.

"As a child, I helped him hide things from my mother—documents, pictures—things I didn’t understand at the time. It wasn’t until later that I realized their significance." She paused, her eyes clouded with memory.

She continued, telling me about her father’s business dealings and her mother’s disapproval. Her father, she said, had been loving and generous but also secretive. After her mother’s death, Yaaba had become silent, retreating into herself, observing her father more closely.

"I knew something was off," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I didn’t speak about it. I stayed quiet, hoping things would get better."

The night grew darker as she spoke, and the beach grew colder. We had been talking for hours, and I could feel the chill from both the wind and her story. I had become her sounding board, listening intently as she laid out the emotional wreckage of her family.

Just before I stood to wrap up the conversation, she spoke again.

"One last thing," Yaaba said, her eyes distant. "My father is a well-known figure in this town. You’ll find out who I really am when you get back to Nigeria. But that’s not why I’m telling you all this."

I was intrigued, but she wasn’t finished.

"I made a decision today," she said, her voice firmer now. "I’ve been consumed by revenge for too long. I’m letting go of the past. I’m going to stop hating my father and start loving my stepmother. I need a fresh start."

Her words hit me hard. In the midst of her pain, Yaaba had made a conscious choice to change her life. I asked her why she had come to this conclusion.

She looked away towards the sea, taking a deep breath before turning back to me, her eyes teary.

"A participant in your session said something that really resonated with me. He said, ‘If you’re driven by revenge, you can’t dig just one grave. You’ll dig two—one for yourself and one for the person you’re trying to hurt.’ Hearing that, I knew I couldn’t go on with my plan. I was hurting myself just as much as I was hurting my father."

Yaaba paused, and I could tell that her decision wasn’t easy. It had been a long, painful journey to get to this point. She then told me that she had deleted her social media accounts and reached out to her brothers with a message of love and gratitude. The response was unexpected. They didn’t recognize the kindness in her words, and it made her realize how much damage had been done by her silence and anger.

I was relieved to hear that she was ready to make a change. As we walked towards the hotel lobby, I asked her what she would do next.

"My father and I have never really enjoyed our time together," she said. "But tomorrow, I’m going to order his favorite meal, and for the first time in years, I’ll talk to him. We have a lot to work through, but I think we can do it."

I felt a sense of hope for her, but I also wanted to make sure she understood the gravity of her decision. "Are you sure this is what you want?" I asked.

She nodded, determination in her eyes. "I can’t keep going down this path of hate. It’s destroying me and my family. If I don’t change now, I’ll lose everything."

As we reached the hotel entrance, she turned to me. "If we ever meet again or if you find out who I really am—this never happened. Goodbye."

I watched her walk away, her pace quickening as she disappeared into the hotel.

Later, when I returned to my room, I checked my phone and saw dozens of missed calls. Everyone was looking for me. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Yaaba. Her story had sparked something in me, something I hadn’t expected.

Meeting Yaaba made me reflect on my own life, and it ignited a passion for discussing parenting and emotional well-being. I began to focus on the importance of emotional healing, especially in the context of family.

What we expose our children to matters. The words we say, the example we set—they shape who they become.

Life is a journey, full of ups and downs. We fall, we get back up, and we continue moving forward. It’s not always easy, but it’s the only way to move toward healing and growth.