My daughter was waiting for me at the gate

I sell building materials at the market in Enugu. For eleven years I opened the shop at six in the morning and closed after dark. I told myself it was all for my family, and it was.

My daughter Adaeze is eight. Last year her school had an end of year play, and she was a tree. A talking tree, she told me, with three lines. She practiced them every night for two weeks. I promised I would come.

That Friday a supplier came late with a delivery, and I stayed to count every bag. By the time I reached the school, the hall was empty. Adaeze was sitting by the gate with her mother, still wearing her costume of paper leaves.

She did not cry. That was the worst part. She just said, “It is okay, Daddy. You always come after.” Then she held my hand and we walked to the car.

I did not sleep that night. I kept hearing it. You always come after.

A few weeks later a friend brought me to a fathers’ circle. I sat at the back and said nothing the first time. The second time I told them about the gate. One man said, “Your shop will still be there when she is grown. Will she?” I have thought about that every day since.

I made some changes. They are small, but I keep them. I close the shop at five on Wednesdays, and that evening belongs to Adaeze. My apprentice opens on Saturdays so I can take her to school events and to her swimming lessons. I leave my phone in the car when I pick her up.

The first Wednesday, she did not believe me. She kept asking when I had to go back. Now she plans our Wednesdays days in advance. Last week it was puff puff and a very long story about a girl in her class.

In June she had another play. She was a queen this time, with more lines. I was in the front row. When she walked on stage she looked for me first, and when she found me, she smiled and stood up straighter.

I still work hard. But now I am in the life I am working for.