My dad built it. He loves building.
He's absolutely amazing at it. We're getting ready to go to bed.
My sister's two years younger than me, Aida, four years younger than me, Rhoda are all staying in the same bedroom.
Really annoying having two younger sisters taking up all the room.
"Afro, What's that?”.
“Rhoda, just go to sleep, man, you always do these weird things. I don't know, I don't care what it is."
"There it is again Afro”.
"I don't know, Rhoda”.
Wow, there she is, my mom.
Now, my mom is about 5ft 3ins, has her hair tied up in a bun most of the time, always got this big warm smile on her face, she's so friendly.
But not today.
She's lying on the floor in her pyjamas, all scared and worried.
"Mum? Are you okay? What's wrong, mum?"
In he comes.
Why is he so angry?
He's got this rage in his eyes.
He is about five foot nine, big build, strong, intimidating, peering over with hate in his eyes.
The smell of alcohol is everywhere.
"Mum? What's wrong with Dad?” with fear and tears pouring down my face.
“Mum? It's going to be okay, mum, it's going to be okay."
That was 1993.
That went on for another 10 years.
In and out of prison, my father was, drinking alcohol heavily.
Sometimes he was loving, but other times you just didn't want to be in the same room as him.
10 years we had to live through that. Fast forward 10 years, same house, same man, same situation.
This time I'm bigger, I'm stronger, and I face him.
He's left petrol all around the house.
He was going to set alight to it.
"Dad, what's wrong with you? Dad, why do you do these things? Why, why, dad, why?"
I stood up to him that day.
The police came in, took him away.
He spent the next five years or so in prison.
That was the last time I saw my dad face to face. I thought it would just stop there, once my dad went to prison, but it didn't, it got worse.