Dedication: Dedicate my story to Jesus-Christ, my savior.
My name is Tiacoh Hyacinthe-Arnaud Yao Kpri Junior II. I know, it’s long… very long, actually. But it’s necessary for the rest of the story.
I was born into a family with two children, where I was the eldest. Then, miraculously, we became four (my mother gave birth to twins at the age of 50). She’s not a saint, but that’s a miracle! However, not all miracles change lives. Some simply reveal the chaos in our lives. Parental love is like water used to nurture a plant. At a high dose, the remedy can become poison.
Welcome to my dysfunctional family.
So, how to begin? I’ll make it short because it’s a story that has been going on for 27 years, and even I don’t know how it will end.
I started to suspect that my family was strange when I was 12, while spending vacations with my cousins in Belgium and France. Their relationships with their parents were normal. They refused certain meals, and their parents would sometimes offer something else. They discussed their day at the dinner table. They actually communicated with their parents. There was a conversation, and above all, there was almost no yelling. Mornings were peaceful, and evenings were calm. It was a world I longed for but one that was far from my reality.
At home, it was war—family-style. My father would wake up in the morning and start shouting (for no particular reason). His shirt wasn’t properly ironed, he hadn’t gotten his coffee, the driver wasn’t early enough. He just needed to assert his dominance first thing in the morning. Fortunately, it wasn’t every day, but it could happen several times a week. He would yell and lash out at whomever he chose, looking for a target to take his frustrations out on.
Once he finished his “show,” he would leave for work (a moment of relief and grace for us). Some kids are sad when their parents leave for work (I learned about that much later in life).
Then, he’d return for lunch with my mother, who also left for work before him (coincidentally). I, too, would come home for lunch, but I could barely eat my meal.
My father would start a litany of complaints and insults, killing our appetite.
He would lament the death of his mother, wishing aloud in front of us that he could join her.
He complained about me, saying I didn’t take after him (behaviorally).
He criticized the food, blamed my mother for not knowing how to manage a household.
He complained and we listened, as he delivered his sarcastic jabs and cruel rhetorical flourishes, all meant to hurt us.
Once, he beat me simply because I refused to eat a meal (specifically couscous). It wasn’t a parental correction. The term “beat” is deliberately used because I was terrified, and I wet myself in fear.
During my teenage years, things escalated into a wave of verbal violence, and my mother, initially a victim, eventually became like him at times. My brother and I were the favorite punching bags of narcissistic parents who, under the guise of love, indulged in the most excruciating emotional abuse.
But one day, I decided to put an end to it. This was in 2020, just before COVID-19. I couldn’t escape to university anymore, and we experienced a chain of deaths in the family. I attended every funeral, carrying the coffins. Although a little traumatic, this experience taught me one thing:
WE ONLY HAVE ONE LIFE, AND IF I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING, THIS SITUATION COULD BECOME MY ENTIRE LIFE.
The death of my uncles and aunts was sad, but the saddest part isn’t death itself. The saddest part is the life that is left behind after someone dies. Many of them never fulfilled their dreams. They wanted to marry, pursue higher education, or take up a profession. When they died, their families clearly remembered the dreams they couldn’t achieve.
And worst of all, it was because of family and societal pressures that they couldn’t achieve them. One uncle wanted to get married, but his parents opposed it. He accepted their decision and, as a result, lived a solitary life, accompanied only by alcohol, cigarettes, and a group of friends. (What can be a remedy can become poison in high doses.)
The family he lived for continues to live peacefully, while he never got what he wanted. After witnessing this, I told myself I wouldn’t let anyone else but me ruin my life. It’s my life, and I have the right to save or destroy it. I’m accountable only to God and myself.
You can imagine that such thoughts in an African society—especially in Côte d’Ivoire, with a traditionalist father and a mother who is both modern and traditional—are just the spark that can ignite the whole powder keg.
At first, these were just thoughts, but over time, they became a truth for me. I had to say it, declare it, and get out of there (my parents’ house).
At the same time, I must mention that I lived in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Côte d’Ivoire. Leaving my family meant:
Losing my social status (which conferred a respect I didn’t realize I had, in my naïveté as a rich kid).
Losing my financial means (I didn’t get money from my parents—a form of control—but at least I had everything I wanted).
Losing my comfort (a room with a loft, servants, and a chauffeur).
In short, losing everything that made up my identity. I’d also be seen as the family’s disgrace, a renegade, an ungrateful child selfishly pursuing his ambitions and causing suffering to his poor parents.
And to society—especially the society of rich kids—I’d just be another failed project. For, in our world, every child is a project for their parents. The child must succeed their parents in business. If they don’t, there are consequences…
I knew all this and the suffering that awaited me. But the regret was far more terrifying. I saw regret on the faces of the dead, bitterness on the faces of the living. The unbearable “what ifs” and conditionals that suggested an alternative reality in another universe, but not this one.
The suffering I had endured throughout my childhood (not unhappy, but very difficult) allowed me to say a big NO to my three adversaries:
Society
My parents
Myself
Yes, myself too. I had the desire to please, to be recognized, to be loved. I also fueled society’s fire by thinking it had the right to tell me who I should be. I fed my parents’ narcissism by complying with their wishes, never opposing them for 23 years. So yes, I was part of the problem, thinking I didn’t matter, that my opinions didn’t count.
At the end of my studies, I was supposed to become a notary and take over my mother’s notarial office. That’s why I studied law (I was forced into it, though I excelled at it; in truth, I loved literature). Becoming a notary meant I’d inherit a thriving business with loyal employees.
In short, a pre-determined destiny, with financial security for life. But in return, I’d endure my parents’ insults, abuse, and lack of respect as long as they lived. I wouldn’t just be their son anymore; I’d also be their employee, particularly my mother’s. And since my father influenced most of her decisions, he’d have a say in my life as well.
Moreover, if I had a wife and children, my parents, having treated me the way they did, would extend their toxic and belligerent behavior to them as well.
That’s when I said NO. I wouldn’t sacrifice the happiness of my future family for money. I understood the incredible opportunity of having this business within reach, but how long could I keep silent for the sake of money? Hadn’t I already done so for a large part of my existence?
There is another path… the most uncertain… the least secure… far from my parents and the world I knew. Another path that God seems to have prepared for me. A path proposed by God.
I prayed a lot during this time and, of course, got no clear response from God about what to do.
I understood that the absence of a divine response is proof that we must take a leap of faith.
So, I said NO to what was offered and declared that I needed to leave Côte d’Ivoire for France to complete my studies and gain professional experience.
But what happens when you’ve said YES for 23 years and suddenly say NO?
Well, the world makes it clear that you’ve given the wrong answer, and you’ll be punished.
Then came a series of incredible events. It felt like a chess game. Manipulation, lies, false promises, and fake agreements between my parents and me.
Anyway, all of this will be detailed in a book. But against all odds, I took off for France.
My family was surprised and shocked by my decision. Society didn’t care at all. My parents, in despair, cried out in grief, betrayal, and cruelty, calling me all sorts of names and begging me to return. But my heart was cold and unyielding. I knew it was all lies. I had to keep my eyes fixed on the present and the future.
The most heartbreaking image was leaving my brothers behind, abandoning them in the torment of that house. But someone had to do it—I had to do it. Not just for me, but for them.
Here is the English translation of the text:
—
**And that parents don’t know everything… The world is bigger and offers more opportunities than we think.**
Anyway, I got on the plane with the support of my mother, who had realized her past mistakes. Although she was complicit, she was also a victim, and at times, she felt sorry for us, seeing us suffer.
I arrived in France and, miraculously, I was able to join a youth worker’s residence with the help of my aunt. My family and my mother lent me 2000 euros to get through the first few months.
It was during the COVID pandemic, in winter, January 2021. Probably not the best time to embark on an adventure, but I believe there is never a good or bad time to escape an uncomfortable situation.
Over time, since I arrived in France, I didn’t speak to my father for the first two years. It was as if he was dead to me…
It was difficult… I hated him as much as I loved him, but I knew I didn’t need his negativity because, before I left, he predicted that I wouldn’t find a job and that my girlfriend would leave me. (I did find a job, but she did leave me.)
But little by little, the situation improved. My mother bore a lot on her shoulders, even though I was angry with her.
This struggle and separation brought us closer than ever before. When I was in Côte d’Ivoire, I was just a servant to her.
But since the distance, I’ve become more of her son and her confidant…
As for my father, it wasn’t until I returned to Côte d’Ivoire after three years of exile that we really started speaking to each other again.
Something between us broke forever… But it’s better this way. Now he talks to me with respect; he no longer attacks me directly and doesn’t try to humiliate me, either publicly or privately.
There is a sort of distance between us… And I believe that respect requires a little distance.
They’ve made efforts with my twin brothers… My younger brother is another topic, one that requires us to take real time to address.
Also, my relationship with myself has changed. I’ve learned to love myself, to respect myself, to put myself first.
I’ve learned to express what I want and not to negotiate everything (some things are non-negotiable).
I’ve learned to heal from those 23 years of trauma and to prepare myself for healthy relationships.
This unhealthy relationship I had with my parents affected every part of my life. My professional life because I let colleagues dominate me, my love life because my ex had a certain control over me, and my relationship with myself because, being constantly infantilized, I behaved like a child.
But deciding to live for myself and say NO to society’s dictates has allowed me to do good for others and, above all, for myself.
Sometimes the right answer can be a sincere no. So be proud of yourself, your story, and what you want to become. No one but God knows what you truly need. And you know a little of it too.
Beginnings in life are always dark… Like the night, you don’t know what awaits you. But you have to be patient and wait for the day to break, to see the path you’ve traveled.
Pray to God that He places the right people by your side at the right times.
Today, I don’t have the perfect relationship with my parents. But from 2020 to 2024, a lot has happened.
I got a job in a law firm on the Champs-Élysées, I have a beautiful and kind girlfriend, I’m financially independent, and I live on my own.
Finally, I’ve become a man, and I can have a family. They may not have the wealthy life I knew, but I’d rather they have a modest life like the one I currently live, with peace and no trauma.
Rather than a rich kid’s life filled with trauma caused by a father (me) frustrated by being dominated by his parents, demoralized by doing a job he hates, married to a woman who might love him, and living a life he despises.
That father would take out his anger on his wife, and since Ivorian society is deeply patriarchal and misogynistic, she would have to endure my outbursts and infidelity, which I’d use to forget the miserable life I have.
And my children would witness, as I did, the sad spectacle of seeing their mothers cry and hide it because of their fathers. They would grow up in a tense atmosphere and could become prey to predators and narcissists who sense such weaknesses.
They would end up in therapists’ offices because their cowardly father (me) wasn’t able to say NO to his parents and society at a crucial time in his life.
Thank God, they won’t have to live through that — maybe other challenges. But I’ve made sure, with God’s strength and grace, that my life is a haven of peace.
And I believe that’s what God calls us to, and we can all say NO if what others propose doesn’t suit us.
