OLD MAMA’S TALE: Part II

Continued from part 1
Ajoke has come home after ten years just to bury her mother…

“We buried Mama last week. David and I are only here to finalize on the sale of the house,” Ajadi said softly.

Her knees gave way and she slid into a nearby seat, Ajadi remaining ramrod in front of her. Was it pity she saw on his face? It was well deserved. She had just missed her mother’s burial. She had missed the last opportunity to pay her last respects to the greatest woman in the world; a woman she had fought and blamed almost all her adult life.

Ajadi’s sigh brought her to. He was just two years older than her but the years separating their relationship spanned a decade.

“She told me not to miss her burial. Begged me,” Ajoke whispered.
Ajadi stood still, tears shimmering in his eyes. What had gone wrong? Ajoke had been the darling of the family. She’d been their mother’s pride. Mama had taught her to hold her head up, to be proud; never to allow the boys to cheat her. Where had who gone wrong?

“The most important is that she lived well, and died fulfilled. And she’s in heaven. She served God to the very end. And she died peacefully,” Ajadi murmured.

“How did she die?” Ajoke asked. Her eyes were clear, but she wailed within.

“In her sleep, on her knees. We believe she must have woken up at some time in the night to pray and from there gone. There was a smile on her face.”

“Exactly how she would have wanted it. I’m glad though. You were here with her?” she looked at him.

“Banke and I and the children had wanted to spend the holidays with her but Banke couldn’t get away from work so we chose that weekend to come. She died on a Sunday morning.”

“How‘s Banke’s job as a… ur director in central bank?” Ajoke asked. She wasn’t sure.

“Fine. She got the break after all, for the burial.”

Ajoke remembered kicking against her brother marrying Banke because she was three years older than he was; in essence, she became the oldest daughter-in-law Mama had. To Ajoke’s chagrin, Banke stood as the eldest daughter till the end. Her war with Banke had come to an end. When the chips were down, Banke had been there.

“You say you are sure Mama did not have any pains, she wasn’t sick or anything?” Ajoke fiddled with her fingers.

“Are you disappointed, little sister?” David walked in, strolling to the refrigerator as though he’d been in on the conversation from the start.

“We decided to focus on how she lived, and the lessons she taught us. It’s no use dwelling on how she died. We must only learn from her life,” Ajadi said.

“We all did. Except one. Even Jesus had a one,” David said bitterly. He looked round and his face lit briefly as it alighted on Ajoke, “I see you got to the stout before me.”

“What are your plans, Ajoke?” Ajadi looked at her. “We were just about to go back to Lagos.”

“I hoped to spend the night.”

“That will not be possible,” David said, opening a can coke he’d found in the fridge. “The new owner takes possession of the keys today.”

“We can tell him to come tomorrow,” Ajadi pleaded softly. He turned away from his brother, ever the advocate, and looked at her. “He wants to use the place as a guest house so we’ve sold with most of the furniture, but Mama wanted you to have her bed and rocking chair…” Ajadi swallowed hard, battling tears. “We were going to move them to Lagos for you.”

“Those were her favourite possessions. Well, as usual, you win with her Frank. I’ll call Prestige and tell him to pick the keys tomorrow at 10?” he looked at Ajoke.

“Ten is fine. I’ll like to see her grave.”

“It’s at the cemetery. The freshest grave you’ll see. The only one with green marble.”
Green marble. They already had marble for Mama.

“Her favourite colour,” Ajoke mumbled.

“Frank, we need to leave now. I still need to branch Ede to pick the boarding house children,” David said matter-of-fact.

“Of course. I’m also ready.” He moved toward the rooms, leaving an awkward silence behind.

“How are Bibiana and your children?” Ajoke asked softly. She had never approved of the Mexican woman either, because of her lineage.

“They are all fine. Jemima will be getting married in a few weeks. We thought we’d tell you at the burial,” David said, flippantly.

“That should be your second daughter, right?” Ajoke asked, rhetorically. “How are my baby brothers?” she looked at him tiredly.

“They all missed you,” he said, softening his voice for the first time since he came in. “We all do need family, after all,” he added sarcastically.

Ajadi came out of the room with two overnight bags and looked at them both. “All set.”
It would have been so awkward to hug themselves or do anything so personal but Ajadi pulled Ajoke into his arms all the same. It felt particularly difficult. She had not hugged anyone in over ten years. In fact, it seemed her life practically ended with the divorce. David stood back, and watched rigidly as
Ajoke clung to her brother.

“The keys are all in the lock. Feel free to stay as long as you wish,” Ajadi said as he drew back. There were tears again in his eyes, but he controlled them from spilling. Both men headed for the door and only stopped when she spoke.

“David, Frank” she paused as they turned to face her. She’d never called them those names. “I’m sorry. For everything.” It was another first.

___________________________________________________________

Mama’s room was just as Ajoke would have expected, all neat and tidy. The room looked like it had only just been cleaned. All Mama’s things were left as she would have them.
At first, a deep anger roused in Ajoke. Did they expect her to dispose of Mama’s old things? What was the work of all their pretty and rich wives? But she was the daughter. The only daughter.
She sat at the edge of the bed and looked for the emotions expected. They were not close. When would she finally feel something, anything apart from bitter hatred?
She opened the wardrobe and looked through all Mama’s clothes. They’d done the wardrobe good. Several Holland fabrics yet to be sewn lay in a neat pile to one corner. She liked the colours too and was already planning what she could do with them. Her tailor was a great one, who she’d kept for almost twenty years. But these were clothes her brothers had bought for Mama! She looked through the hung clothes and brought out a pretty floral gown. It was well laundered and looked recently used. The dress brought the emotions Ajoke had searched for.
As she struggled to control emotions well locked away in the prison yard of bitterness and anger, the story behind the dress came to her vividly. She’d given Mama the dress when she came to visit her in Lagos for the first time. Mama had again warned her of life on the fast lane. And she had again reassured her.

“Mum, you worry your head too much,” had been her parting statement.

Ajoke continued to look through her mother’s wardrobe and saw several other articles she’d bought for her years earlier. They brought the memories like a flood. And the emotions, like a dam, preceded, cleansing, freeing her. She was clutching the favourite dress… the one she gave back to Mama after they fell out. Mama had given her the dress as a birthday gift. When the tears dried, she looked at the dress again and noticed the letter pinned to the right breast. Mama Mama Mama. How well she could predict her only daughter.

She sniffed and opened the letter. Mama had apologized and asked for forgiveness.

“I should ask you to forgive me, Mama. I changed. You did your best for me.”
She stood up and clutching the letter to her chest walked in the early dusk through several corners in the village to the community church cemetery. She located Mama’s grave at once and went to lie on the cold stone. She was fifty years old, yet she felt like a child again, cuddling on to her mother.

“Mama,” she finally whispered as darkness enveloped her and she sat up, gazing at the stars up ahead.

“I know you are up there, watching me. That’s why I will spend the night just talking with you. Telling you all the things I wanted to all those years…

“First, you should know I did have an abortion though I lied to you I didn’t.”
She heaved a heavy sigh and cried for a while, and then began to laugh.

“Wooh, it feels so good to be able to say it. You were right in the end. You told me the story your mother told you about your grandmother’s sister’s daughter, and I thought it was just an old woman’s tale. Now I’ve re-written the tragedy in my own life…

“You’re right. A woman never gets over an abortion you always said, no matter how many children she has. I ended up with one abortion. One too many…
“That summer we travelled to Ghana together, I told you it was for medical check? I lied. It was for surgery. That’s why I was so sick on that trip. You thought I was reacting to the drugs I took? No, Mama. It was a surgery checking out my fertility problems. I can’t quite remember the name of the surgery now… that was twenty-two years ago? Yes, twenty-two. Like yesterday. If I could take the years back…

“Adoption would have been the best. I do agree with you now. Contrary to what I told you, Bode was ready to adopt a child, I was the one who refused just to hurt you… and him, I guess. So it won’t look like I took your advice. That’s why Bode asked for the divorce…” She choked and sobbed briefly.

“Oh Mama, I’m so sorry. So sorry. I am miserable now. I miss Bode so badly I sometimes want to kill myself…

“Mama, I want to go back and beg him. Should I? I think I should. I will…” She laughed briefly. “I can just imagine the look on his face when he sees me… Who knows he may have remarried… No, he hasn’t. At least as at two years ago. God, Mama, I can’t believe I’m talking about Bode and laughing… I still love him very much…

“I’m sorry, Bode. I didn’t tell you about the abortion I had just before we met. I thought one abortion should not be such an issue and see what it did to me… to us. I love you,” she whispered. “I love you, Mama. I love everyone so deeply. I miss everyone… I’m so lonely…

“See how I antagonized everyone, Frank, David, Ige… I miss them now, and their children. I pretend as though I don’t know their children but I do. I mark all their celebrations in my heart…

“Mama, you forever live in my heart. I will take your advise… I will do everything you ever asked. I will serve your God as you’ve asked of me. I will mother your children now…

“I can. I will.”

Dawn was breaking when Ajoke gathered herself up and headed back to the house. She never noticed the two men, Dauda and Ajadi, lurking in the shadows, after having spent the night with her at the graveside. They’d thought she could harm herself and hung around the house, and then followed her out.

They’d never been prepared for what they saw and heard as they both soberly headed back to their jeeps, parked a kilometre away from the cemetery.



My son, do not forget my teaching, but let your heart keep my commandments;
Proverbs 3:1 RSV

By Sinmisola Ogunyinka

OLD MAMA’S TALE: Part I

Village would always be village to Ajoke, whose brain could literarily communicate every nook and corner of the lone street she’d grown up in. Coming back home had never been easy over the years, but now it was almost impossible to move her legs as the jalopy bus dropped her and sped off, raising a cloud of dust.

Mama was dead and gone but remained the only reason she would ever come back to this outback in the western side of Nigeria. Everything remained the same. The same as she’d seen it when she was born. The same as when she was a child, toddling in mud along with her peers; the same as the day she left home. Finally. Nothing would bring her back to this dead end, except when Mama died. If Mama would die here. She’d tried over the years to move her old woman to the city, to no avail. And it had become eventually impossible after her second divorce. That had sealed her fate.

She loved her mother dearly. Abeni had been the only responsible parent she had. Her father, Ade, had been a palmwine tapper, who took in more of his wares than was good for him. He eventually died of his drunkenness when he unfortunately fell on the main road in the dead of the night. A travelling vehicle had run over him, ending his life. A violent end to a sadistic existence.

The driver of the vehicle was never caught since he must have been a long distant driver. What a gruesome sight, when in the light of day, everyone saw what had happened in the dead of night. Ade’s immediate family never missed him either. He had been a heart ache and a disgrace in the community of Ojubaladegbe, to his wife and children, eight of them altogether.

Mama combined farming in their small inherited plot with trading. She was hardworking, focused, and fair. She was their rock of Gibraltar. She tutored the children individually and taught them the lessons of life like she learnt it. And she ensured they all had an education! But what Mama did for them hurt more now than ever. Now she was gone.

Ajoke swallowed hard and shifted her shoulder bag, the only thing she bothered to bring to the village. It contained just one change of clothes. After the burial, she would never come here again. How she wished she could but nothing remained for her. Her life was now in Lagos. What was left of it anyway. As the first daughter and only girl, she had tremendous responsibilities towards this burial, but she had failed woefully, by simply thrusting all to her two elder brothers and their wives. The older of the two, Dauda, the surgeon, she dreaded seeing the most. They’d not spoken to one another in ten years; after her second breast augmentation. The one he had bitterly warned her against.

The village square was just ahead with the dusty and rusty goat-head craft. A monumental landmark of Ojubaladegbe. Someone must have thought he was being creative when they put the pitiful piece as a symbol of heaven-knows-what! But the iron cast had lasted as long as Ajoke could remember.

The scorching May sun was blazing in its full glory as Ajoke carefully dodged the square, taking the age-long path she had secretly used to cut off traffic as a child. She could sneak through Ojubaladegbe in seconds with her knowledge of cuts and corners. Thirty-two years since she left, in a few weeks and nothing seemed in Ojubaladegbe to have changed, except some new rafter roofs, surely newly mended; and tin roofs, which seemed to have rusted to their limit.

Around a sharp bend, Ajoke passed by Okoro’s compound, the naturalized Ibo man who seemed never to age. Here Ajoke and her friends had stolen cigarettes and sweets in the past. The provisions shop he owned was fully stocked as she’d always remembered it. And the Okoro sat right at the spot she’d always known him to sit, watching passers with eagle eyes. It remained a mystery how she and Labake and all her other teenage friends had managed to seduce and steal from this man. A mystery! Nothing had changed, except the grey hair on the trader’s head. Posterity did not allow her to pass quietly. She peeped at the busy trader with a greeting.

“Ha, is it Ajoke my child,” he said playfully, just like he’d said the last time she visited ten years earlier. “You are a big girl now! How are your children?”
“Hmm Okoro, I should ask after your children as you know, I have none,” she replied tartly, and moved on. Okoro laughed after her. Why would she want to come here again, ever? They all knew she had no children. They all mocked her!

The ancient mud house had been renovated and painted since she last visited. It stood out majestically like a sore thumb in the midst of the other houses. Though Ajoke noticed several other houses in different stages of completion, Abeni’s house was state-of-the-art. At least, I sent something to them for it, she consoled herself.

She had been so troubled in the past few years, spending money on repair surgeries, she could only contribute peanuts to the renovations. How true what they say… She hated to remember what Mama said. It was all part of her trouble. If she’d never been told, she would feel sorry, but not so bad…

Ajadi’s jeep was parked inside the garage beside Dauda’s; though both men had changed their names; Ajadi was Frank; Dauda, David. Of course, she berated herself several times that it was not quite an offence to change your name to modern names. For her, she called them their names. They hated it and called her a bitter woman, but she cared less. Anything to hurt them back was good enough for her.

The five boys after her had all followed the path of the older boys. She was the black sheep, by all means. Ajoke expected there to be more cars in the compound. Bankole should have come with his family from Abuja. Durojaiye and Ponle were supposed to fly in from the United States without their families but Akano and Ige would, since they were more established than the youngest two. Ajoke would have expected her elder brothers would arrange vehicles for the out-of-towners.

The quiet of the compound was unnerving. Had she come a week early? She hoped to God not! Anything that would bring her back to this forsaken village was a number one enemy of her progress. She was fifty, and she’d already made all the necessary arrangements for her own funeral. She was just ticking the clock now. Travelling to and fro Ojubaladegbe was not one of the ways she intended to spend the last of her days.

Dauda had left a message about the burial arrangements with her Cameroonian househelp. She hadn’t thought to call him for details, or confirmation. One thing she knew though was that burial attracted people. In Ojubaladegbe, the eve of a burial, especially of an old accomplished trader like Mama, who had all her children coming in for the burial from cities, half of them from outside the country, was busier than the square on market day. They’d all known they would feed the whole village for at least three days before the burial. Where was everyone?

The sitting room was quiet and clean as Ajoke entered through the unsecured front door. The old furniture had all been removed and replaced with Italian leather chairs and settee. An old rocking chair of sturdy wood sat directly opposite the 21” TV set and DVD player. Mama’s seat, obviously.

Ajoke had not expected to see this luxury in the least. Inside the house, you could almost imagine you were anywhere in the world except Ojubaladegbe. It brought tears to her eyes. At least, Mama lived well to her end.

A Thermocool double chest refrigerator stood at the corner of the dining room and Ajoke walked straight to it. Thankfully there were a few bottles of soft drink and stout in it. She picked a small bottle of stout, the only one there, and opened it with her teeth, surprising she could still do that. The chilled drink ran a cooling path through her parched throat past her chest into her stomach, and she sighed.

When she turned to sit, she jumped. Ajadi stood in the middle of the sitting room, glaring at her. Did she blame his anger? No. She blamed no one but herself… The realization shocked her! She had never blamed herself for anything. Someone always took her blame. Her admission humbled even her.  Ajadi’s face read anger and disgust, but when he opened his mouth, his words were surprisingly soft and considerate.

“Welcome,” he said. “How was your journey?”

She shrugged. “Fine, thank you.” Oh, let’s be polite then, she thought. “Am I early? Where’s everybody?” she asked looking round. Instead, he peeped out of the framed window and back at her.

“You came with public transport?” he asked, surprised.

“I didn’t want to drive…” she started and stopped. What did he care, or any of them for that matter.

“It’s cheaper to pay the transportation. After all, I’m alone,” she said with a tinge of her bitterness, which she spewed out every chance she got. She’d glazed almost all her sentences to her family with it in measure as the circumstance warranted over the past few years.

“I would not be presumptuous to offer you a lift back, would I?” he asked stiffly.

“Did I miss the burial or it’s still a week away?” she asked flippantly. She took another long, cooling drink from her bottle.

“We buried Mama last week…”

To be continued….

By Sinmisola Ogunyinka

We Have Arrived

Immediately the text came in, ‘we are boarding,’ my one hour of fear began. I quickly responded with a string of heartfelt prayers for safe arrival.

I found things to do. I picked my handset and played a boring round of brickbreaker – I was good too. But in this one-hour wait, I lost all my lives after just the second level. Then I tried to ping… no one seemed to be responding. Well, with a full hour to wait, I needed to occupy my mind.

With the recent loss of my childhood friend in the Dana crash, everything had changed. Dana was our family airline. My husband would have been on that flight if there hadn’t been traffic… so…

He has to travel. Every two weeks, he came to visit. That was the family arrangement we had for now. After he got promoted and relocated to head his organization’s branch office in Abuja, a few months before the crash, we had to settle for the biweekly arrangement. I couldn’t move, yet, anyway… Our kids were two girls aged 7, and 9 and the baby of the family, a one-year-old boy.

I checked my wall clock. Only five minutes had passed since the text came in. He’d probably not even taken off.

“Oh God, help me.”

I stood up and switched on the TV. After scrolling through over hundred channels of cable TV, I settled for a Nigerian movie, an old one, When the Sun Sets, the one that introduced Kate Henshaw. The renowned Nollywood star actress looked so young, it took my attention off my misery. She was good. So good, I even found myself tearing a bit.

But then my mind went back to the clock. Twenty minutes gone. They would be airborne now. My heart began to thud and race. This happens twice every two weeks… since the crash that shook the whole world… A whole family wiped out, many children orphaned, fatherless and motherless, widowed…

The girls were in school and my son was being bathed by my younger sister who lived with us. Frustrated, I began to pace, the movie that had so held my interest a few minutes earlier, totally sour.

Whenever I got that boarding text message, we normally gave one and a half hour to receive the arrival text.

“God, there can’t be more than one crash in a year, right?”

But then I remembered 2005, when three or so planes crashed successively. Or so. “God, help me.”

I started sobbing. And I didn’t know why. “Please Lord, let him arrive safely. I can’t bear to be alone. I can’t find a job now and feed a family… Please God.”

Early in our marriage, we had decided I would be a stay-at-home Mum, to give the children a balance.

“God I promise, I will relocate to Abuja next month. I will manage the two-room accommodation my husband has in Abuja till we get another one…”

The school year just started so getting a school for the girls would not be a problem. “I will relocate to Abuja, God. I can’t take this anymore!”

I cuddled on the bed, soughing like I just came back from a long jog. Kenny, my husband, was supposed to meet Arnold, my childhood friend on that June 3rd, and both were to go to the airport together.

They missed one another, and agreed to ‘see at the airport.’ That never happened. Arnold made it, Kenny didn’t.

Ironically, Kenny was the one who made it, and Arnold didn’t!

I started to weep. Arnold had been such a friend to our family, always ready to help… always there. If anyone deserved to live, it was Arnold. As a medical doctor, he carried his profession everywhere and into everything. He worked free more times than he worked for money…

Arnold left a family too. A young, beautiful, bubbly wife who had given him three fantastic children. Arnold’s kids were close in age to my kids. How would they continue to live without a father…

I began to sob aloud, using my pillow to muffle the sound. I didn’t want to draw my sister’s attention.

Arnold was the one who introduced me to my Kenny. They had met during Arnold’s Youth Corps Service, where he served in an organization where Kenny was an accountant. He used to tease that he fell in love with Kenny for me, at first sight.

Arnold was a great man.

Oh what a wretched country I come from! I try to be patriotic, drive right, talk right, live right. At the time I had a job, I paid my tax, Kenny still does. I teach my children to love Nigeria, to serve her. We pray for Nigeria! Why would God ignore our cries for mercy and continue to give us leaders who are mean and insensitive and greedy!

For the past one year, people have just been dying senselessly and it has just come too close to home.

I didn’t know when the pillow dropped off, and I was wailing.

Only my phone ringing interrupted my outburst of sorrow. Without looking at the caller, I picked up, and mumbled huskily, “Hello?”

“Honey, we have arrived,” Kenny said. “Are you alright?”

Dedicated to the loving memory of Dr. Abiodun Jonathan, (1971 – June 3rd, 2012).

Written by Sinmisola Ogunyinka

Swappy

This is a true life story.

As an observer this was more than I could bear. And writing it out is not as easy as I thought. But remembering the words of King Solomon that vanity upon vanity, I am encouraged to relate the reality of the vanities I have seen.

To protect the identities of the real persons permit me to change the names.

Once upon a time, there lived three good friends. They all bore the same name, Helen. Because they were friends and had the same name, they gave themselves pet names. There was Helen Body, Helen Spirit, and Helen Soul. Helen Body was fat. Spirit was always seemingly reserved. And Soul was the life of the party.

Body was not in any relationship but Spirit and Soul were.

Spirit was engaged to a generous, quiet and unassuming hustler called Nevin. He wasn’t very successful in the real terms but he was very hard working and he loved Spirit to the death.  Nevin’s love for Spirit was amazing. Despite that fact that he didn’t have much education and didn’t have much money, she never lacked. She only had to imagine it and Nevin would be all over her, trying to please. Spirit had a well-paid job but never spent her dime on nothing. When she needed something, she asked Nevin, he got it for her.

Despite all this love and attention, and giving, it amazed many of Nevin’s friends that Spirit did not reciprocate. She openly disdained him, sometimes telling her friends he wasn’t successful enough, was not handsome enough, and many other complaints. His friends asked him on several occasions to leave her. When he tried to, she hit on him strongly, making him feel his friends had given bad advice. Nevin backed off on his friends and continued to endure (which he didn’t feel was endurance anyway because he really did love her) Spirit’s bad treatment and milking of him.

Soul was engaged to an over-achieving career man. He had obtained a business degree and then gotten a master’s degree. He had a job that paid fairly well, with a company vehicle attached. He had some money in his pocket as well. His name was Kosi.

Kosi’s relationship with Soul was not very satisfying to Kosi. Contrary to what her friend enjoyed in her relationship, Soul was constantly trying to please Kosi. He wasn’t happy that Soul had dropped out of school and was doing small buying and selling. He wanted her back in school, and wanted her to have a job like her friend, Spirit.

Well, Soul had a good heart. She was a pleasant and caring person, and was madly in love with Kosi. But she didn’t have a knack for formal education. She was good with her small business and would rather concentrate on that and grow it.

On the career issue, Soul and Kosi deadlocked. And he finally called the relationship off.

Soul was broken. She wept for days, begged him, and sent her friends to plead with him.

Particularly, she sent Spirit to plead with him.

Spirit on the other hand had been having a few problems in her own relationship. Nevin caught her in the arms of another man, and called their relationship off. She flippantly told him the guy meant nothing and when he refused to accept that, she threw the relationship back in his face, taunting him that he wasn’t even half the man the other guy was.

Suddenly, the three friends were all unattached.

But this caused a slight friction. Initially, Soul’s hurting weighed on them. Spirit was uncaring, and Body seemed helpless. Then stories began to seep out amongst their friends and colleagues.

It was discovered Spirit had indeed cheated on Nevin. A few of her friends convinced her to plead with Nevin, convincing her that it was better to marry a man who loved you more than the one you love more.

A couple of months passed.

As Nevin finally began to crumble under the weight of his brokenness, missing his Spirit, and considering going back to her, a blow hit the circle of friends.

Kosi got engaged to Spirit.

The first question was, how? It was barely three months since Spirit and Nevin broke up, and Kosi and Soul separated in even less time. So how come?

Of course, this scattered the relationship between the three friends. Body, who had tried to just complacently be in the middle, tilted toward Spirit, and then Soul, and then she just stayed on her own.

Within a year of the relationship, Kosi and Spirit were married, shocking everyone.

Many who knew the stories pitied Soul... and Nevin.

Nevin, because he was on the way back to Spirit when the news of her engagement hit. He still loved her. Though Soul was also heart-broken, it seemed Nevin was the worst hit. Besides the breaking of his heart, he felt cheated. He had invested so much of his life and substance into that relationship, he felt practically drained. He walked around like a ghost, and did his business half-heartedly.

Then someone introduced Bertha to Nevin. She was your average high achiever. A professional, if ever you had seen one. She didn’t sweep him off his feet. In fact, Nevin was slow and unsure with her.

Two years had passed. Because they all lived and existed in the same environment, Spirit’s news of a baby had reached him. And shattered him. He was still reliving the nightmare of his relationship with Spirit when Bertha came along.

She didn’t hit on him either. She respected him. He wasn’t so much as successful as she was but he was very hardworking, committed and purposeful. And she discovered he was also very intelligent. As a professional, she never imagined Nevin could have any creative ideas about her job but he did.

In fact, Bertha discovered they connected strongly in the area of their careers. He, a small-scale media businessman, and she, an architect, fashion designer and bundle of business talent.

Nevin and Bertha were a hit!

One thing Nevin recalled after he fell in love with Bertha was that Spirit had always belittled his intelligence, constantly comparing him with ‘professional’ men! The irony was that as unprofessional as he was, he was getting married to a high-class, professional woman.

Down the road, months after Nevin got married, a scandal occurred in Spirit’s place of work and she was disgracefully dismissed. Kosi was devastated. He had always said he would not bear a woman idle at home – his wife had to have a job! And there she was, caught stealing from her company! She could never get a recommendation for another reputable job, at least not in the city, and definitely not so soon.

Soul was out of the mix for a while. In the hope of getting her life back in order, she got a small contract out of town and left. Seeing her friend with her ex was too much to bear. The job lasted a few months, and she had to come back home to where her family was. For the next few years, she dallied here and there.

She saw her friend have a baby, lose her job, and eternally making the man she loved unhappy. But she could do nothing about it. She wasn’t even able to get into another relationship, and keep any of her old friends close. Three full years after the saga, Soul was still alone.

Gradually, she made herself scarce, taking any opportunity or business that took her out of her circle of influence.

So it was with a rude shock that Soul came back one day and announced she was getting married. No one... not one of her friends knew she was even in a relationship. Naturally, everyone was happy for her.

Soul got married to a handsome and dashing young medical doctor. Within a year, she gave birth to a baby girl.

That would have ended the story in a good way.

Except that while I stood back and observed these ironies of life, two rude shockers hit me!

The first was that Kosi, been two years living with a wife who was not working, and heavy with a second child, got a better paid job, and resigned from the old one, which he’d had for more than five years. Two months into the new job, he was fired! He sends his wife back to her parents, to have the new baby, and moves in with one of his married friends, because his rent was due, and his landlord threw him out.

The second was that Soul’s husband got a high-paying job at about the same time Kosi was being fired, and asked his heavily pregnant wife to stay home... He didn’t want his wife hustling all over when he could conveniently take care of her every need.

A bishop of the Anglican Church who I respect, Rt. Rev. Tunde Adeleye, once said, “Every man gets the wife he deserves.”

Food for thought.

By Sinmisola Ogunyika

A Cry of Death

The cult gathered round the bonfire and danced feverishly. Ikotun, the dance leader’s eyes shifted demonically rolling back severally in a tradition of worship. It was an initiation ceremony.

The Klan cult was started when the founder’s sister was mistakenly killed during a cult clash on campus. The young lady had not been a part of the warring factions and had unfortunately been caught in the cross fire. Her older brother was unforgiving.

The Klan cult was a widely known one in campus circles all over the country for their weird beliefs and insane acts which brought sorrow and death to them and their loved ones. They were also known for their viciousness in executing laws, principles and judgement. They were a blood-thirsty group.

He went on a guerrilla mission, taking out members of both cults one at a time. It was a life’s mission to eradicate every single one of them. Soon, his best friend joined him, and then another friend, and then another. They soon realized they needed to have a secure organisation. Klan was formed. Their laws were wearying. Their demands were outrageous but alas, their members were larger than life. They commanded respect in every campus they belonged. Authorities revered them, students panicked whenever they saw them.


Like all other cults, the Klan met in the dead of the night. They sacrificed to unseen gods, did rituals of blood and covenants and had their merry moments together. On this bonfire night, there were two people present for initiation, a man and a woman. Originally, the Klan accepted only men but gradually, ladies were accepted. The new members were processed first by old members to be sure they were strong and genuine enough to be part of the cult. After ascertaining their fitness, they are invited to the first meeting with the Klan.


The bonfire night.


Bonfire night was a lot of fun for old members but the night of evil for the new ones. The old members had a goat barbecue with lots of food and strong drink. For the new members, the boys were beaten by every member while the girls were raped. You couldn’t be a bona fide member of the Klan if you were not put through this ritual.


Ruka sat solemnly at the corner where she had been tied with the young man about to be initiated. Only one thing was on her mind, the sex! She had counted at least ten boys so far dancing round the fire. One by one, they would come on to her when they were well-drunk. She wasn’t afraid of sex, just the number that would do it. And she knew they would start with the new member, before the poor boy would be taken away to be given the beating of his life. The ring leaders of the Klan were not yet in the meeting... she envisaged they would be at least three... that makes at least thirteen!


She had her mind made up; there was no going back. She needed the power, the presence, and the protection only the Klan could give. She knew what she wanted. She swallowed hard and turned her mind off every other thing. She had been through the tedious screening; running miles on end through a thick forest, swimming through a river for over three hours… This was the last leg. She was in for the long haul. She would not chicken out here.


The scribe of the Klan gave a loud cry, a cry of death, from out of nowhere. Ruka shuddered and closed her eyes. They had been briefed of the procedures but more than anything, she could feel it. It was time. She had never met any of the leaders but from talk around campus she knew the scribe was young but very hard. Perhaps meaner than even the Klan head. The music and dancing ceased. Ruka’s eyes popped open. Three men stood with their backs to her. The leaders, she thought. Ikotun began to convulse as was the tradition. 
“Bring the fresh meat!” 


Ikotun ran to the edge with three others and brought them. The scribe, along with the other two, turned. He looked up and raised his hands in the air. All the other members circled the new intakes.  It was time for the sex-dance. The drummers began to beat the rhythm. 


Both were untied and undressed. The boy could not get an erection and burst into tears. Ruka shuddered at the implication of this... poor boy was doomed. He was dragged away amidst heart-rending screeching. The scribe moved forward and stood in front of Ruka. She looked up at him for the first time and screamed.
“Haruna!” 


The scribe stepped back, shocked. He gave a loud cry, his cry of death. The Klan head stepped forward beside him and spoke rapidly. Haruna turned to him with a gasp, interrupting his angry tirade. “My sister. No, please!” His young face crumbled. No one pleaded in the Klan. No one stopped an initiation for any reason. No one challenged the head… Ruka saw the doom. Haruna would be forced to have sex with her or die.


Ruka fainted.  Doom.

By Sinmisola Ogunyinka

I DIED FOR ONE DAY

            

Blossom walked into the kitchen behind my ten-year old daughter, Gift, with a scowl on her face. They had both just returned from the morning market on Saturday. Gift carried a huge sack on her neck, the load making her sag. Blossom, a thirty year old, held a small nylon bag in her hand and nothing more.

My daughter went on her knees and lowered the sack to the floor.

“If you break anything in that sack, I’ll break your head!” Blossom said between her teeth. My Gift looked up at her and shook her head. She then proceeded to unload the sack, putting things away.

Blossom caught her by the arm and flung her toward the entrance. “What about the other sack?”

“I’m sorry,” Gift mumbled and ran to bring yet another heavy sack.

I never knew my daughter had so much strength. Blossom opened the refrigerator and removed a chilled bottle of sparkling water. She uncorked it and swallowed a healthy gulp, rather in an unladylike manner.

Blossom belched. “When you are through, call me!”

“Yes, aunty.”

Gift proceeded to unload the sacks. She brought out yams, onions, potatoes, and arranged them neatly on the floor, the way I had taught her. She washed the fruits and refrigerated them. Plucked pepper… Oh my God. I had not yet allowed her to pluck pepper…

Gift was humming gently to herself the song, ‘more of you, more of you.’ She washed some of the onions and tomatoes and put them in a large bowl. Then she rubbed her eyes, and let out a scream! Her hand was definitely still peppery!

Blossom rushed in and screamed at her for screaming.

“Pepper in my eyes, aunty!” Gift rubbed both eyes now frantically.

Blossom dealt her a dirty slap and her frail body staggered. “Are you stupid or something? Come on, go and wash your eyes!” She hissed elaborately. “And finish up here before I go crazy for you!” She turned round and bumped into my five-year-old son, Paul. He must have been woken from sleep by all the noise. He was drowsy and rubbing his eyes.

Blossom pushed him out of the way with such force, he fell hard on his bum, and burst into tears. My last baby, three-year-old Sharon walked up too, and Blossom scooped her up. Sharon had always been Blossom’s favourite of my children and she never hid it. I couldn’t fault her. Sharon was so cute, everyone simply loved her.

Blossom turned to Paul and yelled. “Ger up and sharrap! Stupid boy!”

My boy went completely still. Blossom hissed and stomped out of the room. I looked at Gift who seemed to have put herself together and continued to work in the kitchen. When she was sure Blossom was gone, she turned to Paul and hugged him. She peeled a banana for him and the boy smiled in appreciation, and a smile involuntarily touched my lips.

The rest of the morning was painful to watch. Blossom hit out and lashed out at my two older children without provocation, and petted the youngest most unnecessarily. They missed breakfast because Blossom was busy…

My husband, Steve, left for his morning jog and came back late, took a glass of fresh juice, took his bath, and left the house. He had spared the children about thirty minutes altogether when he came for the juice.

Blossom was extra sweet with my husband. She poured him the juice, caught up on events from the previous night; she even touched his forehead, and rubbed his back as he sat to drink the juice. The children loved Steve and crooned around him. Sharon climbed on his laps and took a sip from his juice. He gave Paul a sip as well.

Blossom called Gift out of the kitchen, chiding her lovingly for always wanting to be alone when the family was together. My daughter smiled shyly but her stance was stiff. Since they left for the market at about 7a.m, she had been working. This was eleven! She stood awkwardly beside her father’s seat and smiled at him with her lips but not her eyes.

Steve finished his juice, asked the children how they were and told them to keep praying for mummy. Then he stood up. Blossom pulled him into a hug, and he left the house.

My children had lunch at about three in the afternoon. Blossom had cooked and dished the plain noodles for them. Paul asked for more but didn’t get. Sharon passed her plate to him. As he dug into the food, Blossom snatched it away, and scolded Sharon for feeding her brother’s greed.

“I’m full, aunty,” Sharon said softly.

“Even though,” Blossom said. She took the plate of food to the kitchen and emptied it in the trash.

She had cooked a pot of soup as well. She dished a healthy portion for herself, made eba, and ate.

Later in the evening, she would dish from that same soup for Steve.

When my husband got home in the evening, at about 8p.m, my children had not had dinner but Blossom told him they had, and were already in bed.

What she had done was to flog the two older ones, give Sharon some ice cream and sent them all to bed. Then went to sit in the parlour and wait for Steve to return.

He looked tired and frustrated.

Blossom was all sweet and concerned. She served him semovita with the sumptuous-looking soup, and sat with him while he ate.

Afterward, she cleared up and as she washed the plates, he stood with her in the kitchen.

“How is Samantha?” Blossom asked.

Steve shrugged and sighed heavily. “Nothing has changed. She’s still unconscious.”

“Oh my!” She turned and looked at him. “That must be so hard for you. Have they told you what it is?”

“Stress. Shock… I don’t know. Threatened cardiac. And her blood pressure was very high…” He covered his face and sobbed. “I can’t lose her! God, please.”

I hugged my arms to my body.

The night before, I had slumped. My husband had rushed me to the hospital, and I was admitted in intensive care unit. I was unconscious. I was half-dead, half-alive.

Blossom turned to him and pulled him into her arms. She said soothing words to him. “You’ll be fine. You’ll be just fine. You have nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of you. You’ll be just fine…” She cooed on and on and on. Then she started to press her body closer, and pulled his face down to her. And tried to kiss him.

Steve jerked backwards and took a long deep breathe. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t fuss. “You don’t have to be.”

“I’ll just check in now. It’s been a long day.”

Blossom nodded. “Yeah. You do that.”

“Thanks, Blossom. Especially for looking after the kids for me.”

Blossom smiled. “You don’t ever have to worry about them.”

He took another deep breathe, and went into our bedroom.

Blossom was my friend who had divorced her husband in Port Harcourt, and needing a change of lifestyle, moved to Abuja to start over. They had been married for two years only, and didn’t have any children. She was a successful property broker, but had not yet found a suitable accommodation for herself, though her business was thriving. I had offered to accommodate her in my house. That was eight months earlier.

Tears shimmered in my eyes. I want to come home, God. I must come home if not tonight, tomorrow morning, first light. I need to be back to send Blossom out of my house and my life. She’s evil.

I died for one day and Blossom took over my life. No way. Lord, I have work to do in my home. My children need me. My husband needs me. My life needs me. Lord, help me, please. Save me. For the sake of those lovely children you blessed me with, save me. Help me, O Lord! I want to be with you but my family needs me right now. Save me. I don’t want to die. I want to live. I want to live. I want to live.

“There are tears in her eyes!” A female voice shrieked.

Footsteps followed all over and soon my ICU room was filled up.

“Water…” I whispered. Someone put a few drops on my lips. “Husba…”

“Call her husband!”

*

I was discharged first thing the following morning. My healing was a miracle. I don’t know if all I saw had happened for real or it was my unconsciousness dream. My children never mentioned it though I tried to make them tell me all that happened ‘while mummy was in the hospital.’

Blossom was very sweet to me.

But I refused to be fooled. Why would she still be in my house after eight months, when she could afford any accommodation she liked anywhere in Abuja… Yeah, she was that rich.

I would not wait for my dream to become real. I gave Blossom a week to find somewhere else to live.

Steve never objected.

By Sinmisola Ogúnyinka