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My mother was the primal woman to have begun a church in my community. A church so many said emerged on my eighth birthday after my mother had prayed for a convulsing child in the little ceremony. They said my mother used to say many divine things in The Apostolic Church during massive prayers or when the songs and choruses rollicked among the believers almost bringing down the heavens. When the child became calm after she laid her right palm on her forehead, people marveled more and then, were so much singing and dancing and the spreading of the news of a real prophetess.

She prayed for people most times in our sitting room before they began to worship every Wednesday and four years later, my father was still a driver in a university but my mother became Mummy K. I and my three younger brothers became the preacher’s kids. We no longer lived in my father’s-father’s I-house. Mummy built a big house in my father’s own land and the big church right in front of the house served as a façade to our new home. Sometimes, people slept over in the house or in the church, especially women who has been delivered of their babies through my mother. I did not know what those wealthy men and women and many villagers sort from my mother’s mouth till my own day.

My limbs did not quirk when they announced the session for praise and worship. The crowd was twice as large as it used to be. The invitation cards had been distributed even among neigbouring communities and words had gone near and far that Mummy K-Catherine will have the opening ceremony of her new church. The first day of her worship in the big temple. It was themed “Mummy K. Church Launch 2003” on the card. I ambled towards the set place for the musical instruments. Chikodi, standing behind the piano, ran his fingers across the keyboards and a very beautiful ascending sound dispersed. People screamed, igniting the enthusiasm.

‘I love Jesus I no go lie, inside Jesus I live and die,’ my soprano voice was doing that. People cheered on the song.

‘No matter what people may say about Jesus, I will never regret to serve my God. Sister do you love my Jesus?’

The people gladly echoed, ‘Yes I love him.’

‘Brother do you love my Jesus?’

‘Yes I love him.’


‘She is only 12 and look at how she sings like an old woman- my eldest sister.’ My father had said once to my mother inside their room. ‘I hope this will not stop my daughter from her education because…’

‘Because what,’ My mother retorted, ‘My daughter is blessed and is better than your sister who sings in the action group for the devil, always going into the evil forest to seek powers.’

‘That is not where I was directing this talk to Catherine.’

The verses and choruses I raised were climbing into my head, climaxing within the joyous people, building up and pitching a cloud towards heaven. My left arm was lifted very high, waving and thanking, oblivious of my two helping singers that were adults. Suddenly, my eyes shut hard, I worshiped marvelously and led the crowd skywards, I saw rain falling. I really saw rain falling.

‘I see the rain of blessings falling upon us, I see it! I see it brothers and sisters!’

Hallelujah and Amen escaped their mouths in a blissful rhythm.

The next time my mother saw me later that day was .....
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Mister Landlord was aware of the brouhaha going on in his compound but had refused to reprimand anyone, instead he sat on his favourite spot at the front of the yard and sucked profusely a sachet of Chelsea liqueur. Everyday had one fight or two. Squabbles and troubles among the humans that paid him rents. Every morning was pregnant with gossip and it must involve no other than Aunty Caro.

Aunty Caro had a bitter spirit that stems from her soul, rapidly influencing everyone in the yard even her funny teenage son nicknamed Cabin Biscuit. On one of such kerfuffles, Cabin Biscuit blurted close to his home. ‘Another quarrel today? I know say she must follow. What kind of a mother is this?’

Inside the yard, everybody was....
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There was a blurry mirror fixed on the rough wall opposite her bed. By God, that was her favourite spot. Slowly, she walked to it like a conniving cat till she was boldly in view of herself. Her over-worked five fingers began to do some work, rubbing her protruded rough stomach, rubbing her breasts, caressing her soul. She thought of flinging the wrapper tied above her long blouse from below her breasts to her knee but she let it be, too scared to see her nude sweet pregnancy. Aruchi was a young woman who was always pregnant.

She dashed out of the room to the open compound and turned to view the two not-plastered rooms she occupied with her family before matching down to her children in the open kitchen. As if she suddenly began to realize her existence, Aruchi paused her steps to stare and smile at the children in her thoughts, children almost the same age. “My God! Only me, four sons, one daughter and the one inside of me which I know will be another daughter. I don’t want her to look like me again. I am not a selfish woman, she will be her father. Azundah my loving husband. I am proud of you and these seeds you have given to me.”

“Aboy bend down and blow the fire. Blow blow!” she ordered one of the children who obeyed her instantly; they were also tired of the thick prolonging smoke oozing from the tripod. Another boy joined him and together they brought forth fire with their mouths. Aruchi eased herself to a kitchen chair and drew a big hot pot to herself. Five stainless plates followed the pot. She smiled and said, “Children and sweet food. Jerry, go and pour some water into the kettle and put it on fire. I don’t like my firewood wasting like that.” Jerry quickly ran away with the kettle to a drum hard by.

Aruchi dished two spoons of cocoyam porridge to the first plate and remembered something, “Ehem, Adamma go inside you will see the new wrapper on the bed go and give it to Ngozi, she will use it and sow that type of my butterfly gown for you. Go fast, I almost forgot. Run o. we will wait for you.” her daughter disappeared while she continued the sharing. The boys took their portions one after the other and were about to scoop some into their mouths when she scolded, “Taaah! Wait for your sister. When she comes back, we eat together so that the food will taste better.”

“She has her own mouth Mummy,” Jerry protested.

“Shut up and wait. Akpiri. You have the longest throat in the world.” The other boys laughed.

Shortly, Ada came back and everyone got busy pushing the delicious meal into their stomachs. One by one the children finished their food, washed their own plate and escaped to the Udala tree in a neigbour’s compound. Aruchi was always reminding them to drink some water before running away. She ate directly from the pot quietly and slowly, thinking and worrying about irrelevant things that have become necessary in her life. She rubbed her stomach again. Her life was sad means her life was hopeful.

When she heard some aggressive chatter a distance away, her mind jerked.

Then someone cried.

The crying rhythm grew louder but later subdued itself as if the person crying was suppressing it. She knew what that meant yet she refused running to the children for the one thousandth time besides, her fellow women calling her pitiful names will not be funny too. Crazy woman. Mad mother.

While she was still eating and scrubbing the pot with her spoon, Jerry partially painted with clay sneaked in on her pretending to be fine. Aruchi started. She forced his butt to a chair, bent over him and yanked his two ears but she let go when she realized that her breasts were almost in his mouth and her wrapper was trying to let loose.

Jerry wished his mother will forget nagging today and ask him ‘what happened?’ Sincerely, he tried fighting back but Buchi was stronger and weightier. When he could not lift his legs, Buchi pushed him down and gave him three big blows. As he looked at his worrying pretty mother, he swore to put in more effort next time. Unfortunately, that was not what his mother was thinking.

He was still suppressing his sorrow when she gave him three heavy knocks of the hard cooking spoon on his head. “Koi! Koi! Koi!” Jerry let out a spontaneous cry.

“So you think I will not talk. Jerry you let your fellow boy beat you up today again. Why am I calling boys? Even Aleru, Urie’s daughter beat you up the other day. Is it not yet time for you to start fighting back? Are your hands dead? God forbid that they are dead because mine are not dead.” The little boy stopped wailing and began sobbing at the words of his mother.

“What do I not feed you with in this house? I just want you to be strong. I have finished preparing another meal for you today. Eat! Eat! Come and eat again and allow them to beat you next time let me see if you will pass the night with me in this house.”

Jerry shook his head. Aruchi panicked again, “What! You don’t want to eat. You don’t want to eat food again let palm kernel stuck into your butt forever. Ewu!”

Now Jerry lay lifeless on the ground because she threw a.....
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There was a girl in the room who does not keep mum about anything in her life. She talked about a married man who tried to ask her out through his car window and she slapped him and walked away. She talked about how her separated parents used to fight over she and her elders brothers, on who loved which kid the most or who the kids loved most. She gifted her roommates a gist of her charm to a plethora of boys and men while she was in a boarding secondary school. Onomeh speedily voiced anything, that a snake bit her ass during childhood or a bird shit on her head on the way to class. Who would not shock at a girl who said the more she had Fs in school, the more her....
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