₦airaland Forum

II
The pot and flask fell as I quickly stifled a scream. The blows landed on my back and side as I cowered down shielding myself as much as I could especially my face. As always, I didn’t want the children or the neighbours to know but this time Lily saw and perhaps knew. My husband had dropped her on the couch, thank God.
It was her cry that made me look up and that was when one of the blows landed on my face. My husband saw me cradling my face and backed away.

None of the children had ever witnessed my battering. It was something that had always been done in private and we had always been careful not to touch my face. It was like an unwritten horrid agreement between us never to let anyone know but we had broken the rules, we had forgotten about Lily.
My jaw didn’t feel like mine and I remained cowered slowly willing my body to move, praying that the boys didn’t come out.

There was no point dwelling on what had just happened. I needed to get up, warm the rice and get hot water. The children’s breakfast would go in their lunch box. Most of the rice was on the floor, still not looking at Lily, I scooped the rice careful not to take in dirt or sand.
I really wished Lily would stop crying but I didn’t trust my voice and so couldn’t call any of my sons to help me. I also didn’t want to carry her into Shola’s flat. Taking a deep breath, I willed calm into my voice ready to call Jeremiah but just then, Benjamin, my second son came in.

How embarrassing can things get? Shola was the only neighbour I could approach. I wish the children had not rejected the cold breakfast. My husband had looked at me long and hard and said something about the Proverbs 31 woman. It was hardly my fault the gas finished when it did. I mentioned it to him two days back. God knows I have tried my best this morning, I was nearly running late and…
“Ma Lily?” I looked up. It was Shola. I had nearly reached the bottom of the stairs. She walked down towards me. “Sorry, why not bring your pot up and use my gas? You would at least be done before I finish from the bathroom…”
“Are you okay with that?” I asked my eyes were getting misty.
“No problem, I will leave the door open.”
“Thank you and God bless you.” My voice nearly cracked from the emotions that were already welling inside.
Hurrying inside, I bumped into my husband and a crying Lily.
“Where have you been?”
“Upstairs…” I replied heading towards the kitchen.
“Lily is crying.”
“I can hear her but I need to get hot water from our neighbour upstairs and warm the rice for the children.”
“So, what will happen to Lily?”
I turned with the pot and water flask and faced him. “What kind of a question is that?”
“And what kind of a reply is that? Are you starting to take me for granted, first it was this morning in the kitchen and now this?” His voice was dangerously rising.
“What would you have me do, what! Do I clone myself into three so that one would take care of the children, the other one you and the last the household? What sort of man doesn’t help his wife out or allow others to?”
“What are you raising your voice at me for, do you want to be beaten this morning?”
I walked calmly to him, still with the pot and flask in my hands and then spoke quietly “Hold Lily, if you cannot put her down on the floor.”
Turning, I walked and was nearly out when I felt the pull on my shirt. I was spun around too quickly and before I could drop the pot and protect my head the first blow landed.

“We are grateful ohhhhhh loooordddddd….” The worship song from my neighbours downstairs woke me from my deep sleep. Their devotion time was an alarm for me.
Yawning, I got up and stretched. Gosh, I hated having to go to work. Wish I could just lie all day and make money on my back. Now, that sounds corny.
I didn’t even know what I wanted for breakfast. Oh my goodness, I feel so sleepy. Perhaps I should…
The knock on the door woke me. It was nearly 7am, no more breakfast for me. I had dozed off while sitting upright on the bed, that’s how lazy I felt today.
The knock became a bit intensified.
The only person that did that was the Landlord’s son when it was time to pay the monthly light bill. It wasn’t even close to the end of the month yet. The knock was becoming a bit annoying. For heaven’s sake, it was a working day! Nobody goes around knocking on people’s door as if they had come to collect a debt.
Getting up angrily, I stomped to the door and flung it open
“Yes?” I angrily blurted out. It came out before I saw who it was.
“Good morning Aunty Shola, I am sorry for bothering you so early this morning.”
It was the woman from downstairs; she was dressed for work and was the last person I wanted to be rude to. I admired and liked her albeit from a distance.
“Good morning Ma Lily, sorry for shouting like that, I thought it was someone else.”
“No problem but please I need a favour. Do you have a stove I can borrow at least to warm my children’s meal this morning…my gas just finished.”
“No sorry, I don’t have a stove…” I replied shaking my head. I suddenly felt like kicking myself, why on earth didn’t I have a stove; could have saved the poor woman from the embarrassment of climbing the stairs to ask me. Our other neighbours were not people to be approached. I watched her walk away.

FUSED THOUGHTS – A TALE FROM TWO WOMEN I

Stifling a yawn, I got up from the bed and peeked at the time. It was nearly 5.30am, time for me to get up anyway. Sighing, I got up and shuffled to the bathroom to relieve myself before opening the door to go out of the bedroom to the kitchen.

I was careful not to wake my husband of 8 years by not putting on the light. He usually woke by 6.20am and from then conducted morning devotions. So I had an hour and fifteen minutes to make sure breakfast was ready and that the kids got up and got ready for school. It didn’t matter if I was bone-tired or sick, the routine never changed.

Opening the kitchen door, I sighed as I switched on the rechargeable lamp that I usually left on a close counter for sudden outages. The electricity went out just before I got to the kitchen door and so my task just got harder since I would have to do everything in semi-darkness. The freezer has been bad for a while now which meant I had to warm last night’s stew and white rice and the soup I cooked two days back as well.

Picking a broom, I swept the kitchen floor. The garbage truck was not going to come till the next day and my trash was already filled. Putting the soup on the cooker, I quickly washed our dirty plates that were stacked in the sink. I needed help around the house but my husband wouldn’t hear of it. His argument was that having help – paid for or live-in - made a woman lazy and the children insolent; wonder where in the world he got that from not that he lent a helping hand to relieve me a bit.

The soup was beginning to boil slightly so I opened the pot, peered into it and turned it. We would have to manage the soup later this evening especially now the meat in it had finished. Everything was so expensive these days.
“Na wa for this country self. A single woman cannot purchase food items with N5,000; how much more a married woman with children?” I grumbled out loud
“Why are you talking to yourself in the dark?” My husband asked startling me. I didn’t expect him up yet.
“Good morning, is it time for devotion?”
“No, Lily is crying.”
Was it not obvious that I was busy?
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Carry her if she is crying now.” I replied barely keeping my anger in check.
“How do you want me to do that? I am preparing for devotion.”
“And I am busy in the kitchen except you want to take over from me while I go and pick her up.”
“What is that supposed to mean? Is it not too early for insults?”
Careful to keep my voice neutral, I replied “How have I insulted you? I am warming the soup and washing the plates…”
“So it would kill you to drop the plates and put off the fire?”
Slowly, I dropped the plates, rinsed my hands; put off the fire and walked out slightly brushing him.
Picking up the crying Lily, I shook her brothers awake. My husband didn’t want Lily sleeping in our bedroom.
“Ssh…mummy is here. Lily…my…lily…the most beautiful girl…” I sang-talk to her as her brothers sluggishly got up.
“Good morning mummy,” Jeremiah, my first son greeted me.
“Morning dear, both you and Emmanuel should lay your beds while I get your sister quiet.”
“Good morning mummy,” Emmanuel piped out.
“Morning Emmanuel, please, no quarrels with your elder brother this morning. Lay the bed and then both of you should get into the bathroom; let me get back to the kitchen. Lily say hello to your brothers.”
The boys came and tickled Lily and got her to smile.
“Mummy leave her with us,” Jeremiah pleaded while extending his hands towards Lily. Lily, already quiet though refused the proffered hands preferring to cling to my hip.
Going back to the kitchen, I tried completing my task with one hand. The plates would be dealt with maybe after I got back from work. The kitchen was still dark I didn’t want to drop Lily so she wouldn’t bump into anything and yet I was behind schedule already, the morning was already turning out to be frustrating than it was. And then it happened, the fire sputtered out. I was out of gas at 6.00 in the morning and I didn’t have a back-up stove.
Well, the stew wouldn’t get spoilt anyways. Thank God I had warmed the soup earlier; the rice was okay a bit. We would have to take the rice cold perhaps with cold tea too.

My head dey swell oh. Thanks a lot.

Otunbakay:
Master piece!
Enoquin are you for real? Anyway we will have a date someday.

You're blessed, talented and highly gifted. Just keep your focus, that place you are dreaming and praying to get to would only be the starting point for you.

I appreciate your literary work. I love it! I truly do.

Happy New Year

prof800:
cool... I love short stories.
Nice works Enoquin.

Desdevice:
what a refreshing story...kip it coming

Thanks. They'll keep coming

A STRANGE FUNERAL

The weather was fair, perhaps too fair for this kind of event. The heat from the sun wasn't intense. The day seemed suited for a day of light hearted fun and not one for this kind of event but that didn’t stop those who saw this kind of event as a place to show off recent fashion styles and a meeting place for intending couples. Oh yes, couples met at funerals, morbid as it sounds; perhaps the thought of a corpse made it imperative that new bonds with the living be made. Bonds that might bring forth a new life circle.

“And now we call on the Chief Mourner to read his tribute, after his tribute; the deceased’s father will read his.”
The Emcee announced – a strange thing, since the tribute was always read only by the chief mourner, in this case, the deceased’s spouse - whilst moving on to a corner to confer with the church minister who was in charge of conducting the funeral.

The crowd waited expectantly and yet the Chief Mourner did not make a move to stand and walk to the podium. He seemed not to hear that he had been called to read his tribute. He sat, staring ahead, resplendent in white attire, oblivious of the crowd. When the silence in the crowd had gone on for a long while, the Emcee announced again – a bit anxiously - for the chief mourner to read his tribute, this led to murmurs from the crowd.
The family for the deceased sat together unwilling to move and none turned to look at the chief mourner, who sat a little separately from the deceased’s family; and yet most of them did not seem as preoccupied with sorrow as they were wont to.
Most in the crowd noticed this, and more than a few eyebrows were raised causing more murmurs. The minister stopped conferring with the Emcee and moved to where the chief mourner sat.
“Sir, please it is time to read your tribute. There isn’t much time as I have to attend a burial in another parish.”

Not getting an immediate reaction, the minister shook the chief mourner gently but firmly as if to rouse him from sleep. The chief mourner turned and looked at the minister; his eyes which were a bit dazed couldn’t focus for a while till the minister shook him again, making a sweeping exasperated wave towards the podium.
While all these happened, none of the family moved or showed any form of concern save one but that one tended more towards embarrassment; and now that one came to join the minister.
“We all know you miss her dad but your mild show or drama is not going to score points for anyone neither will it make her wake, just go and read the tribute so we can all go home.”
The chief mourner turned and looked at the one who now spoke to him whilst the minister looked on in consternation. The chief mourner shook his head as if to clear it from many dazed webs and then stood and moved to the podium.

He looked at the crowd that had come for the funeral of his wife. The crowd was a large one. The funeral was done in an open field and so even stragglers had strayed in; anything for free food and drinks even if it was at the expense of someone’s sorrow.
The chief mourner opened the programme for the funeral and looked at the words that had been written for him by another. Words that were a blur and meant nothing to him; he tried to focus on the words but couldn’t.
“I guess I am to read this tribute that has been written by someone else for my wife. I would not have written these…these bare words that are devoid of emotion. So, forgive me, if I do this.”
At these words, he tore ‘his’ written tribute off the funeral programme. This action produced two set of reactions; it caused agitation amongst the deceased family members and amidst the Officiating Ministers but it caused silence amongst the chattering crowd perhaps because they knew that they were at a somewhat different funeral than what they were used to and that if they kept quiet without distracting talks they might have a story that’d be told to those that missed even if in slightly varied versions.

The Chief Mourner seemingly unaware of the reactions his actions had caused – an unsure thing though since a gleam of satisfaction flitted quickly across his face – bowed his head for a moment. When he finally raised his head, it was a changed and charged man that stood at the podium. Everyone held their breaths even if it was for different reasons.
“You all are gathered today to mourn my wife with me and even though I am impressed by the turn-out, I must ask you all this question, ‘who invited you?’” Hearing the crowd gasp, he looked around more defiantly, his demeanor daring anyone to utter a protest.
“Yes, I have to know who did because I certainly did not. I did not write a tribute and certainly did not invite anybody nor would have I wanted to. You may think me callous but then who are you to judge me and decide if I am indeed callous?"
"How could I have written a tribute when I now live in darkness? How could I have invited everyone when all I want is to be alone? Alone to grief for the jewel I have lost. For how can you all know the anger that festers in me, festers against the ones who claim to love her but gather as vultures waiting till - in their warped morality - she has been committed to the earth before revealing the ugliness that is barely hidden by their attires?”

The Chief Mourner bowed his head a second time and when he looked up this time, the naked pain on his face caused everyone to look away. When he spoke this time, his voice was somewhat subdued as if ashamed of its earlier outburst and yet this time, it wasn’t to the crowd; it was to someone else.
“I miss you so much it hurts. The way you wanted attention always and yet strangely remained detached. How we’d argue about gender equality and the next minute, you calling me to fix the light bulb and saying all the while that it was a man’s job."
"How you’d scold me for always looking for my socks and stuff and the next minute, you’d stand in front of me posing with that childish pout and declare that you couldn’t find your glasses. How you’d come up with crazy recipes and insist that we try them out saying that a couple was supposed to go through trials together. How you saw the good in everyone, myself, the kids, your family, everyone; how we’d call you gullible telling you that not every action was one of good intention.”
At these words, some members of the deceased’s family starting sobbing, they knew how true the last statement was.

The Chief Mourner seemed unaware of the fact that his last statement has caused a reduction of the tension that had earlier been thick. Perhaps, if he had known or cared he might have stopped there and not gone further but in his seeming madness, there was a method to it.
“But my darling you were gullible because the family you thought highly of is waiting for your coffin to be covered with sand before fully baring their fangs."
"Your elder sister made a subtle move to take most of your jewelries, she has been going through your things; who does that to the one they claim they love? Your elder brother has demanded for a cow and several crates of alcoholic beverages, a demand that has left me wondering how someone who is supposedly grieved could make up a list that is set to impress his drinking buddies.”
Some members of the family could be seen trying to restrain the deceased’s elder brother but the Chief Mourner continued speaking seemingly unaware of the commotion his words were causing.

“Your younger sister is the only one who hasn’t demanded for anything but that could be due to the fact that tradition does not recognize her position in the family. Your father has asked if you had any lands.” The crowd gasped. This was more than what they had imagined; it was truly beyond anyone’s dream, a scandalous funeral.
“I wonder if the fact that you were married and belonged to someone else meant nothing to him. Your mother is silent but we both know how sly a person she is.”
“The kids are getting unruly; they blame me for letting you die. They say a doctor shouldn’t have let his wife die of cancer and when they say this, I am tempted to believe that perhaps madness or cruelty is a trait of the family and yet there is this belief that perhaps they have received tutoring from the mad people in your family seeing that I have no family; a fact that I have been constantly reminded of these past weeks. ‘A child from the orphanage’ they deigned to whisper the first few weeks but now they say it loud especially when I refused to capitulate to their demands except of course to bury you here in your hometown than in a neutral cemetery.”

The crowd remained quiet still perhaps knowing that the Chief Mourner’s speech/tribute wasn’t over. The only agitation came from the family’s elevated stand; things were not going the way everyone had expected.
The Chief Mourner spoke again, this time his voice broke with grief.
“I want to grieve alone not with this crowd half of which know you not. I don’t want to have to grief according to anyone’s wishes. Mourn you alone for how can I eat, drink as if to shut out my grief?"
"Why would anyone want to shut out the pain of losing a loved one? I wish death had an appeal court; I would sell all I have to make a case for your return. I want to see you throwing a tantrum, looking up to me when you had doubt not because you did not know what to do but because you believed in and trusted me. I love you and always will. Sleep well my darling till we meet again.”

With these last words, the man looked round as if waking from a daze. The atmosphere was quiet as a graveyard except for the occasional chirping of insects. Yes, it was for a funeral that they had gathered but this was not the way funerals were conducted. This wasn’t the formal reading of a woman’s life and achievements. This was the cry of an oppressed man.

The Emcee was not one with a quick wit and
fumbled for the right words to say that would cover up the awkwardness but his words were not heard. The outcry from the crowd was overwhelming. It was true that more than half of them did not know this woman personally but they felt an overwhelming sorrow for the man who had to deal with the loss of the woman he loved and with overbearing in-laws.
When order was again brought to bear, it was obvious that the scale had been tilted. The man was the only one amongst the deceased’s family who sat with his head held high; the rest of the family had their heads down.

Later, when the coffin had been lowered and the required obligatory duties carried out, a family meeting convened for the reading of the will. The setting was as before, the man on one side, the remainder of the family on the other with the lawyer right in the middle.

The implication of the unusual tribute had dawned on the family. This was a man that wasn’t going to roll-over for anyone again. This was a man with nothing to lose especially after the will had been read and the deceased had left all her estate to her husband.

THE END