Waves Aligning

by Adaora O

  “Chinny,” began Ejiofor, “I think you have a lot of clutter around you.”

  “Like what?” she probed. Ejiofor hesitated before he continued, treading with caution. “Your transportation business.” There was an undertone in Ejiofor’s voice as he rushed on. “I wanted to pay for your GCE form, but you refused. Hey, my Uncle Iyke wanted to raise you some cash but you did not want to be indebted to anybody, let alone a man. Even when he asked you to consider it a loan, you adamantly refused. You seem to be having a ball at carrying children about in your glorified wheelbarrow rather than concentrating on garnering knowledge and exposure. Pushing that thing is not good for your arms. You are a girl for heaven’s sa—”

  “Now stop right there Ejiofor.” Chinny’s face became stern and her voice dropped to a whisper. Her eyes now sparkled, and Ejiofor knew this extra shine had nothing to do with excitement but everything to do with rage. “I have always looked up to you, not only as a friend but as a brother. Many times, even when in doubt of your judgement, I still went with it. Over the years, I learnt to let my guard down with you. The wall I built around myself to protect me from the intimidating odds stacked against me for being a female ceased to exist with you because I thought you saw me as a person, not as a female. I am awfully sorry you do not like my wheelbarrow business as you call it. But guess what? That wheelbarrow business is me embracing my current reality. I find fulfilment making sure little girls are given the chance to dare to dream. Little girls whose parents and guardians would have readily denied the most basic of educations with the excuse of lack of time and funds have been given the opportunity to find out what school tastes like. That way, they can make up their minds to fight for it or not.” Pausing for a gulp of air, she went on, “Moreover, gathering as much funds as I can would not hurt a girl with my background. I try, God knows I try to immerse myself in as much knowledge and exposure as I can manage, given my prevailing circumstances and I will never stop. However, if I am too slow at it or if it seems chokingly embarrassing for you to hang out with the girl who pushes a glorified wheelbarrow for a living, you may very well look the other way. It would not be any different from being talked down to and being passed over for choosing the XX and not XY chromosomes.”

  Ejiofor’s mouth hung open as his mind became a tangled mess. He could not tell how their chat degenerated into something that could now easily pass for a brawl. He curled his mouth with the intention of giving Chinny a piece of his mind, but because he stifled a bubble of laughter at the same time, a smile escaped and then the laughter bubbled through. He tried his best to stop but he found he could not and when Chinny could not take it any longer, she lashed out, “When you are done laughing, please tell me.”

  Ejiofor was able to rein in and with a face still contorted from laughing, he asked, “Choosing the XX chromosome? Chinny the babe!! Really?! Who told you anybody had a choice? Those chromosomes just happen in a zygote. You better go back to your biology or else you will flunk it butt-on-the-ground in your forthcoming examinations!”

  “It was a slip of the tongue. I meant ‘having’ the chromosomes not ‘choosing’.” Chinny fought back for her ego.

  Ejiofor laughed harder and chuckled, “A slip of the brain you mean.” Chinny turned around and began walking towards her house. Not wanting to push his luck, Ejiofor backed off. What was it? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? “Hey!” Ejiofor called out. “Wait for me! I was just joking. Com’mon Chi!” Chinny did not react as though a fly buzzed. He tried harder for a reaction as he caught up with her. “How about those oranges you promised? Wait… truck pusher!” Ejiofor joked.

  Not able to hold it in any longer, Chinny burst into laughter and said, “Coconut head, follow me if you are still interested.” They could not stay mad at each other for too long. Moreover, Chinny's birthday was only one night away.

  The conversation between Dede and an elderly man in his sixties suddenly stopped when Chinny and Ejiofor walked in. They said their greetings and headed for the kitchen to feast on oranges and the conversation between the two men resumed. Moments later, when they heard the visitor leave, Ejiofor took some oranges to Dede in the sitting room and thought he spotted a film of tears in Mr Ona’s eyes. A while after, Chinny walked Ejiofor to the door, too engrossed in their chatter to notice her father’s obvious gloom.

  Dinnertime went by in silence. But that night, as Mr and Mrs Ona lay in bed, Ama knew all was not well with her husband. Not only was he turning in his sleep like a pregnant horse, she also noticed the absence of his snore. Ama tapped her husband on the shoulders and when Dede huffed, “Hmm? What?” in between sleep and wakefulness, she asked him if he was having a nightmare. He answered with a curt “No” and went back to sleep.

  3

  The morning sun tore through the skies, revealing the beauty of dawn and Ama’s eyes slid open a fraction to find her husband kneeling beside their bed in prayer. Her forehead creased as she watched his inaudible but fervent muttering. What bothered her husband and why he chose not to confide in her consumed Ama’s subconscious for the better part of the day. When the moon came out again to play and Ama lay down to sleep, she caught her husband staring fixedly at nothing and realised that whatever ailed him still occupied a huge space in his mind.

  Chinny had just submerged the duvet she pulled off from her truck and made to go into the house when she spotted the delivery man walking towards her. “I have a letter for Mr Dede Ona,” he said. Chinny collected the brown package and signed on behalf of her father, who was home early. She could hear his heavy breathing from his bedroom and wondered if he felt unwell. After she knocked once and received no response, Chinny let herself in, to see her father on his back, his hands folded under his head while he glared into space. One look and Chinny knew something grievous worried her father.

  “Nna’m, are you all right?” Dede sat up with a start, surprised at his child’s sudden presence.

  “Yes, my daughter. I am all right,” he assured her as he collected the letter and left it on his bedside stool. His shaky hands and laboured breathing betrayed his fear at discovering the contents of the envelope he had just received. The Southern Rail crest on the top left side of the envelope made him certain of unwelcome news.

  Once convinced that Chinny was nowhere near his bedroom, Dede tore open the brown envelope. It contained two smaller envelopes. The first held a letter from Gold Shore Bank, giving Southern Rail notice to pay the outstanding sum of 4,655,080 Naira before the end of the quarter or stand the risk of possible foreclosure of one of the twenty-five home units financed by the bank. If Dede claimed ignorance of the home unit being referenced, the second letter from Southern Rail spelt it out, informing Dede that his unit was the only outstanding debt they had with the bank. Southern Rail informed Dede of the option to pay up the loan on or before the stated date or apply for a personal loan from a bank to clear his debt.

  Distressed at how much interest had accumulated over the years, he pored over some well-hidden documents to find that while the original mortgage cost 3,000,000 Naira, the additional 1,655,080 Naira was due to bank interests. A little slip showed another 800,000 Naira interest paid on his behalf to the bank by his former employers – this was also due for repayment. In closing, Southern Rail promised to make all supporting documents available to him if he requested them.

  Beyond distraught at the thought of his house being repossessed, Dede’s head churned out questions in their numbers. Where would my family live? How can I secure a personal loan from a bank without a collateral? How will I come out of this mess? Ama saved her husband from drowning in the pool of his own thoughts when she came in and spotting the envelope lying on the bedside stool, asked him where it came from. As Dede narrated the contents of the two letters to her in hushed tones to make sure Chinny did not overhear, his heart cringed in pain at the raw fear his wife’s eyes reflected. Everything seemed to be going wrong in military sequence. He was
having to deal with his inability to educate his very bright daughter while grappling with his son’s school fees. How could he add homelessness to this mix? A mouthful of stones held no comparison to what he felt.

  “Ama, I do not know what to do. Even if I find someone with such a huge amount of money, how do I pay back? Maybe withdrawing Dubem from school, selling my car and shed are the next things to do. I have run out of ideas,” Dede sighed in exasperation. Ama did not see much use in selling the sawdust shed and car. She reminded Dede that the shed was their major source of income as a family since her small vegetable stall at the village market made only a slight difference. Dede agreed with his wife, telling her in the voice of a lost child that all his prayers came back unanswered. When she asked her husband to explain what he meant, Dede admitted that he had prior information about the letter and hoped there would be some divine intervention or refraction of consequences.

  “One Mr Peters visited a few days ago to give me inside information,” Dede began. “He still works with Southern Rail. Remember I told you that they diversified into other realms of transportation and are presently working with the government to reinstate the system on a larger and more efficient scale. So, Mr Peters can be considered quite well off.”

  Ama listened to her husband with rapt attention as he narrated Mr Peters’ visit, but she interrupted him after a while. “That man, what is his name again? Why did he come with such news before the office decided to formally inform you? Did he offer any solution?”

  “I do not know my dear. And no, he did not suggest any way out.” Dede’s reply sounded like a distant echo. Their discussion went on until the wee hours but before their eyes gave in to fatigue, Ama and her husband decided that Easter Monday would be a good day to pay Mr Peters a visit and ask for help of any kind, as he may be their only opportunity to get out of the situation they found themselves in.

  *

  An hour and fifteen minutes after Dede sat down in Mr Peters’ waiting room, he had still not been graced by the presence of the man who could be holding the keys to his shelter. The small room with two single cushion chairs had a lone painting on its white walls. It took Dede a while to figure out that it bore the image of a voluptuous African woman. The painting looked quite expensive and Dede would have taken a better look had the woman in the painting been given the smallest stitch of covering. He tore his eyes away, looking around to make certain no one had seen him staring and wondered if he should leave and return at a more convenient time. Before he could decide whether to stay on or leave, a young lady ushered him into the main living room where he was asked to wait a while longer. Though not particularly excited at the prospect of having to continue the waiting exercise, Dede sat to wait all the same, grateful for the more comfortable chair. He took note of the affluence that barked at him. The plush leather chairs and markedly high ceiling, made from plaster of Paris (commonly called ‘POP’), spelt wealth. Not able to ignore how far away the ceiling appeared, Dede pondered on the deliberate waste of good space. All the side stools, the central and dining tables had pure marble tops. More puzzling was the source of the chill that threatened to send him outdoors. Dede now believed the cool air seeped through the walls since he had searched everywhere for the air conditioning unit and still could not find it. He was about to beckon on one of the many young girls bustling around with one task or the other to take a message to Mr Peters when he finally joined him, looking dishevelled but apologetic.

  “I am so sorry Mr Ona. I was err… errr busy with err… something,” he mumbled. Dede took his apology with grace but could not take his eyes off the young girl who followed Mr Peters out. He looked on as the girl disappeared from sight, her eyes tracing an imaginary line on the floor before her.

  The two men talked at length. Dede took no time in laying his issue bare. He asked his host for a loan of 5,000,000 Naira. He planned to pay off the mortgage on the house and plunge what was left into buying a functional car to start a car hire business, the proceeds of which would fund his repayment plan. Moments after Dede recited his carefully scripted proposal, Mr. Peters spoke.

  “I have no problem with giving you this loan, Mr Ona. I have the money but as a good businessman who does not pick his money from tree tops, I would like to go to bed knowing how and when my money is coming back to me and frankly speaking, your plan for the loan repayment seems like a castle of cotton wool. I mean we are looking at twenty years or more by which time I would most likely be dead. You can see I am not a young man, so why you make such a proposition baffles me.” Dede winced and shifted in his seat. He was now in a position he hoped to never descend to, but grovel he would, since his family’s basic comfort depended on it.

  “Sir…” Dede began but Mr Peters stopped him with a wave of his right hand.

  “No, no, no, Mr Ona. Coming to me for a loan should not make you call me ‘Sir’. We are friends. Com’mon! Let us have something to eat and drink. I am sure we can work something out.” Surprised, but grateful that their discussion which only moments ago had gone off on a less favourable tangent somehow found its way back to its intended course, Dede let out the breath he did not know he held in.

  After a meal of boiled white rice and steamed vegetables, garnished with fire-grilled fresh fish and beef cuts that Dede partook of, even though he would rather have not, he politely declined the red and white alcoholic wines offered. He reasoned that he needed a clear head to assimilate what Mr Peters proposed to be the way around his seemingly hopeless situation. A very satisfied and hopeful Dede followed Mr Peters into his study – a smaller room adjoining the living area – and as soon as the door shut them in, Mr Peters told Dede his proposition.

  “I can give you the money for the price of air but that is only if you act wisely. I want to marry your daughter Chinny. I have—” Dede’s eyes shot up in surprise.

  “Chinny? My daughter? She is only a child… I mean she is… I never… I—”

  Mr Peters did not look in the least bothered by Dede’s apparent distress. He interrupted him. “She is not a child at all. Any girl who is over fifteen years is no longer a child. Do you have any idea of how many of her mates get married every day? In fact, one of my friends from the North married one not long ago. I think his latest wife is twelve years or so. You see, I have been alone for too long. Since my wife’s passing eight months ago, I have not had a real companion save for these young girls that are my beneficiaries. More than that, I want a son to take my place when I join my wife. Your daughter is young and vibrant. There is no doubt about her fertility and ability to produce male children. You are aware of how useless a man is without an heir.”

  Stunned beyond words, Dede looked on at the man who sat before him as one would a hydra-headed alien. He could now see how the young girls ‘benefited’ from the opportunist. He felt like regurgitating the food and water he had taken. He thought he would faint as he considered a barrage of reactions to the man grinning in front of him. When Dede finally found his voice, he drew himself to his full height, and looking Mr Peters in the eye, said, “I have a million thoughts to express to you, but I wonder if fighting an unarmed man is worth it because now I realise you do not have the capacity to think. But on the unlikely day when you can think, I would like to hear about your experience so far with the human race, since visiting our planet. In the near future, I hope you find yourself and have the grace to be disappointed in what you find. There are many things I am ignorant of, but this I know Peters, that you are one of those people who would be enormously improved by death. You are living proof that gutter-mud can sprout legs. And if I have said anything to upset you, please be clear on one thing – it was purely intentional.” Dede was shaking with rage as he turned his back on his once-upon-a-time host and slammed the door, an open-mouthed Mr Peters staying glued to his chair. He had the impudence to express surprise.

  Dede decided not to flag down any tricycle. He intended to walk all the way h
ome and after a few metres, he could stop the tears from flowing down no longer. Try as hard as he did, they were relentless in their rage as they pooled over his eye sockets and flowed down his face. Dede could only blame himself for not trying hard enough to give his family a decent life. He knew that most people may not consider a female child much of a force to reckon with, but he shook at the thought of anyone reducing a child, a human, to a mere commodity. If only he had not gone to this alien, his heart would have been spared the ache it now experienced. Why did life play games with people so? Why could things not just move on with natural gradient? Did life have to always present obstacles? Why did hard work not present the sure recipe for success? Engrossed in his turmoil, Dede went past his home. Wiping his face, he headed back and saw his seventeen-year-old daughter parking her truck and going through the routine of stripping it of the duvet, which she put in to soak. Chinny offered to take her student passengers to the school playground once a week as part of their holiday routine at no extra charge.

  Pain lanced through his heart. “Why?” Dede questioned no one in particular as he resolved not to share his experience with Ama.

  The months flew by and soon the long-awaited examinations timetable stared every candidate in the face. Chinny’s papers spanned two weeks. Her first paper would be on a Wednesday – Alternative to Practical Chemistry. Confident in her many years of study, Chinny did not experience the usual examination fever typical of her counterparts who sacrificed study time on the altar of play and slothfulness. Ejiofor called to tell Chinny that he had been accepted to study medicine at the University of Ghana. He planned to travel in November for the registration process. Everyone in the Onas’ home went insane with excitement for Ejiofor. Besides Chinny, being awfully disappointed that he shunned becoming an engineer like his Uncle Iyke; the promise of more distance between her and Ejiofor was not one she looked forward to being fulfilled. Nevertheless, nothing deterred the happiness she felt for her brother from another mother and her soon-to-be doctor friend.