Wake Me When I'm Gone

by Odafe Atogun

  When we got home, Loko took both of my hands. ‘Please, you must leave, or else they will kill you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Leave!’ Tears were streaming down his face.

  I began to cry too. ‘I cannot leave my children behind,’ I lamented.

  ‘If you leave, you will see them again one day, but if you don’t, you never will,’ Loko said. ‘Go, please.’

  I shook my head. They were seated with me on my bed. Bomboi had his head on my lap. He was terribly exhausted. I could feel his heartbeat hard and fast. I rubbed his back gently to calm his breathing. ‘I must find Noah. I must look after my children,’ I said fiercely, as if speaking to myself.

  ‘Don’t worry about Noah and the rest of your children. They will be okay,’ Loko said.

  ‘Mother, do as he says,’ Mofe said. ‘Go for our sake. We will see you again one day. You will see Noah too. But if you stay, you will die, and we will never see you again. Please, do as Loko says. Please, go for our sake.’

  Tega and Igalo begged me to go too. Only Bomboi did not say a word. He had started dozing. Now and then, he would raise his head, look at me and place his head back on my lap. Although he did not say anything, I could see the silent plea in his eyes. I could tell that he, too, was begging me to leave. And as I rubbed his back, he suddenly began to cry very loudly. My heart became too sad. I placed him on the bed. After a while he stopped crying, and I realised that he had fallen asleep. I covered him with a blanket. Soon, Igalo fell asleep too.

  For a brief moment there was total quiet. I knew then that I had to go. I got up and packed a few things. I brought out a pouch containing all the money that I had. I gave some to Mofe. ‘Use this for your brothers and yourself,’ I told him. ‘Stay here in the house. Don’t go back to the outskirts. Be strong. When Noah is released, he will stay with you. I will come back for all of you one day. Loko and Luku will be your friends, they will help you.’

  I wiped my tears and smiled at them all. I bent down to kiss Bomboi and Igalo on the cheek – they were fast asleep, breathing as if they had fear in their stomach.

  I told myself that I would be strong, that I would not cry anymore, until the day I saw all my children again. Loko, Mofe and Tega surrounded me in a hug, and then they led me into the dark night.

  We headed briskly out of the village, avoiding Main Street. And as we went, we passed guards who looked the other way, allowing me a smooth passage. The boys escorted me up to the abandoned building in the outskirts. And then we exchanged goodbyes. None of us cried. We just hugged, silently, as if words would destroy all that we wanted to preserve.

  TWELVE

  I journeyed with a heavy heart, sleeping wherever I could lay my head. Along the way, I met bandits who, instead of robbing me, gave me money and provisions after they had listened to my sad story. I met nomads who provided me with food and water. And I met a seer who prayed for me and assured me that no harm would come to me.

  I arrived in a small village a month’s journey by foot from the village of my birth. It was at the gate of the village that I met Mama, the kindly old widow who took me in. I told her about myself. She felt sad that I was a widow at such a young age. But she said she was very happy that I had come. After I had taken a bath and eaten, she told me about herself. She said she would die soon, that she had only been waiting for me to come. My heart raced and I asked her what she meant. She sighed and told me to pull my seat closer.

  ‘Long before now,’ she began, ‘a prophet predicted your coming. He said you would come from a distant village, a beautiful young widow, with two gold earrings.’ She paused, studied me and asked, ‘Do you have two gold earrings?’ I shook my head. ‘Well, never mind . . . He said that when you arrived I should know that my time to go had come. You see, twenty years ago when I lost my husband and three children, I had wanted to take my own life. They were fishermen. They caught a strange sickness from the river, and they died one after the other in a matter of days. I was fifty years old then. My world caved in, and I prepared a poisonous potion which I intended to drink so I could die and join them in the other world. As I was about to take the potion, the prophet walked into this very room and told me to stop. He said my time had not come, and he told me about your coming.

  ‘He said we would meet at the gate of the village; that you will be tired and famished having travelled a great distance. He warned me that I must not allow you to continue to another village. He said if I did, we would spend many painful years trying to find each other again. And he told me that I must take you as my daughter.’ She smiled brightly at me.

  I was speechless.

  ‘Don’t be sad about the children you left behind,’ she continued, looking deep into my eyes. ‘This is your home now.’ She spread her hands to indicate the splendid house comprising over twelve rooms. ‘And this is your destiny. The whole village knows that you are coming; I have told them about you. Do not be sad. Instead, be strong and happy, and only then can you fulfil your destiny.

  ‘Remember, I lost my husband and my children, yet I waited for you for twenty years. I was sad at first, but afterwards I lived every day with happiness and a sense of purpose. Now I have fulfilled my destiny. You must learn to be strong and happy if you are to fulfil yours.’ And then she warned me, ‘Never tell anyone else the reason why you fled your village. Your village and ours have similar traditions. If they know, they will not accept you here.’

  *

  Three days later, Mama passed away peacefully in her sleep, and the entire village gathered to mourn her. After the burial, sympathisers came to visit me in droves. They had all heard about me. And they asked why it had taken me so long to come. They referred to me as Mama’s daughter; they prayed that I would find the fortitude to bear my loss. I could not help being amazed; I had been in the village for just a few days, yet everyone knew me. Surely, destiny was leading me; but I felt alone and deeply saddened by Mama’s death.

  The Chief of the village came to visit me too. He was a handsome young man who had recently taken over the throne from his late father. I felt greatly troubled when he arrived on a white horse. A rush of bad memories came to me. He noticed my agitation; he smiled and told me that he had come in peace.

  ‘Mama was a great woman,’ he said, when he had taken a seat. ‘She told us about you long before you arrived. She said she was waiting for you to come and then she would go. We never really believed her. But it happened exactly as she had said, and we are all amazed.’

  I did not know what to say. I averted my eyes.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

  ‘My name is Ese,’ I replied.

  ‘It’s a nice name. I have never heard a name like that,’ he said, with a nod of his head. ‘If there is anything you need, please come to the palace to see me and I will do my best to help.’ He rose to leave.

  I thought he looked clumsy in his regalia. Somehow, I sensed that he was not cut out to be a chief. I quickly pushed this thought away from my mind, and I thanked him for coming. Long after he had galloped away on his horse, I was overcome by painful memories. I wondered what was happening to my children, Noah especially. My heart became terribly sad. But I remembered what Mama had said, about being strong and happy if I was to fulfil my destiny.

  *

  I drew inspiration from Mama’s story. I could hear her voice talking to me. In a way, our stories were similar. Certainly, our destinies were connected.

  It seemed like ages since I had arrived in the village, but it had been less than a week, and so much had happened in that time. For the first time, I went for a walk on a quiet evening. I remembered one or two faces who had paid me visits of condolence. I made an effort to memorise as many names and faces as possible as I went. They did not greet me as though I was a stranger, but as if they had known me all their lives, and this made me feel so much at home. The children were warm and lively; I greeted them with affection, trying not to allow memories to overcome me.

  I noted that the houses were bu
ilt of mud, that they all had tall thatched roofs. And I could tell that it was a prosperous village for I saw people returning from the farms bearing fresh produce. I wondered what their market looked like, whether it was anything like Main Street. I told myself to visit the market soon.

  A young man carrying a small bag containing assorted fruits approached me. He greeted me with a smile, and I returned his greeting. Other young men gathered at a distance to watch enviously. ‘I was going to bring this to you at home,’ he said, opening the bag for me to see. ‘I was at the burial and I saw you.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m sorry about Mama’s death.’

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ I said. ‘It was kind of you to have come for Mama’s burial.’

  ‘I will follow you home and drop this off.’ He raised the bag.

  ‘I very much appreciate your kind gesture . . .’ I hesitated and smiled, not wanting to hurt his feelings. ‘I mean, you don’t have to give those to me.’

  ‘I want you to have them, please,’ he said. ‘I got them from the farm for you. It’s good to be nice to strangers. Not that you’re a stranger amongst us, but still . . .’

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ I said. ‘I was just taking a walk to get to know the village a little.’

  We walked on together.

  ‘Do you like our village?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s beautiful and I think the people are very kind.’

  ‘Why did it take you so long to come?’ he asked. ‘Mama waited for you for a long time. She told us she was waiting for you. She said that you are a very beautiful widow, but we didn’t believe her then. And now you have come. But you don’t look like a widow to me. You are too young to be a widow.’

  We passed a group of children playing football on a small field. Memories threatened to overwhelm me. Mama’s voice whispered a reminder in my ear. I smiled and waved at the children.

  ‘I’m a widow,’ I said with a shrug, turning to the young man.

  ‘It’s strange,’ he said, as if his mind was in a distant place.

  ‘Well . . . I’m a widow,’ I repeated.

  ‘My name is Kewe,’ he told me.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Ese.’

  ‘I know. We all know your name. No one bears that name in the whole of this village.’

  ‘That’s what the Chief said. The palace, I would like to see what the palace looks like,’ I said to him.

  ‘Let’s go this way. I will show you,’ Kewe said.

  The palace was a mighty compound comprising several mud houses with towering roofs. It was surrounded by a large wall, and it had a giant wooden gate. It looked majestic indeed, far bigger than the palace in my village. As we walked by, I saw a few guards who waved in a friendly manner at us. They did not carry sticks or swords; they just walked around with their hands in their pockets. I was amazed by this and I wondered how they would defend the palace in the event of an attack.

  ‘The guards don’t have sticks or swords,’ I said to Kewe. ‘With what would they defend the palace?’

  ‘They don’t need to carry sticks or swords,’ he explained. ‘This is a peaceful village. We’ve never had any violence. But if the village or the palace ever came under attack, there is an arsenal of weapons and charms in the palace they could use.’ He gave a deep chuckle.

  ‘It’s good that your village is peaceful,’ I said. ‘And your Chief, he is such a young man. I thought he would be old.’

  ‘He took over the throne from his father, who died not too long ago. You see, he had left the village for the city some years ago. But when his father died, he had to come back. The oracle said he was the chosen one. He has older brothers who live here in the village, yet the oracle chose him. At first he did not want to come, but he began to suffer one misfortune after the other in the city. The High Priest sent word to him that unless he came to take over the throne he would continue to experience bad luck. So he had to come back to take over the throne, and he married his childhood love whom he had left behind in the village. They said he could marry as many wives as he liked, but he said he was okay with one. He is a good Chief. He is doing things differently.’

  ‘It’s all so interesting. I had better return home though, to relieve you of that burden,’ I said, pointing to the bag in his hand.

  ‘I could carry it for ever,’ he said, and we both laughed.

  The sun had dipped. Smoke was rising from every kitchen, and delicious aromas suffused the evening air. We got to my house and he handed the bag to me at the gate. I thanked him once again, and we exchanged goodbyes.

  *

  The house Mama left me had thirteen rooms and a sprawling living room. Apart from the palace, it was the biggest house in the village. Before she died, Mama told me the history of the house. It was built by her husband, who was one of the wealthiest people in the region. They had planned to have many children. But, after they had three sons, she could no longer conceive.

  Their children grew up and, following in the footsteps of their father, they became fishermen. Fishmongers came from far and wide to buy from them at the rivers where they caught fish, and their family gradually amassed a fortune. Her husband planned to build three more mansions, one for each son. And just when he was preparing to lay the foundations of the first, death knocked cruelly on their door. The priests had wanted to brand Mama a witch and push for the Chief to condemn her to death. But the prophet who predicted my coming prevailed on the Chief not to do so, saying that Mama was a good woman. He was a renowned prophet, so the Chief believed him.

  Mama had wanted to sell the house and move to a smaller one, but the prophet told her not to. He told her that the house would be put to its rightful use at the appointed time. So she lived in the house with her nieces and nephews and cousins and various relatives. But, as they grew older and got married, they left one after the other, until only Mama remained.

  She hired maids who came daily to tend the house and the garden in the backyard. When the house became too empty for her to live in alone, she got the maids to stay nights in shifts. She was a rich woman; her husband had left her a fortune, so she lived in relative comfort and ensured that the house was well-kept.

  I inherited Mama’s wealth and I carried on with her policy of having the maids stay at night in the house. They would tell me the small histories of the house which Mama had been unable to tell me. And, gradually, the picture of a charming and loving family who had lived there a long time ago formed in my mind.

  *

  And they told me about their customs and traditions, and I became greatly dismayed to learn that orphans were also regarded as evil children and treated as slaves in this village. They said Mama had tried to convert her house into an orphanage, but the Chief at that time – the father of the current Chief – and most of his subjects, including the priests, resisted the idea fiercely for they were a people who believed very much in tradition.

  Once again, I had found myself in a village where tradition would pit me against the people and the authorities. I thought of leaving. But I remembered that Mama had told me that this was my destiny. She had also told me to be strong and happy. I wondered how it was possible to be strong and happy in a place where orphans were treated so poorly. Yet I knew that being weak and sad would not change anything.

  Soluso told me about the orphans. He was a young man who spoke in a quiet voice and helped me with chores around the house. He told me that there were not many orphans in the village, so a stranger could not easily know of their existence. ‘But they are quite easy to identify when you come across them,’ he said. ‘They look very malnourished and sad, and often they scavenge for food.’

  ‘I have taken a walk around the village,’ I said to him, ‘but I haven’t seen any child who looked malnourished and sad, or one scavenging for food.’

  ‘That’s because there are so few of them, and they always work out of sight in compounds or on remote farms. You rarely come across them in the street. When they go to search the rubbish heaps for f
ood, they avoid making contact with people. And they take to their heels when they see anyone approaching.’

  ‘But it’s not their fault that they lost their parents,’ I said in despair.

  ‘Mama was of the same opinion. And she always told us that one day this house would become a place of refuge for orphans.’

  I nodded silently at Soluso’s words. Somehow, I sensed that destiny was speaking to me through him. Afterwards, as I sat alone and gazed into space, I started to understand what destiny was saying to me: that I had been chosen for a mission.

  *

  I paid the Chief a visit. He was delighted to see me and he welcomed me warmly. It surprised me that his wife attended to me herself even though there were several servants in the palace. She was a beautiful and pleasant woman. She brought me water and some fruit, and then she retreated and left the Chief and me alone.

  ‘How are you finding our village so far?’ the Chief asked.

  ‘Your Majesty, I thought it was lovely, until I learned that orphans are not treated well here,’ I replied frankly but politely.

  His jaw hardened, and for a moment he was silent. He asked, ‘Have you seen any?’

  ‘No, I haven’t, but I have heard about them, that they’re branded evil children and treated as slaves.’

  We fell into silence. I could not tell if he was angry, so I kept quiet and waited for him to speak. Finally, he sighed and sat forward. ‘My father sat on this throne for ages. After he died, the oracle picked me to succeed him. I didn’t want to, but in the end I had no choice. When I climbed onto the throne, I realised that there were many changes I would love to see, but I also realised that I could not promote those changes all by myself. I’m only the custodian of our traditions, and there’s very little I can do.

  ‘You see, for change to happen, the people must be willing to conform to it, they must be prepared to drive it. But, in the short time that I have been on this throne, I have come to realise that the people are averse to change. And I have also come to realise that, ultimately, power belongs to the people.