“That is not the important subject of our discussion!” interjects Onochie speedily, intending to avert her concerns. “What we are here to do is decide on Fredrick’s house, his gratuity, and other property. Whatever happens to the cars is the concern of the elders. We called you to be part of this meeting, because I personally believe that as his wife, you should be here, as you might also be required to submit some of the things you still keep for proper custody.”
They are in a family meeting a month after the burial. It is a meeting to decide the fate of Fred’s fortune. This meeting is in the family Obi. An Obi is a very important and revered meeting place in the people’s culture, where important gatherings or decisions can be made. Most times, it is a separate room in the household, and sometimes, it can be an entirely out-build in the family compound.
About five of the men are sitting around the centerpiece, made of fine bamboo crafted into a small rectangular elevation from the floor; the rest are sitting about the various corners of the Obi. On the bamboo craft is a plate of kola nuts, and sitting on the floor beside it is a large keg of palm wine.
Women are not usually invited to such decision-making meetings unless it is essential. Susan is sitting by the right side of the Obi, with her sister Christy at her side. Okechukwu, two years old, is sleeping in Christy’s arms while Cynthia, six, is curled between them. Traditionally, all necessary persons are supposed to witness such decisions for the sake of proper records. That they invited Susan at all, as Onochie points out, is merely to fulfill an obligation of righteousness.
For some of them, however, this is actually a moment to let Susan fully know her place in their new plans.
“Mazi Onochie how can you say that?” Susan asks as meekly as possible, in reply to his comment. Knowing the existing subjugation placed on her as a woman, she is careful not to offend, especially now that her cars and other property are at stake. “How can you say that it is not important for me to know where the cars are, or what happened to them?”
However, the men are not ready to treat a woman gently, fairly, or kindly, especially when they have pressing ulterior motives.
“We are not here to barter words, woman!” proclaims Dike superciliously as he assumes the position of an elder. “We want you to go by our instructions and let the elders take the decisions,” he adds, making Susan seem so small, as if she has nothing of a life to claim.
She is surprised.
“You mean I should just keep quiet while you decide what happens to my husband’s legacy! Where is it done that way?” she asks in suppressed anger, restraining herself from having an outburst.
However, with the answer she gets for her question, she is rather brought quickly back to the reality of what she has always known and seen before in her community—it is just that it never occurred to her that she would someday be a victim of it, too.
“This is not a time to quarrel over trifles like property. You are a woman! And you are still mourning your husband,” grumbles a man called Onukwube, an extended kinsman.
“Then let this discussions wait until the mourning period is over. If I should not talk because I am mourning, then let us talk later—because I surely have something to say. I have a lot to say, Mazi Onukwube.” She grunts reservedly but is getting upset.
“Tufiakwa!” snarls a male voice abhorrently from the back chambers.
“But it is not in your authority to say what is to be done or when it is to be done. It is our tradition!” interrupts Onukwube.
“And you don’t have to question the tradition, because our ancestral fathers, in their great wisdom, say that what an elder sees while sitting even on a mat, a child cannot see it even if he climbs a very tall tree,” adds another man.
“And when a child tries to lift his father up above his shoulders, he shall be shrouded, not just by his father’s loin clothes but also with debris,” a third man chimes in.
But for Susan, they are not taking this issue from a fair standpoint. They sound as if they mean well, but they do not consider her views. “How can you all say this to me, my elders, when you all know that a woman should not be treated any lesser than another human being?” she queries sincerely, but she is soon cut short of her statement.
“Woman, you talk too much!” retorts Dike impatiently.
“Who are you asking questions?” mocks Onuma, standing up. “Do you have to talk while your elders are talking? Do not forget that you are a woman!”
“But what do you want me to do? Are you going to take everything and leave me with nothing? Is that your plan?” Susan asks as the real picture of her fate now forms vividly. She can already guess her stake by their domineering tone and from the look of things. Her fears, however, are simply confirmed further.
“Nobody is taking anything away from you that was ever yours in the first place. What do you think you actually own?” asks Dike viciously. Still assuming the role of an elder, he adds, “It is our duty to even take care of you, and not you take care of us, especially now that your husband is dead.” He was implying something else that makes Susan recoil briefly as she allows his implied “care” to sink in with its meaning.
Before she can give a reply to that, Onuma quickly intones,
“A woman needs to be under a man. Now that your husband is dead, you cannot be alone. You need a man that can take care of you and satisfy your needs, and we are here for you. I will personally take care of you the way a woman should be taken care of.” He hopes he is beginning to make sense to her, as he obviously believes his suggestive remark will strike the right chord now and make Susan see his conjugal intentions.
Onuma probably thinks he is amorous, or even sexually exciting to Susan. But Susan is taken aback by his suggestion—and by how the whole subject is changing. She rises from where she is sitting and finally goes into an outburst.
“What are we actually talking about here, my elders?” she stares. “Are you taking the property, or do you want to take me, too? We are not forgetting that I have children to take care of, and you don’t have to forget that the death of their father is affecting us all. You don’t have to mock me in my grief or even offend my respect and love for my husband. We are not talking about my sexual needs,” she stresses, angry and depleted.
Most of the elders feel slighted by her “respect and love” for her late husband, but instead they only react visibly to a particular word she used: “sexual.” They do not seem comfortable with the direct word, yet the insinuation of it punctuates most of their statements and actions.
The confidence with which she says the word rather gets most of them sexually aroused, and they began to stir in their seats in suppressed delight. Some want to shun her instantly because they consider it a reckless effrontery to be verbally expressive as a woman, especially sexually. However, they cannot put her down openly in that regard, because Susan was polite in her statements, according all of them their due accolades. Besides, some of them have yet to declare their own “caring” interests in her, and putting her down will not place them in any better light.
Still very agitated, she continues. “We are all adults, my in-laws and elders, and I respect you all to say that I am not in need of another husband now. My major concern is my children’s welfare—that should not be overlooked in this discussion. They are your children, too. It is about the resources my husband left behind, which should be used judiciously to make sure that his children are taken care of. He left enough to satisfy that purpose, and that is my major concern, my elders—for the sake of our children.” She includes the elders this time in her “our children,” hoping to buy their sense of responsibility and fair consideration with emotional blackmail of filial affection.
That leaves them all silent now, as they are probably giving thoughts to her last words. There seems to be a brief introspection, or possibly contrition, as Susan’s words weigh on them.
“Why are you not seeing that?” she laments further when no one talks. She is very agitated.
But the elders seem confused instead, finding it difficult to harmonize their various conflicting motives. No reply comes immediately. They are obviously touched by the truth of her argument. Still, the weight of her argument and passionate plea does not have a lasting effect, despite all the love in it. The elders just have to be elders by their own definition and character.
Except one man called Okocha.
Mazi Okocha is a man of about Dike’s age. He has a diminutive stature, but his words in deed are deeper, far reaching, and more encompassing. He is surely a strong statesman of the traditions of his forefathers, but nature, whenever it blesses someone—even an old, tradition-battered man as Okocha—with an exceptional kind heart and the ability to object to injustice, it defeats all human ingenuity and self-centered inclinations.
Rising from his seat now, Mazi Okocha moves to the center piece to address everyone. “My fellow elders and keepers of our land,” he begins in his usually very drawled voice. “Let us find a way of allowing all birds to perch, and all birds of flight to fly!” All is silent now. “Let the vulture perch, but let the eagle perch as well. For indeed, what is the glory of the bird of flight, if not its beautiful and magnificent wings? And of what use are these wings if it cannot fly with them?” He pauses again, and there is an overwhelming silence in the Obi. “All animals live in the forest, even if the lion claims to be the king! As big as the elephant is, it does not stop the little ant from being counted first in the animal kingdom; neither does the tall giraffe, in all its glory, deny the importance of the little butterfly that pollinates the plants that give it food!” He stops suddenly without warning and takes a calculated moment to throw a surreptitious glance around the Obi, as if taking a mental record of all present. Then he nods his head slowly in satisfaction and continues. “He who fails to feed a crying child might as well fail to feel a peaceful sleep! Many things are here with us that our ancestors cherished so much—but they are here with us, and not with them! This is because all things are still. You meet something today, and tomorrow you leave it behind.”
When Mazi Okocha stopped finally, it was with some relief of his heart that had all the while before been listening and merely waiting for the right time to speak. Surely, his words are well noted and will sink as deep as intended for everyone present.
But not many of the people present at the meeting are of a similar nature. About half of the men present are at the opposite spectrum of Okocha’s natural disposition. A handful of the rest are easy push-overs. This smaller group out of the bunch, are absently waiting like the dangling puppets on a string for a push effect.
Mazi Dike is a notorious pusher and silencer! It doesn’t usually take him much to silence and dominate any conversation to his favor, and this particular one has huge interests for him. It is very easy for Dike to run over Okocha’s speech, given Okocha’s low aggression. In a very short time, and with his own variations that keep rolling out as fresh from his own views, Dike quickly dispels the huge impact of Okocha’s speech, just as soon as Okocha takes to his seat once more.
In the meantime, Dike seems more convincing in his defense of the traditional norms than Okocha. Therefore the subsequent remarks and reactions of other people to Susan’s outburst, just few minutes after Dike’s counter-speech, are mere criticisms by the majority. Most of the remarks are aimed to berate Susan as well as belittle her; they are the elders, and she is but a child, albeit a woman. But even a woman, she should know she is “just a woman”. She shouldn’t forget that! They have many reasons to justify their various inclinations and motives.
The meeting is adjourned now for another day. Many more meetings are held on different occasions in the coming days. None yield any favor to Susan’s wishes, and none of Okocha’s milder considerations proliferate.
Finally, when she is defeated in her views, she concludes her arguments in the last meeting by reminding the elders that the conscience is a place where all truths are usually divulged, especially in its very secrecy.
“You don’t have to forget so fast, my elders, that actions are always rewarded, either now or later.”
The rest is history now, because what later ensued was a pronounced fight, especially after her one-year mourning period expired. They dispossessed her piece by piece and eventually burned to ashes the rest of Fred’s items and documents that they could either not use or understand. They do all this to prove to her that she wouldn’t have anything if she doesn’t let them “care” for her. They do all they can to justify their various cravings, be them right or wrong.
In this mourning period, she is restricted. But the sexual advances of Onuma and some of the elders are unrestricted. They make unbridled shows of their sexual desire for her, which she turns down completely. How can it possibly be wholesome for a woman to yield to a man or men that pay her little or no love and respect—let alone men that usurped her wealth?
But they are unrelenting, until she finally flees to her mother’s home. Dike actually pulls the last string that drives her away. The old boy tries to rape her, but because she won’t be heard even if she complains and cries out, she simply flees. That is how she found peace for some years at her maternal home—until this recent reappearance.
She recalls all now, and she definitely still has no place in her heart for them just yet. But they won’t leave her and her children alone. This renewed interest in Okechukwu is indeed serious, and only the gods will be able to explain the real force that propels a determined man so unrelentingly.
“So much love and care, indeed!” Susan bellows scornfully in utter disgust of them as she paces round the kitchen now. She grimaces thoughtfully with her face slightly scrunched at their declaration that they now truly care for her and her children.
Trying to place her reflections of the past and the present side by side, the thought of her in-laws ever coming back into their lives only makes her want to puke. She readily snaps her thumb and middle fingers in disgust, giving a heavy shudder.
Susan reasons that one cannot possibly hate a mother so passionately and still love her child genuinely. She will give no room to their claims, which she believes must be underlined by some evil intention as always.
“Care indeed!” she bellows again.
She knows that Okechukwu and Cynthia are the treasures she must keep by her very own hands. Her other property can remain in its “proper” custody with her in-laws as long as they wish, but not her children! And never will she fall to their empty amorous advances. She will never satisfy their sexual desires of her. She still misses, loves, and respects Fred a lot, even after all these years, and she won’t fall for fools, as she calls Dike and his brothers. She will never be part of any romantic play they have clearly woven around her.
Now, startled by the sharp smell of burning food, she quickly drops out of her trance to tend to the angry pot. The pot, set on a small tripod in the fire place, has long been dried of water and is now crackling at the steady fire burning dutifully beneath it, sending whirls of smoke off and into the chimneys of the bamboo roof. Its content is plane rice that would go with some peppered fish stew she had prepared earlier for dinner.
Susan hurriedly brings the pot down, using some reserved local sponge leaves as fire proof so her hands wouldn’t burn by the hotness of the pot. Holding one sponge over the cover and by the tip, she places the other underneath the pot, then tilts it to a comfortable angle and slowly lifts it up and off the charcoal-stained floor that adjoins the fire place. She skates past the fire place, carrying the pot towards a cupboard in the kitchen store room.
She returns with a small bowl of water in hand, from which she sprinkled some over the fireplace to douse the flames. Then she returns the bowl to the store room, and walks back gingerly across the space, to a small stool outside the kitchen hall. She abse
ntly lowers herself to sit, and promptly runs her mind back to the painful days. With her jaw supported by one palm over one lap, and shaking her head now in a forsaken manner, she is sad to still know that her in-laws are not relenting.
They have been coming, and not just for Okechukwu but because they want to claim her as their possession, too. But time and again the struggles remain the same; the issue is now dragged out, and it is more like a power struggle between her and them.
Finally, when they see that Susan is not going to yield to their desires, and almost invincible for them, they agree to simply eliminate her “as an obstinate widow of bad fortunes.”
And they do just that! They actually kill by food poisoning. When Susan is not lucky enough—or perhaps, when it is her time to die—she is captured by death through their hands, despite the fact that she has two teenage children who surely need her alive.
Who knows if her death bond was not signed long before her time?
Five
Before her demise, Susan has a subconscious premonition of it, which leads her to having a last session with her children. That morning before they leave for school, she calls them and spends some valuable time with them, talking.
Rather unnecessarily, she goes on and on about the need for them to love one another through every test of time. She talks about harmony, oneness, and whatever issues she can. She stresses that they must never allow the spirit of unity to wither between them. She repeats all that, and very unnecessarily too, for they have always been their family watchwords. Ever since her children grew up to the age of awareness, she has given the love, peace, unity, and harmony sermons to them so many times that it is now indelibly part of them. It is almost needless for her to stop them this morning on their way out for school and repeat all that, but it is her premonition that prompts such repeated admonition.
One Love, Many Tears Page 4