One Love, Many Tears

by Gertrude U. Uzoh

  Days later, his curiosity is benevolently satisfied when Onuma regains his sight and fully finds his voice again. All he says is that he was slapped to blindness and beaten with rods, but he did not see who did it. Maybe he is imagining things, but he said it was a sudden attack, and he was too drunk to really tell or understand it.

  However, in the confines of his room, Dike now ponders over the strangeness of such an incident. He is puzzled by the realization and is utterly shaken, Dike is frightened beyond himself, and he finally concludes that what happened is that his brother might have just been visited by the spirits.

  This is the only meaning and explanation his mind can give. When he visits Onwukansi on one of the following the days, his fears are graciously nourished by Onwukansi’s torrent of incantations, invocations, and deep superstitions that only succeed in heightening Dikes’ worries, instead of calming them as he expected.

  Dike is now very anxious for his own life, and he is completely seized by a fear he has never known in the entirety of his life.

  Nine

  It is very easy to say; “Let me travel,” but it is not that easy to locate one’s destination, especially if it is one’s first time alone in a big, busy city. It is much less so when one is practically without an idea of anyone or any particular place.

  Lagos City is very large, and like many other large cities, it is always confusing to new entrants. It might be said that one is stranded, often in situations where one is confused of his direction. But when one has no direction at all, he might graciously be said to be absolutely stranded. That is the case with Cynthia and Okechukwu in the city.

  They arrive safely around 4:00 p.m. They are now both tired and hungry, because they have not had any meals. Throughout the very long journey, the bus does not stop for long refreshments, except on two occasions when it stops for people to have a little relief. It is not until they alight finally, at the last bus stop, that the hunger pangs became resounding in the hollow pits of their stomachs.

  With no known direction, they wander around the park filled with so many other vehicles, both arriving and departing. The park is bizarre to them and full of haphazard noise coming from so many boisterous activities in the city. It takes them about ten minutes of meandering through the corners of the park before they get acquainted and secure an exit.

  The first sights as they enter the nearest streets are very long queues of cars of all sizes and brands. It is closing time for the day, and various cars and people are returning from their activities of the day.

  “Cynthia, can you see so many beautiful cars in these city roads?” Okechukwu mutters as they walk down the main street, gaping at the line of cars that extends the four lanes in either direction. It is one of the heavy traffic congestions that are very typical of Lagos. “Can’t you see them? These cars are beautiful!” he repeats with more obvious excitement, because Cynthia does not respond to his first remark. He gestures again toward the cars with one hand, still talking, and he clutches one of Cynthia’s arms with the other. Cynthia does not seem quite excited; she is lost in deep thoughts. They walk down the street a little longer.

  Then suddenly, Okechukwu dramatically raises one of his hands over his head, and he points in a very excited motion, showing Cynthia a huge billboard advertising a common tea beverage. His motion at that is so drastic and hilarious that it causes the single strap of his bag to shift off his shoulder. The bag drops to his feet, which brings both of them to a halt, and they now stand just nearly under the billboard.

  The images are so captivating to Okechukwu that he absently lifts the bag again, readjusts it to his shoulder, and looks on at the billboard with his mouth salivating. He is hypnotized!

  Cynthia now looks at what her brother is enthusing about with so much careless abandon. She is captivated too, and her own excitement gradually awakens. It is their first time in the city; everything is strange, new, and very different from the village they are familiar with.

  And the billboard? It is all they need to reawaken their hunger pangs—the steaming tea cup with three bright-eyed kids glaring expectantly at it, all colorfully made and placed on the advertisement, surely achieving its aim of captivating people and thus selling the product. But it is different with these kids. This billboard is presently doing more than just advertising the product to them—it is making them worry more about food and the means of getting some.

  “Cynthy, I want us to eat. What are we going to eat?”

  “I am also hungry. If we can find a place where they sell food, we will buy food with the money Aunty Christy gave us.”

  “She gave us a lot of money. I like our aunty. She really loves us.” The little money Christy could afford to give them is obviously magnified in Okechukwu’s eyes.

  “I know; she loves us like Mummy. But see how they killed our only mummy?”

  “And they also want to kill us, Cynthia. Yesterday night, they said they would kill us!” Okechukwu reminds her.

  “But God will not allow them. We are now out of their reach. They won’t see us again. Thank God for Aunty Christy.” She says this, and at the same time, she pulls her brother closer to herself with one arm about him. They walk on and further down the street, clutched together.

  All the while, they are lost to their own small world while the bigger city world moves on about them. The faces of the people are strange, so they are not particular about them. The cars, the buildings, and the streetlights are the things that catch their fancy.

  They chatter on as they walk farther, away from the main street and busy roads, until they found a restaurant.

  “Do you know how they behave here and how they sell their food?’ asks Okechukwu.

  “I don’t know. We will go in and ask the woman,” she replies, leading him into the restaurant and toward a dark-complexioned woman, who is the owner of the restaurant and looks to be about mid-thirties in age.

  “Good evening Ma. Please, we are hungry and we want to eat,” says Cynthia to the woman at the counter.

  The woman merely braces herself on the counter and looks at them in an unfriendly way. By her assessment, these haggard, hungry-looking youngsters must be one of the roadside loafers who always come to beg for scraps and free food. Most often the urchins, like these two before me right now, are from questionable street parentage, she snarls. The parents are prone to abandon their children to dubious street lives. The orphans often come to her restaurant in wretches to freelance for food, but experience has informed her a long time before now that wretched people should rather remain in their own quarters. She usually spares no friendliness or welcoming disposition to anyone she suspects to be a beggar.

  “What can I do for you? Are you sure you are not here to beg for food? Because we have no leftovers,” the woman says disparagingly with one questioning open arm, giving no slightest damn about her apparent hostility.

  “Nooo! We only want to buy your food. I’m sorry if we did not behave well,” Cynthia explains, confused at the woman’s question.

  “Bring your money, let me see. How much food do you want?” she demands, to be sure of their claim. “Show me the money you want to buy food with!” She is set to once again put her tested-and-trusted method of verifications to use, and she is always ready to point anyone to the “PAY BEFORE SERVICE” notice hanging above the counter.

  Cynthia ruffles through her little nylon purse and pulls out some naira notes, which the woman eyes and assesses suspiciously, before finally collecting them.

  Some minutes later, they are gratefully eating from a plate of food, which is soon to be replaced by another. They eat to their satisfaction.

  A while later, the time ticks 5:55 p.m. on the large oval clock hanging on the wall opposite their table. The sun has started setting, and the clouds are gathering in the sky outside. The air has become cooler, and now there is a breeze; it is quit
e different compared to the sunny afternoon, and the rustling waves of the long journey from which they just came. It will rain! The clouds seem sure of it. It is going to be a very cold night, then—one of the sudden rainy nights of the Harmattan!

  More people are gathering both for eating and for relaxing at the restaurant. Some have just come to socialize with friends and the neighborhood over bottles of beer and small talk. Among them and sitting around the corner are two teenage kids who are stranded, have no idea of what to do next, and are very uncertain of what lies ahead of them.

  Just like in most other business outlets in Lagos and nearby, businesses do not close even up until the wee hours, like 2:00 a.m. But today, the outlet owner, a spinster by the name Lady D., decided earlier that she would be closing by 9:00 p.m. She has a special night vigil program to attend today at one of her favorite prayer houses. In her personal belief, she hopes she will one day be blessed with a miracle husband who will sweep her off her feet at such a miracle prayer house, and she doesn’t want to miss today’s vigil.

  This is how most unmarried women, especially those about her age, think; they consider themselves older and no longer suitable for marriage. Their thoughts usually make them desperate for even a substandard marriage, by the measure of comparison to their actual or original personal goals, desires, and values. They are often too eager to abandon their hopes in the heat of such an exaggerated need for a husband. Such women seem to have given up on themselves regarding respectable chances of marriage, mainly because of a social perception that places a certain time and age limit on marriage. Or perhaps it is because of some misplaced self-identity and perceptions that often disposes them to feeling grossly incomplete if they are without a husband to call their own.

  It is a Monday, so Lady D.’s two assistants at the restaurant can also help close early, as Monday nights are usually not a peak business day in her restaurant.

  Cynthia and Okechukwu are still sitting at their table long after they are done with the food. The cozy atmosphere of the restaurant is a welcome refuge to them, away from the noise outside. A fast whirling ceiling fan is directly above their table, and another standing fan is nearby. It is really a balm to their weariness. They therefore just linger at the table, with no desire at all to leave in a hurry.

  However, that ends soon as Lady D., D for Dorcas, walks up to their table. She is going to ask them to leave so that other customers will have space. It is a relatively small restaurant, with about fifteen four-sitter tables.

  Sooner than they wish, they are outside again. But they do not go more than ten feet away from the restaurant; the brief rest they just experienced inside the restaurant resists the unfamiliar disorder outside. They simply hover around. The streets are very crowded, and the people are too busy to even look at each other, much less notice two stranded teenagers.

  But there is nothing about them to actually show they are stranded. It would indeed be a feat if the people noticed their hopeless faces, or the deep weariness and loss in their innocent eyes. But that may not just happen because to most people in Lagos, everyone is on his own in this no man’s land. But who is to be blamed? After all, there is no banner or sign on their foreheads that reads “Stranded.”

  The children sit on an abandoned bench nearby and watch activities on the streets. They watch in oblivion until night falls, and all the while, they are undecided with worries for the night and what will become of them.

  Suddenly there is a loud sound. Gboa! Then, Clack !Clack! Clack!

  It is the heavy bang of some metal doors, bolts, and keys clanging, as a boy shuts and locks up his grocery stall for the night. It is already 10:00 p.m., and Cynthia and Okechukwu have no idea about what to do.

  After wandering about for a while, they had gone by the walls of a house close to Lady D.’s restaurant. There they sat endlessly waiting and finally fell asleep in the shadows. Resting their tired nerves so devotedly in that little but endless sleep, it is only this bang that can wake them.

  They get up, stretch out, and look around. The previously busy street seems drained of people and noise, and it is still thinning slowly as they look on. Now there is almost nobody else and no shops are open anymore on the street.

  Feeling lost and deserted, they have no idea of what to do next. They are very uncertain of the few remaining people on the streets, and any inclination they have of approaching someone is already disarmed by people’s presumed unfriendliness. They cannot ask for help because they do not have the skill of approaching unfriendly strangers; they do not even know what to ask for. What if the people can’t or refuse to help? But this pessimism or fear is bad enough; they are timid in this way, too young in the mind to understand that all brick walls are still passable, with the right tools.

  “Can we go to a church?”

  “How do we know where a church is?”

  “We could walk around and look. If we see a church, we will know.”

  “Maybe, Okee, but its dark now, and nobody is on the streets anymore.”

  “We slept it off! We could have asked the woman to help us.”

  “Yes, but we were scared of her, and she didn’t like us. Didn’t you see how she asked us about money for the food before she gave it to us?”

  “Cynthia, I am scared and am feeling cold,” he whines, snuggling closer to her. Fear of the dark and of the open night now clouds his usually twinkling eyes.

  “Me too. I am very scared and so cold. Here.” She opens their bigger bag and brings out a cloth wrapper “Throw it around yourself,” she says, helping him to wind it around his body.

  “What about you?”

  “I will cover later. Now let’s go back to the woman.” They quickly pick up their bags and make a return trip to their first place of relief in this barren city.

  But upon reaching Lady D.’s outlet, they see she is already gone, her stall now locked. They can’t help but stand in utter disappointment. Sullen tears quickly well up in both of their eyes. Okechukwu begins to cry instantly; he is particularly afraid of the night and dark. Cynthia readily curls him up to herself, pleading with him to stop crying. She loathes seeing him cry, and it easily prompts her to cry, too. She loves him so. She is holding him close to herself, rocking him to stop crying, circling her slender arms around him dearly as if her hands could wash away their mounting despair.

  But looking around them and still standing entwined, Cynthia sees another bench a little distance away. Under it

  seems to be some abandoned, pack-sized cartons. Children must have played with them in the day, because many pieces are in bits and thrown about the place as far as she can see.

  They quickly disentangle from each other and move to the

  bench. Thinking briefly, they decide to carry their bench and the cartons back to Lady D.’s locked stall. There is an outward balcony at her restaurant they can use for space.

  Soon creativity comes to play. The bench is positioned inside the little balcony. They sprawl the cartons together, placing them under the bench. It takes a while, but this work is surely rewarding, for the cartons eventually form a cushion. They lie down on the cartons and use their two bags as pillows. Cynthia brings out a second cloth wrapper from one of their bags and throws it over their bodies for warmth.

  This is how they improvise a bed with pillows and blankets for the night! Luckily, the sky suddenly clears out. Some hidden beauty of its capricious nature, one might say, as it seems to have been kindly considerate in not raining tonight. Rather, for the safety of these precious two, and the countless other homeless spread across the country, the proud weather seems to have just spared them the predicaments of exposure to the earlier impending heavy downpour. Looking at the bright sky above them as they are already drifting into deep sleep, it truly seems the weather’s decision of no rain tonight is final. Unpredictability remains a very charming character as it has always be
en!

  The cold of the night is still very chilly, but their creativity truly offers them considerable warmth for the night.

  Ten

  “What are you doing here?”

  That was Chinwe, Lady D.’s younger sister. She says this with a little kick of her left foot on Cynthia’s back, to wake her up. Okechukwu also wakens. It is 8:00 a.m. the next day.

  Chinwe has just arrived with Lady D., who at the moment is parking her 505 Peugeot at her allocated space.

  Chinwe was bringing out the stall keys from her handbag, and she is startled to a stop as she enters the front balcony of the restaurant and finds two young bodies squeezed under a bench there, still asleep. Now, she is staring at the teenage girl and the boy with her, who seems to be shivering where he is curled.

  “Hey! It’s morning” Cynthia realizes tiredly, and in surprise she rubs her eyes with her palms. It seems to her that the night flew by quickly. “Okee, get up.” She shakes him briskly to wake him further.

  “Good morning Ma” Cynthia greets Chinwe as she gets to her feet, stretching and yawning. She is terrified and wary of Chinwe, whose eyes are unwavering. At the moment Chinwe’s gaze is more like the merciless nozzles of a double-barrel gun, very ready to shoot!

  Now Lady D. has finished parking her car. As she gets out of the car, she looks so classy in a short yellow gown that is heavily puffed, both at the short sleeves and at the bottom hems. The dress is lined with three bold black buttons that run vertically down the upper front piece, starting from the bust line to just a notch above the navel. She likes bold designs, and they look good on her. She is wearing a pair of matching black high-heel shoes that are tapered with silvery laces. Her beautiful slender legs, which are quite a great pair of assets, are a glorious sight to behold in those shoes. A yellow designer handbag that is lined with silvery black-colored rims completes her choice of accessories this morning, which accordingly goes with her choice of silver stud earrings, necklace, and wristwatch. She is a time-conscious woman, and watches complete her fashion accessories.