One Love, Many Tears

by Gertrude U. Uzoh

  “Chinwe, why are you still standing there? Open the shop, now!” Lady D. says laconically as she approaches. She is not yet in view of Cynthia and Okechukwu, who are presently hidden by a thin block of the balcony wall.

  The “now” in her statement is spoken in the particular way that the people of Lagos and Nigeria in general normally do. It is not meant to be a direct command for carrying out an action; the “now”, usually drawled, carries a tone of understanding that supposes the person being talked to should do just what he or she is told, with an undertone of some absently agreed expectation. Put another way, she could have similarly said, “Why are you not opening the door?” It is often rhetorical, but the two statements basically mean the same thing.

  Chinwe doesn’t respond to Lady D.’s remark; she is just standing still in front of the balcony and watching the scene before her in both wonder and disgust. At the same time, she is allowing her elder sister time to fully come into view and see for herself.

  Cynthia and Okechukwu have finished picking up their things. They fold their cloth wrappers back into their bags and silently pray to be dismissed in peace without harassment or punishment for taking advantage of somebody’s shop overnight. But of course, this is only what their teenage, not-yet-roughened-and-toughened minds can think of, because they do not know Lagos. In Lagos and most other cities, it is nobody’s business where you sleep or pass the night—except that you don’t allow yourself to be caught in the act.

  “Who are they?” asks Lady D. with a wanton concern as she now comes into view. She can imagine who they are, of course—forsaken street people or beggars, out of shelter. But then she realizes she saw these two yesterday; she recognizes them at once.

  “What are you still doing here?” she asks them with loathed recognition and obvious displeasure.

  Cynthia and Okechukwu are mute and staring blandly at her, looking so lost. Lady D. scans them inquisitively with bulging eyes and batting eyelids. They remain mute, only shifting nervously.

  “You passed the night in my shop!” she exclaims discordantly, as the thought now dawns on her.

  She has always believed that such people always find their way to a place to get shelter. Never had there been anyone in her stall. Or rather, never has anyone been caught in the act by her before.

  But the people in Lagos know that dumpsites, roadsides, incomplete buildings, damaged and abandoned vehicles, as well as under bridges, are common places for the likes of people that are out of houses. And surely, abandoned benches, cartons, and all sorts of containers of various sizes, brands and shapes, usually come handy as make-shift home materials. But like in most other cities, this is usually nobody’s business.

  “Will you two just get out now!” Lady D. dismisses them scornfully and with a resignation to avoid their troubles. This is now an order, and they hurriedly scurry out of her stall. “I don’t want to ever see you here again…” Lady D. is at the end of her sentence when she notices their bags. She hadn’t noticed them yesterday; she must have been too busy to notice.

  “Those bags? Wait!” she says. Cynthia and Okechukwu now stop in their tracks and turn around.

  Lady D. repositions herself again for another query. Walking with an obvious sashay and a rhythmic sway of her beautiful hips, she slowly covers the space between them. With a grandeur display of her beautifully manicured nails and well-made-up face, Lady D. takes her time to really look at them searchingly once again, and in a very more thorough examination this time.

  “Where actually are you from?” she asks carelessly.

  A little relief comes over Cynthia as she sparingly thinks Lady D. might be of some help if she knows what they’ve been through. Such a pipe dream, one might think, yet Cynthia takes a few nervous steps toward Lady D. and explains.

  “We… we are from our village. We… we came to this town yesterday. We… we don’t know anybody and don’t know where to go.”

  When she is done explaining, Lady D. merely looks piercingly close into her eyes and does not say anything. Instead, she moves slightly away from them, only to pace about noncommittally but in a thoughtful manner. She then stops in her paces and spontaneously leaves them without a word.

  She walks back to her car, opens it, and pulls out a folder from the Pigeon hole of the car. She sits behind the wheel and carefully scans through some papers and documents, taking her time in finding whatever it is she came looking for.

  While Lady D. is away, Okechukwu and Cynthia are left standing. Chinwe is keeping them even more bemused, as she now unlocks the keys and walks into the stall without a word.

  Okechukwu is really shivering at the moment, though no one seems to have noticed except Cynthia. The cold of the previous night had its way on him. Cynthia instantly swirls into action. She reopens their bag for the same cloth wrappers she stuffed back in some minutes ago. Straightening one out after the other, she throws them over his body, winding him up for a little warmth and holding him near her own body for support. They stand weakly, waiting.

  Lady D. finally returns from her document search after ten minutes. She is holding a handful of papers in one hand, and she now beckons Cynthia and Okechukwu with her one free hand, but still without any word at all. They all walk into the restaurant. Leading the way, Lady D. has Cynthia and Okechukwu following cautiously at her tail, with every apprehension oozing out of them.

  The restaurant still has a little disorder from yesterday’s business activity. Chinwe is already set to tidy up the place. The two lady assistants who are hired for services have also arrived. Normal activity in the restaurant will soon begin, and before long, at 9:00 a.m., customers will start trooping in for breakfast.

  For Cynthia and Okechukwu, they are taken to the inner end of the restaurant, to Lady D.’s private office. It is a partitioned room out of the restaurant’s accommodations, with a small desk and chair at one end of it. Two more chairs are facing the desk from the opposite side, while a suede-lined upholstery chair sits near one wall. It is a small room indeed, but Lady D. reverently maintains it as her office. Even with all the chairs and the desk, a small file cabinet and other items that rather leave no space to move an arm in the room, Lady D’s office is very dear to her, and it is very tidy as she loves to keep most of her things.

  With her high-heels clicking loudly, she gracefully walks to her precious seat behind the desk and ushers the youngsters to sit opposite her desk. She is thinking very deeply, more than she has done in a long time. She all of a sudden has developed a curiosity that is making her want to listen to them. A curiosity that wants to know more about the children. She hopes to ask them questions until she is totally satisfied. Then she will know what to do with them. She has a lot to ask before using any of her found documents.

  But what is she really up to? Did she see anything that

  moment she looked into Cynthia’s eyes? Perhaps she saw something compelling or interesting enough to keep her thoughtful right now. Perhaps she saw the desperation or despair? Who knows if she saw the tender side of the wretched ones. What is she planning? Who knows what kind of a woman she is. What could be her interest? Is she a fair lady or a dark lady? Indeed, many atrocities abound in the cities that pay no discrimination to gender or age, as long as one is available and vulnerable. These questions seem to come from the ghostly chatter of some unseen companions.

  But while sitting down, and quite unlike her first impression on them, Lady D., instead of any second motive, is merely taking her time to have a long talk with the youngsters. She is duly rewarded, because she is now learning a lot more about them through this action. Their story happens to be heart-wrenching for her. She feels overwhelmed just listening to it, not being spared the sympathy that it elicits. She watches the tears on Cynthia’s face as the girl narrates their story, and something in Lady D.’s deepest soul moves involuntarily in response. Lady D. naturally does not like tea
rs, and however mean she can be, she hates to see them on anyone, because whenever she does, she usually cannot help herself but feels like crying, too. Not just for the protection of her usually bold but prim facial makeup, but because she can’t seem to stand it when someone else is in tears. No lady loves her makeup smudged, either by dust or tears, but here Lady D. can no longer stand the pathetic story. And this is not just about the sorrowful tears of Cynthia. Soon Lady D. is sorry for the kids and is willing to assist them. Suddenly, deep down in her heart, all the scorn, harshness, and apathy seems to have disappeared, to be vitally replaced by friendliness, gentleness, and kind concern.

  The most paramount of all their lamentations, however, is accommodation, Lady D. identifies. Of course they still have other standing issues, but Lady D. may not be able to afford them all if they must fit into her plan. Even the accommodation in question is still beyond her comfort because she lives in a one-and-half bedroom apartment with her younger sister. Any other company in her apartment would be an outright inconvenience to her cherished comfort.

  But again, ghostly voices may still wonder, who is Lady D, what is she truly up to, and from where does this sudden but apparently genuine concern for these strange kids come? She wouldn’t possibly be the first person to have seen or heard of such misfortune, especially as betaking as it falls on such very young ones. Neither would they be the only unfortunate kids she has ever seen or heard of in her life, especially in the city. She is accustomed to a lifestyle of self-interest and nonchalance toward other people’s concerns, which is humanly peculiar but is common in the city. This concern she shows for the kids shouldn’t just be her real mark; she is purely not herself anymore, and Chinwe can testify to that. Lady D. seems to be acting beyond her first impulse now.

  “Wow!” she says to herself. Then, “What am I doing?” She impulsively grabs objects on her desk, looking for a tissue paper with which to dry her face. The tissues seem to have finished some days back, and she hasn’t replaced them yet, so she quickly rises to her feet and makes for her handbag that she keeps on one of the shelves. She retrieves her immaculate white handkerchief from it and uses it softly on her face.

  Lady D. is actually having a moment of turn-around, and she may not understand why she is feeling this way. She may not understand her overwhelming response, because she never knew she is truly a kind woman who was only made unkind by an unkind environment.

  However, her spinster life is busy enough for her to handle, and she would ordinarily not want to assume any responsibility for these kids. As overpowering as their needs draw her kind attention, she certainly is not prepared for such additional responsibility in her life, both emotionally and materially. This is why she is now thinking of other options instead. She can either take them to a charity home, or to her church. But the operational structure and acceptability of such charity homes are not quite attractive or friendly. Even the churches seem too preoccupied by concerns for their own gains.

  “There are no sacrifices in Nigeria,” she mutters to herself, shuddering disappointedly.

  There is no adequate hospitality to assist the helpless. Nobody cares about anything except himself. She is finally thinking boldly about the poor situation of the country in certain areas. “The government doesn’t seem to care,” she laments aloud.

  There are so many helpless street children, and even adults. Society condemns them at large but does not seem to know the depth of the gloom and sorrow in their hearts. Lady D. mourns this within herself, now in a deep analysis, taking clues from her daily observations and what she amply knows of her immediate environment. “It’s just that these people have always found ways to survive,” she says aloud.

  Okechukwu and Cynthia, who are sitting still before her all the while, merely exchange unknown glances at her remark. They are staring at her mutely and expectantly for a positive twist of their fate.

  “But in actuality, the people in question survive the weather, and hunger or starvation only. All other necessities and adequacies of life remain beyond their reach and clearly out of sight. They can only hope and pray for good Nigerians who might extend some alms to them.” Lady D. goes off again in deep thought, after the brief interruption.

  There exists practically no social homes to support the needy. It is all so lonely for anyone who gets stuck in any kind of need. It would be too bad if one expects attention or help even from friends when in such a situation, because friends will also have their own problems and needs. It is so desolate and lonely that either one works his way out, or he just continues to pray. There is no concrete social support, and no standing social structures, to adequately aid the less privileged or any victim of circumstance.

  In the past, and even still today, most people only pray and pray, until they die. Worse still—and to the detriment of the society that rejects, neglects, or ignores them—such deprived people would often resort to all sorts of personal, moral, and social vices.

  Lady D. is still pondering over it all, and presently she remembers how she herself struggled to make it to this point of comfort in her life. Little wonder, then, why her first impulse is unfriendliness, because she too is a product of an unfriendly and insecure environment.

  She is totally lost in her thoughts for a while, until the intercom on her table buzzes with a shriek, jerking her out of her thoughts and bringing her back to the issue at hand. Cynthia and Okechukwu are still sitting quietly before her, staring beseechingly at her with their eyes widening at every grimace she makes, or at other emotions that run across her face from her deep recess.

  She now picks the phone. “Yes, Chinwe, has the boy come?”

  “Yes, he brought the newspapers,” Chinwe replies, from the other end.

  “Tell him to go with them and come back tomorrow,” she instructs, leaving Chinwe to wonder what has become of her.

  Chinwe has all along been hoping to have a word with her older sister, so she may understand what has suddenly come over her with these teenagers in her office. They have been discussing things for so long now, and Chinwe’s duties and attention to the customers doesn’t quite take her completely out of earshot. She has equally been curious about Lady D. all along.

  Lady D. dismisses the paperboy because she is no longer going to buy a paper this morning; she won’t have time to read them anymore. She normally buys about six different newspapers every morning, and her customers could read them, too. That is a side attraction, a customer-pulling strategy. But she won’t buy any today. What she has to do now is call a friend she knows from her church fellowship. She believes Mama Ngozi can help.

  Having dismissed the paperboy, she decides to call her friend. Beyond herself, Lady D. finds her priorities for the day immediately replaced by this sincere urge in her heart to help these kids. The feeling is strong and propelling; it is innate and natural, seeming more like her latent good nature.

  Mama Ngozi is a woman that lives at Isolo with her husband and four kids. Isolo is an out-bound town in Lagos. Her first child, Ngozi, is eleven years old; Junior is nine, and Buike and Chioma are seven and five, respectively. Mama Ngozi is a full-time housewife, and her husband is a banker. Most of the time she stays at home doing chores. Besides visiting friends, shopping, and other small errands like taking her children to school and bringing them back each day, she usually has a lot to do with her chores, because she has no house help.

  Lady D. reasons that her friend will appreciate the kids. Mama Ngozi will be glad to get two helping hands, since she has none at the moment. Lady D. is thinking, trying to view it from a point of benefit for Mama Ngozi, but actually she hopes the greater benefit will be for the youngsters.

  “Who knows, Cynthia and Okechukwu might even get a chance of going to school there,” she muses.

  Then she thinks of the Aunty Christy, whom Cynthia passionately mentioned earlier. “The woman can even come over here, too, before she g
ets killed by some village murderers as well.” She knows she can arrange for that, too, as soon as it is possible and necessary. She is currently experiencing that feeling of spiritual joy that naturally gladdens any heart who does a good act, being of some selfless importance to another. “I hope my idea works out fine, so that the kids will write their aunt as soon as possible,” she completed her thoughts, drawing more encouragement in executing her plans from her beautiful imaginations.

  Lady D. believes that as a fellowship sister, Mama Ngozi will be nice and wonderful to the kids. She and Mama Ngozi are not very close friends, actually; they have merely caught each other’s fancy at their fellowship meetings and prayer activities. She always regards Mama Ngozi as a wealthy, God-fearing woman. These presumed attributes are Lady D.’s reasons for considering Mama Ngozi out of a list of prospective contacts and persons that might be able to help, which she collected earlier from files and the address book in her car.

  Even if it means enlisting them to a small school, Lady D. continues to think and hope she might be able to convince her friend of it—that is, if her friend would not already do that naturally. She feels Mama Ngozi may naturally want to do it, that it may not be any issue at all with her; she takes her positive expectations from her own financial evaluation of Mama Ngozi, plus Mama Ngozi’s God-fearing nature. Who knows, she might even exceed her expectations!

  That aside, what is most important right now is the kids’ accommodation and feeding, which she believes Mama Ngozi is definitely capable of. “I believe Mama Ngozi would be glad to help. I will talk to her,” she says as she dials a phone number on her desk telephone.

  Afterward, she places another call, ordering some medication for Okechukwu, whose cold cannot but be more evident by his steady shivering and high fever.