by Abi Daré
My eye cut to her stomach. It is flat under the t-shirt she is wearing. Is she having childrens of her own?
“I don’t have children,” she say, as if she know what is in my mind.
“You don’t have childrens?” I ask as a lizard run out from behind the flowerpot. He stop, look me and Ms. Tia, blink his eyeslids real slow, as if he is fighting sleep. He nod his orange head up and down, before he cut to the other side of the compound.
“Nope,” she say, eye on the lizard. “Don’t want any.”
“You don’t want any at all, at all?”
Honest, honest, I never hear of a adult woman not wanting childrens in my life. In my village, all the adult womens are having childrens, and if the baby is not coming, maybe because of a sickness, then their husband will marry another woman on top of them and the adult woman will be caring for another woman’s baby so that she don’t feel any shame. I look her face, concern. “Will your husband marry another woman on top of you if you didn’t have childrens?”
When she laugh, it sound like bell ringing quiet. “No way,” she say. “People choose not to have children for all sorts of reasons.”
I nod, feel as if I understand what she mean a little, even though she is a adult woman.
“Not too long ago,” I say, thinking back to when I was drinking leafs in Morufu’s house to stop my pregnants from coming, “I was so very afraid of borning childrens because in my village, they want us girls to be borning childrens early. But I am wanting to finish my schooling. My mama, before she was dead, she fight so much for me to finish my school. She was the best mama in the whole wide world of it. So I make up my mind that after I finish my schooling and I find a working job, then I will find a very good man to marry. My papa didn’t always be kind to me and he didn’t want girls to be going to school, but I am different from my papa and I will not marry a man like him. No. I will work hard and born my own childrens, and me and my husband, we will send them to a very good school, even if they are all girls-childrens. Then one day, I will go to Ikati and show my papa, then he will be proud of me when he see my own childrens and my own money.”
I feel sad as I am thinking this, thinking that maybe, one day, Papa will not be too angry that I run away from Ikati. “I have a old friend from my village, Khadija was her name. She tell me that childrens be bringing joy,” I say with a smile. “Maybe one day, I will feel that joy too, and share it with my papa, make him a happy old man.”
She nod slow, looking me for a long time until I begin to feel discomfort.
“What about you?” I tilt my neck, surprise myself with the question I ask her: “You finish schooling. You are working a good job. So, what is your own sorts of reasons for not wanting childrens?”
When she strong her face, I am thinking I cause her to be angry. Now, she will remove her shoe and smash it on my head just like Big Madam, and my brains will scatter finish. But she didn’t remove her shoe. She just look me sharp, her eyesbrows drawing together in a line. Then she push herself up, dust the sand from her buttocks.
“I hope your head gets better soon,” she say. “It’s been lovely chatting with you.”
As she is walking away from my front, I am thinking, why did I open my big mouth and say something so foolishly foolish?
CHAPTER 31
Fact: Nigeria’s film industry is called Nollywood. With over fifty films produced weekly, the industry is worth about $5 billion and is the second largest in the world, behind India’s Bollywood.
The day after she was nearly breaking my head, Big Madam call for me.
I meet her where she is sitting in the sofa in her parlor, one leg hanging across the chair handle, the other one on a cushion pillow on the floor. The tee-vee is on, loud, showing one old Yoruba movie. The man in the tee-vee is wearing red cloth with cowries hanging from it and holding a white fowl. There is black paint with white dots everywhere on his face. He is talking to the fowl, begging the fowl to make him rich.
“Ma?” I say, kneeling in her front, keeping one eye on the tee-vee. The man is now dancing on one leg, turning the fowl around and around.
Big Madam press the remote-controlling to stop the tee-vee, making the man to hang one hand and one leg in the air, like a statue about to fly.
She turn to me. “How is your head?” She keep a straight face as if she is wanting me to tell her that my brain have dead.
“My head is okay, ma,” I say.
“Next time, I will make sure I crack your skull open so that when I give an instruction, you will store it in the right compartment,” she hiss. “You know I have zero tolerance for rubbish. I said stay outside when I have visitors. Don’t come into my parlor. Do. Not. Enter. My. Parlor. What part of that didn’t you understand?”
“I understand now, ma.”
“You are very lucky Tia Dada was in this house yesterday,” she say. “If not, God knows that I would have killed you with beating. I don’t even know who invited that one with her thin voice. Imagine her intervening, telling me she will call the police because I disciplined my own housemaid. Which police can she call in Nigeria to arrest Big Madam? Does she know who I am? Me that I supply fabric to the who-is-who in Nigeria? Where will they see me to arrest? Who is the policeman that will arrest Chief Mrs. Florence Adeoti? Where does she think she is?” Big Madam pinch the top of her gold boubou, blow air inside it.
“I blame Dr. Ken. When we told him to settle and marry Molara, he said no, he wants a woman that will understand his needs. What foolish needs? Look at what he now ended up with. An unfriendly, empty barrel. One whole year of marriage and no sign of pregnancy.”
My chest is burning that she is talking bad about Ms. Tia. I am feeling fire in my heart, angry fire, and I am wanting to shout on Big Madam to tell her that Ms. Tia is having honey voice and a kind heart, that Ms. Tia didn’t pregnant because of all sorts of reasons, but I am fearing she will slice my throat with knife if I say anything.
“How many ears do you have?” she ask.
“Two, ma.”
“Now, pull your two ears. Yes. Pull them. Like this.” She pinch my right ear with her nails and pull down to my shoulder. “Listen well. I am traveling next week. I will be going to Switzerland and Dubai. I will also stop over in the UK to see my children. I will be back, by God’s grace, in about two weeks.”
“Yes, ma.”
“When I am away, you must behave yourself. Kofi must not tell me that you did something you shouldn’t have done. You hear me?”
“Yes, ma.”
“Do you have a list of the things we need in the house?”
“I will write it after I am finishing from here,” I say. “I will give to Abu.”
“Big Daddy will not be around either,” she say. “He will be traveling to Ijebu to see his poverty-stricken family members. If he comes back from Ijebu before me, stay away from him. If he comes to the backyard, you go to your room. If he calls for you, don’t answer him. It is only when I am around that you answer Big Daddy. I don’t like leaving my house girls alone in the house when I am traveling, honestly.”
She shake her head. “My sister in Ikeja will be traveling at the same time. I would have taken you there to stay with her for my peace of mind.” She pick the remote-controlling and press it to on a film in the tee-vee. “I have told Kofi to look after you. He will keep an eye on you. Whatever Kofi asks you to do, you do it. I must not hear one word of complaint from him or else I will dump you on the streets. I won’t even ask Mr. Kola to come and get you. I will dispose of you like the trash that you are. Sho ti gbo? You hear me?”
“Yes, ma,” I say. “Can I ask you one question, ma?”
“What is it?”
“It is about Rebecca, I been wondering if—”
“Get out of my sight,” she shout so sudden, my heart nearly collapse. “How dare you ask me questions about Rebecca? Who i
s she? You must be an idiot for that question.” When she bend down to begin to off her left shoe, I jump to my feets, run from her front, just as she throw the shoe and bang the glass on the door, nearly breaking it.
In the backyard, I find Abu at the outside tap. He is rolling his trouser up to his knees. His blue prayer kettle is on the floor beside him.
“Abu,” I say, breathing fast. “Good afternoon.”
Me and him don’t talk much, but when we see, we greet ourselfs with a smile, and sometimes, I am helping him to wash the car tire when he is needing to go for his afternoon prayer.
“Sannu, Adunni,” Abu say. He turn the tap and pick his kettle to fill it up. “Why are you running? Can I help you?”
Like Kofi, Abu too have a way of talking. He like to be using F instead of P, so when he say “help,” it sound like “helf,” and if he say he want to drink Fanta, it sound like he is saying “Panta.” At first I wasn’t understanding him, but now it is not too much a problem. Everybody in the whole world be speaking different. Big Madam, Ms. Tia, Kofi, Abu, even me, Adunni. We all be speaking different because we all are having different growing-up life, but we can all be understanding each other if we just take the time to listen well.
“I was running from Big Madam,” I say, then I start to laugh. I laugh and laugh until my chest begin to pain me. “I just ask her a simple question now, and she just start to off her shoe to throw it at me. Honest, that woman is having many problems. Anyway, she say I should give you a list. For shopping.”
“Keep it for me inside the car,” he say, offing the tap. “When I finish my prayer, then I will go to Shoprite with Kofi.”
“Okay,” I say, then low my voice. “Abu, I been wanting to ask you something. You remember Rebecca?”
Abu spit to the left of me, wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “The one that was working for Madam before you? I know her well.”
I nod. “Thank you. Do you know why she is missing? Kofi keep saying he don’t know. He thinks she run away with her man-friend. I just ask Big Madam, and she throw a shoe at me, so I say, let me ask Abu, maybe Abu will tell me.”
“Walahi, Adunni, you are looking for big trouble.” Abu grip his plastic kettle, turn around, and begin to walk fast from me. “If Kofi says she ran away, then hear what Kofi is saying and leave it.”
“Abu! Wait!” I shout, but the man turn a corner by the boys’ quarters and disappear into his prayer room.
CHAPTER 32
Fact: Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti, the mother of music legend Fela Kuti, was a renowned feminist who fought for equal access for women in education.
Ms. Tia bring herself back the day after Big Madam travel to the Abroad.
I was washing the downstairs toilet, head deep inside the commode, when Kofi tell me I have a visitor. At first, I was fearing, thinking that Papa have come with the whole village to come find me. But in the reception, I see Ms. Tia bending down to her feets and tying the shoe rope around her white canvas-shoe. She is wearing a tight black trouser and a singlet top, and when she raise up her head, she give me a smile.
“Hi,” she say.
“Hi to you too,” I say. “You are the visitor asking of me?” Maybe she is still vexing because of the foolish thing I say that last time. “Please don’t vex about what I say,” I say. “Sometimes I like to talk too much and—”
She hold up her hand, silent my words. “I actually came by to apologize. I shouldn’t have walked away because you asked me a question I get asked all the time. It was wrong of me. I am sorry.”
“You are giving me apology?” I shake my head, not understanding the woman.
“My conversation with you that day, it kind of . . .” She scratch her head, move the twists out of her face, curl them behind her ears. “. . . moved me in a way I cannot explain. It’s just so strange.”
What is she talking about?
She look around the reception. “Your madam is away, right? She mentioned at the last meeting that she was going away. I hope my being here is not . . . I mean, it is not a problem for you to talk to me now, is it?”
“No problem,” I say.
Both of us don’t talk for a moment. Then she say: “What you said the other day. Questioning my reasons and all that. It dug up something inside of me.”
“What did it dug up?” I ask, fold my hand in front of my chest, looking her.
She rub her hand up and down, finding something to fix her eyes on, the floor, my face. “So, two days ago, I was going for my morning run on the Lekki-Ikoyi bridge. I was all good, running at a great pace, when right there, right in the middle of the bridge, I had an epiphany.”
“Epi— What you call it?”
She wave her hand up in the air, her eyes wide, brighting. “A moment of realization. About my wanting children and all that . . . all because of the conversation we had.” She start a laugh, change her mind, and kill it. “Am I confusing you?”
“Too much,” I say. And yourself. You are confuse of yourself too. Rich people have plenty brain problem, honest.
“I am just a little excited, that’s all,” she say. “I will head home now. Do take care of yourself, and good luck with your exams.” She start to turn around, and I know that if I let her just go like that, that I will never see her again. So before I can think of my action, I jump forward, grab her hand, hold her.
She stop, look me, my hand, my fingers crawling around her arm and squeezing. “Are you okay?”
“Sorry, ma,” I say. “Please don’t be angry.”
“What’s wrong?” she ask.
I wait for her to shout, but she don’t shout. She sound calm. Her eyes sort of melt, a question of a smile on her face. I low myself to the floor and begin to talk. “You ask me about exam,” I say as I put one hand inside my brassiere and bring out the newspaper and press it into her hand. “I don’t have any exam, but I need your help, ma. I need somebody to make reference for me.”
“Reference? For what? Oh, please stand,” she say, pulling me to my feets. “What’s in the newspaper?” She open the newspaper, read it silent, her eyes moving up and down the paper. “I see,” she say, folding the paper and giving it back to me. “A scholarship scheme for domestic workers. What a brilliant initiative. I assume Florence has nothing to do with this?”
“She will kill me if she find out about it,” I say. “But I must try and enter it.”
“What’s the urgency?” she ask.
My eyes fill up, and I press my fingers to my lips. “This is all I been wanting all my life. Please . . .” I stop talking, swallow the tears in my throat. “The final age for entering is fifteen. Please.”
She shift on her feets. “I honestly . . . don’t know you well enough to be able to stand as a guarantor—”
“Big Madam is traveling now,” I say. “So I collect my independent just like Nigeria, but my own is for just two weeks, not forever and forever. You can ask me any question, tell me to do anything, I will do it. You can know me in two weeks. I will show you my real self in the next two weeks and you can write it inside the form and tell them I am a good girl, working hard every time. Please.”
She start a smile, then change it to a short laugh. “You are the most amusing girl I have ever met in my life. Adunni, I would love to help you, but Florence and I don’t get along that well,” she say. “If she finds out I gave you a reference or acted as a guarantor—”
“She will never forever find out,” I say, eyes full of something sure. “I will keep it a secret forever and ever and ever. She is always beating me in this place. This is my chance to be free. Please,” I say again. I just want her to say yes, that she will help me. “Can you help me?”
She sigh. “I guess it’s the least I can do in exchange for how you helped me.” Before I can ask when I ever help her with anything, she say, “You need to write an essay of a thousand words
in the next few weeks?”
“Yes, ma,” I say, heart beating fast.
“Let’s see.” She look the ceiling, then look me. “Ken is out this week. The articles for the month have been processed. I can probably move that meeting with the environmental agency tomorrow evening, and finish off the report on Kainji Dam a day or two late. Can I do this?”
I don’t know if she is talking to me, or talking to herself, or both me and herself together, but I wait, keep looking, keep hoping she will say yes.
“Adunni. Listen. I can free up some time this week and maybe a few more days in the next week. Since your madam is away, I could swing by in the evenings, and I could, you know, teach you a bit of English to help you prepare for the essay and brush up your speaking, and that way, I can get to know you hopefully well enough to write a pretty good reference. If you can get some time off in the evenings and—” She stop. “You look dazed.”
I daze. Very daze. “You will help me and be teaching me?” I put my hand on top my chest. “Me?”
I don’t think of whether what I am about to do is the correct thing, I just jump front, put my hand around her, and hold her tight. She smell of rich people’s sweat and something like mint leaf. She is laughing as I leave her be. She didn’t angry that I am giving her embrace, and I feel sad and happy that this rich woman didn’t push me back and spit on me like Big Madam.
“Sorry I am holding you like that,” I say. “It is giving me excitement, this teaching me better English and helping me. Will you reference me too?”