Awu's Story

by Mintsa, Justine; Toman, Cheryl; Kuoh-Moukoury, Thérèse

  As soon as Awu turned around toward her sister-in-law to greet her properly, Ntsame jumped back and said with a disgusted look:

  “But, my word! You’re covered in caca!” And turning toward Ada, she lashed out in a threatening voice:

  “And where were you? Huh? You don’t go to school anymore, and as for the child, you can’t even take care of him! What exactly do you want to do what your life, huh? I’m asking you, what do you want to do? I bet these devils are responsible for corrupting you.” She kept on turning toward her two nephews who, since their aunt’s arrival, were trying to find a way to slip out without making it seem as if they were escaping.

  “I told you they would be a bad influence on you! I bet you are neglecting this child because they’ve made you believe that it’s Awu’s job to take care of him! True or not? What an idiot! That way, if something happens to the child, everyone will blame Awu and say she’s a bad woman. Let me tell you something, Ada. Awu can decide to never come near your child again if she wants. Your own mother abandoned you, and this is how you treat the one who took you in; by causing problems for her. You ingrate! Of course, you live under your uncle’s roof, but you must know that Awu is under no obligation to do all that she does for you and your baby! Do you understand that? Huh? Do you understand? Yes or no?”

  “Yes, Aunt Ntsame,” Ada answered meekly.

  The two cousins had gotten up and were about to slip out when Ntsame did an about-face, pointing her finger at them and saying:

  “This is your fine work, I’m sure of it! You’re corrupting this girl. And she’s stupid enough to listen to you, to the point where she is risking the life of her own child. Aren’t you ashamed at your age to be causing trouble like this all around you? What the heck happened to you at birth to explain how you’ve turned out this way? Don’t you think Ada is messed up enough the way she is? Having a baby at the age of twelve, being abandoned by her mother and no longer in school—and to top it all off, you want to turn her into a criminal now! Is that it? In that way, perhaps she’ll beat you at your own game one day. Admit it! But just let me tell you one last thing. In case you didn’t already know it, you are pure evil! Now get out of here!”

  Without further delay, the two finally managed to vacate the premises. Ntsame followed them out with her eyes, smirking as she saw them hightail it out of there once past the atangatier. When she turned to come back inside the house, Ada was breastfeeding her baby. Tears rolled down her cheeks and off of her chin before plopping down either on the baby’s tiny hands or on his powdered little stomach.

  “Don’t cry while breastfeeding; it brings misfortune!” said Ntsame in a firm voice. “You’re causing your child a stream of bad luck. Get a hold of yourself. It’s never too late to do better. Life can still be good to you if you choose the right path. Starting now. Do you understand? You’re letting yourself go and that’s not good. It’s thanks to Awu’s watchful eye that she and I know that you have developed an infection. It’s easy enough to treat if it’s caught early on. Your mother refused to let Awu pick some zom ayo leaves.2 They are growing in abundance behind her house. And she’s the only one who has any. Your Aunt Awu told her it was to treat you, her own daughter, but all in vain; that didn’t change a thing. She even said that if Awu touched one single leaf in her garden, she would make her eat it before allowing her to leave. And since your Aunt Awu doesn’t like trouble, she came to talk to me about it. I went immediately to your mother’s house and I helped myself right before her very eyes without a hello or goodbye. Here are the leaves.”

  She took from her basket a bunch of thick, kidney-shaped leaves, so fresh that there were a few transparent, sticky droplets still left behind on their stalks. She handed the leaves over to Awu, who immediately began to select the best ones. When Ntsame finally decided to sit down, she said to Ada in a firm tone:

  “You are going to follow your Aunt Awu’s instructions to the letter. Negligence can make things go from bad to worse, making a mountain out of a mole hill. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  “Yes, Aunt Ntsame,” said Ada continuing to wipe away her tears.

  “Is he satisfied now?”

  “Yes, Aunt, he’s full.”

  “Well, then bring the little rascal over to me . . . Oh! Would you look at that lively expression. That’s a sure sign of intelligence! No, no, don’t take off my scarf. I know you want to make fun of all my gray hair! You’ll see one day when your wife is my age! If you break my necklace, I’ll have to take all of your wife’s jewels . . . Look what you’ve done to my beautiful pagne! Can you buy me another one? If you poke my eye out, you’ll have to marry me . . . Oh, what an old man! He doesn’t even have any teeth . . . Look! I have all of mine . . . not a single one missing . . . I’m just a young girl, in fact! Oh! Let’s see these little feet that love kicking me in the stomach . . . Ah, look how smooth they are! Ah, yes they are! Oh! Just look at that! He can’t stop laughing! He can’t stop laughing! Don’t you know that any self-respecting man shouldn’t laugh like that? Come on now, show a little self-control! Okay, let’s quit now before someone catches you in the act . . . it’s not very manly, you know, and you’ll be the laughing stock of the village! And no girl will want to marry you! All that will be left are old women just like me but with no teeth! Is that what you deserve, huh? Is that what you really deserve? Oh boy! And he’s very ticklish on his stomach! What force! What a strong boy! Here, Ada, put him to bed. He should get some rest! See you later, young man, and don’t forget that you still owe me a new pagne!”

  Ada came to take the child and rushed off to his room.

  “As you can tell,” said Awu, folding the leaves briskly into a white enameled basin, “that baby is irresistible. Really, I can’t understand how Ada can neglect him to the point where she would let him die if no one came to his rescue. You know, Ntsame, sometimes I think that Nguema Afane’s sons have nothing to do with this whole affair. It must go much deeper than that, but we have no way of knowing anything more.”

  “We’ll know one day,” said Ntsame thoughtfully.

  The thought of a second costly and fruitless trip to the capital really bothered Obame Afane. The village was indeed sympathetic. However, some were starting to believe that he would never see his pension. It got to the point where the Council of Elders asked Obame to consult a nganga3 in the hopes of destroying all the obstacles blocking this pension. The elders thought that the villagers’ blind trust in the white man’s system must have offended gods and ancestors alike who had been much too forgotten in this whole affair. Thus they had to be asked for forgiveness and for their blessing. They had shown that the village couldn’t go on without them.

  It would be easy if all Obame would have to do is consult a nganga. The real problem was that he simply didn’t believe in them anymore. Did this nganga manage to make his land fertile some time ago? He would never forget that . . . .

  Nonetheless he eventually gave in and did what the Elders wanted.

  In order to pay for this second trip, Obame had to get a loan from one of the teachers who was still working. The fact that this teacher was an old friend of Obame didn’t prevent him from feeling mortified. Nor did Awu feel any less humiliated. But she was determined. The time had not yet come for her to reveal her big secret.

  Obame made the thirty-six-hour trip to affix his famous signature. Luck seemed to finally be on his side; at the Bureau of Public Revenue, an officer informed him that he could start collecting his benefits the very next day. He returned to his relative’s house in disbelief. However, he told himself that he was ready to spend the entire next day downtown if necessary. But when Obame arrived at his relative’s house that evening, he was told that tomorrow was just decreed a holiday; the fête du mouton.4 As he was not in a celebratory mood, he made up a story that while running his errands, he had bumped into an old friend who invited him over to his house. Then the next day, Obame took a taxi and got out just a few hundred meters away. He wand
ered in the streets of the capital for a few hours just to pass the time—and to let off some steam. As for his lunch, he bought himself a little carton of sweet condensed milk that he broke open with his pocketknife. After looking around to make sure no one was watching, he drank it inconspicuously as he continued wandering. He walked around until evening. When his feet started to drag, he headed back toward the house.

  The next day, there were huge lines at the cashier’s office; the collection office’s payment schedule was indeed set, but there weren’t any more available funds in the revenue office. He would have to wait a few more weeks before getting paid.

  He went back home to the village more disappointed than ever and decided, among other things, that he no longer wanted to hear another word about this nganga.

  The trip back was particularly treacherous because of all the dust. It was the dry season, and all along the route Mother Nature, donning her ruby dress, covered herself in a fine red powder to complete her look. With no more spare change to take the bus, Obame Afane the schoolteacher walked from the bus station to the village. This time he wasn’t even able to bring back a single spool of thread for his wife. He was exhausted and completely covered in dust. Upon seeing him, all of the children in the village, including his own, started shrieking with joy and greeting him warmly. But it was clearly a dejected man who slowly made his way across the village. Once she saw him coming, Awu gently closed the mahogany doors and windows and stood in front of the door. Then she let her husband come to her, his ruby-colored clothes and all. When he was just a few steps away from his home he finally realized what was going on and stopped in his tracks—petrified and awestruck—and his mood completely changed. Awu turned around to open the door. She entered and gracefully opened the shutters of the courtyard windows. Then she stood in the middle of the room across from the entryway, leaning against a large table also made of mahogany. Her ruby husband finally came into the house. He walked slowly toward her. When he was a couple of steps away, he stopped and muttered:

  “Awu, what did you do here? Your money is for you and your parents; especially now that I can no longer send them anything. What have you done?”

  “I can’t rightfully take care of my parents if my own situation here is in need of attention.”

  “But did you realize that by doing this, the whole village will think it’s you who is supporting us? That it’s you, the head of the family? That it’s you, the man of the house? Do you really think that I can tolerate such a thing?”

  “But how will anyone know? They’ll think that perhaps you had put some money away on the side! I told Mezui Mba that you were the one who sent me. Even the children think that you paid for these windows. What good is it to be married if we don’t share any secrets? It’s true. Between you and me, we don’t have any real secrets.”

  “Okay, this will be our secret. Although as soon as I get my pension, I’m paying you back for everything. Okay?”

  “Okay, if that’s what you really want.”

  “So then . . . hello.”

  And he took his wife by the shoulders and drew her close to him. She gently removed her husband’s arms, placing them instead around her waist. She then whispered:

  “If you are really the head of this household, then break me in two. If you have it in you, that is. That’s what I want. Squeeze me. Tight.”

  And he squeezed her. Tight. Really tight.

  When he felt that she was about to faint, he loosened his embrace. She propped herself up against the table. He pulled up two chairs and they sat down. Outside, the children were singing cheerful songs. Obame devoured his wife with his eyes as he had never done before. Still a bit out of breath, Awu looked down. She wanted to stop time at that very moment, her husband looking so intently at her, just like in her fantasies.

  “I had forgotten that I am not so young anymore,” she said finally looking up.

  They smiled, looking at each other with tenderness.

  A year after Obame Afane’s second trip, his cousin’s husband sent him a letter from the capital informing him that his retirement file had been lost. While going to check on the progress of the file, his relative was told by the officers that there was no trace of it in their records and that they didn’t have the time to dig through the mountains of paperwork; thus, it was best to start over again from scratch. His cousin’s husband even pointed out how he had made quite a scene in the office where the file was supposed to have ended up, but there was nothing that could be done.

  More than ever the chain stitch represented love and life for Awusdabiranʼ. She was secretly proud of all of the ringlets that she had carefully crafted throughout the course of her life: her studies, her career, her marriage, her children, her showing of generosity toward her family and her in-laws. Her modesty and extreme discretion had paid off in that she never had any overt conflict with anyone. But just being beautiful and brilliant alone was cause for some, on the other hand, to have an unfavorable impression of her and, in fact, it even incited jealousy. But she pretended not to notice. To make a chain stitch, don’t you have to first start from the back and, before you pull the needle through, you have to slide the thread through the head of the needle? Wasn’t this the stipulation for pulling the needle through so that a pretty little ring would be left behind on the fabric? This thread, so meek in appearance, ends up imposing its splendid beauty, commanding respect and admiration.

  Ever since her husband had allowed her to contribute to the financial needs of their household, Awu appeared more considerate and more loving than ever. She knew that her husband suffered deeply from his humiliating situation. She tried to lift his spirits. But she simply couldn’t find the right words. So instead she became noticeably more daring in her intimate relationship with her husband. One evening, as they were lying like a needle and thread ready to form rings, she announced to him:

  “Do you know that the two of us have never made love together?”

  Obame said nothing as if he had always known that this question would come up one day.

  Awu continued:

  “It’s true, after almost twenty years of marriage, we’ve never made love. Each time you’ve embraced me, I have never really felt you with me; I’ve been a replacement. One time you even murmured in your sleep, ‘Bella!’ and you started sobbing in this state of delirium. I tapped your shoulder and you calmed down. How you must have loved Bella! We are kind of the same, you and I, do you know that? Because when you hold me, I imagine myself with someone else, just for my own peace of mind. And I imagine that my lover’s body and mine recognize each other in ecstasy, two kindred spirits. And this imaginary lover has really developed in my mind, just like Bella has invaded yours. The result is that both of us are left unsatisfied since each of us is chasing a phantom. But you do know that I don’t blame you at all, don’t you? How could I? Who can control love? Maybe if Bella hadn’t died in such cruel and unjust circumstances, your heart wouldn’t be so heavy. So refusing to give your body and soul to any other woman is your way of rebelling, of avenging her death, of staying faithful to her. I understand all of that. And what about you? I hope you don’t hold it against me to have cheated on you with the image of this man stuck in my head?”

  “Oh, no, Awu, no,” Obame finally said. “The only thing I can fault you for is your perfection! You are a true angel! How can one person have as many qualities as you do?”

  “By sewing my life together as a series of chain stitches.”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, nothing, just thinking aloud.”

  “And since we are thinking aloud, it’s my turn now to admit something to you; this is maybe the first time you and I are speaking about Bella, but it’s really the very first time that someone besides my sister Ntsame understands the extent of my sorrow and can find a justification for it. And it’s precisely you, my wife, who has helped me to heal my bleeding heart. Oh, Awu! You have managed to connect with me somehow. You have just reached the innermost d
epths of my soul . . . And you will remain in my heart forever. I am no longer alone. Thank you, my wife. Thank you, my sister. Thank you, my beloved. And I’m going to prove to you that there are no more secrets between us, except for the ones we share.”

  Then, still in a lying position, he reached up toward the solid wood headboard and effortlessly slid open a crosspiece revealing a little machete lodged in the pit of the wood, its blade as straight and gleaming as a ray of sunshine.

  “Hey! What’s that?” said Awu, taken aback.

  “That’s me,” answered Obame mysteriously, extracting the knife from its hiding place. “It’s the knife that separated me from my mother at birth. My grandmother gave it to me when I was a child so that I can remember.”

  “Remember what?”

  “Them!”

  “What do you mean? The family? Who forgets their family? I don’t get it.”

  “No, she wasn’t afraid I would forget them. She just wanted me to always remember.”

  “And what’s the difference?”

  “There isn’t any, except for this machete. My grandmother never went to school so she let objects ‘speak’ for her. Look at this knife. She used it. When she cut the umbilical cord, one side of the blade was facing me and the other side, naturally, was facing my mother. The same knife that separated me from my mother also united us. She represents all our ancestry and I the next generation. But we are one because of our lineage, just like the two sides of this blade belong to the same knife. My grandmother gave it to me so that I can make sure my descendants follow the right path. She had absolute confidence in me. I don’t know if I deserve it! I don’t know if I’m cut out for such a mission. There are so many things I can’t control. I also want to admit to you that on more than one occasion, I thought about committing suicide because of all the trials that this inaccessible retirement pension has made me endure. But the presence of this object is there to reassure me each time I lose faith. Well, there you have it. Now you know my secret!”