Betty left that afternoon saying to me, you must visit me next week so we can talk about my plans for the naming of Emeka Junior. I can’t continue like this, she said referring to the constant need to go through Ike even to get a conjugal visit from her husband. I assured her that we will be talking next week to fix a date. If only I knew I won’t be seeing her until another five years.
I make a mad dash for the bathroom, in less than 10 minutes I am dressed and ready to go. Baba asks if I had an early morning appointment. I almost choke while trying to respond to him. I quietly get up, pick up my purple handbag, wore my freedom shoes, said my good bye to everybody in the house, and walked out through the kitchen door that led to the compound. I couldn’t help but wonder about Baba. I love him you know and I know he loves me too but most times love is never enough. I refuse to think about how we met and the dreams we had and how we got to where we are now. What is the point of reopening the wound? It will only fester and cause more pain. I am on a journey of recovery. Someday, I pray, in the very distant future I hope we would sit and talk without the pain or the anger and the desire to hurt each other.
Iya Agba, the wise old woman who lives at the back flat knew I was never going to return. I went in to say goodbye to her like I would on some mornings on my way to work but today is different and she knows it. She holds my hands for a while and whispers, “May favour find you my daughter.” I looked into her eyes as tears well up in mine. I could only nod saying, wordlessly, Amen with each nod of my head. I stand quietly beside her – for eternity it seemed. Iya Agba loves me like a daughter she never had. She married Baba’s grandfather at 18 and lived with him till he passed away five years after I was married into the family. Iya Agba never had a child for her husband. Oga Tissa, as he was fondly called by all young and old, was a jolly good fellow. Baba has his looks, every inch like his grandfather – tall, handsome with a charming smile that would melt your heart but that was where the similarities ended. They can’t be more different than cold and hot or night and day. The older man was such a gentleman who had perfected the art of courting and pleasing a woman. He was the proud husband of five wives but the true love of one, Iya Agba. We all knew the love story of Oga Tissa and his damsel, Iya Agba and how together they courted and married the other wives. Oga Tissa, till he died, shared the same room with Iya Agba. The other wives knew their place in the strange equation and soon realized they were married to Iya Agba and not Oga Tissa. There was really no point trying to usurp Iya Agba’s position. She was in full control of her man and his wives and, in turn, their children. Iya Agba is a very wise woman but since her husband passed she doesn’t say much to anyone anymore.
Oga Tissa would invite me to his parlour to chat over tea in the evenings. We would discuss everything but my relationship with his grandson, which was obviously not going smoothly. He had a sweet tooth and we would eat endless sugar doughnuts and chocolates candy. He would pray for patience from me but then say to me, You only have one life to live. On his death bed, Iya Agba kept a vigil, he asked for me to come and read to him from his book of Psalms. Just before he passed he said to me, Omo mi, find the courage you need to act. I hate to see you like this. Promise me you will find your voice again. Those were Oga Tissa’s last words to me. I cried so hard at his funeral Baba joked that I was crying for chocolates. He says the most thoughtless things most times. I miss Oga Tissa but I know he will be smiling down at me as I walk out of Iya Agba’s apartment.
Iya Agba gets up from her seat and held me in a warm embrace. I could see the pain in her eyes. I know today is the day I leave, today not tomorrow. “O dabo Mama,” I said. Goodbye. I walk out of her flat, through the long dark corridor past the well where the children play their games; and out to the street corner where Adaku was waiting in a taxi. Today I left.
Very nicely done.
wow! you write almost like chimamanda….almost better. so explicit with hilarious (comedy like)m interjections. leaves me wanting more! I need you to not just whet my appetite but keep me wanting more! good job girl! and…….I can relate! (enough said)