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I fretted the whole way to Big Mama’s house. By the time I got to the neighborhood, it was dark. This was a good thing, because I wasn’t ready to entertain any questions of my where about for the past five years, well, except from Big Mama.
The thought of facing the woman and having to explain myself was causing a surge of acid influx in my stomach. Would she accept me…again? I wondered and pondered, until my hesitant footsteps got me to where Big Mama’s house was supposed to be.
I remember a five bedroom bungalow, built with an architectural design from the 90’s. I remember a short, red gate, which had been more a monumental entrance, than an object of security. Big Mama had always said that the gate was more of a psychological security; we were all conscious of having a gate, but in the real sense, we were vulnerable to any attack.
But, I was staring at a gateless compound, over grown with weed. The fence was broken, like somebody had consciously taken a wrecking ball to it. From the little I could see through the scarily tall grass, the roof had fallen in. The house stared back at me, louver-less, dark, hollow holes that sent me quickening my footsteps towards the caretaker’s house, down the street.
I couldn’t think up an excuse for the present state of Big Mama’s house, and I also refused to think of the reality and its meaning. My heart pounded painfully in my chest as I hurried to the man that had been caretaker for Big Mama’s neighbor, a house that still stood firm beside the abandoned orphanage.
Though a caretaker for the two storey building not far from his house, caretaker’s abode was humble, a two bedroom flat that was in dire need of renovation. I hurried up the short flight of stairs to his veranda and knocked on the door.
The door opened slightly and a dull flashlight illuminated my face. I squinted but managed to smile despite the turmoil my heart was currently suffering.
“Yes, who are you looking for?” Caretaker’s voice was devoid of the warmth of recognition.
“Caretaker, na me o. Na Wana,” I said, grinning and trying to see beyond the light in my face.
The silence that followed my declaration was an indication that he’d still not recalled who I was.
“Na me been dey help Big Mama that time,” I explained and was immediately relieved to be free of the direct light in my eyes.
“Uwana! Eka Richard!” Caretaker exclaimed, calling me Richard’s mother, a name that had stuck after I’d discovered the baby, named him and became his sole caregiver.
“Yes, it’s me o,” I said, joining the man to chuckle and sitting on the bench he’d indicated.
“Ah-ah, Uwana, I didn’t recognize you o. It’s been so long and you just disappeared like that. Nobody knew where you were, Big Mama was so worried, she thought you were dead,” Caretaker said in an accusatory tone.
I nodded at his anger, I deserved it. “I’m sorry, it’s not like that. You know I would never consciously do such a thing, my whole life was about Big Mama and the children.”
“Big Mama said exactly what you just said and insisted on it, even when the neighborhood assumed you must have run off with a man. She believed you must have died in an accident and nobody knew how to contact your home. Sometimes she even visited the few morgues in Uyo to check for your body…”
My throat tightened painfully at the stress I had put Big Mama through. In the darkness, I tried to breathe with my mouth open to stop the tear that was threatening to fall. I nodded to the man’s droning report, in my heart, I accepted the blame for all that had happened, but I was also eager to find out about Big Mama?
So, I cleared my throat, “What happened to the orphanage, did Big Mama pack out? She was always talking about getting a new place if the funding she’d applied for came through.” I was actually relieved to recall such a possibility, maybe, it had happened in my absence.
But the stretching silence, the heavy kind that ensued after my comment was causing a riot in my stomach. My heart thumped and I knew that the silence was a harbinger for bad news.
Caretaker sighed wearily, and stared out at the length of his darkened front yard, he shook his head. “This is difficult to say, but it must be said…Big Mama passed away two years ago, after being ill for so long…”
His voice faded away from my consciousness… oh God…oh God…oh God…oh God…oh God…
I must have vocalized my litany because I became conscious of Caretaker’s hand patting my quivering body.
“Take it easy, Uwana…”
“It’s my fault!” I cried. “I should have been here!”
The man opened his mouth to say something but held back. I knew what he was about to say…I mean, if I was in his shoe, I’d so, totally concur my outburst. But Caretaker was a better man, a kind man.
“What really happened Uwana? Why did you run away?” he asked instead.
“I didn’t run away,” I sobbed uncontrollably. “Caretaker, I didn’t run away, I was arrested for breaking and entering,” my tears flowed freely.
“But, Big Mama warned you against that,” he pointed out soberly.
I nodded, my body wracking with powerful sobs which I couldn’t control. “But the children had to eat,” I heaved in between sobs.
“I thought you were doing laborer work?”
“They owed me a lot, so I stopped going,” I wailed.
I saw him nod in understanding, “But, nobody came to inform Big Mama about your arrest. At least, the police would have been here to request for bail…”
“With which money? I refused to tell the police where I lived so that she wouldn’t worry about the money…I mean, she couldn’t feed the children. Plus, she would have been identified with a criminal, her reputation would have been tarnished, the children would have been in danger by association…”
“I see you thought about this a lot,” Caretaker said, cutting into my angry outburst, his tone was grudgingly proud at my courage.
“Please tell me she was able to move to that better place she use to talk about,” I said, looking at him hopefully. I wanted there to have been something good and beneficial in Big Mama’s life before her demise. I hoped that she’d have enjoyed the fruits of her labor, no matter how brief.
“I can’t tell you that, Uwana,” he replied sincerely. “She was really ill and could barely move. The teenage kids began being unruly, several warnings by the village council were sent out to her and she was helpless to curb the situation.”
A situation that he wouldn’t have happened if I’d been there, I thought, forlornly, dissolving into tears again. At that moment, my mind was multi-dimensional, thinking of several things at once. I was mourning for Big Mama; no doubt, I was also mourning my lack of abode and worrying where I’d sleep this night.
In the midst of all that, my mind, surprisingly, still wondered how the caretaker had tenaciously insisted on calling me Uwana, when every other person, including Big Mama, had called me Wana.
While I sobbed, I pondered on the reply he’d given me when I asked him about his preference, several years ago. He’d told me that he saw only light in me, which was the meaning of my name. I had laughed but insisted, I wanted to be called Wana, a short form of my name but meaning something else entirely – fight.
Could my preferred name have affected my fate? Was I destined to fight all my life? I was reminded of my parents, their death, of my uncles, of which one might be dead, killed by my hands. I was reminded of all the struggles I’ve gone through, still, I preferred Wana.
Wana is who I’ve become. I’ve evolved from a little, naive girl full of light and brilliance, into a fighter…it was the only way to survive.
In the middle of my collage of thoughts, I was immediately worried about the orphans. “Caretaker, what happened to the children?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“Sincerely, I have no idea. I was only glad that there weren’t any babies left when she passed. The teenage boys were so unruly; the village council ordered a raid by the police to round them up.”
I gasped in shock and part outrage. “They were arrested?” I was ready to swoop down and rescue all of them, forget that I had no kobo to my name.
“No, Uwana, they all fled the premises, it’s been abandoned since then.”
“Do you…like, still see any of them…do you know where Richard is?” I fretted.
“No, none. Two years is a long time, they must have outgrown this neighborhood anyway.”
The tears threatened again at the hopelessness of my situation, but, I caught Caretaker stifling a particularly powerful yawn, the effort caused his lean torso to quiver. I immediately felt sorry for being a bother.
I stood up, signaling my need to leave.
He stood with me, his head coming a little above my shoulder. “So, you were released today?”
I nodded, “I was given a pardon by the governor,” I explained and he nodded, scratching his head at the awkward situation.
“I’m sorry, Uwana, I would have loved to offer you a place for the night, in fact, for…”
“Don’t worry Caretaker, I’ll manage,” I assured, even though I knew not how. I said my goodbyes, flung my knapsack over my left shoulder and trudged into the streets…yet again.
~*********~
Stacey Daniel Akpan was giving her mother the silent treatment. At twelve years old, 3ft and some inches, she favored her father’s diminutive height, his intellect and complexion.
But her attitude was a mixture of both parents. She could be reasonable one minute, and bitchy the next. The fact that she was heading into the teenage years wasn’t any consolation, Susan saw a lot of mother-daughter wars in the nearest future.
Susan, in her typically selfish nature, was able to easily ignore her daughter’s attitude in favor of what she wanted. Stacey was angry because this was the end to their entire hotel hopping adventure; she was being carted home, as par, Mrs. Grant’s request.
“How long are you going to be silent?” Susan asked, making popping sounds with the chewing gum in her mouth, as she fiddled with her phone, at the back of the moving taxi.
She wasn’t bothered at the silence after her question, as she raised the phone to her ears and spoke into it.
“Hello, mum,” she began in an accusatory tone.
“I will only send that money, when you’ve boarded the flight,” Mrs. Grant answered her belligerently. “Despite my cluelessness as to why you need so much money when you’re coming home.”
Susan groaned and rolled her eyes, “We’re on our way to the airport now. I booked a flight immediately you sent the exact amount for it.”
“No need to sound apoplectic. I know you as a mother would know her daughter, I’m not taking chances.”
“What does that word even mean?”
“Give the phone to Stacey; I need to confirm that you’re actually on your way.”
Susan blustered, “Mom, this is…this is…,” she was lost for words and when she handed the phone to her silent daughter, she could hear her mother chuckle.
Stacey stared at the phone, pointed at her for moments, before collecting it. “Hello.”
“Darling, I’ve missed talking to you. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” Stacey answered curtly.
“Err…,” Mrs. Grant stammered, momentarily shocked at the tone of her grand daughter’s voice.
“Baby, are you sure, you’re okay?”
“Yes, and we’re heading to the airport…sadly,” Stacey still backed her mom, while staring at the passing scenery.
“Sa…oh. I have a new word for you,” Mrs. Grant immediately changed tactics and tone, ignoring the adolescent’s grudge.
“Okay,” was the only reply.
“Apoplectic,” Mrs. Grant said with excitement, waiting for the answering enthusiasm she usually got from her grand daughter when they played this game over the phone…she was disappointed.
“Medically, it means a stroke. But, it’s also used to describe intense anger,” she said and handed over the phone before the woman could say more.
The woman was already saying more.
“Oh my God, that is impressive, Stacey. Even your mother doesn’t know that word,” she enthused.
“Mom!” Susan choked, appalled.
“Oh, Susan? I thought I was still talking to Stacey,” she explained.
“Apparently,” Susan spat sarcastically.
“I’ll wire the money. By the way what do you need it for?”
“New cloths,” she said and ended the call without saying goodbye.
“How long are you going to be silent?” Susan spat, she needed to vent her anger on somebody.
No reply came, the silence stretched between them, the young girl didn’t even turn from the window. Susan was determined to bite a hostess’ head off on that flight, she had to vent somehow.
~*********~
Call me whatever you might, but I think I’m smart. And I’m proud about it too.
So, with five thousand and sixty naira, after transport, I’ve been able to lodge at a hotel for three days; in a four thousand naira a night hotel room.
Simply genius, if I do say so myself. First of all, I requested for a back room, somewhere far from the bustle of the reception. I told the male receptionist that I was a writer, and I desperately needed such a room, for one night, to complete my next master piece.
I had no idea if they had such a room, surprisingly they did. It’s always good to take chances; one can’t ever tell what would come of it.
The hotel boasted of three buildings, all containing different tiers of luxurious rooms, mine was the cheapest. I complimented the receptionist on being the nicest fellow I’d ever met, he grinned happily at me. So, I used that opportunity to ask if he’d be here the next day.
Sadly, he shook his head; his scheduled duty was ending the next day. So, I was sure a different person would be at the reception, good thing for me. I made a sad face too, collected my key and went in search of my room, located in the last building.
My room was just that, a room. It had a bed, a blanket, a box TV, no fridge, a bathroom, tiny piece of soap and a towel with a stain that suspiciously resembled the map of Australia. Mosquitoes reigned here despite the sputtering AC, and the moldy smell of the room, announced the fact that it wasn’t often used.
I was quite sure that boarders would refuse this room, since its window faced a bush that hadn’t experienced the whiff of a cutlass in months; vis-à-vis, the mosquitoes.
I smiled, it would suit my plan for a while, I thought. So, I went out and purchased a book of Rambo paper, and a lighter. I ate fried potatoes for dinner and plunged into my former neighborhood, in search of a locksmith.
With lots of persuasion, I was able to convince the old man to duplicate my hotel room key for just one hundred naira; the man grumbled all through the exercise. With two keys to my name, I was able to check out at the reception by the next day.
My suspicions were right, the room or rooms in the part of the building I lodged, weren’t used often. So, when I checked out the next day, nobody came to clean the room…good for me, I thought.
I’d go out, look for jobs on foot, to no avail by the way, and return to the room, flash my key at the gate as I walk confidently to my room. Nobody stopped me, since I didn’t have to go through reception, the workers just assumed I was lodged there…well I was lodged there, just without pay.
Three days later, my newly refurbished conscience surged to the fore of my mind, I was informed that what I was doing would still land in jail if caught. Problem is, now I was penniless, and I needed to get to the address on Debbie’s card.
I stood biting my lips at the side of the road. The address was at the other side of town, an arduous trek from where I stood…what to do…what to do, I thought.
“I need airtime. Do you sell high denominations?”
The request was benign enough, but it was the arrogance of the tone that caught my attention. I turned and found an ostentatiously dressed lady, carelessly tossing a wallet full of minty one thousand naira notes on the bonnet of her car.
She had out her sleek phones and was engrossed in feeding in the airtime she’d just bought. Don’t blame me, I needed the money and she had called attention to herself; I walked by her car and swiped the wallet.
With a beating heart, I debated on the morality of jumping into the next Keke Napep with the whole wallet. I actually stopped a Keke, jumped in and on second thought, took only the money I needed for my transport and dumped the wallet by the tire of the lady’s car.
She’ll shout a bit when she discovers her wallet is missing, but will find it immediately she rounds the corner. I’m a good person, I thought, hitting my chest and grinning broadly; thank God I was the only customer in the Keke.
The story continues…
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