NAMEH: A young girl's tale (contd)

 

“I don’t want to get married yet.”

The beam of evening sun that broke through her slightly opened wooden window illuminated a droplet of spit that spurt from Mama’s laughing mouth.

“Do you want to be like your father’s sister, Onogwu?”

Aunty Onogwu had a child at a very young age when she went to learn a trade in Igarra and had never married ever since. She was not a virgin and had nothing to offer a young man. Only married men with wives and children had sought her hand and she’d refused them all.

“You know, they say she sleeps around. But what do you expect from a woman without a man to warm her bed? Is that what you want, eh?” Mama’s smile faded with the question.

“I did not say I will never get married. I will, but not now.”

Mama’s mouth opened to reply and closed back. A deep sigh followed.

Then, she finally broke the silence. “Your father’s brothers have already agreed to the marriage.”

“And you, Mama? Do you agree?”

“He’s a good man, he’s educated—”

“Mama, do you agree to it?!”

“Don’t raise your voice at me, Nameh!”

“I want to go to university. I don’t want to marry.” Nameh’s voice came out low, like a plea. Mama had to understand. She had to understand she didn’t want the same kind of life Mama was living. She did not want to depend so much on a man and be unable to thrive without one. Just like Mama.

“Your husband can help you further your education. He’s well-to-do.”

So that was it, the gain in it. They were selling her off— her uncles and her mother.

He’s well to do. Your husband can help… “He’s not my husband.”

“He will be, soon. In a month, you’ll be gone with him to Lagos. I heard they have a good university there.”

“But Mama…” Nameh picked the scholarship letter up and handed it to Mama. 

Her mother looked at the paper in her hand and smiled. “You know I can’t read.”

“I received a scholarship to study in university. I don’t need to pay any school fees.”

Mama was silent. Too silent. Nameh needed her to talk, to say something. The silence was as thick as pap and was suffocating. But Mama gave her reply; she did as in the time it took to boil thick yam slices.

“Will they feed you in the university? Will they buy your books? Will they clothe you? Who will house you? Or does the scholarship cover that too?”

In Nameh’s wild joy, she hadn’t thought of that. She took the letter from Mama and read it again, searching for a sentence that said the scholarship covered accommodation and feeding. There was none. She knew there was none; she had read it all over and over.

“We’ll find a way, Mama. We’ll manage.”

“Is it with the garri or the palm-oil I make? We barely have enough to eat every day.”

“I j-just can’t get married. I will not get married.”

“You will tell me if I’m your mother or you’re mine.” And Mama left the room.

Her knees on the mushy soil of the stream’s edge, Nameh crushed another tiny chunk of black soap between her socks and dipped it back into the pail of water. She was wasting the soap, but she had to. The socks were too dirty.

The socks sang a lathery song in her hands. The song went on and on. And on.

Mama had come to her room last night. 

“It’s for your good,” she had said. “I don’t want you to suffer as I have. Your father, he was a good man. He was very hardworking but not rich. Your husband would be able to take care of you and send you to school, properly. Your children will not suffer like I have made you suffer.”

“You've done nothing to make me suffer. But I don’t even know him. I don’t know if I will like him. I don’t… I don’t love him.”

“You will learn to, with time. And only if you’re open to it. For your children, you will build your love one block on the other. It will last longer.”

“What if he decides not to send me to school?”

“Would it be so bad? You went to secondary school and you can speak English well enough. You will be able to manage any business your husband sets up for you. But if it’s school you want, eh, women have a way of making men do what they want them to do.” Mama winked at her.

She was irked by the statement. Was that all she would be? Was that all she would have to give? Was her body going to be her only asset?

Mama smiled. “But you should be submissive to your husband. You must make that your voice sound sweeter. Women don’t talk like that.” Mama crossed her legs, a lap on the other. “We talk like this,” she said in a whisper, drawing a chuckle from Nameh.

Mama burst into laughter and Nameh, despite herself, joined in.

She stopped scrubbing the socks as she realised herself. That morning, something was different; she was less put off by the idea of marriage.

The world was not fair and that was her fate. She had to accept it.

The scrub-song of the socks began to play again, much faster as Nameh’s mind was focused on her washing. She had to get back home in time to prepare dinner for her mother who had gone to sell garri at Ibillo market.

The forest was chirping loudly and the stream clapped, so Nameh wasn’t sure it was her name she heard. A lost goat that had entered a trap, maybe.

Then she heard it again. This was no bleat. She whipped her head around but saw no one. Her eyes were still on the mahogany tree a few feet from her when she heard her name again. The voice came from behind the wide trunk of the tree.

She got to her feet and rubbed her soapy hands clean against the wrapper that hung from her waist. 

“Ha!” A figure in black jumped out from hiding as Nameh neared the tree. Nameh started. Startled. 

“Fear-fear. It’s just me, Vumeya.”

With the adrenaline rush gone, Nameh could see Vumeya clearly. Her face was still very much recognisable and it was the only part of Vumeya’s body that was there to recognise. There was none of her full black hair to see and the only reminder that she had smooth brown skin was her face.

The black jilbab  she had on draped her entire body.

“You want to give me a heart attack, Vumeya.”

“Sorry eh.” Vumeya flashed white teeth and took Nameh in her arms. Nameh’s face got buried into the material of her garment. It smelled damp, bad.

Nameh stepped back from the embrace as soon as Vumeya’s arms loosened their grip.

God, Vumeya smells bad.

“It’s been long since I last saw you. I missed you, Vumeya. How is your husband and your son, Orinimeh?”

“They’re fine o. Orinimeh just started walking yesterday”

“Lazy boy, like his mother. Ehen! Why didn’t you visit me? When your mother-in-law sent me away, you promised you’d come. Remember?”

“I’m sorry Nameh. I don’t leave the house frequently.” Vumeya grinned sheepishly. She looked so young and innocent. “Don’t mind that my mother-in-law. Old age is affecting her head.”

Nameh could not imagine Vumeya saying that close to her husband or his mother. From the times Nameh had seen her around them, she was obsequious and acquiescent.

The day Nameh had visited Vumeya in her husband’s family home, her husband's mother had harassed Nameh and told her to leave.

You’re a bad influence on her!

Nameh, please leave. I’ll visit you soon. Nameh had not forgotten Vumeya’s words.

The smile Nameh gave Vumeya held sincere concern. “Are you happy there?”

Vumeya’s left hand touched her veiled head lightly. Nameh imagined her twirl a lock of her hair but not a wisp was exposed. Vumeya’s dressing was not the only thing that had changed about her. Her dressing was even the least drastic change. This figure in black was a shadow of the girl Nameh once knew.

Vumeya’s smile did not reach her eyes. The glint, the fire of wonder her eyes used to hold had been snuffed. 

Nameh had noticed it start dimming when Vumeya got pregnant and insisted she did not know who the father was. But now, her eyes had a vague dullness to them. The fire had burned out completely.

“My husband is good. He takes care of me.”

“Hmm…okay. Do you know how to pray in Arabic now?”

Vumeya smiled shyly.

“What are you even doing here?” There was a bucket beside Vumeya. “Is there no water in Odu?”

“There is water. I came to your house and your mother said you were here, so I took a bucket to help you fetch water.”

“Eh? Thank you. Let me finish with what I’m washing first so we can go. There is bush meat at home o!”

(to be continued)

Written by Seven Wraps of Eba