CHAPTER SEVEN Friday is supposed to be a good day; you know the end of the week, with lots of time to relax and unwind after having worked the entire week through. As a student, I love everything about Friday, except for the laundry. I hate doing laundry on Saturdays, so I always do them on Fridays. It lets me have more space on the ropes to hang my clothes outside. After laundry and cooking, I study a bit and then go for a movie at the cinema, if Ti-abasi is free. Today, our lectures were cancelled because of a faculty board meeting thus leaving us to our own devices. Nnenna my study partner wanted me to join her in the library, and then go to a discussion group organized by the class president, but I declined. I figured if I tackle the laundry the morning, I could free up more time in the afternoon for other things. So I returned to the house and washed, cooked and after that, I watched a movie on my laptop. With no light, the battery on the laptop soon ran down. I picked up a novel and went outside to sit on the step that leads into my room and read. Around 2:00pm, a neighbour who lives in the next compound, Mama Azuka, strolled past. We exchanged greetings and she headed for her friend, Mrs Anozie’s house. I don’t really like her; as a full-time house wife, rather that occupy herself with some petty trade of some kind or do something else to keep her busy, she comes here almost every day to gossip with her friend. Mrs Anozie is a housewife too, but at least she makes foofoo for sale and sells her merchandise from home. When the light came back on, I went inside and continued reading Murder on the Orient Express by that wonderful and phenomenal writer, Agatha Christie. Time flew by as page after page was devoured by my hungry eyes. The alarm on my phone went off at 4:00pm, signalling the time for my private studies and I reluctantly put the book face down on the mattress, making a mental note of the page. I turned off the alarm, went to my study table and pulled out the chair, slumping down on it. I drew the stack of books towards me, selecting my Equity and Trust Law notebook. A couple of minutes later, I threw it down, rose up and returned to my novel. It’s almost impossible to pause in the middle of an Agatha Christie, especially if a law text is the substitute. There would be plenty of time to study later, I thought, trying to silence my conscience. “WHERE IS SHE?” a loud, male voice bellows outside, cutting off my conscience’s efforts to make me go back to my books. Quickly, I raised myself from the bed and looked through the curtains, wondering who was shouting like that. I couldn’t see a person to go with the voice. Who could it be? And who was the ‘she’ he was looking for? “WHERE IS THAT STUPID WOMAN?” the voice bellowed again. “K’EBE O DI? Where is she?” A man came into view, tall, dark and well-built, with a very angry face. His face was familiar; I’ve seen him around the neighbourhood but don’t know who he is. He marched past the courtyard and made his way to the Anozies’ house. It suddenly dawned on me that this must be Mama Azuka’s husband. I got up and ran to the door, quickly opening the locks and peeking out. Whatever it was, I’ve got to see it! The other occupants of the compound, who weren’t already outside, ran out to see what was happening. I looked up and saw Ti-abasi standing on their balcony. She spotted me immediately and winked, a cheeky grin of glee spreading across her face. I couldn’t help smiling back at her naughty, juvenile pleasure. My gaze returned to Amaka’s husband who by this time, had gotten to the Anozies’ house. Seeing the door shut, he walked over to the kitchen and peered in. There was his wife, cowering behind her friend. “You’re hiding, aren’t you…I na ezu ezu, okwia? What kind of woman are you? At this point, he turned and faced the very interested spectators who were scattered around the compound; some taking in the drama from their various doorways while others were gathered around the well or just standing alone. “Biko, nyere’m aka, ka’m ghota…..please, help me understand. How does a woman leave her house and her hungry children and come to help another woman pound foofoo, cook and feed her own family, enh? This children have been home from school since and have not eaten. And ewu nka……this goat, left my children without food. Kedu udi nnwanyi I bu? What kind of woman are you? isi adi gi mma? Is your head correct? Or is there….” He cut short his sentence and lunged for his wife, who had come out from the kitchen with Mrs Anozie, and kept wringing her hands while pleading di’m, biiiiko, biko eweniwe….biko….my husband, please, don’t be angry, please….. She let out a blood-curdling scream as she saw him advance and leapt back into the protective darkness of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her; I guess she was leaning all her weight on it because that kitchen doesn’t have a lock. Her friend placed herself in front of the kitchen, using her body as a barricade, in case he escaped the arms of the few men who had run forward to hold him back. “Papa Azuka, biko eweniwe……please don’t be angry….calm dan…..” Mrs Anozie pleaded. The men and women around joined their voices, asking him to rein in his anger. “Bia, nwanyi a, mechie onu gi! Look here, woman, shut your mouth!” He shouted at her, straining at the hands that firmly held him. back. “Gi na nwunye’m bu the same thing! You and my wife are cut from the same cloth! The only thing that you do all day is indulge in malicious gossip about innocent people. Instead of finding something profitable to do, you just stay jobless every day. That nonsense is stopping as from today!” Mrs Anozie bristled at his insults, her face congealing in a thunderous frown. “Kedu udi nsogbu bu ihe a? What kind of problem is this?” he asked, angry and perplexed at the same time. “NKIRU, PU TA EBA! COME OUT HERE!” He bellowed at the still closed door of the kitchen. “If I leave this place without you coming out, maka Chukwu, by God, it will not be well with you!” He shouted, his chest heaving with the force of his ire. M attention shifted from him to the band of children that clustered around the entrance to the compound. Their children were among; my heart ached as I saw the sad and embarrassed look on the oldest son, Azuka. No doubt, the neighbourhood children will later make fun of him and though no fault of his, he would bear part of the consequences of his mother’s action. My mind was still partly occupied by the impeccable grammar and diction of Mama Azuka’s husband. He was obviously not only educated, but had a good blue-collar job, judging by his clothes. He is a cut above the average working men and husbands that live in this area. I briefly wondered why he wasn’t living in some place for the middleclass, like the GRA or New Haven. Suddenly noticing that everyone was looking in the same direction, my gaze swung back to the kitchen door which had opened a crack and was gradually widening. Mama Azuka timidly stuck out her head first and spotted her guardian still barring the door. Her torso followed and she began to plead with her husband again, this time, asking for his forgiveness. “Di’m oma, my good husband, biko, mere’m ebere! Gbahara’m….be merciful….forgive me…,” she cried, tears running down her face. Sneaking under her self-appointed protector’s outstretched arm, she knelt down and began crawling on her knees towards her husband. Unsure of his reaction now that she was out, the men continue to hold him back, though he had relaxed somewhat and had ceased struggling. There was no use risking having a murder committed in the compound; everyone knows that when the police come, they will not hesitate to carry off everyone who was a witness, to jail. “My husband, I’m sorry….biko, please….don’t be angry. I swear, I won’t do it again,” she promised as she wept profusely; sweat glued the blouse she wore to her body as she kept crawling on her knees towards him. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his reaction. Different emotions swiftly made a parade across his face; anger, irritation, affection, etc.; it seemed her pleas had taken the wind out of his sails. “O zugo nu…..that’s enough. It’s okay. Ngwanu, get up,” her husband said, his face softening at her contrition. When they were convinced that he wasn’t going to lash out at her, the men let him go, although Chuks seemed reluctant to do so, as he still hung on to his sleeve. Mama Azuka’s heaving sobs were interwoven with her husband’s pleas for her to get up. I guess she wanted to milk the moment for what it was worth because she sat down on the ground and alternately placed one hand on top of the other, her shoulders heaving, mumbling her apologies. Her husband went to her and pulled her off the ground, his face telling of his grudging pardon and residual irritation. I smiled at his expression; it was obvious to all that he at least loved his wife. “Evelyn,” he said, “asi’m o zugo,” he said again. “It is okay.” Evelyn? Her name is Evelyn? Who has a pretty name like that and lets people call her Mama Azuka? I shook my head and vowed I would never let my name be buried like that. Seeing that the dust had settled, a kid I assume is their youngest, ran to her mother and helped her brush the sand from her wrapper. Then they all filed out of the compound, the wife wiping her eyes with the end of her wrapper while the husband busied himself with shepherding the children through the entrance. The eldest son, Azuka, seemed to have already run home. Poor boy, the embarrassment will stay with him for a long time to come. The second they stepped out, the compound exploded with noise. Everyone began to talk about what had just happened, each trying to raise their voice above the other, retelling the incident as if we hadn’t all witnessed it for ourselves. Ti-abasi ran to where I stood, her eyes glittering with amusement. “Da, mma ado afon iso……that woman is lucky,” she said, shaking her head. I guessed that she would’ve been more delighted if the drama had lasted longer or he’d hit her a little. “Nko esit akpa unem akpere ebe ama mia anye? Shebi you would’ve been happier if he’d slapped her, abi?” I asked, narrowing my gaze and ready to deliver a lecture on the evils of domestic violence if she dared answer yes. “Abasi akan!...God forbid!” she retorted, surprised that I would think she would think that. “Why would you think that?” she asked displeased at my suspicion. “I’m sorry,” I said, contrite. “It was just a thought, albeit an unfair one. Kuyad esit….don’t be angry.” I added. “…….slapped you, so that next time you will think twice about wasting your time on ashiri!” “So my friends won’t visit my house again?” she asked, hands akimbo, angry. Mr Anozie and his wife were ready give us a sequel. He’d stood by throughout the fiasco, doing nothing even when Mama Azuka’s husband had yelled at his wife. Haba! Are these people not tired? Seeing that Ti-abasi’s attention was now on them, I opened the door and went into my room; I’d had enough drama for one day and was determined to finish reading my novel. Besides, their voices were loud enough; I was sure I’d hear every detail from inside my room. “…….time your mouth go dey do chor chor chor! “…….stand there mek e beat me, okwia? “…….i’neme nkpotu…..mmadu n’ile…..soh soh gi….” Their voices soon faded off as I lost myself in Agatha Christie’s devious plot.
Posted on: Mon, 17 Mar 2014 09:51:58 +0000
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