BENA
(Can a woman forget her sucking child,
that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may
forget….. Isaiah 49:15)
Dear Bena,
A lady cleans phlegm from her child’s runny
nose. I remember you.
I watch another straddle her child behind
her back, walking down the street briskly, flowery umbrella in hand and I
remember you. Or in church, when a naughty child begins to wail, not
even crying up a tear and its mother hushes it, rushing it out to breastfeed
it,at such moments, thoughts of you begin to assail my mind.
It is three years now and I write to say,
Thank you. Thank you for turning my life to a joke without a punchline. Thank
you for taking off when the air was rife with news of kidnapping. Three years
now and not a word from you, not even a whiff of your perfume has trespassed my
nostrils. For making me sit for hours, phone in hand, hoping a call would come
and a husky voice at the other end of the line would demand a ransom huge as a
cathedral. The atmosphere that period was already inundated with fear. Already the
landlord, Chief Okeosisi, had his wife in the web of these scoundrels and would
you believe it, when they called demanding millions like it were their
birthright, the oldster replied them coolly,that the woman in their custody
was his wife of twenty-six years, twenty-six years and had birthed him six sons and two daughters; why
pay another bride price? Her work on
earth was done! And this man didn't budge amidst the many pleas of relatives, (Release the money so that your wife would be released). Had it not been for
the financial intervention of family and friends, who would have known the fate
of that woman?
In an atmosphere like that where everyone
walked in trepidation, fearing those garden variety criminals who were so
quick-witted in their task,that was the only time you decided to take off. Had it not been that someone or the other came to me testifying, Yes we saw your wife in
Sapele haggling fish, we saw her in Ariaria with shoemakers, my soul never
would have found rest, thinking all these
while that my wife was being tortured and being done unthinkable things to. Then the
testifiers would urge me, Go after her, shame her into returning, you married
her with your hard earned money, didn't you? But proceed to retrieve you, I
would not. No, I would tell them, you were not a child. A grown woman, that’s
who you are;old enough to decide what is best for you. It was you who dragged
yourself on this path of foolishness, you could drag yourself back if you so
wished.
Itinerant? Who would have thought you were?
My faculties were incapable of thinking such ill of you. You, my innocent bride
from my little home town. Who put that fly in your head, that hex on your mind?
To think that I gave you everything, your whims and caprices, none of them went
unfulfilled.
And I say thank you once again for making
the world impugn my virility. When I walk past,people regard me as a weak man
that could not tether his errant wife, some marauding beast that bartered
his wife so senseless , that she ran hard and fast, forgetting to pick her sucking
child. But you and I know, God bearing us witness, that I never so much as laid
a finger on you, never forced you when you said you felt sour, and never even
scolded you for long when you left the rice on fire till it charred while you
went gossiping with Caro.
Even when you complained of being idle and pried that little money out of my hands to start a kiosk, I acquiesced; at
least I got some sleep afterwards. Now see, the shop lies empty and harangued
like an imbecile, a relic, a painful monument of your elopement. Thank you for
making me a fine spot for mockery, a man too weak to take charge of his little
household.
That night you left, I still remember, I
had staggered into the house, looked around but didn’t find you, supposing you
had gone over to Caro’s place to watch those Mexican soap operas. Little Bena
was in her crib dozing. I ate my food at the table, had a
quick shower and headed straight to bed, my head choc-a-block with the figures
of the day’s sales. Sales were moving at snail speed; building a business from
scratch was taking its toil on me. But a man had to be a man. And it was at
midnight that I reached for your side of the bed and found it cold and empty.
And ever since that night I have never ceased
to ask myself what I did or did not do. It was not my fault that the shop burnt
down. I would have accepted blame had it been I loafed around and did nothing
about our predicament. Till this moment, it puzzles me that when I told your
parents about your departure, no shock whatsoever registered on their faces.
Three years now and little Bena is growing
up without a motherly figure while you recline in clover, not showing a twinge
of contrition at your actions.
Suffice it to say that I happen to be the
bone of contention, the bad guy, the last straw that broke your hips, but for
the child you bore, do you not have an iota of compassion? Many are the women
whose knees have been scarred and blackened as they prayed for the fruit of the
womb;and here you carry on like an ostrich, laying your eggs in the open, not
minding who nibbled at it or how many would survive. The pangs of childbirth
you felt, your labor all in vain.
To think of the fact that the child is
growing up at a time when beauty is much vaunted: eyelids must flutter like butterfly’s wings, legs must be as long as Nile, bosom must be full as Limpopo; how she needs you! I look at her and see how much your elopement has
destabilized her infantile equilibrium and my heart is touched. I just served
her a meal of scrambled eggs and yam and soon I shall tuck her in bed. She
occupies her time with playing with a doll I bought her, braiding and re-braiding its hair, her carefree laughter faintly resembling yours, she not
even knowing you.
Well I write to say soon I shall wed
another.
It’s been three years… and I have tried.
mm....I did 'feel' it, as a potential father maybe......I subscribe to your register :-) ..but I still wonder what inspired this, really
ReplyDeleteEloping mothers inspired this.
DeleteI see. One hardly finds a 'father-lament' piece these days. It's like fathers r d only eloping ones...
Delete