AMID SECRETS - CHAPTER 6
*Maduka’s POV*
“This bumbling idiot here came to apologise to you,” Jide says in a tone that makes me think of an adult settling quarrels amongst children.
“Oh,” Nwanyieze says. She looks at Saheed, who is almost cowering behind me, expecting to be hit by a flying pot or knife or frying pan.
“I’m so sorry, Queen. I thought you were just forming hard to get for me, and so I overreacted,” he said quietly.
“I’m over it, Saheed. Now get yourself out from here.”
“Won’t you invite us in for some breakfast?” Saheed questioned
“Why would I do that?” she retorts.
She is obviously exhausted, but it doesn’t stop that sharp mouth from running. Dressed in a decent yellow Angry Birds nightgown, a scarf tied over her hair, she looks so simple and carefree. It’s her face that captured my attention, free from make up, with large, dark eyes, an upturned nose and plump lips that would look good when put in a pout, but better with a smile.
Again, I question myself: Could it be possible?
“Saheed, the gifts!” hissed Jide impatiently.
“I forgot them in the car!” Saheed replied.
“What gifts?” asked Nwanyieze, giving us a dubious look.
Saheed ran down the stairs quickly. Nwanyieze has decided that we won’t harm her, and so she steps away from the doorway, inviting us in wordlessly. We follow her directly into a small sitting room, with toys lying all around the floor.
Does she have a child? Is she someone’s baby mama? I wonder.
She doesn’t bother explaining, anyway.
“Something to drink? I’ve got some juice, but unfortunately, no food.”
“We’re fine, thanks.”
She seats herself on the couch with a plate of food and begins to eat. It’s ewa agoyin and agege bread.
Jide whips out his cell phone and glues his eyes to the screen. I study the sitting room. It is well furnished with a small, flat screen TV on one of the walls, a shelf full of books a few metres away, and a matching set of over stuffed couches. A framed photograph rests on the wall behind her head, and looking closer, I see its Nwanyieze in it, dressed in a matriculation gown, with a huge smile on her face.
“You’re still a student?”
She nods, fixing her dark eyes on me.
I like the way she sits with her legs folded underneath her. She eats quickly, not minding that she’s in the presence of visitors as she licks her fingers, but she still keeps her eyes on us warily.
I find myself wanting to hear her voice again, and so I asked her, “How are you feeling today?”
“Much better.”
“Taken any drugs?”
“Yes. I took WAIPA. It’s the best so far for me.”
“Remember to avoid multi vitamins until you’re done with your dosage.”
“Really?”
“Studies have shown that vitamin C inhibits the absorption and efficacy of anti malarial drugs, including ACT. ”
“I see,” she replied thoughtfully. “Thank you.”
“What of your parents?” I blurt, only to regret asking when she answered me.
“They’re dead,” she said in a flat voice, signalling that the conversation is over.
Jide looks up for a moment, mutters, “I’m sorry.”
“Well, I’m not,” Nwanyieze said
Saheed chooses that time to bustle in, carrying a huge hamper, loaded with provisions and wrapped artfully in wrapping sheet and colourful ribbons. On it rests a small paper box.
“You can’t be serious,” Nwanyieze exclaimed, eyes wide.
“I am,” Saheed replied. “I’m really sorry.”
We all watch her open the small box and gasped.
“A dress? And shoes?”
Saheed had ordered for a white baby doll dress and the same shoes she had lost from one of the top stores on the island.
“Saheed, you know this is too much, right?”
“Never for you, not after what I put you through last night.”
It’s very obvious to everyone that Saheed is into Nwanyieze. Jide rolls his eyes and sighs.
“Don’t tell me you won’t accept them.”
She seems to consider, and then finally said, “Thank you.”
“Good. Saheed, she has forgiven you. Now, let’s leave. I’m very hungry and I just watched her eat ewa agoyin and agege,” I said, echoing Jide’s thoughts.
“Can I have your number, Queen?” asked Saheed.
She calls it out and he typed it into his cell phone. Jide is already at the balcony, opening the front door. Saheed leaves before me and when I got to the door, I paused and turned to look at her.
She was standing there admist the half-opened, expensive gifts from Saheed, looking small in that night gown and scarf on her head. Surprise and confusion are still in her eyes and I can tell she’s not used to attention like this, that she’s momentarily unbalanced.
I don’t know this girl quite well, but it feels like I do. I myself am deeply disturbed, from the dream of last night and from her mere presence. She opened her mouth to say something and I half-expect her to say she feels the same way.
“Why did you bring Saheed here, Maduka?”
She lets me see the annoyance she’s feeling.
I feel a bit guilty, that I over stepped the boundaries by bringing someone to her place just because I know the address by chance.
“I’m sorry. He was so desperate to know if you were alright after last night.”
“I shouldn’t have let you drop me,” she said before turning away from me, but not before I saw a hint of sadness in her eyes. “It was a huge mistake.”
“Nwanyi-”
“Just go.”
“I’m really sorry. Good bye, Nwanyieze.”
Her name, her name. I love it.
I’ve always loved her name.
___
That night, I relive the day I had found the baby with such clarity that I actually think it’s happening to me again:
“Give me the baby,” the man said in Igbo, arms outstretched.
I held her closer to myself and moved away from the edge of the dumpster. I wasn’t going to let anyone take her from me; I was already fiercely protective of her. Pa Andrew had gone and left me and no one was going to take this baby from me. In my seven-year-old mind, I was certain that I now had a sister, that I would take care of her and we would grow up together.
“No!” I yelled. While staying with Pa Andrew, he had told me stories of this wicked world, of how people used human body parts for rituals to get rich, and of how babies were the best because of their innocence and purity. Well, this one wasn’t going to make anyone rich.
“What will you do with it?”
“I’ll take care of her!”
By now other workers and even passersby were gathering to watch the scene, of a little street urchin yelling at a man while holding onto a wailing baby.
“Let me take her to the hospital, she’s sick.”
“You want to use her for ogwu ego!” (You want to use her for money rituals)
The crowd present made a surprised sound. The man let out a laugh.
“Wonders shall never end!”
“What a wicked world!”
“Baby wey some people no fit born!” (A baby that some couples can’t give birth to!)
Then a young woman stepped forward, pity written all over her face. She was wearing a shirt with the letters NYSC printed on the front, and green trousers.
“My dear, let me take you to the hospital instead, you hear?” she said softly.
I watched her for a few moments, wondering if I could trust her or not. She stretched out a hand towards me, and I took it tentatively, my eyes fixed on her smile. I was helped out of the dumpster, but I never let go of the baby.
“God help them!” I heard some people say in the crowd.
“This is what happened at Okigwe; but the baby wasn’t so lucky. It had died.”
“My sister is childless and stupid people are busy doing things like this.”
The young woman stopped an okada- commercial motorcycle rider- and helped me get on it.
“Sick Bay Children’s Hospital,” she told the rider. After a short ride, we got to a small street and stopped in front of a building. At the gate we met a white woman dressed in a long white gown, who smiled at me and introduced herself as Sister Benedicta with an accent I had never heard before. She looked so serene, gazing down at me with soft brown eyes.
“My baby,” I choked, th-ru_sting the baby up to her face. “Sick.”
I remember being swept into the compound. Everything happened in a blur. We were whisked into a dark green building, the baby was taken from me after much persuasion, and I was taken to another room to be examined and prodded gently by reverend sisters dressed in white lab coats with their habits on their heads. Blood, urine and stool samples were taken.
All through the ordeal, the young woman who had brought us there stayed with me, calming me down each time I asked of ‘my baby’. I felt like she was mine now, that we were going to be together because nobody wanted us.
Washed, dressed in clean clothes and fed after a while, I was led into the nursery by another soft spoken reverend sister to see my baby. The Youth Corper had hurried off, promising to visit us soon. I had held onto her hand, said thank you, and begged her to please come back.
Sister Benedicta was there in the nursery, sitting on a chair admist cots and gently brushing the baby’s hair and cooing to her. I noticed a bandage over her tiny right arm.
“Come, love” Sister Benedicta beckoned me.
I stepped towards her and she handed the baby to me gently. Clean and fed, she smelled so nice that I breathed in her scent deeply. Her eyes were no longer swollen like before and she’d stopped making sucking noises. Her dark hair was thick and curly, so soft. I buried my nose in it.
“Where are you from?” Sister Benedicta asked quietly.
There was no way I was going back home. Mama and Papa were dead, and nobody wanted me anymore. I didn’t know the way back home, and I wasn’t eager to ask for directions.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I don’t know where I’m from.”
She studied me for a while, trying to figure out if I was a runaway or not.
“How old is she?” I asked in a hushed voice.
“Maybe a week old.”
“Why didn’t her parents want her?”
I honestly could not understand why someone would throw away such a beautiful creature. Who would not want a baby?
“I don’t know, dear,” she replied sadly, a hand reaching out to touch my face. The love she showed me made me feel warm inside; I had been starved of affection for so long.
“Will she have a birthday?”
“Ninth of March, 1996.”
“She doesn’t have a name, Sister Benedicta.”
She bent to look me in the eye, hers holding excitement. “Why don’t you name her, love?”
I looked down at the baby and told myself that surely, the God that Papa and Mama had so often told me about, was going to make sure this baby grew into greatness.
Yes, she would marry a king!
Kings were rich, weren’t they? They were powerful, and surely hers would protect her, and then she wouldn’t have to bother about things like food and a home and fancy clothes. My father was no king, but I had always seen him as one. His name had been Ezenna. I remembered the name my mother had so fondly been called.
“I’ll name her Nwanyieze.”
“What does that mean?”
“The King’s Wife.