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“Fear not: for I am with thee.”
Isaiah 43:5a
As I made my way home that afternoon after parting ways with my friends, I found myself alone with my mood, which was cheerful. I remembered the literary term ‘pathetic fallacy’, and how I could use that by describing the weather in terms of my mood. My senses were keen to soak in the atmosphere around me. I saw the smile of the blue sky above, despite the wintry season, and when the wind ever so slightly rustled me, I felt tickled in my soul and laughed, leaving a grin plastered on my face.
Home was roughly a twenty-five minute walk; there was a bus I could have taken that stopped right outside our house, but I was conscious of my figure. I had been working on it for two years now, after Bella’s grandmother, with her free way of talking, had said something careless about my weight. ‘Ngozee! Ha. What is your mother giving you to eat? Or is it you eating the food for five other children? It is not my Jollof that is giving you tyres all over your body. Don’t come and break our furniture here!’ I knew I was a plump person, even bordering on the edge of being fat, but it was such a peculiar way to talk to me, and it had made me much more conscious of my figure, and so I started to mind the portions I ate. Months later, when I was at Bella’s house, I had declined her offer of ‘goody goody chocolate toffee and Gala’, which were snack delicacies from Nigeria, and Mama said, ‘Ah, Ngozee! I’m sorry for you! So, because of those boys in that brother college of your school, you will not enjoy yourself again! You better eat well and have a strong body. You will not break into two when you start having children; many children!’
I smiled now, remembering how she used to complain about my weight. Now that I was slimmer, she still had a complaint. Bella had mentioned that Mama had gone to the home of another of her children to babysit. She had borne seven children and was still very strong. The story of the man, his son and their donkey came to mind. She had told us the story of how it was impossible to please the world. It was better to do things the way you were guided by common sense. The man in the story had listened to peoples’ complaints. He had tried sitting on the donkey, putting his son on the donkey with him, putting his son on the donkey without him, allowing the donkey to go without carrying either himself or his son, and at each action, people still criticized him. Finally, when the man carried the donkey, everyone on his path treated him like a mad man by the way they quickly cleared away from his path and around him. Bella, Clint, and I had all laughed at the story.
I was nearing home and could hear some voices. For a moment, I panicked that it might be Grandma Lilee. On listening further, I realised it was Aunty Ruth. The day could not get any better! Tree branches swayed in a slow, gentle dance at the tease of the wind. The long grasses at the edge of the road were dancing too. The warmth of the sun pierced through the coolness of the clouds, caressing my body, and I began whistling All Things Bright And Beautiful, a popular song at our Baptist church.
Church has fortified me since I was small. Maybe it is because my grandparents and most of our close family, friends, and neighbours also attend. Whatever the reason, there’s never been a time in my life when I haven’t been aware of God’s loving hand ordering my steps and directing things to fall in the right places. And today I knew that God had put Aunty Ruth in my path for the purpose of my query.
‘Marsha, my darling!’ she said, greeting me as I entered the house.
‘Good afternoon, Aunt Ruth.’
‘You look great, and I can tell you walked home. What is the good news? I heard you whistling from afar!’
‘You did? What sharp ears you have, Aunt.’
‘The better to hear you with!’
‘Yippee!’ I whooped as Aunty Ruth laughed, aware we were playing a scene from Red Riding Hood. I remembered discussing dramatic irony in my literature class – where an action has a double meaning known to the audience and not the character – and thought this was a perfect example. I was the audience, of course! Aunt Ruth had no idea of my plans where she was concerned. I had a lot to tell her, and here she was telling me, ‘The better to hear you...’ She thought we were gloating in glee over the same joke.
‘Where is Mom?’ I asked as I plunged into the bucket of KFC chicken she had put on our kitchen table.
Every member of my extended family had a key to our home, just as I too had a key to the doors of Aunt Ruth and both my grandparents. So it was no surprise to see her here, even at that time of the day. She worked as a nurse, working certain shifts and having a day off every one week or the other.
‘Not sure, honey,’ she answered. ‘I haven’t been up yet. Majestice might be napping away this minute as we talk.’
‘Oh, I’ll go and check.’
‘Yeah, do, before all this chicken is gone. Hey, but don’t wake her if you find her asleep.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, Aunt,’ I said, smirking. I hopped up our flight of twelve steps in twos, praying that Mom was not at home. I checked her room, but she wasn’t there. It was too soon to rejoice, though. I had to check the basement. I went through the living and dining rooms. There was a flight of nine steps from the dining room leading to the basement.
I suddenly felt tense and paused on the top step. ‘Aunt Ruth, I hope you are staying the weekend?’ I said, almost whispering, wanting reassurance. I saw the way she looked back at me. I had stirred some kind of emotion in her; it was as though her mother instinct juice was suddenly flowing. I have to be careful. No use letting the cat out of the bag at the wrong moment.
‘Is there anything bothering you, my darling? I hope there have been no more letters sent to your Mom from school.’
‘Nothing like that, Aunt. I—’
She butted in. She must be anxious. ‘Is there a problem of racism in your school that affects you?’
Here we go again. The devil and racism were vying for the same post as to who should remain on top!
‘Nothing like that, Aunt! Just the simple reason that I had planned to stay over with you this weekend. Now you are here, I can go back with you.’
‘You wish! Your Mom reminded me you were grounded because of daydreaming in your maths lesson, when I asked her if you could visit this weekend. So it is a case of “if the mountain does not come to Mohammed, then Mohammed goes to the mountain”.’ She laughed and then noticed that this time, I did not share in her joke.
‘Aunty, please give me a second to check if Mom is down at the basement.’
‘No, she isn’t. I already hollered out greetings when I came in.’
‘Let me double check.’ I almost whispered again, ‘I have something to tell you.’
‘Oh, Marsha Lynne! What have you been up to this time?’
I felt far from happy as I went down the stairs, knowing that I had aroused not only Ruth’s curiosity but also her concern. I sang out the greeting I always gave Mom when she worked from home, just in case. ‘I’m home, Mom!’
Good! There was no one in the basement. I dashed to the bathroom, feeling the need to rush. What if Mom came back from wherever she went and found Aunt Ruth looking worried?
I was upstairs in seconds. Aunty Ruth was in the kitchen. I suddenly felt a rumble in my tummy. She had called me my full name – Marsha Lynne! It was what Mom called me when it was time to discuss serious issues, or she had a concern she wanted to air with me. In elementary school, it always meant that I was in trouble and sometimes came with a taste of ‘Doctor Good’ – or, in its Nigerian name, ‘Egba’. Mom, like Daddy, did not believe in sparing the rod to spoil the child. Like Mom, each of my grandparents and my beloved Aunty Ruth had at one time or the other used the cane to discipline me.
I smiled wryly as I remembered when Mama told me a certain Yoruba proverb for the first time and how I took pains to learn it. It was while we were still in elementary school. I was ten years old at the time and was spending the Saturday with Bella and her family. An uncle turned up, and we all left our lunch to greet him properly, as was expected of children with their elders. Bella and I knelt down, and seven-year-old Clint, being a boy, prostrated himself. The uncle prostrated himself to greet Mama. He turned his attention to Bella and Clint and spoke Yoruba to them, which I didn’t understand, but because Clint replied in English I knew the uncle was greeting them. I remembered how Clint had also received a knock to his head from his uncle. When he began to howl out in pain, his uncle and Mama had descended on him with more knocks and slaps on his back. He was immediately as silent as a corpse. I was quite horrified that his uncle dared lay hands on him, and Mama noticed and said, ‘Ehhh, Ngozee. I don’t have cause to beat you because you are well behaved. The day you give me cause, you will eat my cane that day!’ Then, in Yoruba, she recited a proverb which she told me meant “it takes more than one broomstick to sweep the ground clean”.
Bella had later explained that it was common for the whole family to help raise a child, and I told her that was exactly what my Grandma Lilee had said when she flogged me for grumbling over some decision. I’d thought I’d have a say in the matter!
In the kitchen, now, Aunt Ruth said we were going for a walk after our dinner. I said to her, ‘Won’t Mom wonder why?’
‘Is this about some tiff between you and Majestice?’
‘Aunt Ruth, as soon as we are out, your sharp ears will hear it all.’