It was a hot Saturday afternoon, middle of November, the air was dry, and the wind was hash. It was that kind of weather that caused one to pile on large amounts of Vaseline only to have the wind drink it up in a second. The dust was another terrible thing this time of year, it was every where, heavy and suffocating, it was always a terrible time for Oge, my 11 year old kid sister, she is asthmatic, you see, so this weather always triggered an attack, some mild most times scary. Our mother kept Oge from going out and playing on the dusty road path with her friends, Oge was also exempt from housework; especially cooking the smoke from the firewood affected her too. My mother is very protective of Oge, and keeps her close to her at all times always fearing the worst that would happen if she is let out of her sight. Our father on the other hand was protective of both his daughters, we were equally helpless, equally vulnerable, equally in need of protection, attention is a more appropriate word; I believe that’s why I love my father more. He was there for both my sister and I in the same way.
I had seen my future-in-laws a couple of times, when the wedding rites were being done, they were from Ngibidi two villages away from ours. I had seen my in-laws but I was yet to set my eyes on my husband, Nicolas Egu. All I knew about him was what I had heard, that he was a man of the city, a junior member of the administrative staff at one of the big hotels in the city. I had been worried initially when I heard about him; my concern was on various things, one of my many fears was if this Nicolas would be ugly. Yes, I feared he would be ugly, that he would look like a monkey, hairy and grotesque just like Ndidi’s husband Agu, whenever I meet with Ndidi at the Village market, she is always lamenting about her husband, apparently he is not only repulsive to look at but he also smells! Poor Ndidi, she is pregnant now, I am praying the poor child takes nothing from the father.
My fear of my future husband Nicolas’s looks was sedated a month ago when I was bold enough to get a good look at his father, a handsome charismatic man, I also over heard him say something about how his son bore a striking resemblance to him. I said a prayer of thanks as I peeped conspicuously through the curtains watching both families gathered in front of our house to begin discussions and receiving of gifts. Nicolas could not be present when all this was happening, his impressive job in the city made it impossible to leave at that time, but on that Saturday he was free and now on his way to take me his Bride.
That Saturday, my mother was bouncing with energy, she was like a restless fly buzzing everywhere, supervising the cooking going on at the back of the house, and attending to people from our village that began to show up and take seats My father had gone to the farm very early and was not yet back, my mother had sent one of my male cousins to go and get him before ‘our in-laws show up’ my mother had said excitedly, I could tell she enjoyed saying that word ‘in-laws’ she loved the way it rolled gracefully from her tongue. She said the word ‘in-law’ softly as though if she said it any more emphatically it would break and this wonderful dream that was her first daughter Uloma getting married before she turned twenty would be snatched viciously from her.
Yes, I was going to be twenty in two months, and my mother was worried, worried that from the moment my hips formed and my breasts had matured from tiny grapes no man had come to knock on the door and ‘ask about me’. My mother went as far as sending me on meaningless errands.
“Go to Papa Emeka’s house, eh. When you get there ask for Emeka, let him take you to that fishmonger he will give you a message.’ My mother said this avoiding looking me in the eye.
By this time I knew there was no message, I would get there and people I was sent to would just stare at me unaware of ‘the message’ they were to have for my mother. My mother’s thinking was if I were seen parading the streets of our village someone, would see me and be interested. And though I hate to admit it she was right. It was when I was making my way back from another meaningless errand, that a woman stopped me and began to ask questions about my family and my person. The woman later turned out to be my Mother-in-law, who had come to our village to buy fish. We have the tastiest fish in our community.
So fast-forward to today, the day where my husband was now coming to take me to be with him. It was weird thinking of it that way; suddenly I didn’t belong in my father’s house. I would say I did not belong there many years before.
My mind was jumping from one thought to another as the women in the room who surrounded me as I sat on a wooden stool pulled me from one end to another. Oge sat quietly at my feet, staring in a mesmerized way as my face was being painted. She noticed me smiling at her and she smiled in her shy way before running off.
“Are you excited Uloma?” a woman behind me asked, I was sure it was my father’s half sister, the one we do not like but pretend to.
“I hear he is very successful… even has a house in the city. Is this true Uloma?” One of the women painting my face said, I inhaled her stale breath and rubbed at my nose innocently.
“Of course it is true… how else can he afford to refurnish his fathers house. You have not been to his fathers place have you Uloma? Never mind, today is the day for that.” Another would say.
“Amongst other things.” Someone whimpered causing feminine giggles to flood the room.
My heart beat wildly at that comment; it was so loud I heard nothing else after that. Today was the day my husband would find out that I am not a virgin, today was the day that someone other than Ajuru and I would be aware of this secret.
I suddenly stood to my feet, the women not masking their irritation at this.
“Where do you think you are going?” my father’s half sister said scratching her armpit energetically.
I would have laughed but suddenly I felt sick and suffocated, I needed air.
“Are you okay?” one of the younger women in the room asked me she looked concerned.
“I just need to go to the toilet.” I said and bolted out of the room before any of them could stop me.
I got into my father’s bedroom a barely furnished room, with a wooden table and chair opposite the window, and the old spring bed. He and my mother had not shared the same room in five years. I wonder if they ever thought as newly weds that they would want to have separate bedrooms. I sat on the bed and smiled wistfully as it made that squeaking sound. Something about that sound brought Ajuru to mind again, probably because it sounded like his laugh, the opening of his laugh; his laugh began in a high-pitched manner and as though changing gears, it became deep and hoarse. Ajuru he was so childlike when he laughed I loved making him laugh....
(C) Tischioni Moore/2009
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