3.
The Mother.
Written by Festus Obehi Destiny.
The sizzling of the decaying wood is the only sound that keeps them company. The foul odour that hangs around the loose wrapper of the mother triggers the absolute silence of the crickets. The pungent smell of rot and despair distils the atmosphere. The quiet is broken by the sniffle of a child. The child runs towards the hut. His penis hangs loosely around his waist and spittle dribbles across his face. He trudges to where the mother sleeps. He tugs at her wrapper, stripping her naked in an attempt to draw her attention. His desire to quench his ravenous hunger tearing at his intestine is the only care in the world. The mother’s eyes open slowly and the ugly creature’s hunger cries infuriates her. She smiles. She stifles out a yawn and drags her feet across the empty space of the hut to the edge of the room where she picks up a used pot with a broken lid.
‘How many fishes did you catch today’ she asks.
‘None’ He cries ‘I’m hungry mother” He drawls
She picks up the pot and fills it with water. Water stored in a plastic calabash. The dust at the brim and the algae shows the maturity of the unused water. But the Mother had not always been this obscene. She once lived in a big house with a tall man. He took care of her and she never had to sleep in a chicken sized hut. She never had servants but she didn’t experience hunger either. Her luck ran out when he died. Her Husband’s family gave her nothing. They tore her hair and scratched her face. They spared no mercy for her or her child. She took to the hills. No Elijah approached her to fill her drum with oil. No raven brought her bread. Her water did not share the taste of wine. The goddess of the river received her tears and answered her with more tears. The god of luck ran out on her. Soon her bulging eyes and emaciated collarbones became a stranger to her shadow. Her gait was stiffened by the heavy burdens that her heart could not unload. The peace of nature soon turned to disgust and she wanted nothing more than silence. Anubis heard her call from the catacomb pyramids of Egypt. His voice came to her like the rain. First, a drop then a rush.
And soon she saw peace in the stillness of her breath. For many days, silence was her companion. The peace became her satisfaction and she wanted to share the answers with the child.
She boiled the leaves. She stirred. Her tears were the smiles and the aroma blossomed in the dark part of the forest that the children of the night gathered to witness the sacrifice in their invincible states.
‘Mother, you are using all the vegetables’ The child warned’
‘Fear not’ the mother assured. ‘We have no more worries. This meal is only a fore runner for the many to come’
A grin appeared on the child’s face. He thought by providence divine that his mother’s words were true. He joggled up and sang. The mother continued to stir her pot. Her consciousness already fading like the day. She counted seconds till her last. Then she stood up , It is time.
“Go and fetch more water” The mother ordered the child. And as the child bent down to lift the pot, she hit his head with a long stick. She did not wait for the child to recover from the pain. She hit him again, and again and again. She hit him till the black blood that spilled from the back of his head turned pink. She hit him after his last breath had slipped through the fingers of Anubis and hall of Hades. And even when the children of the night screamed in awe of her actions, she hit. And when she stopped, the child whose life-force had once popped up belly wise like a rubble of burnt plastic. His knees popped out and his throat lay next to his nose. She breathed heavily. “It is done; my child is waiting for me. I shall not delay”.
She stood up like a possessed woman and picked up a knife. With a smile plastered across her face, she tore through her throat till her fingers trailed a line from her left ear to her right shoulder. Her knees gave way as she slumped on the grass. The blood paved its way across the sands and around the leaves. Coiling up till the earth swallowed it whole. The sun fell and the cricket danced and chirped. And when the steam of the meal threatened to swallow the forest, the children of the night came out to eat.
Who remembers the nameless one? Who remembers the rose that was burnt and buried? The ashes of the phoenix that did not rise. Who remembers the story that draws tears from men of hearts?
Today as I mount on the voyage of bitter memories, I remember the nameless one. Her story has been kept in the chronicles of the forgotten. The story takes its root in the misfortune of the nameless girl. The thirteen years old nameless girl. The one who was taken from the village into the city of nightmares. The harsh economy that mounts poverty on its back had weakened the mother so that she had forgotten the pride of a mother raising her daughter. The ignorant mother who had accepted the price of her daughter’s bondage in the disguise of a generous financial compensation from the angelic "Aunt". After the nameless one had been exchanged for thirty pieces of silver, she travelled with her aunt. After taking the route of the shadows of regrets, she arrived at her uncle's place. The 'benevolent' uncle chima. The devil with skin and bones but no heart.
Whenever business trips drew aunty from the house, uncle chima found solace in toiling his groin deep into the altar of the nameless one. He toiled day and night. He came at her without pity.
Sometimes, he wouldn't stop till her sobs were loud. Uncle chima never bothered to put off his sandals when he stepped into the Holy grounds of the nameless one. He fed his urges on her pleas and tears. Every evening the Beast would attack beauty like a monster starved of sex. Digging so deep that it felt like he was searching for answers. He was propelled by hate. The nameless one became Joseph and uncle chima assumed the role of potiphar.she had no choice. There was no escape. And when she came out in the day, all she could see was darkness. With every tragic meeting between the nameless one and uncle chima, the nameless one was left with blood, tears and more tear. With each passing day, joy turned to despair. Uncle chima burned away her hope.
With no room to escape, she resided in the home of regrets and shattered dreams. Her aspiration of coming to the city for education had turned into day light sex slavery. The mother of the nameless one prayed to the gods of the universe to watch over her daughter every day but uncle chima was in charge of 'taking care' of her at night. On one fortunate day, when the uncle would carry out his hardworking task of sleeping with the nameless one, death came for her. As death shut her eyes slowly and kissed away her breath, her last peek at life, was the uncle. The nameless one is one of many. Their tales are hidden in the chronicles of the forgotten. Women who suffered in the claws of perverts. Beasts in the flesh of men and women. Men whose desire to satisfy their penis is stronger than their humanity. Women who see financial profit in selling off their fellow women. Unfortunately, it isn't every nameless one that death frees from their pain and suffering.
It isn't every story that is heard. Some suffer till they die. Living but not existing. Dining with pain and sleeping with sorrow every night. Their silence is intimidated by the threat to their lives and ignorance. We don't know them at all. They are the nameless ones.
Written by Festus, Obehi Destiny.
The nameless ones