The Broken Cradle by Patrick Onye - HTML preview

Chapter twenty-five

“Why do I have to live this kind of life, after all I did for my three children? Or is it a crime to bring children into the world?” Ifeoma reflected that Sunday morning in her cell. She was alone in her own poverty-stricken world. Her three children whom she had from the second marriage; one a banker lived in Victoria Island, his name is Chibueze. The first among them Ekene, lived in California, the United States of America. He was in his late twenties. Helen, the last child was a successful trader based in the UK. But who would dare believe that a great woman like Ifeoma alias “Thick madam” for that was what everyone called her could live in such squalor, such penury after all she did for her three successful children?

Her three children were living very flamboyant lifestyles while their mother lived a terribly poor life in a cell. Even, Helen who made a promise to her mother that night before travelling to UK that she would keep in touch was nowhere to be found. She hadn’t even written a letter to her mother for the past sixteen years. The last letter Ifeoma got from her was the one she sent informing her that she arrived safely in the white man’s land.

Chibueze, who was an Executive Director of a bank, lived in a mansion in Victoria Island and owned many sophisticated cars and modern day buildings. The last child, Helen was a rich and successful business-woman. She frequented the country once every three months but she didn’t give a damn about her mother though was her mother who once gave her the greatest love in the world.

The crux of the matter was that she was getting weaker and older every passing day and had resorted to begging for many years for survival in the prison in order to feed at least once daily. Her family was already fed up as she had eaten too deep into the family’s resources. They appeared to have had second thoughts that taking care of a woman who poisoned her children with the meagre resources of the family wasn’t worth it. All her friends had deserted her to allow her see the daylight. She often wondered why she had to undergo all this gnawing hunger and pain when she had greatly invested all her life savings and sweat on her children, when she was with them.

That year she was sixty-seven but she looked exactly like a ninety-nine-year-old woman. She was haggard-looking, forlorn and starved. Her hunger was really an eternal one, as she was actually always hungry. Her health was failing her. Her looks could bring down tears from people’s eyes. She knew that her time was up.

The day she died was the most painful, traumatic and agonizing day for her neighbour inmates who really knew her. She collapsed beside a gutter in the front of her ramshackle cell and breathed her last. But before she died, the last words she uttered were:

“O my God, what have I done to deserve all these treatment and pains? Why are they so unforgiving? My children should not mourn me; if they do I’ll surprise them. My soul will never rest if my heartless children make parties after my death.” She died with tears dropping from her eyes. Rumours quickly spread and it came to the knowledge of Chibueze that his mother had just died. He didn’t even give it a second thought or feel touched by the sad news. The message was relayed to him while he was frollicking with some of his numerous girlfriends in a posh hotel. He stood up gaily, took his mobile phone and dialed his elder brother in the States, telling him of the latest development.

“Men, what’s up?”

Ekene replied gleefully on wheels in California while heading to a party, “that’s great men.”

“I learnt she died two days ago,” he spoke with a smile.

“Okay men, I’ll take the next available flight tomorrow morning and boy, I’ll be right there with ya in Naija. We gonna throw a big party.” He grunted with enthusiasm.

Then Chibueze phoned Helen who was then in UK. She was really excited and volunteered to spend millions at the burial ceremony. Ekene himself flew in with joy from his base in the United States and agreed to spend about 200,000 US dollars at the burial ceremony. He lodged at the prestigious Sheraton Hotel and Towers for the two weeks he was going to spend in the country. Helen too flew in from the UK and withdrew close to five million naira to spend at the burial ceremony. The family of the late Ifeoma had gotten wind of the highly expensive party the late woman’s children were about throwing and had warned them that she warned that no party should be thrown after her death. But the children, in a closed door meeting had rejected the stern warning and insisted that willingly or unwillingly they would go ahead with their plans to throw a great party.

No one will ever believe that she gave birth to the three children. This was a woman who lived a sorry life in a cell for eighteen years. She slept on a bug-ridden mat and a in mosquito-infested room while her children were enjoying super-abundant wealth and lived in total opulence.

The harmattan haze hung thickly in the atmosphere announcing the arrival of another new year. The burial ceremony took place as planned by the three children with no inkling of the negative. It was reported in the newspapers, beamed on the television and covered by almost all the radio stations in the country.

Some lines of the burial announcement message in the Guardian and six other national newspapers shocked many observers. People felt that the sponsors of such uncouth lies should as a matter of urgency eat their words immediately. It was really an insult to the sensitivity of the deceased woman’s siblings and her family members. There could never be a higher level of such reckless and provoking cruelty.

The lines read: “We your children are muffled with pains as the cold hands of death eclipsed you at the crack of dawn. We are glad that we shared your moments of deep grief and joy. The memory of your life on planet earth shall forever be in our memory.”

It was a grand event. Millions of Naira was spent with important dignitaries gracing the occasion. There was much to drink and eat. Many cows were slaughtered while champagne and wines were in surplus.

Then something inexplicable started happening a day after the burial. Chibueze went to the toilet to ease himself but on entering he saw his supposedly dead mother sitting on the WC. He scratched his head tremblingly and stared unbelievably.

“What’s the fucking crap…” he stammered.

“Mama…Mama…” he further shouted. He turned back and took to his heels naked. His wife ran out, followed him and asked what the matter was.

“Mama…it’ Mama…I saw Mama just now…” was all he could utter as he shivered continuously. His wife thought he had gone out of his mind. She phoned the hospital instantly and he was rushed to the hospital. He was diagnosed to be having psychological problems. He never recovered from that day onward.

Ekene, the eldest child was on his way back to his       US base when he suddenly saw his late mother at the M.M airport checking-in-counter, brandishing a horse whip with which she started flogging him.

He shouted: “It’s my mother...please don’t whip me again…no…Help me…It’s my dead mother…nooo…I can’t believe this…”

Security officials at the airport thought he was having mental problems. He was grabbed and handed to healthcare workers. He could not make the flight as he was referred to a psychiatric hospital for treatment. He remained there ever since.

The last child, Helen was about travelling out to her UK base the following week after the burial when she was arrested at the airport for drug offences. It was discovered that she had wraps of cocaine and heroin cleverly wrapped in her shoes and private part. She was arraigned in court some weeks later and sentenced to fifteen years imprisonment for drug trafficking.

When all these misfortune and calamities befell the children of the dead woman, the elders of the late Obinna’s family sought the help of a skillful diviner. They were told that, it was the karmic forces that were at work.

AUTHOR’S EMAIL ADDRESS: patrickmaryonye@gmail.com