Harvests of Tears
It was a hot afternoon. We had taken shelter under the tree in our compound from the blazing sun. Because it was a farm free day, voices of young children resonated in nearby compounds. Women had started coming back from the market and were saying their greetings to Mother as they passed our house. Till that very moment, her condition could not allow her move freely. She had been peeling yam that afternoon for our lunch. Because it was Orie market day, Mother had sent a message to our grandmother through one of our neighbors and was expecting a feedback. Soon, she too was coming with a group of women.
“Your wares favored buyers today,” Mother announced, greeting other women who could not wait.
“My sister, they had shared the load from the top of my head before I could set it down,” Mama Nduka replied, enthusiastically.
“I am sure Ndu helped you lift your wares as you were about going to the market” Mother said jokingly.
“This time, he did not. I had good wares. A good ware sells itself”.
“You are right. Welcome my sister,” Mother told her again.
“Mama Ikem, these are the messages from her. She is well and strong. She told me to encourage you to be strong and take care of the children, and that she will see you soon.”
“My mother! She can’t leave the farm and her husband to visit so soon. But I am happy you said she is strong,” Mother replied.
“Nne, I should be on my way,” our visitor announced as she lifted her basket and placed it on her head again, I have competing interests in the house yearning for my attention. I should be on my way.”
“May the road guard you! Thank you for a message well-delivered,” Mother said.
Mother went back to work and instructed that I arrange the items mama Nduka came with. I was eyeing the snacks, hoping Mother would soon introduce it. As my wait continued, I joined my brothers and we resumed our play again. We heard my younger sister, Mma, who had just woken from sleep crying in the house. As she heard her voice, she dropped the yam tuber she was peeling, ran to the house, opened the door and carried her to the tree shade, which covered us all from the heat of the afternoon blazing sun where we all sat playing. She looked searchingly into the crying girl's eyes and wiped her sweating face with her wrapper. My sister's continuous crying made us stop playing and we all concentrated our looks at mother who was doing all she could to help her.
Mother fondled her gently, threw her up and called her many female names.
'My beautiful and only girl. My girl that will take me abroad. Stop crying please' she pleaded with the young crying girl.
'You know I will have to cook this food and wash your cloths' she kept muttering as she was pampering and begging the girl to stop crying.
Mma continued sobbing and remained restless in mother's arms. She had slobbered her whole body and it was admittedly difficult for anyone except mother to carry her. As our only girl and the last child of the family she needed every attention from mother.
'She must be hungry. Go to the house and bring me her food' she told me and engrossed in nursing the baby, whom she kept begging to stop crying.
The cries brought my two younger ones close to mother whom they clutched firmly, while waiting for her to introduce lunch which had not yet been prepared. As a single, young and inexperienced mother, she had many task ahead of her and she had targeted to carry them out within a very short time.
Ndu, my grandfather, walked slowly into the compound with a cheerful smile on his face. As he walked, he gritted his teeth. This produced a terrible grating sound which always irritated me. He was truly an old man with wrinkles all over his body. His hair was completely grey and almost all the upper part of his teeth had fallen off, with the remaining few stained from constant intake of snuff. He held his walking stick firmly and trembled with each step he made. When he finally looked up and his eyes met with Mother’s, his cheerfulness dissolved and his head dropped sadly. To our surprise, he suddenly stopped for sometime at the entrance of our compound, with his frail body being supported by his walking stick. Mother did not know he was still standing there. The feeling was so strong.