CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Fallen Apart
I thought that quarrel would not continue the day after I made up with Mother over our misunderstanding. I had been careful to avoid her troubles and for days, peace reigned in our household. Each of us had learned our strengths and weaknesses.
On one Eke market day, Mother had gone to the market, where she planned to spend the whole day with her friends who usually plaited her hair. Our hope for survival depended on the things she usually came home with for us. Like other mothers, she had not denied us this privilege. It was one of the many things our mothers were remembered for. We usually stood on the entrance of our compound asking passersby, who had gone to the market and who were now on their way back, how soon Mother would be coming home. Some said they saw her in company of other young women, some said she was coming. Yet, others said they did not see her.
As the sun was about to set, I saw Mother coming home from afar as we stood outside our compound. I could not break the news to my younger ones, so that I would not bring them outside and go against the rule. So I ran as fast as I could to meet her. I wanted to make her laugh before my younger ones could see her and come in turns to hug her. Mother smiled as she saw me. Her hair was beautiful too. For long she had been without a plaited hair. She handed me her basket which I carried home. We were waiting for our snacks to be introduced.
The first place she looked at in our large compound was the small house where our goats were kept and there was nothing for them to eat. The goats were bleating helplessly and forceful trying to pull themselves free of the rope tied to their neck. They stamped restlessly forward and recoiled in expectation of their food but nothing was in for them. My mind told me that I was already in trouble. Mother was angry and immediately called me for questioning. When I could not answer some of her questions, which she threw in anger at me, she started raising her voice, scolding and embarrassing me in the presence of my younger ones. All my happiness evaporated and I nearly collapsed out of emotional frustration. What was the meaning of these? Another fresh trouble? Will peace ever reign in our house, at least now that our last quarrel was still fresh? She walked up to me pointing her fingers at my face as if she was going to hit me when she felt I was not paying attention to what she was telling me about the goats.
Mother could not allow me say anything. But that wasn’t fair since we were both not wrong. She had instructed me to take care of my younger ones and concentrating on that I had forgotten to feed the goats. She shouted as she talked to me and I could not defend myself. She came across to me as a prosecuting attorney who was out to discredit his own witness in court.
‘When will you grow up with understanding? You have been a very stupid person; I can tell you that.’ She told me and walked out.
‘I will soon leave this whole house for you. You don’t need me anymore. You don’t like me here with you anymore,’ I blurted out while she was still within earshot.
I knew she heard me, for the sound of her footstep ceased. I had inherited trouble for myself by talking back, an act that was considered bad manners when your parents are still talking to you. I could have swallowed everything but I was at a stage when I could not just let any word go.
‘What did you say?‘ She asked and ran out to the compound, stripped the leaves from a standing tree limb to prepare it for my head and back. I did not run. I only imagined that she would use it for another time, as our last quarrel was still fresh. I was wrong. I resolved to wait and defend myself against any rash word that Mother would say. I opened my mouth but no word came forth. This had always been my problem, unable to speak whenever anyone accused me because I wanted to avoid being beaten. Mother told me it was bad to fail to speak when accused otherwise, I would someday be killed for something I knew nothing about. My mind was frozen with horror. So, for keeping quiet, Mother could strike me at any moment. I became fearful, gasping for breath and looking at her intently. Not long after that same evening Mother came close to killing me as she lashed me long and hard, that I almost died. The beatings continued at intervals towards the fast approaching nightfall.
At the last beating, I stumbled out into the black night, sobbing, blaming myself for talking back to Mother, my legs wobbling with fear. I was hidden by the black night and from the darkness, I saw Mother and my younger ones preparing our supper in an unusual way; no talk, no joke, no laughter, no story. Why? I was not there to lend a support. I was not there to play my role. I was mourning my stubbornness. For the last time in my life, I prayed and resolved that I would never be beaten by Mother again and I don’t think she ever did till she died when I aged twenty two.