That was not the news Mother needed at that moment. She could not in any condition sell her body, neither in marriage nor otherwise, to supplement our limited income or do anything against the mourning rites. Her reasons were myriad – Mma was only few months old and she was still engraved in mourning our father.
“The mourning clothes and periods are of course for formality. Think wise and straight. I can only make a refund of your dowry,” Ukeje told Mother again.
Mother ceased saying anything further. Gradually, I fell asleep. When I woke up the next morning, the rabbit was gone.
Mother had left and my younger ones were fast asleep in bed. The house we were living in was built by father before his death, and was now in no better shape. Some part of the roof needed repair. It was no woman’s work. Yet, she would not want to involve men who might not want to do it effectively without asking for a favour from her. She decided to carry out the task.
That morning, she treaded the lonely path to the farm to bring home some red mud. It would be kept until it grew sticky, when it would be used to seal cracks and openings on the floor.
CHAPTER FIVE
I am Sorry Mama
The grave of my father greeted us every morning, because it was located close to my Mother’s room at the middle of the large compound. A few days after his death, Mother had plastered it, which made it radiate. At least that was the last duty she could pay him in death.
We were careful never to play around it. We respected it as something important and sacred; something that held our father firmly. That morning, I was playing with my younger ones and we were happy. We romped about, engrossed in ourselves as never before. My sister, who had started walking, ran to grab Mother for protection as I pursued her and we laughed. Mother left us to play because it brought her joy and made her see reasons to continue living for and with us. This was to her joy of Motherhood.
Soon, Iremma entered into the compound. Her movement was slow and her steps were jerky for reasons I knew quite well. She was the closest friend of my mother, but deserted us when my father died. It was the period when Mother’s friendship with Iremma developed strains. I had no doubt that her mind was troubled. To my surprise, Mother greeted her warmly and called her name clearly. In the event of the death of a mate, most women usually sneer at those whose husbands were still alive but Mother never did.
As Mother smiled, her natural beauty flourished. I made a quick mental calculation of her age, and summed up that she would be in her twenties though I did not know to count well. Because of her confidence and energy for life, I was proud she was my Mother. She was a beauty and hard work parked in a relatively small frame of a relatively small human size. Her young body and breasts were lively enough to make those who had no self-control to develop a sense of guilt. Her young breast, even though it had fed four mouths in six short years of marriage, but any man would still be willing to have her as wife was a truth I could not deny. Because of my age as a child, I did not really know much about marriage and death. These matters were too deep for me.
However, I was made to understand that marriage is a lifelong bond that ends only when one partner dies. However, in the event of death the men were left with more options of remarriage than the women.
“How are you Nkem?” Iremma asked quietly.
“I am well,” Mother replied. ‘It is just the normal children cries, night disturbances and loneliness. So this is you, Ire? Death is the best time to have a good test of friendship. You don’t know a friend when both of you are alive. So if I were dead, this is how you would have looked after your friend’s children. Oh, this world! It is so bad of you, Ire. I thought we were friends and I looked up to you. Do you think it is easy to care for these children in a lonely place like this?’
Iremma seemed to have no excuse for her negligence. She looked sorry. When she spoke, her regret seemed etched in every syllable.
“I am deeply sorry, Nkem. We are still good friends. Good friendship never ends at death and you should know that we have gone a long way to feel bad about ourselves. Do forgive me. It will take you a long time to get used to life again, but just try and do your best and leave the rest for time and God. Everyone knows you are too young to be a widow. I know that if I frequent here, it will make you cry the more.”