CHAPTER FOUR - MANGOES.

The morning was a reminder of the destructive rain that had fallen the night before. Debris was scattered around the compound, and large pools flowed freely into and out of the sandy, earthy ground of the compound. Obuzor’s mother groaned as she leaned further from her door, where she observed the minute chaos surrounding her. Pressing her palm to the door, she let it carry her weight. She shifted her legs laboriously. Her arthritis was worse in the mornings, her joints felt stiff, and she did not want to pay any attention to the fire in her joints as she moved, but the fire was overwhelming. She let out another groan, shifted her weight to her feet, and carried on with her inspection of the compound.  

Pain was a distraction she did not have the time for. She winced when her feet moved from the warmth of the muddy floor of her doorway into the grainy, cold ground of the compound. The transition had not appealed to her nerves, which were already on edge. Old bones groan more, before and after the storm, and hers have done nothing but groan. 

“Where is the lazy woman this morning?” 

She muttered to the compound. Her feet were now more confident, with the temperature change, which allowed her to limp less as their owner put her weight on them. 

“Can an old woman wake up to greetings? Where is everyone?” 

She raised her voice this time, expecting her daughter-in-law's snarky reprimands, but was met instead with the beady eyes of her granddaughter. Head poking out of the open kitchen, she smiled at her grandmother. 

“Mama, did you sleep well?” 

Obuzor’s mother gave her a barely perceptible nod. She knew that innocent smile; Adaku used to wear it when she had something to hide. The girl was her mother’s daughter. Obuzor’s mother eyed her. 

“Bring me a chair.” 

“Mhm.” 

The girl replied as she rushed off into the closed kitchen. The old woman watched her closely. Whatever she was hiding, the old woman was sure it had Oma at its centre. Amara rushed over with a small chair and placed it beside her grandmother. She took her grandmother’s hand, not waiting to be asked, and helped her to the chair. Amara was not a child who bothered with being asked; she anticipated needs, and it allowed people to show their vulnerability when they were with her. Obuzor’s mother did not like it. The girl was a child. She needed to stay a child; she was too young to worry so much about others. 

“I will go and bring your chewing stick.” 

She informed her grandmother as she hurried off into the closed kitchen again. She returned a second later, with a cup of water and the stick for her grandmother to clean her teeth. She offered her grandmother the cut chewing stick and placed the cup of water on the paved mud floor beside her. Her grandmother nodded her wordless thanks. 

“So, where did you say your sister was again?” 

She stiffened and flashed her grandmother that smile that always tipped off the adults in her life. 

“Mother was not in the room when we woke up, so I thought I should start the kitchen fire.” 

The old woman nodded, not missing the attempt to derail her. 

“So, where do you think your mother is?” 

The girl shook her head to indicate that she did not know. The old woman watched her, noting the relief in her posture. Children honestly think they can outsmart the adults in their lives.  

“Do you know where your father is?” 

“No, he was gone when we woke up.” 

“And your sister?” 

She asked, nonchalantly running the stick through her teeth. Looking anywhere but at her granddaughter, she let her keep thinking she had more salt in her than her age should allow. 

“Mhm?” 

The girl asked, going momentarily deaf.  

“Where is your sister, Amara?” 

The old woman yelled, but the girl stayed mum; her feet moved the sand under her from side to side. 

“Who are we shouting at this early in the morning, oh?” 

Oge called from the entrance of the compound. She held a machete in her left hand, and her right hand supported a head heavy with firewood. Her face showed no indication of the strain or weight of the load she carried; she waved to her family with her machete-carrying hand and disappeared to the back of the compound. 

“Your mother will kill both of you. Go and boil water for her bath.” 

Amara nodded her threaded hair, happy to escape. Her biddy eyes darted to the entrance of the compound, where the old woman was sure she was willing her sister to walk through. Instead, her father appeared, stomach first, carrying his machete in one hand and bushmeat in the other.  

“Papa!” 

The girl ran over to her father, forgetting the task at hand. Obu beamed at the sight of her running towards him. He dropped the machete when she reached him and picked her up with the freed hand, swinging her around. Her shout of glee rang through the compound. 

“Don’t swing the child on an empty stomach, she will throw up.” 

Oge scolded. Coming back into the main compound without the bundle of firewood or machete, she held the piece of cloth with which she had balanced the firewood on her head.  

“For a family this small, you sure are loud.” 

Obuzor’s mother hissed from the open kitchen. 

“Who was shouting this early morning, Mama? Because it certainly was not me or my husband.” 

Oge retorted. Walking over to the open kitchen, she pulled a rolled-up woven mat that had been left leaning against the wall and spread it over the kitchen floor. Sitting on it, she looked up at her mother-in-law. 

“Where is Oma?” 

Oge asked. 

“You said I was shouting like a mad woman.” 

Her mother-in-law answered, spitting out the particles of the chewed stick left in her mouth. She placed the chewed stick on the firehouse. 

“Mama, nobody called you mad this morning.” 

Oge replied, sniffling. 

“It is too early to be accusing people.” 

She continued eyeing her mother-in-law. 

“Where is Oma?” 

Obuzor asked when he reached both women. Trying not to look at each other, both women levelled their gaze on the girl carried by her father. 

“Where is your sister?” 

Oge asked her daughter, letting the suspicion drip through her words. 

“Amara?” 

The old woman warned. Obu placed his daughter on the ground. 

“Amaramu?” 

He called in a softer tone than his mother and his wife. 

“Where did your sister go this early in the morning?” 

Amara's eyes watered, but she would not betray her sister. As if on cue, the wayward sister walked into the compound, with her wrapper full of mangoes, which she held out in front of her, like a prized offering.  

She walked carefully, afraid to drop even one of her booties. Her face glowed with pride, still oblivious to the trouble awaiting her. The adults watched her progression with growing impatience, but only her older sister, by a few months, watched the unsuspecting girl with trepidation. She finally looked up from her mangoes and froze, her eyes darted to her sister for help, but the misery on her sister’s face told her everything she needed to know. She was dead.  

She wondered fleetingly if running away was the solution, but one look at her mother changed her mind; the woman would outrun her every time, she knew this from experience. The way out of this was through. Accept her punishment and survive to tell the story, a slipper bounced off her head before she could finish her thought. They did not even wear the thing. It was just a weapon in this village, never mind, she thought. Run, it is, her mother was on her heels as mangoes flew everywhere.  Laughter rang out from the first compound they ran past. By the fourth compound, Oma was already winded, but her mother ran with the ease of a gazelle, her feet barely touching the ground. When her mother caught up to her, she tripped and fell trying to escape, but her mother pulled her back up. Pulling on her ear, Oge led her daughter back the way they had come. 

Neighbours laughed as they walked by, offering half-hearted scoldings. Oma kept her head down, not wanting to catch the eyes of any of her friends. She would have thought there was no way of living this down, but she did things that she did not believe she would live down all the time. Beside her, her mother was fuming. She had not stopped scolding her the whole way. Oma managed to feel ashamed, she was only trying to pick mangoes, and they would have gone to waste if she had not snuck out to pick them. She had the idea this morning when she saw all the debris, “mangoes will fall too”, she had told Kiri, who had tried and failed in her attempt to dissuade her.  

She wanted to apologise to her mother, but her mother would ask for explanations for her behaviour and also want retribution for making her run through the village. She looked up anyway. 

“Don’t look at me, if you want to keep those eyes.” 

Her mother snapped, and she looked down again, allowing herself to be led off to the slaughter. Her only hope was her father, who could not bear to see his daughters cry. Even though she knew she had crossed the line again, she still hoped with all her heart.