Chapter Six – As We Dream.

There were times when Ogechi’s brain would wake up convinced that her body was paralyzed. That movement was unheard of, and it had no capacity for mobility. She would lie in bed, willing her body to remove itself from its state of incapacitation. She would lie there, reminding herself of how it had in the past moved about without a thought. But more than that, she would mentally scream at it to remember how it had done this every day, and how every day it had been proven wrong at some point. But her body was obstinate and dramatic; it believed it was dead, and so it played the part.   

The truth was that Oge could not blame her body. She felt spent. ‘Exhausted’ was simplistic to explain the feeling of a body too broken to keep going. But she did have to wake up every day because time moves on, however slowly, in a small village, and her body was expected to move on too. She could hear her husband breathing beside her. He wasn’t a bad person, she told herself. She used to love him like he gave life its meaning. She used to think the sun rose and set from his eyes. It was like that from the first night she had sighted him from across the bonfire. It was the festival of light, and she and her brothers had travelled from two villages over. She was the youngest child of the family, so naturally, she was spoiled rotten. Her will was the command of her brothers. When she had fought about going with them to the festival, they had let her.  

That night had felt like the beginning of the rest of her life. He was tall for such a heavy-set body. His wrapper, tied firmly around his waist, revealed an accompanying heavy-set stomach. He stuck to her side all night as her beautiful brothers dazzled their way into the hearts of the girls of the village with their easy manners and pretty faces. Unlike the other men, Obuzor was funny and easy to talk to. And he listened. For the first time in her life, she had not been asked to stop talking so much. As he listened all night while she talked his ears off, she knew that night that there was no one else for her. 

Oge sniffed as the tears came on cue. She felt his heavy breathing slow down. He was awake, she realized, but he lay there beside her, silent. He had never been a talkative person, but she had never noticed, as she spoke enough for both of them. These days, the silence followed them around. Silence had a smell; she had not been aware of this until now. It smelled of everything: the fresh pepper in her soup, the smoked fish hanging over their open kitchen, the charcoal and fresh fire from the dead, dry palm kernel shelves used as fuel for her kitchen. It smelled of the soap she brought home from the market every market day. It smelled of everything that she had the space to focus on, in the absence of the chatter of Uchechi and the rich, deep laughter of her husband. 

Once he would wake up by snuggling into her, now he was a stranger she had no idea how to respond to. A stranger she felt physically averse to. Ogechi pulled herself out of her bed, more from the dread that this could be the day her husband would want to speak to her than anything. She had not wanted to talk when he had taken a second wife ten years younger than herself, three months after her daughter Uchechi had died. She avoided him when his wife started vomiting every morning, a month after their traditional marriage ceremony. Six months later, she still wished that he would leave her bed alone. That he would stop looking at her like he was lovesick and deprived. All it did was fill her with dread and irritation. How could his love so easily move on from his daughter? 

As Ogechi dragged herself from their hard bed. She made every effort to avoid grazing his body. She did this a lot, but the more she pushed him away, the firmer he held on to her. When had life turned so completely on her? When had she started waking up to a nightmare? She wondered as she draped her wrapper over her shoulder. The chilly morning air, calm as a refreshing comfort, greeted her as she stepped into the day. Her tiny room was a suffocating torment, she thought, and shuddered. The sound of other women moving about their compound, preparing it for the family who were still in bed, reached Ogechi from every corner. 

“Ah, you have woken up.” 

Ogechi’s neighbor called over the ixora bush that doubled as a fence, demarcating the boundary between the two compounds. 

“Eh. You are awake.” 

Ogechi called back, schooling her face into a regular expression. She had become good at appearing like she was okay, like she had moved on. 

“Is Ogolo's father sleeping off the fever?” 

Oge asked, bending over the pile of firewood beside her kitchen. A hiss came from the other woman. Ogechi hid a smile when she heard the hiss; she understood the reason behind it all too well, as a wife. 

“You will mind that one? Small fever, and these men turn to breast-suckling babies. He is fine, please.” 

Came the reply. Ogechi laughed at this. 

“Even so, I will bring my mother-in-law's remedy later. She would be happy to share it, truly.” 

Ogechi called, walking over to her kitchen with the small bundle of firewood balanced on her arm. She could not help noting that similar discussions were happening around the village. Household small talk that kept the village from grinding to a stop, Ogechi, like everybody else in this village, was adept at it. 

“Oh, thank you. Speaking of your mother-in-law, how is the swelling on her knees? I am going to the same farm area she will be farming today. I will send my first daughter over if she wants help with carrying her farming tools and basket.” 

The woman offered. 

“Mhm.” 

Ogechi nodded, mouth occupied between blowing into the firehouse and fanning the flames to life. 

“Please send Ada over. I will prepare her basket; I don’t want her breaking her back carrying anything too heavy. Please keep an eye on her for me today. We have snails, oh, I know your son loves them, I will prepare some for when your daughter comes for my mother-in-law.” 

“Ow. Thank you, Ogechi. I will go now to wake my daughters up because the gods forbid that I don’t wake them; those lazy things will sleep until the sun is set heavily above us.” 

Ogechi laughed in response. Her fire was blazing now. She pulled out some firewood until the fire was the appropriate size. She then placed a pot of water to boil on the firehouse. 

“Mama, good morning. How are your knees?” 

The woman called. 

“Mama Ekene. Morning. My knees are getting worse by the day. Last night, all I did was toss and turn. One of these days, I will be resorting to supporting myself with a walking stick.” 

Ogechi’s raised her head, she watched as her mother-in-law walked towards her, from her hut, she had the heavy stride of age, Ogechi smiled to herself, her mother-in-law was putting it on, she had an audience, her knees were bad, and but not so much that she needed to count her step and who did not hear her snore down her roof every night? Ogechi gave her a raised eyebrow and went back to tending to her fire. Complaining was how the older women in the village kept everyone's attention, so Ogechi let her mother-in-law complain off their poor neighbor’s ears. 

“Ai. Sorry.” 

The woman sympathized. 

“It's a blessing nonetheless, how else can we gloat about our age?” 

Ogechi’s mother-in-law finished. The woman laughed. Ogechi rolled her eyes. Their neighbor looked like she needed to leave, but her mother-in-law was not giving up on her audience so easily. 

“When you finish complaining, you will come over here so I can massage life into your knees. I know you plan to spend the day on your third farm.” 

Ogechi called from the kitchen. That poor woman needed saving, Oge told herself, hiding a smile. She was sitting facing the firehouse, her wrapper adjusted and folded in between her legs. She used the back of her palm to feel the temperature of the water in the boiling pot, which she had placed on the now tame fire. 

“I did not wake up to be nagged this morning, please.” 

Her mother-in-law snapped. 

“Will I dream of such a thing?” 

Ogechi shot back, pulling the pot out of the fire with her bare hands and pouring its contents into the green and black dotted basin before her. Her mother-in-law laboriously pulled out a stool and sat herself in front of Oge to make a point about her bad knees. 

“Mama, come closer to the firehouse, please. You are outside this early morning without extra clothes to cover yourself. Later, you won’t let us hear about your health.” 

Ogechi scolded, testing the hot water by waving her hand into it. 

“You nag like an old woman.” 

Her mother-in-law hissed. 

“Are you coming to my farm again today?” 

She asked Ogechi, eying her. 

“You know I only came that day because I was nearby, and a storm was coming. Anyway, I won't be coming today, Mummy Ekene’s farm is nearby, and you know her village of a family goes everywhere together.” 

Her mother-in-law swiped at her hand. 

“Stop making jokes about her many children. It is a blessing.” 

Obuzor’s mother was cunning in her gossip; she was not trying hard to hide her amusement, but Ogechi knew how dubious her mother-in-law was. Their eyes met, and they both sniggered. 

“She needs to stop dropping children every other Saturday because she wants more than one son. Speaking of dropping children, where is your husband’s wife? Is it not too late for her to still be in bed?” 

Ogechi wrung out the last of the now lukewarm water from the piece of cloth she had carefully laid near the fire bed last night. She dipped it into the boiling water again, waved it about, wrung out the water a second time, and gently massaged the piece of cloth over her mother-in-law's right knee. She intended to ignore the backhanded comment about the new pregnant wife. Her mother-in-law did this every day; she made it a point to complain about Adaku, almost as if it were clockwork. Ogechi had tried to dissuade her at first, but she gave up defending the girl a long time ago. Adaku was not an easy person to like. And Adaku was sleeping with Oge’s husband, so why should she defend her? Ogechi thought as she turned her attention to her mother-in-law's left knee, with the newly dipped piece of cloth. 

“Where did your husband sleep last night? He better not be in her room, or I will cut his ears off.” 

Ogechi took a deep breath; she schooled her face into passiveness as she looked now at her mother-in-law. 

“Being a nosy mother-in-law only makes you a bad one.” 

She said, bringing the cloth down on her mother-in-law's knees a little harder than she had intended. 

“Ahh, Mama, are you okay? Sorry, please.” 

Ogechi bustled, inspecting the old, wrinkled knees. There were scars trailing freely through the old leg, scars only rivaled by the number of black warts on the old woman’s leg. This was a leg that told a story of strength, struggles, and triumph. But right now, it told the story of an old woman who knew too well that a little hot water was nothing compared to all it had endured over the years. It withdrew from the searching hand of her daughter-in-law, and an equally wrinkled hand snatched the piece of cloth from the calloused hand of the younger woman. 

“Tah, burn your own mother’s legs, you hear me?” 

The old woman gingerly dipped the piece of cloth into the hot water; unlike the younger woman, she did not wave her hand about first. When she pulled the piece of fabric out, she squeezed out the hot water as if her rubbery black hand was indeed made of rubber. She shoved the wrung-out cloth into Ogechi’s hand. 

“Try not to break my knees this time, you useless girl.” 

She hissed. Her wrapper at this moment dared to sag a little, but the old woman was not dealing well with insubordination at the very moment; she hefted it tightly over her sagging chest as if she was at war with the wrapper, her semi-blind eyes daring Ogechi to speak. But Ogechi was, if nothing, a match for her mother-in-law. She eyed the woman, shook her head, and returned to her massage. 

“All these extra reactions of yours, Mama, what did you do? You keep sending him to my room. To what purpose? I know you are vindictive, but your son needs to grow a backbone. His wife is pregnant, for goodness' sake, she should not be sleeping alone.” 

“He should never have married her.” 

Her mother-in-law replied, dragging her eyes away from Oge to the firehouse. 

“Why is this fire blazing this much? You want to turn my pot black?” 

The old woman scolded angrily. 

“Mama, that pot has always been black. You are changing the subject. Obuzor has already married her; there is nothing you or I can do about it.” 

Ogechi said, standing up and taking the basin of water with her. 

“What a foolish thing to do. Couldn’t he have waited? Marrying another woman only three months after my granddaughter had just died, he did not even wait for her body to be cold on the ground. Ha” 

Ogechi regarded the woman who had been strong for them all these months. She wondered how fractured her old heart was. This woman, who had buried two children and a husband, who even now walked with the gait of someone weighed down. She wondered how she did it. How she kept going with all the pain she had endured and still endures because of her granddaughter. 

“Mama. Obuzor did it for our family. People would have talked. After everything the Debia said, they would have talked. I will go fetch your things from your hut for your bath; your hot water is about to boil.” 

As if on cue, the water in the pot began to sizzle. As Ogechi left the old woman alone in the kitchen, she regarded her again discreetly. Her mother-in-law sat with her head on the palm of her right hand and her elbow supported on her knees. She had her leg spread about so that her wrapper would pool in the middle. It broke Ogechi’s heart to look at her. Why wouldn’t she cry like the rest of them? Even Obuzor had cried himself to sleep those first nights. Ogechi reached her mother-in-law's hut at the other end of the compound as the first chicken crowed, signaling the soon-to-arrive daylight. 

Later that day, Ogechi walked to her farm. The sun was making its way towards their corner of the earth, but the women of the village, just like her, were hurrying to beat the sun to their farms. Ogechi had stayed back earlier to ensure that her mother-in-law had everything she needed for the day; she had also grudgingly checked on the new wife, because the poor girl needed someone, too. It was not the girl’s fault that she married into a home too broken by pain to celebrate the new life growing before them. 

The new day's warmth touched everything Ogechi walked past on her way to the farm. Her bare feet curled as she stepped on the wet, cold red soil; she relished the feel of wet clay between her toes and under her feet. The dew that wet the ground touched everything, from the budding morning flowers opening up like Ogechi to the warmth of a new day, to the trees shrouded in droplets from condensed dew. Everything looked new and fresh, like it did every morning. 

“Oge!” 

Someone called. As Ogechi passed by the last compound on this side of the village, calling Oge away from her reverie. Oge waved the machete she carried in her left hand at a young woman hoisting a baby of three months over her back. As Oge watched, the woman securely tied a piece of cloth over her chest, securing the baby. The baby stirred briefly but settled into his mother’s back, snug and safe. Oge felt her heart stir as she watched mother and child. 

“How is Nkemu this morning?” 

Ogechi asked the young mother who was balancing a basket on her head, similar to the one Oge held balanced on her head with her right hand. 

“He did not sleep a wink, Oge. Look at me, look at my puffy eyes.” 

Oge laughed at her friend. 

“Ozioma, the gods give blessings with lessons.” 

Ozioma hissed and yawned simultaneously. 

“My mother-in-law is not even helping matters; she had me do all the chores this morning, woke me up before it was holy to come outside, me who had just fallen asleep. What manner of evil spirit possesses that woman?” 

Both women marched out of the compound on the narrow path that led away from the village. They would not be returning to that path until sundown. As they walked, passing the occasional people going in the opposite direction, Ozioma lamented her life. Ozioma was from the same family as Obuzor, but you would never guess from her small frame. Both women had become fast friends from the start, mainly because neither liked to listen, and both loved the sound of their voices. But recently, Ozioma did most of the talking for both of them, and Oge could tell that neither minded this either. 

“I will come over when the sun is above us for lunch. Because the heavens forbid, I rely on you to come to me for lunch. We all know that if left to you, you will starve away that perfect figure of yours, and then what would our husbands drool over?” 

Ozioma said as they reached their farms. Ogechi eyed her friend in annoyance. 

“Eye me all you want, I brought potatoes and palm oil, that is what we are having for lunch.” 

Ogechi shook her head at this. Sometimes, she wasn't sure who the child was. 

“I brought water yams, Ozioma. I told you yesterday not to bring those your rubbish potatoes.” 

Ogechi said, walking off to her farm. Why were the women in her life so stubborn? 

“Call it whatever you want. That is what we are roasting for lunch. I am the one suffering here, with sleeplessness and an evil mother-in-law, you would not understand the extent of my pain, so if I have a sweet tooth, we all deal with it, suffering people need respite, Ogechi.” 

Ogechi turned to look at her friend, and they both started laughing. The baby stirred at the sound of their laughter. They paused for a second to watch him settle back to sleep, and then giggled quietly instead. 

“You have made your case, suffering woman.” 

Oge called over her shoulder, giggling. Her luscious waist shook as she walked away. 

“If he wakes up, I will bring him to you, oh, because I don't understand what spell you have over men, that even this little one is bound by. Oh wait, I lie, I understand it, myself, I am spellbound!” 

Ozioma called in a loud whisper to her friend's retreating behind. 

“Tah, go to your farm.” 

Ogechi scolded, disappearing into tall plants and trees. 

“Tah kill you there.” 

Ozioma called, laughing, disappearing herself into a mirror image of where her friend had gone, but in the opposite direction. 

On her farm, moments later, Oge was bent over the new mound she was building with her farming hoe when her heart gave out. She could hear the early birds, the breeze gently going through the plants around her, and the earth being pulled apart and put back together all around her. She could hear Ozioma talking in a murmur to her son as she worked, but it all sounded surreal, like a far-off dream. Ogechi had been walking around in a dream. In her dream, she had moved on, and she was coping well. And she was seamlessly integrating back into her society. But here on her farm, with no other humans around to perceive her, she was waking up. She was waking up, and it felt like being buried alive. Tears that came every day whenever she was alone came now uninhibited.