CHAPTER THIRTEEN – OGOLO.

The old woman stood motionless for a second, watching the sunset, her hands clasped behind her back, her lips silently moving. She stood there until the sun made its last dip, at which point she sighed and released her clasped hands. She was the embodiment of overwhelmed. Her wrinkled face winced from pain, the thought that she was overdoing it made a fleeting pass through her head, but there were too many thoughts there for it even to make a mark. Her back hurt something wicked, so she reached behind, made a fist, and pounded on her spine, letting pain combat pain. She should have sighed again, but she did not have it in her to be exhausted anymore.  

A single mother at the age of twenty, after losing her husband and three children to the terrible chill and fever that took down half of her village. The old woman eyed the yellowing sky for a few seconds and hunched slightly to minimize the pain of movement. She should be used to heartbreaks, she thought bitterly, as she made the slow journey back to the open kitchen to pick up her walking stick. If her daughter-in-law could see her now, walking with a stick, the teasing would find no end. The old woman laboriously hefted the boiling pot of soup from the fire with her bare free hand, pouring its watery content into a small bowl.  

Standing still, facing the dying sun, was a ritual that the Debia had told her could save her daughter-in-law, something she had done every day for a month without fail. The old lady set the pot of soup aside; she squinted at it to make sure no fish or meat had escaped into it. It needed to be runny to feed the only daughter she had ever known. The old woman picked up the oil lamp she had left by the firehouse earlier in the day, to allow easy access when night fell. Her watery eyes were not what they used to be. The eyes that saw the world for her were lying near lifeless in her tiny hut, so she was forced these days to come up with solutions like this. 

Her arthritic hand shook as she replaced the kernel oil in the oil lamp. She lit the lamp and placed it under her armpit. As she worked, she remembered the early, happier days. She had been young and ignorant at the time. Believing that the gods were on her side. Well, they quickly turned on her and showed her. All around the old woman, the village was grinding to a close. These were people who woke up with the sun and went to bed with it. 

“You have come home.” 

She muttered to a hen, clocking with annoyance at her chicks. 

“Foolish mother that you are, you have lost another chick.” 

She scolded the hen, who stopped and looked at her with tiny, intelligent black eyes. 

“Yes, you are right, it's not like I have a track record of keeping mine alive either. But you should be more careful.” 

She cooed as the hen entered the open kitchen, guiding her children to their usual spot by the fire. She settled down and extended her red-brown wing over her chicks, who protested as if to say they were not ready to settle down for the night. The hen clocked her irritation at this. 

“I know, they never listen.” 

The old woman said to her hen. 

“I will see you in the morning.” 

The old woman told the hen who had managed to quiet her chicks. She pulled out burning firewood from the firehouse, assuring herself that the fire would die out now that it had nothing to feed it. Holding firmly to the walking stick, she picked up the bowl of soup, groaning from the strain the action put on her back and her poor old waist. The old woman sculked out of the kitchen. A cool evening breeze playing sweetly against her face, teased her thinning, exposed hair. Stars were already beginning to make their night shift appearance. She walked steadily, as much as she could, to the hut facing the kitchen. Her shoulder nudged the wooden door open when she reached her destination. 

Inside, her daughter lay still on the bed, her chest barely rising. Her son’s head rested on the hard mat-covered bed, dozing. The old woman placed the plate of soup and the oil lamp on a stool. She walked over to her son and watched him for a second. Her beautiful, perfect, easy-mannered boy, she thought, watching the lines on his face. He was aging. Where had the time gone? 

“My son.” 

She called gently in a near whisper. 

“Mhm.” 

He stirred and stretched, his bones creaking and groaning from being put in uncomfortable positions for a lengthy time. 

“Mother.” 

He said, simply. 

“Mm.” 

She answered, watching the exhaustion his soul must be feeling through his eyes. Those eyes that did not laugh these days. Nobody who loved this woman lying near lifeless before them had laughed in a while. It was like she had managed to make herself their sun without their notice; now the sun was staying away, and they no longer could remember how to wake up. Even in her near lifeless state, she was stunningly beautiful. 

“Mother, I can sleep here tonight.” 

“No, you will not. You have another expecting wife, and she is scared stiff that whatever Oge has, she might catch. She needs comforting.” 

“Mother, I don’t have the patience for her foolishness right now.” 

The old woman looked at her son in silence for a second. The light from the lamp cast shadows on his already haunted eyes. She shook her head. 

“That girl is being brave. I sent her away to her mother and father, but she returned here on her own because we are her family. She expects the baby any day now, and she will have that child close to her family. She is rightly frightened; a good mother should always be cautious, and that is what she is. Oge was like a big sister to her. She came back because Oge had ensured that we accepted her into our home. What would she say now if she heard that the poor girl was being neglected?” 

“But mama.” 

The old woman lifted her hand to stop her son, her head shaking from side to side. 

“I won’t hear it.” 

She scolded. 

“Mother, I am not leaving my wife.” 

Her son stubbornly assured her. She could see the determination in his tired eyes. He was indeed her son. 

“You have watched over her with me for a month. Has anything changed? One night will not make a difference.” 

He looked at his wife and let out an exasperated sigh. 

“You will keep at it, won’t you?” 

He asked his mother, and she nodded in agreement. 

“Alright, but fetch me if anything happens.” 

He conceded, his palm rubbing carelessly over his face. 

“I will.” 

His mother replied, without conviction. She needed her faith, but what could she do when day after day, her daughter lay there, unresponsive? 

“Take Ada for a walk and get her to eat something. I left the pot of soup in the firehouse. You should eat too.” 

She said, eying his thinning muscles. 'Where did his ravenous appetite go?' she thought, but she already knew the answer because she was lying there in front of them. The old woman lowered herself on the stool her son had just vacated, taking care not to groan; her son had enough worries of his own as it was. 

“Good night, mama.” 

He whispered as he walked towards the door, the pitapat of his bare heel loud against the quiet room. 

“Sleep well, my son.” 

She answered, her hand arranging the loose clothes on her daughter-in-law, shifting the almost still body into a position that would support her bulging stomach. She felt a sharp, hard kick and withdrew her hand from the shock of it. The old woman felt her old heart start to race faster and faster with hope. The child was alive? This was a sign! She knew it was, she closed her eyes and prayed with all her might. 

~ 

Ogechi was happy again. She was content in her green farm, splayed with golden rays from the sun. The tall woman, holding her face in her arm, smelled of spices and herbs. She reminded Oge of something just beyond the grasp of her memory. 

“You have to return my love.” 

The woman said, her breath tickling Oge’s face. Oge shook her head. Why should she leave this place where she was very happy? This place where pain and sadness would never reach her? The woman looked at her as if she could read Oge’s mind. 

“Our daughter needs you.” 

Oge shook her head again. The woman leaned in and kissed Oge on the lips again; it was like being touched by a butterfly. Oge felt a fire inside her ignite. She couldn't remember the last time she had burned like this, maybe in another life? 

“I was tired out there, so tired. You don’t know what it was like.” 

Oge cried, her tears falling into the woman's chubby hands. She had been tired; tired from the exhaustion of pretending to be fine, from pretending like she had moved on. She had been exhausted by the stomach-gnawing fear of loss, fear of what could go wrong. Here, there was no fear. A bird flew into the farm and twitted quailingly at both women. The woman looked at the brown bird for a second, and a look of concern appeared on her face, which was gone almost immediately. 

“You don’t have much time, Oge. The spirit world is calling for you.” 

Oge looked at the woman, her eyes pleading for something she had no words for. Maybe she wanted to beg not to be sent back; she wasn’t sure. Oge looked away, ashamed of her weakness. 

“Look at me.” 

The woman cajoled when Oge turned her attention to the birds; there were more of them now. 

“You have succeeded in creating a perfect world here in your mind, my love. I told you, didn’t I? That you were magic, look at all you have accomplished with that mind of yours.” 

Oge’s heart did a dance. The tears were still falling, but not as passionately. She searched the woman’s eyes and felt herself drowning inside them. She felt a surge of love so powerful that it threatened to overwhelm her. She rested her forehead on the woman's forehead. The woman’s head was as cool as her palms. 

“Please let me stay here with you, if not forever, for a little while.” 

Oge pleaded. 

“But neither of us can truly live here, Ogolome.” 

The woman smiled, ignoring the growing number of birds.  

“Go, Oge. And when your time comes, I will be here waiting for you.” 

Oge felt a pull. Something inside her was pulling at her novel; it was kicking passionately and angrily, too. 

“She is the fighter of the two.” 

The woman laughed, reaching out her hand and touching Oge’s stomach. 

“Protect her for me like you did before, okay?” 

The woman sounded distant now, even though she was just right there. Oge closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the woman had become fainter, like a vision seen from afar. The more Oge strained to see her, the more distant the woman appeared. Oge felt the tears run down her face; she begged without words for the woman. She begged for a love that had abandoned her once. She begged for an all-consuming passion. Unshed tears clouded her vision, and she blinked, allowing the tears to escape down her face. She could no longer hear the birds or feel the breeze. A stale smell reached her nose; it smelled of air that had not been let out for a very long time. She was no longer on her farm. 

“Mama.” 

Oge croaked her eyes focused on the figure sleeping on the wrapper spread on the bare floor. Does she want to catch her death? Oge wondered weakly. 

“Mama. Ow.” 

She tried again, inside her, something kicked with a vengeance.