CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE. A VACUUM

Uloma wandered through the crowd, keeping an eye out for her sister. The feeling of being so small, in view of all these giants and creatures resembling things that should exist only in theory, kept her grounded. Uloma shook herself for thinking some beings should exist only in theory; it was not a nice thing to think, she scolded herself, as the eyes of a giant floating blue blob settled on her. She smiled at the creature, and it chirped at her in response.  

Uloma walked until she came to an archway that made her feel like she was suddenly inside a building, rather than wandering around outside. Everyone was avoiding the archway, which piqued Uloma’s curiosity. She walked through it and found herself in a forest, humanlike creatures wearing green leafy clothes looked up at her, watching her with as much interest as she felt at suddenly seeing them. She backed away into the archway, where she had come through. But now she found herself in a long, empty hallway. 

“Okay, you are lost, lost now.” 

She said to herself. The hallway was white, with a pregnant silence that felt to Uloma like something was waiting to happen. Ulo looked around, wondering what to do. Okay, she thought, ‘You are a spirit as much as anyone of them here. Act like one’ she chided herself. That was when she heard it, a low hum at first, the sound felt to her like it had always been there, and she had not heard it because she had not listened for it. Ulo felt her heart race; she felt fear running down her back, her stomach churned, and the hum intensified, growing louder and more insistent the more she listened. Ulo looked around her again, but all she saw was white; the deafening hum was inside her head now, and it was invading her mind. She wanted to scream, to run, but fear, older than Cosmic time, kept her feet from leaving the ground. ‘Think,’ she forced herself, the thought felt like a pinprick of darkness in an otherwise blinding, searing light. The light, or was it the hum, was taking over her body, contorting and twisting her muscles. ‘Think,’ the pinprick of thought came again, but she was a hum, she was noise, and white light. ‘Snap out of it!’ The thought was jarring this time, enough to bring her back to her head. Awareness started to make its way into her consciousness, chasing away the hum, until she heard it again outside her. She knew where she was; her consciousness urged her. The thought chased away the last of her terror; the hum no longer frightened her, it was only a sound, alive as it was, it was just a sound. But she was Uloma, a Death, even if she had never admitted it herself before today; she was what should be feared, just like her mother and sisters. There was a reason they were never really all allowed to occupy a single realm at the same time. She squared up her shoulder and faced the hallway again. 

It was ingrained in her being; she was Death, wasn’t she? This was somewhere she belonged. She was in the 'Waiting'. A space that was just space. A space that led anywhere in this realm. She remembered where she was, like she had always known it. Like she had always existed here. That was why she knew what was coming next, the darkness rushing towards her, she felt it coming seconds before it appeared in the distance. Nothing lasted here; it was a vacuum. It liked to remain a vacuum. Asi, Uloma thought, where was Asi? She shut her eyes and let her connection to her sister pull her away.  

When she opened her eyes again, she was in a room with mud walls, a structure she was at least at home in, she sighed gratefully. Asi must never know she used her as a pull to get out of trouble, she thought, looking around again for her sister; the pull led her here, she should be close. To Uloma’s far left was a door made from beads and bamboo strips. Uloma instinctively walked towards it. She heard voices, Asi’s and her mother’s booming voices. But they were not the only ones. Uloma could swear she heard one of her other sisters’ voices as well. Were they all here? Was everyone she knew attending her Summoning? But why had her sisters come without telling her? She was their baby, and they would defend her with even their lives; she knew that, but it did not stop the pang of betrayal she felt at hearing a family meeting she had not been invited to. She walked slowly towards their voices, but the pang overtook her; she was family too. Why were they excluding her? She had defeated the vacuum all on her own; she was not a child to be sheltered. This was one of the only places in the universes where all Deaths could roam free, no Death lasted long here though, she could feel it, so why were they choosing the only time they could all be together to keep her away? 

Uloma stormed off after eavesdropping on her mother and sisters. She could not believe that even now, when the universes were putting her on trial, her mother was choosing to treat her like a baby that required looking after, ignored rather than consulted. She sighed heavily with annoyance and wondered where Ekama was. She remembered her giggling and gooey eyes; she was the wrong person to go to for comfort at the moment. That boy made her stupid. Ulo searched for Abali in her head instead. For some reason, all she could feel was a heavy blockage, like he was too buried under something to be reached. It did not make sense. Why was everyone here trying to annoy her in one way or another? She tried again for him, digging deeper this time. She felt it, the wave of despair. She felt him buried in it; she closed her eyes tighter and reached for him. 

“Abali!” 

She cried, going to him. 

“What happened?” 

He did not even raise his head from where he had it buried between his thighs. She threw her arms around him and let him weep in her embrace, the way she always did in his. He was sniffling before long and rousing himself. She sat up straight, worried and filled with questions. He looked so utterly beside himself and sad. She had never seen him like that. She wanted to hug him again, to comfort him, but he was avoiding her eyes. 

“The gathering will start soon.” 

He said, now on his feet. She looked at him from where she was sitting. Why was he avoiding her eyes? 

“What happened?” 

She asked him. He shrugged and muttered something about being fine and them being late again. She got up and tried to take his hand, but he wiggled away. 

“We should really get going.” 

He said and vanished. She watched the point he had vanished from, shocked and confused. Had she done something to offend him? She wondered. But he was already upset before she even got here. Uloma searched and searched herself and her memory for why Abali would be so bereft, but nothing came to her. 

~ 

Oge brushed the dust and hair particles off her wrapper and winced from the pull on her hair. It was evening, but the sun was stubbornly staying up. Threading hair on a sunny day was hard enough on the head without the pulling of hair as if her hair was offending the hair-maker. 

“Well done, oh, pull off my scalp.” 

She scolded Ozioma, her hand going to her hair to steady the strands, the thread twirling and twisting into them was pulling on. The sun shining into their compound did not seem to be aware that the day should be coming to a close; between the sun and Ozi, Oge could feel the onset of a brewing headache. Oge shifted on the long bench; the feel of hardwood against her buttocks felt comforting, somehow her body these days demanded hard surfaces. She rearranged her stomach so that it was sitting comfortably inside her wrapper. 

“I am being as gentle as I can be, my hand has been said to be as soft as a feather, but leave it to you sha to complain.” 

Ozioma hissed at her friend, not bothering to hide the irritation she was feeling. 

“Your mother-in-law again? Because it cannot be me you are hissing at.” 

Oge retorted, and her friend hissed again through her teeth for emphasis. She brought her hand to Oge's forehead, to steady her neck and move it to a position that would allow easy access to her hair. Oge hissed back and rolled her eyes. She was too sweaty and heavy for this attitude. 

“What is your problem? Are you trying to break my neck?” 

She shouted at her friend, startling her mother-in-law's chicken that had been pecking on strands of fallen threads as if it thought they were warm. The chicken clocked, flapped its annoyance at being startled, and returned its resettled attention to the threads. 

“Hmm, I have imagined doing it several times today, but knowing how worthless and painful my life would be without you is what is keeping you alive, you should thank your chi for that small reason.” 

Oge tried again to turn her neck to her friend, but was spun around just as quickly with the hand to the forehead. 

“All right, tell me what I have done this time.” 

She sighed, rubbing her stomach as if Ozioma’s stressing her was also stressing it. 

“I had to go to the midwife with yams and fresh peppers to hear about your due date, Oge. She said the baby's head and shoulders are almost fully turned downwards. Why won’t you tell me?” 

Oge had never heard her friend sound so hurt. More than the pause from the expert hand threading her hair, the bitterness in her voice made Oge wince. 

“We were supposed to be in this together.”  

Ozioma’s voice shook. She had almost moved in to help with Adaku’s daughter; to reduce the stress of the daily household grind and chores, coupled with caring for a baby, for Oge and her mother-in-law. She was there when it rained and there, when the sun set, blisters against the earth, and Oge was grateful. But Oge had not wanted to talk much about her baby. She had focused all her attention on Ada’s daughter, showering her with all the time she could afford. Maybe her mother-in-law was right, and she was feeling somehow responsible for the death of the young mother because whatever bad luck the poor girl married into was theirs, hers, her husband’s, her mother-in-law's; they had no right bringing that poor girl into it, and now she was dead. So maybe they were right, and all the love she was pouring on her little girl was a result of guilt, or maybe deep down she knew she was distracting herself from herself. Because maybe, if she pretended her child was not rumbling inside her, gearing to come out. Maybe, if she could get everyone to ignore the fierce little being kicking even now inside of her, the spirits, too, would ignore her child. She felt guilty about keeping Ozioma in the dark about her baby, yes, but mostly she was protecting her child as best she could. If the spirits don’t hear about him or her, maybe they will get bored and leave her baby alone. Even now, at the mercy of seething Ozioma, she was still refusing to discuss her baby. 

“You don’t have anything to say for yourself, is that right?” 

Ozioma confronted. When the silence had dragged on for far too long. Still, Oge debated whether or not to say something. Her baby lurched and kicked. 

“Ahh.” 

Ogechi hissed, breathing through her mouth. Behind her, she felt her evil friend grin, pleased. 

“I know you are smiling.” 

She accused Ozioma. Ozioma picked up a wooden comb from the long bench Oge was sitting on, and ran it gently through her friend’s hair, before using a picking comb to partition the strands she was threading next. She was doing this so fast and mindlessly, making a throaty sound of annoyance and disapproval as she worked. 

“I am just happy that the child is on my side. Because her aggravating mother is keeping me in the dark.” 

There was still a pleased smile in her voice. Oge frowned and rubbed her stomach. The kick was getting harder and harder by the passing of the day. Her stomach was also impossibly huge, but her baby still kicked like she wanted more room in there. 

“You and me both.” 

Ogechi’s mother-in-law said, limping steadily into the compound. She had a sleeping bundle strapped to her back, and on her head was an empty woven basket that she proceeded to tip to the ground when she reached both women. Around them, household animals milled around nonchalantly, interacting with the daily living of a small village. 

“Aunty, Welcome.” 

Ozioma greeted her aunt. 

“You are back.” 

Uloma greeted, the old woman ignored both women and pulled up a bench, laboriously lowering herself into it. Using her foot, she gently nudged her chicken, who was still working away at the stubborn thread that was refusing to be swallowed. The chicken protested but settled when it saw who had disturbed her laboring. 

“You stupid fowl, can’t you tell the difference between food and thread? Go away.” 

Oge’s mother-in-law cooed, nudging the chicken still bent on the thread gently away with her calloused, ashy feet. Ozioma abandoned Oge’s hair and ran towards the closed kitchen, a building that lived on the left of the open kitchen, only to return with a cup of water for the old woman. Oge’s mother-in-law accepted the cup graciously from the younger woman, bent on her knees in deference and respect. Ozioma watched the old woman drain the contents of the cup, droplets of water dripped from her poised, cracked lips and dropped lazily to the sun-dried ground. The old woman returned the cup to Ozioma, who prostrated again, knees bent in respect, to receive the cup. Oge watched the proceedings, her eyes fixed on her mother-in-law. 

“Mama, I told you to return when the sun becomes too hot.” 

She said at last, the old woman, without turning to her, sighed and shook her head. 

“In my days, the sun was hotter; it would roast you, but you bore it and got on with your duty. Your generation is too soft.” 

Oge nodded; she had heard this before, and she would hear it again. 

“You are two shades darker, but it is okay for you. What about the little one?” 

Oge’s eyes travelled to the sleeping bundle bound to her mother-in-law's back. 

“She will live; sun toughens one up.” 

Her mother-in-law replied, her near-blind eyes trained on her household animals, as if watching them to take stock of their wellbeing. 

“You did not buy the oranges from the light-skinned woman from Azuki village again.” 

Oge said instead, changing the subject. Fighting over the care of little Ada was a daily battle between them that did not lead anywhere. Older women always thought their ways of caring for the young were the only way. 

“Mhm, sorry, she did not come today.” 

Oge nodded again. 

“I made you the fufu and fresh fish pepper soup. Laro brought the line fish. I say I made them, but I mostly just ordered Ozi around.” 

It was her mother-in-law's turn to nod. Their mundane daily life was back to what it was. It was just mere months ago when Oge was lying on her bed dying, mere months ago, they lost their second wife. It had taken them some time, but they were returning to this comfortable coexistence as long as neither of them mentioned the obvious elephant protruding evidently before them. Oge will not talk about the child; she is stubborn about this. So the old woman talked to her son, to the midwife, even to her neighbours, but never to the person she wanted to rejoice with, over the new life that was joining their family any day now. Her eyes travelled to the stomach of the younger woman, and as if on cue, her stomach lurched. The old woman smiled to herself. Another Oge was coming to them, this one would not be peaceful and sweet like her sister had been. This one was a fighter, she wanted to tell her daughter-in-law this, how she wanted to help her see that this baby was like her father, a child born clutching and grasping at life’s throat. This child was Oge and Uzo. But she did not tell her daughter-in-law this; instead, they discussed the mundane happenings of that day as her niece bustled about in the kitchen warming up her dinner, an indispensable friend to her daughter-in-law.  

Strapped on her back slept their latest reason to keep faith alive. Life was more or less back to its routine. 

“Oge, will you be joining Aunty to eat? Because I am hungry, and I want to eat.” 

Ozi called from the open kitchen, stooped over a pot of soup, her wrapper secured between her thighs, to give her easy mobility. 

“When are you not hungry?” 

Oge called to her friend, who looked over at her and eyed her with rapid eye movements that would make any observer lurch in respect. 

“You won't believe she ate a whole meal just before we started my hair.” 

Oge said to her favourite gossip partner in a conspiratory, lowered voice. 

“That was how my sister, her mother, was, small body, but they can demolish a kitchen.” 

Oge’s mother-in-law commented, and Oge grinned. 

“In that case, I hope I have this baby soon, before we lose a kitchen.” 

Oge whispered to her mother-in-law, who had tears in her eyes from laughing. 

“What are you two gossiping about?” 

Ozioma shouted over at them; her eyes full of deserved suspicion. 

“Just that some people can devour a kitchen.” 

Oge replied, laughing. 

“Devour a kitchen kill you there, you hear me, Oge?” 

Ozioma shouted over, pointing a wooden spoon at her friend, her face stormy with trepidation. Both women at the other end of the compound collapsed in laughter. Ozioma joined in after a second of resistance. 

“The sooner I push out this child, the sooner we can send you on your way, for the sake of the well-being of our food supply.” 

Oge managed between laughter. 

“As if you can get rid of me that easily.” 

Ozi replied and stuffed a piece of dried bush meat into her mouth, both for emphasis and defiance. This set off the other two women again. Inside Oge felt another kick and rapid movement from her baby, as if he or she was also laughing. Oge’s hand mindlessly cupped the underside of her belly. Unknown to Oge, her mother-in-law also rejoiced to hear her mention wanting to deliver the child. It was a sign to the old woman. It had worried her that a mother would go so long without making her pregnancy the centre of every conversation; it spoke to a deeper issue that had troubled the old woman. What if Oge punished this child for her sister’s death? What if Oge was all spent, on love?