Chapter Two. Her Sister's.

Oge held her daughter for a little longer while the sniffles died down. It was not the nature of the cut running down her daughter’s hand that she was concerned about. Children fall and hurt themselves all the time. Her mother-in-law would say, 'They seem to be made of rubber —they always bounce back.' No, it was the eerie resemblance to Uche’s cut and the eerie wailing, just exactly like Uche had. Oge remembered the first time Oma set alarm bells in all of them. It was two years ago. 

“Mummy, where is the cat?” 

She had innocently asked Oge who was rocking her to sleep. 

“What cat?” 

Oge had carelessly replied, knowing now what came next, she could appreciate how she had not seen anything foreboding in that question. Her daughter was lying on the mat under the kitchen shed, her belly huge from the late afternoon lunch. As usual, her sister Kiri was already fast asleep, snoring lightly, not one to cause a fuss, but Oma would fight sleep with the last vestige of her being. She was more stubborn than a goat. Oge would lament to every ear that lent itself to her. Presently, she flipped her daughter gently so that she was lying on her side. Her left hand started rhythmically patting Oma’s back, while her right hand waved a woven hand fan over the two girls to dispel the midafternoon heat.  

“Mummy, you know the grey one with angry eyes, you said it annoyed you the way it always stuck close to our compound.” 

The tapping on her daughter’s back froze at the same time as the hand waving the fan. Oge felt her heart drop almost in time. Her head swivelled to her mother-in-law in panic, as if to assure herself that she had only been hearing things. Obuzor’s mother wore the panic on her face that Oge felt travelling all over her own body. Oge’s heart started to drum. The longer her mother-in-law stayed silent, the louder the drumming got, until all she could hear was a ringing in her ear amplified by the sound her heart was making. Her mother-in-law put down the knife she was using to peel the bark off the cassava they had all harvested earlier in the day. She pulled the corner of her wrapper away and then tied it back tighter around her chest, actions that felt like ages had gone by to Oge’s panicked mind. With minimal difficulty, she pulled herself off the short kitchen stool and covered the gap between her and Oge, all the while Oge’s eyes silently begged her to tell her that she had not truly heard what she thought she had heard. Her daughter could not be talking about a cat that vanished on the day that her Uchechi died. They never mentioned that cat. It was an unspoken agreement. If Uche were a child who returned, that cat must have followed her from the other world, who would jinx their family by talking about the cat? 

When Oge’s mother-in-law reached them, she gently pulled the now-dozing Oma to herself. Her wrinkled, calloused hands ran all over the girl’s exposed skin, searching for any markings that might connect Oma to her late sister. Children who return leave tales on their skin. She pulled down Oma’s undergarment and inspected her bottom for tell-tale birthmarks. The tenseness on the lines on her mother-in-law's face was doing nothing for the dread Oge was living. Oge’s mother-in-law finally laid the limp body of the dozing girl back on the mat, her eyes heavy with years and unshed and unspoken fear. She looked at Oge. 

“She is not her.” 

She said simply and returned to her cassava, leaving Oge to pull herself together. There was no relief in those weathered eyes. 

~ 

Oge drew her daughter to herself and hoisted her to her waist so that she sat on Oge’s left hip. Uneasiness pulled at her consciousness, but she shook it off. Oma is not her late sister. She smiled at her daughter as she pulled her legs around her, allowing her daughter to straddle her from the side. How tall she was growing! Already, she had outgrown being carried on her back. 

“Are you feeling better?” 

Oge whispered into Oma’s wild hair. 

“Mhm.” 

Came the muffled response, with her eyes still fixed on her blood-crusted cut. Oge felt herself smiling again. Oma was looking at the cut, as if she still expected all the sympathy in the world. She was truly feeling sorry for herself, a true daughter of her father. 

“Rest your head on mother’s shoulder, your father will wage war against that ground that tripped you, he will beat it until it learns never to trip people’s precious daughters, mm?” 

Oge soothed, her heart a little lighter at the look of satisfaction on her daughter’s face, probably from imagining all the tears the ground would shed after Obuzor was done waging war against it. Oge cooed and patted her daughter on her unruly hair, relishing the feel of the kinky against her palm. 

“I am sure Mama will prepare your favourite meal tonight.” 

Oge continued, nodding at the people they passed, who had run without pause when her daughter called. Smiling gratefully at them, she mouthed her ‘thank you.’ They mostly waved her off, offering kind, sympathetic words for her daughter and promising to stop by later with food for Oma. 

“It was only a small cut, seriously. There is no need for any more fuss after the fussing Oma and I made. There is no need to bring her food; it was nothing serious.” 

Oge protested every promise, but each time, she was met with varying degrees of the same response: Oma was their beautiful princess, the jewel of the village, and they were going to bring her food to help her feel better. 

As mother and daughter walked off into the narrow path that led home, Oge’s thoughts travelled again to that afternoon. 

“She is not her.” 

Her mother-in-law had said, and even then, they knew those words were said more as prayers than as words of assurance. Would her mother-in-law say the same thing now when she sees the cut?