By Hazel
It has been weeks since we’ve all been stuck in this room and parlour apartment— my two younger siblings, Mum, Uncle T and I. It is one the typical face-me-I-face-you houses found on the mainland streets of Lagos. The cramped up building contains nine other apartments like ours, five on the right and five opposite, on the left. There is a filthy backyard with gutters forever filled with stagnant water and breeding mosquitoes. That is the only space the compound has, for at the front of the house is just a shed where the landlord permanently sits, his eyes sizing up every passerby.
I am tired of this house, we all are. It has even grown smaller than it normally was. Two sofas in the room that serve as a living room during the day and bedroom for my siblings and I at night. Sleeping mats are propped up against the wall at the corner. A center table. A television set with an antenna on it. A stained and torn brown curtain is draped over the only window the room has. The other room is Mum’s and Uncle T’s (when he’s around). It is jam-packed with all of our belongings- clothes, shoes, pots, plates and books. A hostel-size bed is at one side of the room and even on it are some of our clothes.
All thanks to the Covid-19 pandemic, we have been made to cramp ourselves up in these rooms with all these belongings every day since the past two weeks. It has been hard. I feel like I can’t take it anymore and one more day like this, I might explode. I’m tired of Uncle T’s constant unsettling presence. I’m tired of seeing the hunger on my siblings’ faces. I’m tired of seeing the pain on mum’s face anytime I look at her. It has been a long and straining two weeks especially since there has been no source of money for us since the lockdown began.
Before the lockdown, my brother, Fope, had fallen sick. Mum had spent almost all she had on his treatment at the hospital. It was the week following his recovery that the government asked that all schools be shut down. Mum is a cleaner at the primary school down the road, Joy Group of Schools. She is also allowed to sell petty goods like biscuits, sweets, sachet water and ice cream during break and closing hours. Her job at the school is the only source of her income.
I work in Mama Titi’s tailoring shop on the other end of the street and I am paid every weekend according to how much work I do during the week. Fope is an apprentice to the mechanic in the next street. My sister, Sade, is in JSS1.
Now, because of the lockdown, none of us works anymore. Mama Titi asked me to stop coming since there are no customers and everyone is indoors. Even though Fope’s boss still operates in his compound, mum has no money to pay for this month’s apprenticeship. It is indeed tragic. When I wake up each day, the first thought that crosses my mind is what we are going to eat and how we will get it.
Even more devastating is the fact that Uncle T is stuck here with us. He is mum’s “boyfriend”. He owns a commercial bus and operates to and fro Ibadan and Lagos. He was hardly around as he resides in Ibadan. He was never here for more than two nights. But unfortunately, he had been on one of his short visits here when the lockdown was announced and has not been able to leave ever since. People told him he could have gone quickly but Uncle T so much fears the soldiers on the road.
Severally, mum asks us to refer to Uncle T as Daddy or Oga, as she calls him, but it has proven difficult for my siblings and I to do so. Secretly, we still call him Uncle T. He has a son from a previous marriage and it is rumoured that his wife abandoned him and fled with their son. He and Mum have been together for months now and my siblings and I detest him so much.
He is a tall and dark man. His bald, shiny head glows at night when the lamp is lit on the centre table and the beards on his chin look like they harbour lies. His presence is always felt and sadly, it has hung permanently around for too long. This is our dilemma. Even to me, worse than the pandemic. For it is better to die of an unknown virus than of hunger.
The sun is scorching outside and Uncle T announces he has to step out for “fresh air”. I feel like a bag of cement has been lifted off my chest and I can breathe comfortably once he leaves. I don’t even know there is a smile playing on my lips which becomes short-lived when mum begins to pace around the house. She excuses herself to make a phone call outside. Fope and I exchange quizzical looks. She changes her clothes as soon as she gets in and even applies some make-up on her face. It is when she asks me how she looks that I am sure that something is wrong. I wonder who had called her. Surprisingly, she asks me to take my siblings out to the backyard for “fresh air”.
“Mummy there’s no fresh air at that smelling backyard and you know it. Why are you sending us out of the house?” I ask, worried.
“Stop saying rubbish, I’m not sending you out. Just take them and don’t ask me nonsense questions.” She dabs more powder on her face. “You people should just go and play. Don’t go outside oo, just go to the backyard.”
“Who are you expecting?”
“It’s none of your business, just go.”
I did as she said. Most of the children of the compound were playing when we got there. I am older than all of them so, I just sat with Grace, who is three years my junior, on the bench. Soon after, I heard the sound of our apartment’s door. I cannot mistake that creaking sound for any other.
Uneasily, I got up and walked to the apartment with no intention to go in. I rested my head against the wall in a way that neighbours passing won’t think me suspicious. I hear mum moaning and my heart falls. It is the sound I hear every night from the room Mum and Uncle T sleep in. It is the same sound I make when I let Biola touch me, behind the mini supermarket at the filling station.
I cast my eyes down in embarrassment and wonder who it is mum is inside with. I know for sure it isn’t Uncle T for she wouldn’t wear make-up for him. Twice more, I come to eavesdrop and anger washes over me when I still hear the sounds from mum. When I hear the creaking sound of the door, I jump up to quickly see who is leaving. It is Baba Agba I see and my heart shatters into a million and one pieces. He has an unsuspecting frown on his face that will make anyone believe he wasn’t in our home for what he was there for.
Baba Agba is some sort of area father, respected by everyone who knows him. He is a rich man, not Dangote-rich, but rich enough to take care of three wives and thirteen children. I know instantly mum did what she did for the money and I don’t give her any judgemental look as my siblings and I return inside.
She had been crying, it is obvious. She feigned a smile and showed me a stack of one thousand naira notes. “I’ve written a list, you will take it to our neighbor that sells foodstuff and buy everything on it.” She paused then continued. “I know she might not have plenty stock because of no market this period but anyhow, you will buy what we will eat.” She keeps the money on the table.
“Where is the money from?” It is the first thing I can get myself to say.
She scratched her one-month old, shoulder-length braids. “Baba Agba gave us.”
“Why?”
“Because he wanted to.” The finality I hear in her voice startles me. “When you see him, thank him.”
In the split of a second, I hate her but immediately, just as it came, the hatred metamorphosis to love and I am grateful to have her as a mother. She has been taking care of us since our father died shortly after Sade’s birth. She is a strong woman, my mum, and she deserves numerous plaques on her wall.
Later, in the evening, mum stepped out for her own doze of “fresh air”. The four of us silently watched the ONTV telenovela, our eyes fixed on the television and ignoring the hungry mosquitoes fighting for our attention. Uncle T is even ignored, with his slippers and belt on the floor. He is bare chested and is sweating although a fan is rolling above our heads.
I heard hisses and several “This people are mad” even before the light went off in our apartment. The room was suddenly pitch black and I sighed and thought—”not again.” I volunteered to bring the rechargeable lamp from the bedroom and in there, I hit my right foot against a shelf. I don’t even know someone had followed me inside and figure it out only when I slammed into him after unplugging the lamp. It is Uncle T.
I tried to turn to face him but he groped me suddenly and pulled me to him. This took me by surprise and I gasp.
“You have grown oo, you this small girl of yesterday. See how your hip is big.” He whispered this into my right ear. “Nawa oo, you’re such a fine girl. I’ve been using style to eye you since.” He moved his hands upwards slowly to my breasts, and that is when I pushed him with all the strength I have gained from my seventeen years on earth. This move took him unawares. I heard him advancing towards me again and I shine the lamp in his face. I would have screamed but for my siblings in the sitting room.
“You’re a stupid man,” I say. “Try this again and you’ll see what will happen.” Mum walked in at the same time I enter the sitting room. She had no idea what just happened and I have no plans of telling her. I only say good night to her and start preparing for the night’s sleep.
The next afternoon, I set out to the filling station to see Biola. As I have done since the beginning of the lockdown, I take our gallon of fuel with me, just in case I am questioned by any soldier. I see Remi on the way and wave to him, he looks away and quickly walks away. He is Biola’s best friend and a very good friend of mine, I wonder why he acts weird.
I am happy, that filling stations are allowed to be opened, as Biola still has a job. Whenever I go see him, he buys lunch for the both of us. I am always reluctant because I feel guilty eating when my family is at home hungry. “I would have bought for everyone if I can afford it but I can’t. So, let me buy for the person I can afford to buy for, that is you.” After he said this, I let him buy the food. Once, he bought three plates of rice and gave me one for my siblings. I threw my arms around him and repeatedly thanked him until he asked me to stop.
Last week, mum asked me to go to Mrs. Olayemi’s house to collect what she has for us. Excitedly, I rushed there. She was a church member, one of the many rich worshippers in our cathedral. She said she and her husband were trying to help the “less privileged” as much as they could during this period. After knocking twice, she appeared at the gate with a wide smile plastered on her face. She gave me a white nylon bag with Shoprite written on it. I hid my disappointment for I had been expecting a BACO bag or even a mini sack.
In the bag were a Derica of rice and of beans; two sachets of Gino tomato paste and a pack of Mr. Chef Salt. It was to Biola I expressed my disappointment. “Doesn’t she know we are four in the house? We can finish the rice and beans in two days! Look how rich she is, she probably has two bags of rice in her house and see all she gave us. I know that she will tell everyone she helped us, they won’t know it’s only one cup of rice she gave us.”
Biola smiled and shook his head. “You should learn to be grateful, Tayo. At least, she gave you something unlike the other people who only flaunt their wealth in the church.” After he spoke, I complained no more.
Now, he sees me and smile. “You want to buy fuel?” he asks and we both laugh.
“Is it that our dead generator that I want to pour it in?”
He is wearing the blue shirt that is similar to that of the other attendants. It complements his fair skin and his black curly afro. He is slightly taller than I am and is lanky. He tells me he always wonders where all the food he eats go to. He is wearing a nose mask as his boss has instructed them too but I can see one pair of his hand gloves on the floor, he isn’t wearing them. “How is market?” I ask.
“It’s going very well oo. You know that they don’t bring light very well so, people are really buying fuel.” He touches my face tenderly and asks how I am. I don’t even hesitate to tell him all that happened yesterday at home. His eyes become bloodshot and he gets up instantly.
“I can’t believe mum did what she did just for the money. I know we don’t…”
“How dare that bastard try to touch you with those dirty hands of his?” I only brushed through that part of the story and I’m surprised he is taking it seriously.
“Biola calm down.” I said. “I didn’t let him do anything to me. It was nothing, don’t bother yourself. The only thing that is upsetting me is mum…”
He interrupted me again. “How can you say I shouldn’t bother? I swear to God, that man will pay for this. I will deal with him.”
I got up and placed my hands on his shoulders. “Please, don’t do anything to him, I beg you.”
He is about to say something when Remi approached us and still doesn’t look at me. He said he has something important to tell Biola. I want to ask him what I did to offend him but shake the idea off, picked up my gallon and leave.
We spent another night in darkness, barely speaking to one another but focusing on the insects hovering around the lamp. Uncle T is fanning himself with his shirt. I am sitting close to him and I hold my breath whenever the shirt comes my way. It smells of a mixture of sweat, alcohol and petrol. Every morning, he slides under his bus to keep it in check.
There was a knock on the door and Sade moved to allow entrance. Two boys silently walked in and slammed the door behind them. “Who are you?” Uncle T asked.
I know who they are even though they are wearing face masks and I know what they are here for. One of them is TJ, Baba Agba’s son and the other, I see around him a lot but I don’t know his name. “Who sent you? What do you want?” Uncle T asked again, still comfortably fanning himself.
“Bring out the money now now, we don’t want to waste time.” TJ said.
“Which money?” Mum asked hurriedly. I was irritated by her question. Why is she acting like she doesn’t know what they are talking about? I looked at my siblings and mouthed silently, “don’t be scared of them.” The boys only held sticks in their hands and Uncle T can easily beat them up, even though he won’t. “He gave the money to me!” Mum exclaimed.
“He gave the money to her.” Uncle T repeated.
I realize the two of them had planned the whole thing and I mourn my mum’s pride. Why are they all fussing -mum, Uncle T and Baba Agba? Why go through the stress of sending his sons like thieves to collect the money he can easily collect by himself in broad daylight? I stood up to get the money from mum’s bag and handed it over to them.
“Tayo are you mad?” Uncle T barked at me, suddenly standing up. I spread my ten fingers to him and said, “Waka”.
“Tayo why did you give them?” Mum asked, sobbing. “What are we going to eat? Do you have anything for us?”
The boys left and outside the door, they motioned to some other person. “Oya,” I hear TJ said, and the person steps inside. It is Remi. His face is covered too but his broad shoulders and limp can’t be hidden even if he was wearing an armour. Again, he doesn’t look at me. In his hands were metal rods. He walked up to Uncle T and slapped at him.
Uncle T was taken aback and tried to retaliate. The rods came up and landed on his body simultaneously. I have never seen Remi like this before—so full of rage. Biola had told me he is now hanging around with Baba Agba’s boys because of money. He beat Uncle T without mercy and mum clasped her hand over her mouth to prevent the scream from escaping. My siblings were laughing and I’m glad they were not frightened.
“It’s okay,” I said to Remi when I saw the blood on Uncle T’s face and body. I thought of how we will have to treat the wounds and how much it will cost. It was the only reason I begged Remi to stop. He looked at me and I noddes. “Please, stop.”
He nodded too but gave Uncle T, who was on the floor now, four more slaps. “Never touch her again.” He said, angrily, with each slap.
Uncle T gasped and his eyes dart to me. Mum wore a confused expression. Tears welled up in my eyes. Biola told him and had probably asked him to do this. I don’t feel angry as I thought I would, what I felt was love and the feeling of being loved. I really want to hug Remi as he left but I only whispered thank you to him as I close the door behind him.
Mum rushed to me, asking me what Remi’s words meant. I ignored her and can’t force the smile off my face and the pain out of my heart as I sang Brymo’s lyrics in my head:
Something dey go round town
People dey slam head for ground
Dem say garri still cost for town
Few people dey smile
More dey frown
