ARÍRE (We Have Seen Goodness)

Barren ground, where's your harvest?

It was one Saturday evening in March when Titi had her baby-a bouncing, yellow pawpaw baby boy. I had prepared white pap and some hot water for Titi as I made my way to the general hospital. "The latest mummy in town!" I hailed Titi as I saw her lying on the hospital bed, breastfeeding her baby.

"My friend, thank you for everything. May we grow old together," Titi prayed, smiling at me and revealing her tooth gap. Since our childhood, Titi had been called Titi Eleji-the one with the tooth gap. I had known Titi all my life, ever since I moved to Aunty Asake's place after I lost my parents.

Titi was the only child of Moomi, as we fondly called her. According to the story, Moomi gave birth to Titi at the age of forty-five after enduring eight stillbirths, which earned her the nickname in the community as Iya Abiku-mother of stillbirths.

"Na him papa this boy resemble," I muttered loudly while looking at the baby.

"You think so? Can't you see that he has my nose and my eyes?" Titi defended.

"You better stop deceiving yourself. This child that I'm looking at resembles Uncle Gbade. He won this round, no argument."

"Maybe you're right. But at least he has my smile."

The next Saturday, which made it a week since Titi gave birth, was the naming ceremony for the baby. The baby was named Isaiah Anuoluwapo Gbade. The atmosphere was alive with laughter and music as Barrister's song played through the speakers. The scent of party smoky  jollof rice and fried cow meat permeated the air, and the vibrant colors of the golden color gele worn by the women, made the place even more colourful.

As Ikenna and I stood in the corner, watching Titi and Gbade gently pour water on the baby's tiny head-each drop a promise of life and growth-I felt a pang of longing so sharp it took my breath away. I squeezed Ikenna's hand, drawing strength from him. "One day, that will be us," I whispered softly and hopefully.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving the baby in Titi's arms. "Yes, one day. We will love and celebrate our child with all our hearts. We will give them everything they need to be happy and strong."

Aunty Chika's constant complaints and nagging about giving her grandchildren were very suffocating and often unbearable. "Madam, it's been a year since you got married, and your tummy is still as flat as the back of a cockroach. Haven't I been patient enough with you?
Barren ground, where's your harvest?" She will mocked me.

"We are trying our best, Aunty. And besides, it has only been what, a year since we got married. Don't worry; you will carry our child very soon," Ikenna defended me.

"Bia, Ikenna, what has this woman given to you? Before we say one, you have defended her back with ten."

"Aunty, it's not like that. We are-"

"Don't talk to me about patience! How many children do I have? Ehn, I'm asking you, Ikenna. I have seven children-five healthy boys and two girls. If only you had listened to me and married Ifeoma, we wouldn't be having this discussion. A well-educated, beautiful girl, you left her for this one-a local Yoruba tailor. Tufiakwa." She hissed loudly.

"Aunty, Ifeoma is past; Arire is my future."

"This Yoruba woman has carried all your senses away, and you can't think like a man again, Ikenna. Is that how good she is in bed that you now think with that pestle of yours, ehn?"