A Promise From My Heart

2.

Another morning. Another day that reminds me of my loss. Days have passed, weeks elapsed, months followed yet nothing seem to get better.

It was as if we were not progressing in making anything better. The house was quiet as usual. No voice bounced through its walls. I could hear the faint sound of the television, some morning Indian soap opera my mourning grandmother was watching. Noor, my immediate younger sister, used to watch it with her until mum's death. Every woman in my house except my wife and youngest sister, TY, loved the cliché stories that does nothing but piss the hell out of me. Not only me but every man in my house including my younger brother and the last child, Kenny, hated those soap operas.

There was a time when the abode would boom with laughter. The angry voice of Kenny and the mocking laughter of TY would fill the house and vice versa. My mother's scolding tone will follow their noise. Noorie would be in the kitchen trying to make breakfast while my mother will be in the living room. They will chat at the top of their voices about the Indian soap opera mum would be watching. Mum would get up time to time to ask Noor if she needed any help in the kitchen, most times staying with her.

Dad and I would be together in his room or the living room or outside when I wash his car, just talking about the usual thing. Politics, football, what's going around, life and advises. Sometimes, I helped with the chores depending on my mood but those days were gone, long gone. They were just memories, memories which hurt so much that my heart constricted to them and yearned for them again.

My grandmother sat on the sofa, her tasbhi in hand, while her eyes, concealed behind glasses, stared at the television. Amatullah.....my lips quivered up into a smile. I found myself at ease as she worked effortlessly in the living room, trying to keep everything in order. My younger brother, Kenny, was changing a burnt bulb. TY was still not at home. I have been back for a day and she was yet to come home. My father should be in his room as always and Noorie was in the kitchen. I can hear the slamming of pots and pans coming from it. Those pots were banged on purpose. I pushed her to the back of my mind, not ready to get irritated by her insolent attitude this morning. At the sound of my footsteps, my grandmother looked up. Her sunken eyes brightened. The corners of her thin lips moved up producing a smile.

"Eyitayo." Alhaja called me by my middle name.

"E ka ro ma (Good morning, ma)." I greeted, placing a hand over her frail shoulder to hug her.

"Ka ro, oko mi (Good morning, my dear)." She replied as I planted a kiss on her forehead. "How was your night?"

"Alhamdulillah."

"I hope you slept well." She rested a hand on my cheek.

"I did."

"You have to rest often, Eyitayo. You need to rest. Too much work wears out the body." Her eyes held care that came from that generous heart of hers.

"You got nothing to worry about, Alhaja." I patted her shoulder softly. "If I do not work, where will I get money to fend for my family?"

"Money will come, Tayo. More than you expect. It is just a matter of time and patience. Please, do not wear yourself out." She pleaded.

Her words reminded me of my mother who had said to me many times that in the process of making money, I should be patient. Most of all, I should pray. God listens and can make the impossible possible. Money made in a haste by inappropriate means does not last long. Ya Allah, my ribs felt like metal around my lungs at the thought of my mother. Pain ate at the pessimism in me.

"I won't." I assured as my throat closed with agony. "Hey." I turned away from her as I waved at Kenny.

He smiled as he got down from the stool. "What's up bro? How was your night?" He greeted