SOUR SUGAR #projectnigeria

Chapter 3

         3.

              I think of Papa now, and all I can feel for him is sympathy and pity. I pity him for the man he had been in the past, and how it had affected us all. How he seems to be the only one filled with so much misery.

He did not change like a light switch when we came back, it happened with time, as we all grew older. Seven years later, and did all our growing when Papa's civil service work posted him to Abuja and we had to leave Lagos. Mama grew robotic and quiet over the years. And it was as though with her mother not in the same city as her to run to, she took everything papa fed to her quietly, never raising her voice at him, never wanting to fuel his anger with her opinions.

Papa's years in the civil service began to show on him. He added some weight and lost some hair. 

Since that time we came back from gran'ma's house, he had stopped beating us and mama and when we did something wrong, he could only yell until he was tired, then he would shrug and go to the living room to watch the news. He had stopped drinking as well – with time. He became a staid, dreary version of himself which seemed to be a better version.

As for Mama, my young mother, she no longer sang along to Whitney Houston and Teddy Pendergrass on her cassette player when she did chores. The old thing had spoiled a long time ago, and none of us could remember how it happened.

 It had sat glumly untop the tall fridge in the kitchen, like a headstone of Mama's youth.

Mama traded in her jeans for Ankara dresses, those shapeless things that made her look ancient, and became an active member of the prayer warrior department in our church. These days, mama was always tired.

But during that time of change was not when things went completely south in my family. It came much later after an unexpected visitor had come knocking on our door.

The day had been a warm Sunday afternoon when we had all come back from church. Papa was sitting on the chair he always sits on, close to the window as he read The Daily Punch while he waited for lunch to be ready. Memunah, Madey and I sat close to the TV, watching a Nollywood movie and mama stayed in the kitchen humming to Seun Rere as she cooked lunch, beans and yam.

Then the doorbell rang. It was I who had gotten up to answer the door. 

Sometimes, when I look back at the day, I wish I hadn't. If I had known the woman and her son would be behind that door as I swung it open, with the snap of my finger they would morph into dust, blown away by the wind and never to be heard from again.

''is your father home?'' The woman asked curtly.

My eyes trailed her from head to toe. She was dressed in jeans and a white shirt. Her hair was a rubbery black weave, oily to the touch and cheap looking. Her lips were painted red, and her face was dull from the powder that had melted into her skin from the sun.

 I had noticed the travel bag slung on her right shoulder whilst she held on tightly to the hand of the boy beside her who looked to be about five or six years old. There was something blank yet morose about his facial expression.

I had always imagined what that woman's voice sounded like. I had always wondered what it would be like to meet her. In my mind, if I did meet her, I would so confront her that she would be brought to tears. Seven years later, here she was, in our doorstep in our new home.

I could not believe it. I was stunned. All I could do was stare at her.

''Wangi, who's by the door?'' my mother shouted at me from the kitchen, and was by side in a minute. She looked at the woman in annoyance rather than confusion, then at the boy.

''look here, madam. I just want to see Tope. I have something to show him. Or rather, someone to show him.'' the woman said, shaking her leg in that manner impatient women do.

My mother was calm in a matter of seconds, as if realization had hit her. ''oh, how rude of us. Please come in.''

The woman hissed before she dragged the boy in, nearly bumping into me.

''tope, someone is here to see you.'' My mother started, her voice sweet.

Papa set the newspaper down, ready to complain about being interrupted, until he saw the woman.

''yes, I knew you would know her.'' mama smiled.

His mouth dropped, and just like I had been earlier, he could not speak.

Memunah and Madey knew who she was immediately. I saw them stand up looking from the woman to the boy.

''what's going on here!'' Memunah demanded.

''Tope, you thought you could run away abi? Anyways, here is Godwin. I have brought your son for you.'' The woman said, pushing Godwin toward papa. With fear, the boy took a step back, hesitantly, his thumb by his lips.

''as..asabe...w..how did you find me?'' papa stuttered.

She hissed. ''Look here, nothing is hidden under the sun o. I knew I would find you. Your brothers told me that you had moved to Abuja but whether you go to another city o, I will still find you. This is your son...in whom you should be well pleased.'' She sat on a seat as though it was a throne, adjusting her cheap weave.

Mama started to clap in amusement, as though she had just been told a joke. I was shocked by her calmness. ''tope. How come you never told me you had a son? that's too bad of you.'' She said.

Everyone, including Asabe looked at mama as though she had run mad. ''mama Godwin. Please make yourself at home. There's food for everyone to eat.''

Can we get this to five votes? i will update as soon as i can :)