In the Loving Arms of Servitude

17. After School, One Day

                             
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"Good evening sir! " Uju greets Mr. Balogun, as she walks into the living room. He replies, sipping from his chilled glass of juice and holding onto a newspaper, "Good evening, Uju. How was school?"

"It was fine, thank you." she responds, while removing her backpack. Afterwards, she adds in slight surprise, "Uncle Femi, you are home quite early today!"

"Uhm, yes..." he yawns and then continues, "... Your aunt and I have a funeral to attend at church this evening, so I had to leave work early."

"Ohkay… Is she back too?" Uju inquires, pointing toward the passage door.

"Yes. She is in the kitchen." he avers.

"Alright." she responds, walking toward the kitchen. Upon entering, she sees aunty Amara stirring a boiling pot of soup. "Good evening ma!" she echoes.

"Oh! Uju you are back.. Good evening. Please, give me that bowl." Amara requests. Uju quickly stretches to bring the bowl and hands it to her. Afterwards, Amara starts to soak the half-washed bitter leaves with water inside the bowl. Then she takes a filter from the rack and begins to sift the leaves under the water.

"Let me make the eba." Uju offers.

But Amara replies, "No, we are eating semo today. Don't worry, you will be the one to make it. Just go in and freshen up first… You will stay at home with Tobi while we attend the funeral mass."

"Okay.", Uju responds. But before leaving, she pauses at the kitchen door and turns back to ask, "Who died?"
Amara sighs in empathy, "It was the mother of our parish priest, Father Paul... You wouldn't know her. She died in a car accident."

Upon hearing this, Uju's heart begins to pound uncontrollably. The sound of 'death' and 'accident' trigger a traumatic stress within her. And now, all she can think of is her grandmother. All she begins to see before her is Nne, lying lifeless on that concrete floor, drowned in a puddle of her own blood. All she can remember is the pungent smell of death that pervaded the entire living room that day, and the dreadful expression on lifeless Nne's inert face. She did not look peaceful or at rest that day. She had a morbid cringe on her face that refused to relax until she was finally carted away. 'Oh lord!' Her beloved Nne; so loving and kind died such a horrible death. Uju can not bear the thought that the last feeling Nne ever had for her was that of annoyance. Nne must have been so angry and worried sick. Uju did not heed her instructions. She did not listen. 'I never listen!' she scolds herself. She starts to imagine that if only she had not fallen asleep that day; if only she had gone to fetch the water earlier as Nne had instructed, maybe; just maybe she would have been alive right now. Maybe she would have been able to smile again, breath again and love again, as she always did.

Almost immediately, all the sorrow and anguish in Uju's heart begins to gather in her eyes, distilled into cold tears. Her breath is still steady. But the fiery puffs of air blasting out of the furnace of her lungs is enough to thaw an iceberg. Yet she does not make a sound; none that Amara hears anyway. Oblivious aunty Amara just keeps squashing the bitter leaves with vigorous intent, while Uju wallows in pain. Uju gently walks out of the kitchen, heading slowly towards her room with tears still in her eyes. They are running down her cheeks now. And while she walks, she keeps gasping silently and repeatedly, as though trying to prevent her tears from dropping to the ground. It is almost like a subconscious attempt to hoard her sorrow; to keep it from infecting anyone else and to prevent others from noticing, so that they don't try to comfort her. That would just make it worse. She wants to weather it all alone. She wants to chew this acrimonious pill all by herself. It is easier that way. She wants to scream but into her pillow, so that no one hears. She does not like to cry in public, except in the presence of people she truly trusts or feels comfortable around. She does not hate sympathy or comfort from others. It's just that to her, it is easier to accept comfort from some people than others in specific situations. If ever, there are specific people whom she would rather allow comfort her- like Nne or Amaka, for instance. She always feels at home with them; she always feels loved. She is able to let her guard down because with them, it is always real. Her vulnerability at such agonizing moments is not something she would like to expose to just anyone. She would rather just cry it out alone, in the hopes that it will all be better after. It usually is.