08:30 am
Kogi State.As Eniiyi slammed the door closed she looked around her in disgust. Okay, it wasn't anything she had expected. The street directly in front of where the car was parked stretched untarred into the distance. The surrounding houses were of different state and quality, ranging from old, mud, small to new, plastered, big. Some were painted in colours which looked horrible to her. She wondered if she'd have to face this eyesore everyday for one month.
The closing of a door made her turn around. An ample woman who looked to be in her sixties came down the porch steps, a look of surprise on her face. Her short hair braided in shuku had streaks of gray here and there.
Daddy was the first to go forward to meet her. He went down prostrate on the floor in front of her, his palms and the tips of his shoes touching the ground, and Eniiyi pitied his light-blue T-shirt.
'Ẹ káàárọ̀ mà,' he said in greeting
The woman bent to touch his head. 'Káàárọ̀, Olúmìídé.'
Mommy also went to join, curtseying very low. 'Ẹ káàrọ̀ mà.'
'Káàrọ̀ ọmọọ̀mi, óyá dìde nílè.' She gestured for Daddy to stand up.
'Adekunbi,' Mommy called to her from the other side of the car where she was still sulking.
She trudged forward, reluctantly, suddenly shy to meet the woman she'd now guessed to be her grandmother.
'Why the sudden visit, you didn't even give me a call.'
'I called your number many times this morning but it wasn't going through,' Daddy explained.
'Network problems,' G.ma said. 'But all the same it's a pleasant surprise.' Her eyes were trained on the girl walking slowly towards her. 'Olumide, is that not Eniiyi?'
'You're right, ma,' Eartha said, frowning at the girl to walk faster.
'Chai, ọmọ òkìn pẹ́ dàgbà o. She's grown since the last time I saw her, o.'
Eniiyi mentally rolled her eyes as she reached them, what had she expected?
'Good morning, ma,' she said, going down onto her knees as was customary to greet an elder.
'Good morning, Eniiyi, Enieye. Ṣé daada la bayín o?' She was brought to a hug. Eniiyi found her face in an ample bosom and she tried not to squirm, she wouldn't mind death by asphyxiation, anyways, it'd take her away from all this horrors. 'Ṣé kògbọ́ Yorùbá ni?' Her grandmother wanted to know.
'Em . . . ógbọ́, but, kò kọ̀ lè sọ́ ni,' Daddy explained.
Grandma shook her head in pity and pulled the girl back to examine her more. 'Ogbọ́, you can't speak Yoruba?'
Eniiyi sputtered, not sure what the woman wanted to hear. She gently extricated herself from the older woman without seeming rude.
'It's okay, Mother,' Eartha said and winked at her daughter who glared back and stomped back to the car.
'Ṣé kò sí?' Olumide's mother wanted to know why they'd come visiting.
Daddy and Mommy started to explain to her but Eniiyi wasn't listening. She was blind with anger as she hauled the heavy holdall out and then made for the boot. So she was really going to stay, they were actually going to leave her behind in this middle-of-nowhere she didn't know the name. Though she had known coming here was inevitable, she'd rather hoped for a miracle that'd interrupt it. But now here she was, doomed like a rabbit in a corner. She was pained to tears but didn't cry, instead, she cussed at her parents work inside. The work that never allowed them to have time for her, the work that mandated it be put first before her, same work that now required her to be in this place for a whole month now.
YOU ARE READING
Alacrimia | √
General FictionAlacrimia in Layman's terms is the congenital inability to produce tears. Some places in Africa have their norms and beliefs wrapped around age-old, blind superstitions. Especially the rural communities. So when a young girl comes from the cit...