WAZOBIA: A Tale of Two worlds

Sixteen

We had left the woman's house after a while of weary fufu pounding.
Fausti was visibly tired, and me-
I was exhausted. I hadn't done this kind of work since I'd left for America about three years ago, and that just made me appreciate women of the motherland even more.

I smiled, then I frowned suddenly; remembering how the stern man had come into the kitchen, demanding that food be served to his friends (who happened to be some elders of the village) with palmwine. I remembered how Fausti, in a bid to be the helpful girl that she was, ran out to the back of the kitchen and grabbed the keg of palm wine, which she helped serve to the men.

I just stood at the corner. Resting my head on the mud walls of the kitchen; staring - anger building a Babel tower inside of me.

But I allowed it, I nurtured it, I had to. Without it I would never achieve what I came back for.
Fausti looked at me occasionally; probably wondering what her daring aunty was thinking of.

Fausti.

I looked at her and smiled. I'd train her. I'd teach her all I learnt in military academy, as much as I could. After all, I had the equipment, and the space. I'd groom her to be fearless and heartless and firm. And most of all, I'd teach her never to ever trust or take heed from men.

I smiled at the thought.

It seemed as home drew nearer my feet continued to lose balance. I steadied myself again as Fausti knocked on the door.

"Ada m, so you're the one Faustina went with? I was worried. Faustina come in, there's work to do,"

My mom stood aside for Fausti to step in; I could see the groan written on her face.

"Mummy, you would've called me nau, to know where Fausti was," I stepped inside and closed the door after my mom.

"Besides, we're very tired, please allow her to go and sleep. She'll do the work tomorrow," I said, plopping myself on the couch.

My mom waved a hand at Fausti, who zombie-walked to her room.

"So..."

"Your father is recovering very fast, in fact, he's very near okay; according to the doctors," my mom said, looking into my eyes.

I turned away. I couldn't let her see the spite and hatred that surged through me.

She turned my face back to her and cupped it in her palms.

"Ada m," she pushed off the braid hanging in front of my face.

"Ọ bụ nnagị," he's your father; she whispered into my ear.

Her thumbs brushed my cheek as I resolved not to let the Goddamn clear liquids squeeze out of my eyes.

I threw my mom's hands off my face, got up and walked upstairs. The horrid contrast of her normal left arm and burnt right one, zooming inside of me.

He burnt her. It wasn't just her arm; it was her whole right side. My mom's beautiful body was ruined at  twenty nine, and she had Kachi just a few weeks after.

He. Burnt. Her.

And she still cared enough to visit him in the hospital.

She was stupid.

He let a large piece of wood on fire and burnt her. The hell-bent beast burnt her. Right in front of our eyes.

I could remember my elder sister screaming, "mummy!" As she hid behind the slightly open backyard door; watching. I stood in front of the door, still and stiff, tears rolling out of my eyes with pursed lips while I watched my mom shout in pain.

That was a video that lived inside my head rent free. And it had since ten years ago.

Kachi's birth with he and my mom surviving it was a miracle. A major reason I remained Christian, till today -
But I guess I was gonna break some rules.

I closed my eyes and all I saw was crimson.