She was a good mother; nor did she reap the fruits of her labor; as vain as a peacock; nor a place for her to live in anymore; and now was a wanderer; as usual as lifestyle. That was it: that unfortunate night; no goats would go scot-free upon seeing the compendium; she was sent parking; threatened to decapitate her as if her head beckoned an eyelet; eyelet the small hole in your cloth; that’s how ridiculous the world was then, now too, and forever despite having done nothing… was that not a meaningless world; the whole world is insane.
She had lost touch with reality, her sense, as she would always look calmly like a dead hero, with her hands beneath her jaw, out of life she was not, she was not that she would be jumping up like a kid anytime she remembered those bad; and sardonic memories. What was she thinking? Her worst time to live was now, her present eighty years, or to her adulthood was sprinkled with dislocation, in fact depth, in fact wound, in fact sadness, in fact sorrow. Ignorance was her best friend; suffering her shelter; pain her pillow, wandering; her lifestyle; she knew not to again pains; reality loss and finally to; perpetual blindness. A useless elder: with gray hairs being regrets: and things cannot; yet fall like a hoard of money.
Free education, popularized by Awolowo diffused throughout their town, in fact Chief Adebesin was interested, had interest to give her daughter; yet she was not ready; those who go to school got to play, foolishness the father of hermits; done for it! That was her thought quite different from the glorious sun, shining on erudite people now, now now. She was peaceful as asleep, since she had nobody to even ask if her farewell, which now looked as ignorant as a child; in darkened ridden room; condemned wires at the edge of the ceiling, black, black with webs and soot used for combustion, combustion the necessity to burn.
Before she was not, not aware; her best friend; all these; she was enjoying at tender age as the only child; and become an esoteric teacher, unsurprisingly that indulgence ruins. It will ruin you… like a tattered Chinaware. Jars your belly before; before you knew it. It was her fault; “leave me, leave me,” she would say, “I would be great as my father… rich as though a Croesus.” Goody-goody day and night: day and night. So the time to search for a black goat is at the night; so education was not power, nor knowledge, not enlightenment; life was meaningful if you don’t take it to your hands like blue moon; so no cross; and yet to her; there was crown. It was all earthly damnation,—poverty the mother of all arts.
Now she is at it again; again she looking morose as a night; shackles have enclosed her ever since her father’s death, how she lacked the robust tree of knowledge to discern the ways she wanted her life to be. She never knew; nothing; she knew everything was going to end like this, the carnation tree was shedding tears with its transparent, clear leaves as sincere as a sunlight, as she reason, was it my father’s fault?... was he made me to live this awful life? He dangled his hands were into a bee’s hive now it stings me, me his daughter for many years; wolf, wolf with greediness. “May God punish his soul, nothing more, my prayer for him.”
It was a Greek tragedy for her, when her father and her mother passed away at two weeks interval simultaneously; back-to-back was when she began suffering; earlier before the commotion swept her family with a broom, Chief Adebesin had betrothed her, she, Akanke, their only seedlet unto his friend, Akibu Bature. That night he had come to doing a moonlight and won her unconventionally and was so because she was never saved both nine and a stitch, since she was indecisive about her future and was to marry then in two months. You, you looking, listening, listening that outward appearance is always deceiving.
She was crying again in an early; equally; outlandish manner, with weeps fasten latching on a totem pole, totem pole was the drops, drops of ditch water, pouring out of balance. Again she said, “may God punish Mr Akibu,” punishment for all her suffering, which was her shelter, the suffering which had made her like this.
Shakespeare one day told her if fire drive out fire, pity pity: that was the beliefs of her father’s haters… Chief Ebenezer Adebesin was a tycoon in all trades; a Jack. Eletun people never like him; because scarcely had-hardly when success came to people soon. He became rich fast like a hare taking a nap, but tortoise won at the end, they won at the end as thunder struck Chief Adebesin on his usual business trip. Asphyxia gripped his neck like a tightened tie, unconscious, instant blind and later revealed he forgot performing his monthly rituals; he forgot not spending; to the trickster, dark and short deity esu elegbera who he asked for an affluent period of time. The messenger deity would never give anyone a thing without collecting two—it was all a fallacy!
Out of frying pan into the fire, the fire was her husband-to-be’s house. All the properties left by Chief Ebenezer were handed over, voraciously garnered by him: the stand tall: close-fisted Akibu Bature. Shortly after living together he began to build houses, on the lands, which his ill-gotten goods fore-and-fore-fathers never prospered with, he put himself on the same trousers. As one particular house was building on, he never hired many bricklayers, useless people, money, money all the time, she was one of those; who would mix cements with, granite of course. A woman she was! A few months they completed the house; she was to stay at, at she said a room close to the toilet, with her many children.
She ended up, up in a stolid small village; where she became a hairless egg; known as Onijapa; those people with petty-petty works; but her own was to produce the local, local cassava flour; with a meagre wage! What is making a prisoner; that boil a new wristwatch happy? Poverty tried her continuously, you know those asterisks like small fire, that came when you blew furnace; for twenty-five years; those small objects used to enter, bottomless, her eyes; she got blinded; the perpetual type; she is rolling on the floor; noisy as a shadow.
“I don’t understand again, please I don’t understand again; don’t put it on me, my father, my mother, please help me; thank you, thank you… don’t take it, what do you want to do with it, you want to kill me; I can see you;” as hasty as fire she begin to calling out: “Dare! Dare! Dare!” nobody answered; that was the boy who used to help her fetching water; and some things done; she is not heard; they’ve turned her children’s back to her; last born had become great; she used to hear that, that he had become a governor, again a minister, and again and again a governor and a governmental official; just one person; as selfish as a fox; their side they only look at: is death the end? Hardship here and there has made her to having broken heart; at old age, she, she needed care, happy as a king all the time; why won’t she lost reality? Nobody knew her again; but thou should not forget… the misfortune of the king is not different from that of the chiefs.
Every of her children, Akanke’s children were God’s gifted, highly intelligent, good-looking; it was then an enmity among the six more wives the miser married. That was it; if the farm was not far, okra would never grow; one of them had planted a metaphysics which she would use to kill them; all of them including the husband; but that day; it never rained but poured; she was late and the charm become futile, ineffective, she died, when she entered. Not only that another wife thought she was clever for always having great children; as she would take ill news of Akanke to their husband; no doubt evil weeds grew apace, apace like the Jamaican Usain Bolt.
She was crying more bitterly; as though a vulpine whose prey is lapping on the stream; the wind alone would never blow anyone good. On her arms are the painful scars she received from the chip on the shoulder, Bature; as well as the other wives; is it not a spoilt milk, no need of crying over it. It was never the end of her life; they did what they could on my father’s properties; took my left five children. Misery would never meet them; never meet them singly.
She is at it again, in this plight: that same grave room: with unclear sight she was holding a firm walking-stick which; she usually tapping on the floor as lenses for, for perhaps whenever the ulcer on her eyes remained potent; unexpectedly her stick dashed a bowl of water on the bare floor; her legs slipped: on the floor she was crying in repentant moods: “don’t pity me, don’t pity me I say, don’t care a jot; a rap; a hoot, I knew nothing, silly as a goose, senseless as a stone; when his father told her that indulgence would ruined her she never listen—experience used to teach even the fools; …knowledge maketh a man wise and intelligent.”
Poverty, is no sin; sweet pain was the end result of life; if you failed to understanding; time flies. It didn’t used to wait for no man; no woman; no person; what you actually see is possible to have happened; but what you imagined you saw is a reality so to speak; that’s the power of humanity and literature. Good wine needs no bush; on the spot she passed out feces; urinate; slept and wish, wished for death; but death is merciful! It won’t come until, until that moment, you close your eyes; perhaps you could see your dead body as a spirit; as the mystic orientalists said; perhaps hell or heaven; I don’t know; you see yourself as a particle among innumerable carnation leaves; take your life into your hands, please don’t be like me, as you make your bed so you shall lie on it, look before you leap, teach yourself; I won’t do like this if I come again; that was it; if the old crook is left off the hook of the cocaine rackets, certainly will be nailed after tough probing have been concluded.
Lion knew the path, the right path and he was not killed; God was with him, that wasn’t her case, her pain which was… pillow, when she was collecting rainwater, one day, Mr Akibu got berserk because he was hungry; angrily removed the sash she was using to back the fifteenth baby; the baby died. That same day he mated with her. Every year she would give birth to a new baby, before and after she finally left she had labored for twenty times, fifteen of the children were lost, mummified, died with good reasons, he married more wives; witches of the deadliest forest: who can either say that, I am like this, I am not like that. Have you sighed? Exclusively; truthful lie like a gall used in pharmacology.
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