Increasing echoes of footfalls could be heard heading towards a gated property more than half a mile from the local clinic in a small town, with a girl no older than ten as the focus of concern and pity for many who had arrived earlier than the others.
'I think you should take her to Bintu's place,' said Inna.
'Yes, that's a good idea,' concurred Aunt Talatu, her father's only sibling. 'She's too small for all these and probably she'll be upset and cry when they bring him back.'
The girl said nothing. She sat on the sofa calmly,revealing nothing of what she thought on her face while listening closely to the women whispering. A sense of gloom loomed over her. The house was full of people; relatives and neighbours. Though many, they kept their distance and spoke only in whispers. Words like 'such a pity!'… . 'She's but a child'... . 'it's tragic'... . Made their way to her small ears.
Her father had not been a sociable man in their small town. Nothing more of an interaction between her father and the neighbours had she noticed in her ten years of life, aside from the occasional grunt and nodding in greeting. But hours after he collapsed in front of their house and was rushed to the clinic by Mallam Moddibo—one of their neighbours, seemed to bring everyone who mattered in the community to their home.
Mallam Moddibo's car drove slowly into the compound with small branches of leaves sticking from the bonnet of his car. Everyone inside the house rushed out. She'd been forgotten for the moment— left alone in the spacious sitting room.
The girl got up from the couch and walked over to the window. She stared at the people circling the car as it came to a stop and Mallam Moddibo stepped out. She watched as the crowd parted to allow three able-bodied men to open the car, maneuver and bring out her father from the back of the car and make their way up the few steps. She heard the doleful wail of her Aunt and grandmother among the crowd of people outside.
Her father was laid on the soft brown rug in the next room. Aunt Talatu and Inna sat beside him, tears running down their faces and falling on his body in rapid succession.
The girl squeezed between the bodies blocking the doorway to witness the sorrowful sight of the mother and daughter. Her heart raced as she crossed the short distance and knelt on the other side of the women.
She shook the man who had meant much to her in the entire universe, but he lay quietly, eyes closed in eternal slumber. He had to open his eyes; nobody else mattered—not her aunt or grandmother, and certainly not her mother, who had abandoned her and her father for a bigger house and a sizable purse.
She hadn't seen her since she arrived with toys and pretty dresses to entice her away from their house five years ago, and she didn't remember her well.
Someone tried to forcefully take her away but was halted by the most understanding of them that has since sensed her stubbornness and seen the absence of tears. "It's too late for this," was all the person said.
He had to open his eyes and look at her.
'Allah needs your father, my dear,' her grandmother's weeping voice tried to console her as her wrinkled palm grasped her small shoulder and turned her away.
What could he have wanted from her father? The girl wondered what use he was to God when he was cold and lifeless on the rug.
'Let's pray for his peaceful journey to the hereafter
***
A light drizzle was beginning as the crowd drifted away from the compound. The cemetery was about a mile down the hill, and those without cars who had to walk the distance to the cemetery would get wet.
The girl waited until everyone had departed before leaving the room and going to the kitchen. The old cook, who was busy preparing the only large meal ever served in the home, looked up from the boiling pot of soup and asked the girl if she needed anything, but she shook her head and went to the back door. The cook appeared to be sober. The death of her owner meant that she would be out of work very soon. The house would be sold, and her stay might not be guaranteed.
The girl crept out of the house through the back door and into the lane through a breach in the leafy boscage. When she arrived at the main road, The mourners could be seen making their way down the hill and into the cemetery. She proceeded slowly behind. She had frequently traveled this path on their evening walks with her father. Nearly all of the plants and wildflowers that blossomed on the slope were named by the girl. Her father had explained and pointed out these and other insects to her.
For a moment, she thought her father was beside her, out on one of their long walks. Instinctively she put out her hand, expecting her father's warm, comforting touch. There was nothing, nothing, but air... .
Walking farther down the hill, she could see the cemetery. The graves in the cemetery were so laid out in a never-ending neat and serried rows that if one day the men, women and children buried there could push aside those burial mounds and rise from their graves, they would stand like the pupils on the assembly grounds in the town school.
The cemetery gate was open, but the girl leaned against the old stonewall,
staring down at the stiffly standing mourners, listening to the Imam's voice as her father, wrapped in white clothes, was moved and lowered—down, deep down—the girl was surprised at how far down the undertakers seemed to place her father!
She did not know whether to go forward or not when the undertakers came up, leaving her father below. She was a little afraid to confront such a crowd of grownups.
A final prayer from the Imam, and then some of those present threw handfuls of earth into the grave. When she moved to stop them, it was already too late, the undertakers were filling in the grave and the mourners were slowly moving from the grave towards the gate. The mist swallowed them up. They did not see the girl standing alone behind the wall. They were getting hungry and drenched.
The girl wondered why people hadn't made it easier for the dead to rise.
They were so securely entombed, sealed away from the beauty of the world that it appeared as though no one really wanted them to get out. Or perhaps there is another better and more beautiful world down in the depths of the earth.
She stood there until they had all gone, then she moved forward. The grave was already covered and they were storing away their shovels in a dirty sack.
'He is in a better place. . . .' One of the undertakers had tried to console her when they turned and saw her standing behind them.
A better place that her beloved father will go without her? A place where she wouldn't be around to massage his aching back? What better place will separate a father from a daughter?
Fighting back tears that threaten to spill from her eyes, She lowered her head and clenched her fists. She did not want to talk to them, for they had put her father away. Separated her from him for God knows how long.
Looking at the fresh mound slowly getting drenched from the rain she knew her father wouldn't be able to push his way back to her, he was a gentle soul deep down to the bones.
She turned and walked away from the cemetery, allowing the tears to finally fall and mix with the rain. The road stretched ahead of her, empty, swathed in mist. She was alone.
What had her father said to her once? 'The strongest man in the world is he who stands alone.'
Well, she was alone, but at the moment she did not feel very strong.
'I'll come for you very soon, ' the girl said fiercely to herself. 'You just wait for me, I'll help you get into the root of a plant and then you'll become a flower… . I'll get you out somehow, I promise!'
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