Aega;
The road to my new home was the one with the most strenuous journey I had ever been on. And I have never travel before.
I wasn't allowed to take any of my things not even my favourite storybook; the unfortunate tadpole. My now-grandmother bought everything necessary on the way. But at first, I got to see my mother ridden to the hospital in an old beat-up Mercedes. I prayed and wished she would be better the next time we met. Grandmother said it would not be that long, I hoped it was not just a trick to let me go with her peacefully. They were all surprised when I didn't make any fuss about it. I was certain that she would not do something that wicked even if she seemed capable.
We took too many stops just so she could price down markets that she would end up not buying. These exhausting comings and goings where also indulged by her two daughters, my aunties. Chatter box, if you would call them that, was an understatement. It would seem that their discussions never ended. They would discuss about anything and everything, even when I didn't want to be a part of their discussions, they would always find a way to force various maddening questions down my ears and when I wouldn't answer or try to face them blankly, they would angrily label me rude or disrespectful. And grandmother would grin towards my direction without looking at me. Typical African adults. Easily insulted.
The Volkswagen and Mitsubishi buses were said to be yellow, with black stripes across the middle off both sides of the body – some two or three, broken and poorly mended windows some nailed-shut with ply woods or black nylons wrapped around, barely hung side-doors and welded iron seats were our ride home.
The bus park where the buses all stayed both big, small and long was rowdy. People everywhere, shouting, yelling fighting, laughing, singing, dancing, begging and one little clothe-less boy was crying. More hawkers hawking than those interested in buying whatever they were selling. The ground was wet and muddy, yet, people sat on it selling, advertising or just waiting. A number of men gathered round a newsstand reading and arguing at the same time. A chaos of bus conductors shouting for travellers to get in all at the same time, I was surprised people were able to discern what they were yelling; town names, states, areas – I couldn't understand. People trooping in and out of buses some with loads of different kind, same as buses leaving and returning. Four men were dragging a cow; with a noose to its nose into a truck, yelling in Yoruba; something about not allowing the cow to break loose. Some spectators laughing sadistically. I watched people gather around a man who was trying to fit a long cutlass down his throat while they watched, astonish, like I was. There was another group of saints-like people, evangelising, loudly. The man among them was talking at the top of his voice, the veins in the neck swell and pulsate as he spoke, but his voice was swallowed up by the noise from everywhere.
These kept on for as long as I stood, waiting close to a bus we charted alongside one of my aunties close, as grandmother and the other one disappeared into the glamourous crowds. Our seats where already paid for and we were told to hold on to our loads warned by the bus conductor and twice by grandmother, before she left. You would have thought my aunt was a child too as we waited and watched different kind of people troop in and out of the bus sceptical and indecisive.
Few minutes later, they came back with a new type of bag filled with more stuffs they had gotten from the hawkers. I sighed with exhaustion as we finally strolled into the bus. Not long after that the bus was filled and ready to move.
I sat in the midst of many kinds of people and their stuffs all cramped up in the small bus. I wished we had paid for the bigger buses, but they also required more people and more time to fill the bus. The chattering was now in minimum but I could discern most of the conversations. Those that spoke to people outside were louder. And everyone seemed to complain about the unstableness of the bus as it began to move but nobody was ready to alight. Pretentious, I thought. The air inside the bus was thin and scarce, the ones close to the window were more advantageous due to the fact that they would first receive the fresh air coming from outside except when there is some wrathful exhaust smoke from the back of other buses close by. Some buses we pass were wrecked looking similar to ours, spraying the thick black smoke our way, they would get into the bus and every passenger would hurriedly look for something to cover their nose with and would lay curses and yell loudly at the drivers of the buses that committed these acts and the drivers would also return the same curses and yelling. Everyone partook in this tradition and spoke the same language when it can to these issues, even my grandmother and aunties. This would then bring new conversations and reminiscing between passengers who have become acquainted and laughter would raise to the roof when the driver would say something bizarrely funny. I didn't get his jokes but the rest of the passengers did.
Later on, the challenges would rise to something new but expected in every kind of buses traveling. The heat. Passengers would give side comment and complain about the heat. Few would agree and this would bring new conversations and reminiscing. The oily skin to skin contact with passengers, the frequent stoppings at junctions and police barricades and crowds of hawkers and one time at a mechanic shop to deal with a flat tire. Some people had to come down to take a breather or stretch. I didn't. I was keeping an eye on our stuffs. Then we would all squeeze ourselves back into the bus jut as before.
Another memorable part of the journey had to be the worst experienced so far; the loads, carriage and luggage every passenger owned in the bus. Some contained clothes with old, new smell, others would contain vegetables and fruits and would stink the whole bus up but nobody complained or covered their noses no matter how bad they smelled. A woman at the backseat, when I turned was holding a live chicken on her lap. It was like every one of them had the same tolerance for the same particular kinds of smell and exhaust smokes from the back of wrecked up buses was not one of them.
I would look at everyone seated next to me, my grandmother, aunties and some of the passengers and I would ponder why I was just the opposite. Everything made me uncomfortable right from the start of the journey, but by God I could not complain or even react to any of them negatively. Or my grandmother would have my head with those looks she would give me. I suffered my way through every torturous hour of the endless journey until the sun left and the sky turned orange and then we finally made a stop. And in all of the journey, I wasn't spoken to once.
My grandmother held my hands as we finally departed off the bus along with some others, the auntie brought down every loads we stuffed in the bus and we watched the bus drive away. We walked the rest of the way. I strode behind the three women carried the loads on their heads. They greeted everybody they came across. Some people they greet would look weirdly at me while some would ask them about me and three women would say the something every time;
"Omo aburo mi," or most times they would just ignore or shunned with laughter. It was never funny. I felt like a cow noosed by the nose and dragged behind turning at every direction they turned.
I couldn't utter any word as I moved along, but they kept on talking to me, telling me about things I would meet when I get to the home, family members about the farm which was very big as described by one of my aunties. I discovered that the two young women were twins, both married and leaving in that same house with their children and husbands alongside other members of the family.
The taller one had darker skin; she said her name was Abisola but said I should call her aunty Esther. She had on a laced gown in native attire and tied matching scarf, brighter colours than her twin, the not-so tall one, who dressed English and wore current wears. Her name was Ruth; she looked younger, fair complexion, no scarf but braided her neatly to the back. The first one, Abisola, talked about how she has twins of her own –girls, and another child; boasting of a supposed twin miracle falling on her linage as she told tales of it. Ruth just has four boys who were older than I was and she didn't look trilled to talk about them further. I was pleased. Not in a million years would I have guessed that they were twins. Reminiscing, I began to see similarities in their behaviour; they both had lousy behaviour.
Grandmother didn't talk to either of them let alone me, she just greeted few people she seemed to recognize before taking a lonely turn facing a crowd of wild trees, hard to miss. Then to an open farm. Nothing ahead but plantations and more plantations. Farms. None of which I had ever seen before.
I lived in the city; the worst part, and the only thing that came close to a green life or plantation were scanty bushes and some green algae in gutters at the sides of the roads. Buildings cramped up in the city, less of fresh air compared to this place. The houses here where either bungalow of tethered roofed houses. But not the city; shops, churches, mosques and many different types of businesses battling for whatever little space they could find. There were also the noises that came with living in the city, the noise never stops; day in day out. The quaking sounds of the crowded feet dragging, lifting and hitting the ground and loud voices of chattering of various discussions, shouting and fighting and endless walkers walking, even at night. The music resonating from alcohol-infested bars and outside parties and smell of roasted corns, yams and plantains, also dumps of different kinds anywhere everywhere on every street knowable. Most of the times they were all in the same place at once. People shouting out their markets and streets hawkers running from places to places. But here, where I had now found myself, was the opposite of everything that made up the city I knew. The omission of everything I knew of what a street should look like. Could. As far as I knew, I had not seen any place better. It was clean, quiet and had clear and fresh air coming from every direction, touching every part of my body, creeping through my clothes and finding itself in odd places. And the only sounds worth hearing came from trees singing, grasses dancing, birds tweeting, goats bleating and chickens crowing running free.
I didn't know a place like this could ever exist on any place exist. I was taken aback by the children that played on the streets were we walked by, they were looking well fed and most of them –partially clothed, but they felt gratified in their own skin and ways of living.
Immediately I felt like an outcast. The moment I took in the environment. It didn't feel like a place I would grow to love or feel comfortable in. it felt so strange and quiet.
The rush of unexpected mindless peace touched down my spine and I could vision myself just like one of those children that we passed on the way; big belly and half nude.
We took the last turn into more quiet environment and I watched then stop. I stopped to, few feet from them. We stopped at the front of a brown rusted two sided gate that used to be painted red. Halved-height fence that was only barely had any finishing, no cement plastering or painting like they did in the city. You could easily see behind the fences, inside the compound. It was huge and wide and spacious. It felt like the whole city where I grew up could fit into these compound. The main house was further away, couple of feet away. A large and long bungalow house stood in the middle of trees and small farm, at the centre of the big land.
I wasn't, anymore, shocked when my aunt told me that they lived there. They had earlier said that they all lived together, and I imagined them in a big house obviously. But I dint imagine something this big, the house could fit fifty of my house in the city. From outside the entrance of the house, different types of trees grew tall at both sides of the building, all naturally arranged and beautiful. A mango tree stood the tallest with girth, its canopy almost enveloped the whole compound giving the land a dark brown shade from the evening sun. Few trees stood beside the mango trees but none came close to its majestic awe. The small farm at the other side of the house grew more of vegetables and some other plants that looked edible, you can call it a garden. And grown with experienced hands. All these were visible from outside and my thoughts questioned the security this place held.
The rusted gate crackled as it opened, hurriedly by aunt Ruth enough that a whole carnival to troop through. The inside of the compound had more feel that outside as the first breeze stroked different from the course of the trees flapping their leaves. I was taken away. It felt homey. I took it all in.
I looked around, I could see the whole length of the house, the ends of the compound in parallel, except toward the back of the house which was covered with thick bushes. It felt grey.
The house was painted yellow and fading and old, the protruding window –I counted six, where not painted and the frames were left in the wood, brown-like and the slated Inverted-V roof was old and had worn frames. The house looked ancient, but better that most house I had seen and lived. The space the house occupied was something I didn't like, because it only served one purpose, whereas city buildings would practically kill for a space like this. It felt greed-like. But then I wondered why people still felt the need to cramp up in small boxes in the city, live in houses with worse conditions and struggle all the way, instead of places like this. Whatever the reasons were, I had a feeling I wouldn't like it too when I ever find out. I hoped it wouldn't be as exaggerated as my thoughts had made it out to be. I prayed.
They had already gone further into the compound when I realise that I hadn't been walking. I took my steps slowly as I stared at every corner of everywhere. Not long before some children came out screaming in happiness and running into the hands of their mothers. As I watched, I remembered my mother. It dawned on me that I had not thought of her the whole way here. I had just thought about the fact that my mother knew about this place, maybe she had lived here before but the fact that that she never told me of a place like this was unsettling. If I wasn't here today, I would never have pictured a place like this could ever exist. And the fact that she always tells me everything. Well now, not everything. I reckoned, she never talks of my father too. Later. But first I would have to live through these shades of walk that's my new life. A new adjustment.
The indoor was so much better; it looked old and new at the same time, like what mother would call an "antique". It had the smell of food plastered everywhere. Like as if someone had been constantly cooking, at every corner for years and it had stayed glued to every fabrics and bricks that made up the house.
Passing through the corridor, was a thick wooden door into an open space. The living room. Which greeted me with peering eyes from children and adults altogether. It was like as if I was a face that they had tried their darnedest to forget. In the midst of the stabbing looks, I felt naked and alone, the wall behind me felt further away from me and I couldn't lean on it for coverage. I just stood there, shy, staring back at everyone in the room. They were about ten people sitting at different sides in the parlour and the same children that had ran out to meet their mothers earlier, the three of them still ran around the room. I looked away from them and tried to look for the women I came in with, but they were nowhere to be found.
I looked up at the white ceiling, at what looked to be white like wall. Even all I could see were partially white and black, I knew that wasn't white. Frames picture of different smiling faces hung on the walls, most of which would have to be present in the room presently, some of the pictures had young, old, baby pictures and some of which were too old to recognise. It could be any of them sitting right in front of her, or it couldn't. None of the persons sitting right in front of her were anything similar to the faces on the walls. They were either too old or too young.
I searched for my mother's picture too, I couldn't find any. I didn't know why but I didn't put much interest in it.
I stood there for few more minutes, yet there were no any kind of words been spoken, they all gazed weirdly at my direction. It felt like they were expecting something from me. I didn't know what they wanted and I didn't know what to give them either. Their awkward stare didn't make it any easier. All I did was try to avoid any form of eye contact with any of them.
No one spoke until the old woman appeared from another door, alone. A cotton covered door. Where she stopped in front of a large long table with chairs enough for at least fifteen people. She searched for me and grunted when she found me still in the same position she had left me. Her glares where now darker and deeper than before. The room dropped dead silent when she entered the room, even the older men stopped talking amongst themselves and the three children that were run around had rechecked themselves simultaneously, halted without spilling any sounds. The aura in the room when her presence was noticed changed and for a moment, the definition of scary was redefined. The effect tripled and my stomach cried, instinctively.
She just stood there looking right at me absurdly for some seconds before beckoning me to come to her. I, at first, hesitated. The change of her expression at the instance of my sluggishness gave her a face of impatience and exasperation, subtle but assured, it made me hasten my paces. I walked around the small crowd, we all shared eye contacts. They didn't say any words to me the whole time, not even the children, it was like as if they had all been instructed to. It made me hallow, even as I walked past them to meet the old woman. I stopped right under her gaze, her grotesque body size got bigger as I looked right under her chin. She didn't look at me, she just held me by the shoulders and walked me into the inner room of the building, behind the curtains. The voices in the parlour resumed as we left, almost immediately. We walked down the corridor, floor paved in old tiles and cement designs; by breaking of the tiles into chips and then fitted randomly into a cement-paved floor. The walls weren't painted and the cements where rough but not enough to leave sharpened points sticking out. The walls at both sides had three doors each. We passed them all till we reached the last door, the sixth, to the left, it was opened.
In the inside, it was spacious than my old bedroom that mother and I shared. It had a bed with well fitted bed sheets. A wood cupboard stood at the end of the room, a single table and a chair closer to the other end of the room, a little far away from the beds, which stood almost in the middle, well aligned with everything else. The floor had the same design as the corridor's but with few cracks and patches here and there, but altogether, it was as neat has as a church alter and isles. It was a too perfect-neat room and when I strode in, I felt more than a little unworthy just to enter its domain. But the two sister-mother, my aunts were already there going through the cupboards and wardrobe and shuffling, sorting and resorting clothes. Most of which were bought on the way here from the park's markets. Grandmother had backed them to face me, looked down, lifted my chin- just has she always do from the moment we met –so I could see her intolerant and stern looks piercing through and burning my retina. I gulped, thought it was loud.
"This is your room from now on, you will be sharing it with no one. This was your aunt's daughter's room, Remi, but she will be going back to sharing bed with her sister". Grandmother's words were firm but I knew someone would not be happy or comfortable taking their space and altering they norm. I knew I had already made my firs enemy already. My aunt, Abimpe, gave me a kind of stern look. My heart quaked. I felt like an intruder once again, I knew I would always be reminded that for the rest of my life here. Grandmother didn't mind when she saw Abimpe giving me a look, the sister Ruth just smiled through the awkwardness then turned right back into doing something. I didn't k now how to respond to any of these, I just stared backed and gave a slight nod towards grandmother's way. She let go of my chin, I rubbed it free.
She said later, "when you see kehinde, thank her", before leaving the room. Aunt Abimpe followed her. I stepped aside to let them through.
After standing there for almost three minutes, taking in the corners of the room, the air, the smell and the silence, I for the first time knew what quiet meant. I walked the room slowly. Went first to the table and chair, ran my fingers on the ply wood, the smooth surface, saw some scribbles and drawings and sat on the chair few seconds then stood up again and went for the bed. I took my time trying to wrap my head around the fact that this whole place was mine. Not long ago that I was sleeping on chopped up foam as a bed, laid on the floor close to my mother's bed and yet none of my old life was compared to what was in front of me. And they were all mine.
I felt lucky. But most of that came from the fact that that I didn't have anything remotely close to this. Comparing them was something like a dream. It did make me think about my mother once again and I knew where ever she was now she would be happy to see me happy.
I had spaced out and I didn't know that aunt Ruth was still in the room.
"I hope you're happy here. This would be a big change for you", she spoke calmly. This was not her usual way she spoke since the moment I met her. I nodded, not knowing how to respond to that. She stood up and pat my head before walking towards the door. She stopped and looked at me. She didn't speak, just a silent stare like as if she was studying me.
"You look a lot like him", she smiled. Then disappeared into the main corridor.