Ten
As news of my father’s ill health spread, his
bedside became a parade of friends and relatives and well-wishers.
Every day, somebody new came to express best wishes, to let us know
that we were in their prayers. Sometimes I felt like keeping away
until all these people had left. But as opara, it was my duty to
receive them, to share the burden of my mother’s faithful vigil at
her husband’s side. She went home only once a day - to wash and to
change and to visit her shop. She always looked drawn. And when she
did not have her skull wrapped up in a scarf, her beautiful hair
looked as if it had converted completely to grey overnight.
Aunty Dimma had turned up with a flask of ukwa and
fried plantain, which my mother had barely touched. When I walked
in, Aunty stood and unfastened thick, crimson lips in one of her
sensational smiles.
‘Kings, Kings,’ she crooned in C minor. ‘Opara nne
ya! My charming young darling, how are you?’
She trapped me in a backbreaking hug that lasted
quite long. I felt a gooey substance on my right ear and hoped that
it was simply some stray hair gel from her red-streaked pompadour.
She tickled my cheeks with her fingers. Aunty Dimma had always been
one for histrionics, but this extra zing told me that she had
learned that I had been dumped.
My mother heaved a sigh. Aunty Dimma released me
and turned to her.
‘Are you doubting?’ she asked. ‘Don’t you believe
God heals?’
Probably because she was a liberated woman, Aunty
Dimma usually spoke in a loud, red-hot voice, even when she was not
angry. She also had an opinion about everything - from the
second-class status of women in Igbo Land to the status quo in
Outer Mongolia. And she always made sure that her voice put the
final full stop to every conversation. The only factor hindering
Aunty Dimma’s complete metamorphosis from liberated woman to
full-fledged man was that she had not yet grown a beard.
‘Of course I know God heals,’ my mother replied
softly. ‘But I believe that sometimes, God allows sickness to teach
us a lesson.’
‘If that’s the case,’ Aunty Dimma said with a
smirk, ‘why are you even bothering coming to hospital?’
I dived in.
‘Mummy, what are we going to do about money? Is
there anybody else we can borrow from?’
Both women crash-landed to matters arising. So far,
we had borrowed once from Mr Nwude’s elder brother while Aunty
Dimma had made two medium-sized cash donations that were
commensurate with her pocket. All my mother’s jewellery and
expensive wrappers had already been sold to provide for children’s
school fees in crises past. Crumbs were left in the bank. Very
soon, even if the doctors grabbed each of us by our two legs,
turned us upside down with our heads facing the ground, and shook
us violently, not a penny would drop.
Aunty Dimma’s voice ended the long silence.
‘What about your brother?’ she asked.
‘Which one?’ my mother replied.
‘Which other one do you think? Boniface is there in
Aba spending money on foolish girls and buying new cars every day.
Why not tell him that Paulinus is in hospital?’
Terrified, I shot a glance at my father, wondering
if he had heard. If he had, he would want nothing more than to rise
from the bed and empty his catheter bag into my aunt’s mouth.
Everybody knew how much he detested Uncle Boniface. I was surprised
that my mother did not immediately forbid Aunty Dimma from raising
the matter again. Instead, she kept quiet.
I held my breath and watched. She actually appeared
to be considering it.
‘After all, what’s the big deal?’ Aunty Dimma
continued. ‘Other rich people build houses for their relatives and
train their siblings’ children. One of my friends—’
‘Reduce your voice,’ my mother whispered.
‘One of my friends, her elder brother is paying for
her daughter to do a Masters degree in London . . . almost ten
thousand pounds. How can you people have a brother who’s so rich
and you’re struggling like this?’
My mother pondered some more.
‘These nouveau riche, money-miss-road people,’ she
responded at last, ‘they have a way of getting on someone’s nerves.
Look at Boniface who lived with us just yesterday. All of a sudden,
small money has turned his head upside down. At Papa’s burial,
didn’t you see how he was moving up and down with security guards
as if he’s the head of state? The boy didn’t even finish secondary
school.’
Aunty Dimma looked at my mother and laughed. She
finished laughing, looked at my mother again, and began another
round of laughter.
‘Point of correction,’ she said, ‘his money is not
small at all. The cost of his cars alone can pay off all of
Nigeria’s international debts. You can go on calling him big names
like “nouveau riche”. You own the big grammar, he owns the big
money.’
She laughed some more.
‘So what are you suggesting?’ my mother asked now,
her voice still well below normal speaking range.
‘Ozoemena, humble yourself. We’re talking about
Paulinus’s life here. I have his cellular number, but I think it’s
best to talk to him face-to-face. You don’t have to go yourself.’
She nodded at me. ‘Send Kings.’
‘To Aba or to Lagos?’ my mother asked.
‘He’s mostly in Aba. Only his wife and children
stay in the Lagos house. I hear she doesn’t like Aba.’ Aunty Dimma
snorted. ‘It’s probably too backward for her.’
‘What kind of marriage is that? How can they live
so far apart?’
‘Marriage? Hmm. The girl was a professional
mistress before she finally settled down. What do you expect? She
just generally eats his money and takes care of his
children.’
‘So do you people think I should go and ask him for
the money?’ I interrupted, trying to corner them back into
action.
‘I think so,’ Aunty Dimma replied. ‘This money that
is causing you people sleepless nights is ordinary chewing gum
money to some other people. At the end of the day, he’s your flesh
and blood.’
She gave me more details about where to find Uncle
Boniface’s office in Aba.
‘Just ask anybody,’ she said. ‘Tell them you’re
looking for Cash Daddy.’