For today, wanted to share a story I wrote for a regional short story competition, it wasn't picked so I just thought it okay to share it with you. The title of the story is "MO TI DELE"; its Yoruba, a Nigerian Language meaning "I Have Gotten Home."
I will really appreciate comments and feedbacks about this blog, although some friends have told me they had some issues posting comments. However, this is my email address smarrsh@gmail.com. Thanks and God bless!
Enjoy!
Mo Ti Dele
“Knock, knock, anybody there? “Ngozi said in a high pitched voice as she opens the door to my study. Her smile can light up a room full of darkness, her eyes as bright like shinning stars, her skin, like ebony with porcelain finesse. Her built is what the gods would be jealous of and most importantly a heart of gold. You see, Ngozi is my wife of three years and within this very short time of marital journey, I have been faced with one of the very hardest of challenges a newly married husband could ever face.
It
all started one late night evening; it was an unusually stormy weather that
day, as if Mother Nature was trying to tell me of the storm that was really
coming my way. Leaves were blown off their branches; some were plucked from
their roots making makeshift road blocks which made driving a little bit
difficult. It was definitely a sigh of relief when I got home. I opened the
door, the lights to the living room were switched off which was odd been it was
just some minutes past 7:30pm. I called out to my wife and silence was the only
response. I began to get apprehensive but on careful observation, I heard
sobbing and it was coming from the dinning room. As I got closer, it got louder
and louder. It was coming from Ngozi; I called out to her in horror. “Ngozi!
What is the matter?” but it seems as soon as she saw me, the sobbing turned
into full blown crying. It seemed I was some kind of catalyst. “Ade please
forgive me” she said as she fell on her knees. I was more confused than
shocked. “Forgive you?” I muttered, still lost in comprehension. “Ade, please
forgive me” she said it again, this time, it was more agonizing then the first
“what are you taking about, Ngozi? I asked again. She placed her right hand
over her mouth and her other hand on her stomach and bowed to the ground still
on her knees as she wept.
I stood motionless for about a minute
just looking at her as she wept and groaned. I moved toward her, held her by
her arms and shook her almost violently asking her to tell me what she was
trying to tell me. That didn't faze her, instead she cried even
louder not from physical pain but from overwhelming guilt, I could see it in
her eyes that something was horribly wrong. I held her close trying to console
her but that did little to ease any pain she was feeling. Then all of a sudden,
there was a moment of silence, which was now more worrisome because I wondered
what was coming next. “I have sinned against you Ade” she said while I still
held her close. “What did you do? “I asked her. “I think I slept with Sani” in
a terrified voice.
“You
think”? By this time, I had pulled away from her. “You think”? I asked her
again. I literally started feeling dizzy. I pulled out a dinning
chair and sat down, put my hands over my head and started sobbing.
For about five minutes, we were both sobbing, so many thoughts racing through
my head; why is she telling me now? Does she want to own up because he is
blackmailing her? Is it the guilt? Is Michael mine? Then I got up to my feet
like a robot and asked her if I was the father of our son, Michael. To which
she responded in a terrified tone “I do not know”. “How could you do this
to me, to us Ngozi?” I yelled as I tried to make sense of what was happening.
My world was falling apart right before my eyes and I couldn't do
anything to stop the step wise crumbling. What did she mean by saying “she
thought she slept with Sani?” Sani was my best friend, not only my best friend
but my best man on my wedding day. He was more than a brother to me or that’s
what I thought. She was looking confused almost trying to think up what to say,
“I “, “I”,”I” she said. “Yes ““yes” I responded.
“Before anything leaves your mouth, be sure you are telling me the truth” I
told her. She showed agreement by quick successions of nodes of the head. She
explained that about 3 weeks prior to our wedding day, we had an argument. She
went to meet Sani to talk some sense into me. In the process of narrating the
whole story to him, she became emotional and he tried to comfort her. He
offered her some alcohol and the next thing she knew was she woke up the next
day in his bedroom.
In total
amazement, I looked at her and started walking towards the door wanting to run
away as fast as I could “Daddy” Michael said, his word was like sending bolts
of electricity down my spine because I just froze I didn't know he
had been sitting on the stairs all this while. I turned and walked towards
the stairs, as I reached the foot of the stairs, he stretched out his hands
towards me wanting me to pick him up and I just stood there looking and
wondering about everything I just heard my wife say. His expectation turned
into disappointment as he returned his outstretched arms. Ngozi came from
behind me, walked towards him and picked him up. As she took him up he kept on
looking at me as they both faded into the darkness.
I left the
house, got into my car and just sat there sobbing like a baby. The storm was
loosing its tempo so I just kept on driving with no idea where I was going to.
I drove throughout the night, by morning I realized I was in the outskirts of
the state in a remote town. My cell phone was out of coverage which was a
relief; I just wanted time to myself. I had enough money to lodge in a local
motel. When I got in, it was nothing fancy just the basic things needed to get
through the day, a sharp contrast to the kind of life I have had the privilege
to live all my life. I was blessed with well to do parents, nice cars, houses,
vacations and never lacked for what money could buy.
I laid down on the bed which was painfully soft and I managed to sleep but it
was shorted lived as I was awoken by the shouts of a woman and the cry of a
child. I managed to get up and looked out through the window, it seemed like
the woman was beating the child for something wrong he did and from the stories
she was telling onlookers, the ones who cared to stand and listen was that the
money he brought back didn't correspond to the worth of goods she
gave him to sell; a tray of ground nuts laid close by.
While she spoke, she gave him more slaps, I just shrieked and looked on. The
child couldn't be more than nine years old and I wondered how
much money this woman expects this child should bring from
selling ground nuts that look so unappealing to the eyes. I
returned back to bed thinking about my own life and all the blows it had
received. I couldn't sleep through the night, I just tossed and
turned and thought of Sani. I wondered how he could do this to me, I
thought of killing him but how? I was filled with so much hatred and rage.
When I woke up, I decided to take a walk just to clear my head. As I walked on,
I saw a kiosk by the side a little distance away from the road so I decided to
sit by it and have a drink of water. It wasn't up to ten minutes when
I noticed a child with a tray of ground nuts walking by, as he hawked on
the busy road side, a motorbike passed by so close by him that it brushed him
and he fell into the gutter. Everything on that tray fell to the ground. The
individual riding the motorcycle didn't even wait, he just sped off.
The boy tried to help himself out of the gutter and he was visibly hurt.
So I walked over and helped him out. “Uncle, thank you” he said with a cracked
smile which soon turned to crying after he looked at the tray and the groundnut
all over the floor and gutter. “Aunty will beat me” “aunty will beat me” he
continually said. I then recalled this was the kid that received those series
of slaps from a woman outside the motel I stayed. I tried to calm him down and
took him to the kiosk, bought some water for him to wash up, some snacks and a
bottle of alcohol to clean the wounds he sustained from the fall.
“What
is your name” I asked him. “Timothy, uncle” he said. “That was my father’s
name; he died of malaria 2 years ago”. I am so sorry to hear that. “What about
your mummy?” I asked. “I never knew her; daddy said she left when I was born”.
So who do you live with? I asked. “My step mummy, I call her aunty because she
said I shouldn't call her mummy” I felt a sense of sadness
after asking all these questions because of the kind of answers I was
getting but this little child didn't show any sign of sadness but
strength and a certain optimism things will better from within that
challenged me. “Do you still go to school?” I asked because he spoke with
good English not what I was expecting from a kid that sold ground nuts on a
daily basis. “No uncle, I had to leave school so I can get more money, aunty
said there was no money for me to go to school that I should leave so that
there will be enough to send my siblings to school. The situation was just
painful to my heart.
This was a child without his parents, forced to drop out of school and sell
ground nuts to carve out some kind of living. I felt a little bit embittered
that a little boy has been through all this hardships in his life. I spent the
better part of the day chatting with this little boy, I didn't even
realize the time had sped through so quickly not until the kiosk owner
said she wanted to close her shop. It was time to go our separate ways, so
I gave Timothy some money to cover for the ground nuts he had lost so
he doesn't get a beating. His eyes sparkled with joy and relief. I
told him I would like to see him the next day if he doesn't mind
to which he eagerly gave a quick response.
The next
day, I took a stroll to the kiosk and I saw Timothy already waiting for me. I
bought him bread and a drink because I knew he hadn't had breakfast.
We spent the day talking, or me telling him stories that made him giggle
so much that almost brought tears to my eyes. This is me all grown up learning
so much about life from a little boy. The owner of the shop even dropped her
own stories into our conversations now and then. For moments it looked like a
perfectly awkward family which just made me smile yet masking the real hurt I
carried around.
While we were still talking, some students came by the shop to buy some snacks
from the kiosk and I saw the sadness in Timothy’s eyes almost reminiscing on an
opportunity he once had before he was made to drop out of school. One of the
students approached Timothy to buy some ground nuts, he asked how much a cup of
groundnut goes for, to which Timothy replied N50. The price seemed to aggravate
the lad and he replied in broken English “because, you dey see us wear uniform,
you think say we dey pluck money from tree.” Timothy replied in broken English
too “if you no like the uniform, drop am na.” ‘small boy I no be your
mate, na groundnut you dey sell, which future you think say you get?” said the
lad, Timothy then replied “e no mean say because you dey wear uniform now and I
dey sell groundnut, your future better pass my own.” Hearing this, the lad
charged at Timothy, threw the tray of ground nuts to the floor and blows were
exchanged. I broke off the fight and ordered the students leave the area.
Timothy had a nose bleed, which I
helped him clean it off, I asked him why he had to fight with the boy knowing
he looked like a troublemaker? He replied that” sometimes, you don’t let
anybody get away with insulting your very essence you defend it”. I was
dumbfounded and just bent down to pick up the ground nuts. We just sat silent
for the rest of the day and when evening came, we said our bye-byes and we left
not before giving him some extra money. As I walked away thinking of how Sani insulted
me, my wife and family, my essence as a man, a friend, a husband and a father
and t seems I have let him get away with it so far. My thoughts were cut short
by Timothy’s voice “uncle, I am sorry for fighting, will you come tomorrow?” I
turned and saw him with the tray of groundnut on his head, with a smile and a
gentle nod, I replied “yes, Timothy I will come tomorrow.” He smiled and walked
away. I spent the night thinking about Ngozi, Michael, Timothy and Sani.
It’s been a week and half since I left my home, no communication with my family
and friends. I wondered what must be happening back at home; somehow, I kind of
liked the state of the situation; maybe if my presence was scarce, they would
see how important I am. In hindsight, that was very selfish of me. I knew
everybody will be worried but somehow that didn't change my
excitement about seeing Timothy the next day.
I walked to the kiosk
and there Timothy was waiting for me, this time I came with a newspaper
and a pencil. He was excited to see me and I was too, bought him bread and a
drink and we got talking. After he had his breakfast, I opened the crossword
puzzle section, I taught him how to play the game and he was so interested.
During the course of teaching him the game, “uncle are you married?” He asked
pointing to my wedding ring. I paused for a second and told him yes I was. He
sighed and I asked why, “you will soon leave me and this place” he said. I was
a bit shocked but that was the truth, sooner or later I was going to leave him
and that little town, return back to my life and face my own demons. I looked
him in the eye as he eagerly waited for my own response “yes, I will but I can
and I always come back and visit you.” He just sighed. I told him I had a little
boy and that I missed him so much. “Why did you leave him then?” he asked. I
had to think of an answer which I hadn't really asked myself. Why did
I leave Michael? “don’t worry uncle if you don’t have answer now after all
he is lucky to have you as a father, but don’t leave him alone for too long.”
“Timothy you sound like a wise elder, do you know that? “ I said, he just
smiled and continued playing the puzzle. I just watched him, smile as he read
the cartoons, snack on the ground nuts which had been a usual practice, anyone
who was interested to buy could buy and I wondered how I fell in love with this
little boy in less than a month and it didn't matter to me if
he wasn't my son.
Evening came upon us, I bought him some snacks and gave him some money for the
ground nuts. When I got to the hotel room, I was tempted to call home but
I didn't, I felt it was a bit of punishment Ngozi deserved. I spent
the night wondering what forgiveness was all about. I always heard that
“forgiveness isn't for the other person but you”. Forgive Sani for
raping my wife or my wife that went to find comfort in my friend’s hands
and got raped in the process and hid a truth from me? It was a difficult pill
to swallow, the very thought of Sani or the re-enactment of the scenario
in my head filled me with intense anger.
The next morning, I got
the day’s newspaper and got to the kiosk but Timothy wasn't there,
I didn't think it was odd maybe he had some errands to run. I waited
for him for the whole day, hoping he would show up but
he didn't show up. I asked the kiosk owner if she knew any
information about his whereabouts and her response was “you have been
talking to a child for days and you didn't think it necessary to ask
for his address” that was rude but that didn't bother
me, I just left. I walked to the motel just lost in thought,
wondering what would have happened to him.
The next day, I
walked back to the kiosk and waited but he still didn't show up. The
kiosk owner saw the genuine worry on my face when I asked if she heard any
news and she replied “no”. I gave her the phone number of the motel and begged
her to call me if he showed up after which she stretched out her palms and
demanded payment. I got back to the motel and asked the make shift shop owners
around the area if they knew where the child that got beaten here some days ago
lived. I didn't get any useful information but people seemed to know
him as the “groundnut boy” but nobody could tell me where he lived or
where he was.
It’s been two days now and no sign of Timothy, I was worried and part of me was
scared. I remembered just crying on the second night and asking God why things
dear to my heart seemed to get ruined or taken from me? I prayed he would be
fine wherever he was. On the 3rd day, I decided to try one more day of
searching and if he didn't turn up or I didn't get
any useful information about his whereabouts, I would leave. I walked
to the kiosk again and hoped I would hear some bit of good news from the lady.
She told me she didn't have anything useful, I turned away in
disappointment and headed back to the motel. As I got to the building, a little
boy ran up to me and said “are you looking for Timothy?” ”yes, I am” I replied.
He told me to follow him, held my hands and led me down the road and through a
narrow path. I got to a little community where houses where built with mud and
thatched leaves for roofs and those that weren't locked in colonial
times had outdated zinc for roofs. The little boy led me to a
house, pointing he said “brother Timothy lives here”.
The house looked old and the zinc roof had visible holes in it. I
walked up and knocked on the door. A woman came forward and said “who are you
and who I was looking for?” in a harsh tone. I introduced myself and asked if
Timothy lived there. With a look of suspicion mixed with surprise she said he
did. “Can I see him?” to which she replied “what for?” I was taken
slightly aback to how rude she was but that didn't bother me since I
was eager to see Timothy. She didn't wait for a reply, she
just said “follow me” I followed her in, the house looked a little untidy
with four children seated around a bowl of rice. She led me to a room where I
saw Timothy lying on a mat covered by a wrapper. He looked really sick and he
was coughing a lot sometimes he coughed out blood. I was beyond horrified at
the sight of the blood but it didn't seem to bother her, as she stood
by the door just looking. I went over to hold Timothy and asked her why
she hadn't taken him to a clinic. “Where is the money? “She
replied. “What about drugs?” “Did you buy any?” To my utter surprise she
said” you look rich, why don’t you take care of him yourself”. After saying
this, she walked out of the room and I stood there looking at
poor Timothy in so much discomfort.
I lifted him up, carried him out of the house and proceeded to my motel room. I
laid him on the bed and packed up all my belongings. I called a rental agency
instead of driving because I didn't think I was in a very good state
to drive. When the car arrived, I begged the driver to take me to any
reputable hospital close by. The ride away from that town was an emotional one
for me, this was me running away from my own hurt and tossed into a different
ball game entirely and praying this little, brave child wouldn't die
in my arms.
When we got
to one, I carried Timothy in my arms, ran in and continuously screamed “HELP
ME” with tears running down my cheeks. About two doctors and some attendants
rushed to me and carried Timothy off my arms, took him to a room and from the
look of things they were battling to save his life. While I waited for
news, I called our family doctor and begged him to come meet me at this hospital.
Like a sequence of orchestrated symphony, text messages from Ngozi
started flooding into my phone. I managed to read about ten of them before I
decided I wasn't going to any more and made up my mind to
forgive her. I didn't know if I did it to bribe God as
I prayed for the safety of Timothy. About forty five minutes had passed,
lifting up my head, I saw Tunji walking in. He came up to me and said” I am not
going to ask you where you have been or why you left but what are you doing
here?” he said. “There is a very sick child I brought in here and I wanted you
to work with the doctors here to try and save his life”
While I was still trying to explain to Tunji, one of the doctors helping
Timothy came to meet me. “How is he doctor?” “What is the matter?” I asked.
“Severe pneumonia that had infected both lungs”. “Surviving this night will be
a miracle” the doctor said. I practically felt my knees shaking. At this point
I could hear Tunji introducing himself to the doctor and they both walked away
talking. Tunji came over and patted me on the back and told me to get up.
I asked if I go and see him, with a nod, he agreed. I was led to the intensive
unit of the Paediatric ward, to a room where I saw a little body
connected to all sorts of machines, tubes and drips. I was afraid. I walked
towards the bed and sat down beside him. He looked pale and even sicker. I held
his hand that had a needle stuck inside and said a little prayer asking for a
miracle.
As I sat there, I spoke to him about the little time we had together, what he
taught me and how I want him to come stay with me. I don’t know if he heard
what I said, but I spoke anyway. I have often heard about how people in comas
can hear when spoken to. For a while, I was quiet, and then I told him “I loved
him”. It was as if he smiled but I knew he gripped my hands as if to tell me it
was aright, and then a quiet sigh, after which all hell broke loose, the
monitor alarms went off, doctors and nurses rushing in. A nurse was
ushering me out when I heard that dreaded long beep I always hear in Grey’s
Anatomy episodes. In my head, I knew he was dead but in my heart, I hoped for a
different result. Barely five minutes I entered the waiting room, Tunji entered
and shook his head and said “I am sorry, he didn't make it” I sank
into the chair and just wept like a baby. I told him to take me home, that
I wanted to see my family.
When I got home, it was about
3am in the morning, when I got to the front pouch before I could ring the door
bell, Ngozi already opened the door. I came inside and started sobbing and begged
her to forgive me. “You have done nothing wrong; it is I that needs your
forgiveness.” “I forgive you Ngozi, I forgive you.” “I am sorry for walking out
on you and Michael, I am sorry for not calling you, I am sorry for not being
there as a husband, a friend for you when you needed me most.” My legs had become
too weak to support my own weight, I fell on my knees and Ngozi went with me.
We just sobbed and wept together then I kissed her and told her I wanted to see
my son. We walked up the stairs together and opened the door to Michael’s room
and there he was sleeping as peaceful as ever.
In the
days that went by, I told Ngozi about Timothy and everything I had been
through. She suggested we start a charity to honour him to help less
privileged children through secondary school and link them with other
scholarships that will help them continue to the tertiary level and I thought
it was a brilliant idea. I also confronted Sani and gave him some choice word
about friendship and family and wasn't in my presence and family.
So this is my heart
felt story, my marriage was saved from the lessons of a child. I have gotten
home. My Timothy forever in my heart always. I love you
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