Life Battles: The Turning Pages Of Life

Life battles are not always won. I was sitting hunched over my table when the bell rang, watching my tears pool on the front page of my notebook. Fascinated, I watched the pool grow larger until it was like a two-way mirror mirroring my name on the page, mirroring my face.

I wanted to cry some more but then I thought, if I had paid this amount of attention to reading last night I wouldn’t have failed the test. I stared at the score on my booklet, I had scored 2/20 and my failure amazed me. Since when did I  become such an idiot? Yes, I hadn’t read last night because of the noise from my parents room, yes, I hadn’t slept last night because of that same noise and the test questions had swam before my eyes but still..

I picked myself up from the chair and slung my bag over my shoulder. I missed my bed, so warm and soft, so nice for crying on. I had recently realized my pillows were fast drying pillows because they were always dry of tears when I returned home from school or my mother’s grocery store. I stepped out of the school gate and Ella ran to meet me, she was my classmate and the only person who hadn’t abandoned me in the last two years.

“Kiki!” She squealed as she made to hug me, I stepped out of her reach and kept walking. “Kiki wait! I can walk with you home, or let’s just enter the bus together, I’ll pay!” I ignored her and kept walking, I was not going to accept pity from anyone.

They didn’t know how much it hurt, did they? All the stares, the pointing fingers. Even the teachers didn’t help, all those counseling sessions where they told me I was taking things too hard, that a financial problem never lasted for very long. Financial problem! Every time they said that it made me laugh. What did they know anyway? Why were people so quick to jump to conclusions?

A car honked as the tyres missed my left foot by inches. The driver swore at me.

Fool! 

Spirit!   no be me go kill you, if you wan die go die for your house!

I hurriedly crossed to the other side of the road, several car tyres screeching as their drivers cursed me vehemently. I must have looked scared outside but inside I was laughing nastily and I didn’t even know why. I used one of my hands to hold the other hand so it would stop shaking. Thankfully that was the only busy road I had to cross on my way home. I checked my wristwatch 4pm, I was already quite late. I picked up the pace as I walked into the block before mine.

“Hey girl” I heard someone call. I looked up and saw an old woman standing in front of me, she seemed to be coming from a grocery store because she had bags of foodstuff around her. “Could you help me with one of these?” She asked, smiling at me hopefully. I knew that smile, that smile that said I want to use you to please myself and I don’t care what happens to you in the end.

“No” I replied, the old woman looked shocked. I laughed nastily inside again. I knew what she was thinking, prim little girl like this shouldn’t be able to tell me no.  She should be well mannered and always ready to help tired old ladies. I was about to leave when she called me again. This time there was no warm motherliness in her voice. Her face was hard as she thrust a book into my arms.

You sniveling little ungrateful monster! 

I’ve carried for you all this while and you can’t do the same for me!

I was so shocked at her outburst that I watched her walk away before I registered that a book was in my arms. I stared at it, it was heavy and old and brown. I turned it over and saw there written in bold letters my name KIKI OBI. I dropped it to the ground in fear. How had this old woman got to know my name? Why was my name written on this creepy book? I considered walking away and leaving it lying there on the ground. Then I remembered that my name was written on it, I couldn’t leave a book with my name on it lying there for everyone to tread on. I picked it up but held it at arm’s length as if it were a poisonous snake. 

***

When I got home I sneaked quietly to my room. The house was quiet so I knew my parents were in their bed. Knew my mom was lying on her side, the side that didn’t hurt too much while my dad whispered apologies in her ear. I knew one of her eyes would be swollen shut with just enough space for the tears to slip through.

I knew a lot of things really, like why I would go to bed hungry tonight, and why I would never be the same girl I was two years ago. Still I was dangerously ignorant, I didn’t know my father, didn’t know what provoked him, didn’t know my place in the world. I was just 16 years old yet life was already so uncertain.

All my former dreams of bliss had died in the first month of the last two years since my mom lost her job and my father couldn’t live the life he was used to living anymore. Was it not so unfair that in the middle of all this I had to meet the old woman? She had introduced another uncertainty into my life. What was this book? Why did it have my name on it?

I sat on my bed and tried to open it but the pages seemed glossed over by a kind of leather so thick my mother’s sharp cooking knife couldn’t cut it. I tried my fingers, I tried my teeth, nothing worked. Exhausted, I placed it on the table and went to bed.

I was walking inside an old room, there were cobwebs on the walls, the glass windows were cracked and broken in places. The debris on the floor was made up of dead rodents, even spiders were hanging off their webs, the paint was peeling off the walls. Everything seemed dead or dying. Then my hearing sharpened and I could now hear my raspy breathing, the sound of my feet scratching on the floor as they moved on their own volition. Then I heard the door creak open and I froze, terror coursing through my blood in waves.

There frozen in place, I saw a shadow lengthening beneath the door and I screamed. I woke up screaming and sobbing. Minutes later my mom was at my side consoling me. Her hand on my hot forehead was cool and refreshing. She dried my tears and dragged me to her bosom where I sobbed some more. I fell asleep to the sound of her hushing me and the rocking rhythm of her arms.

I woke up with a start and when I checked the time it was 6:45 am. I was running late for school. I quickly went to the kitchen for breakfast, my mother had prepared a plate of cocoyam pottage for me and I ate it hungrily. Dressing for school wasn’t hard so it didn’t take me too much time. I came out into the sitting room to say goodbye to my parents but they weren’t there. I walked towards their room and into the heat of an argument.

What you do to me, is traumatizing her don’t you see?

My mom was saying. She sounded as if her mouth was hurt again. My insides twisted. 

“Shut your mouth before I shut it for you!” Father bellowed at her. On normal days she would keep quiet and leave him alone but today, something had gotten into her.

“No! I am tired of y….” my father’s arm cut the words from her mouth. I became mindless as I ran into the room. I jumped on my father but he threw me off as he continued to hit her.

 “Go!” my mom was shouting at me. One of her arms was stretched out in a feeble attempt to shield her face, the other was pushing me away. Leave, her eyes begged me. You’ll only make it worse for me. I left her there. I left for school, tears streaming down my face as I walked. No one stopped to ask me why there was a murderous look in my eyes.

At 7:30 I got to school as just as the bell rang for Assembly. I didn’t bother going into my class to drop my bag, I just fell in line with my classmates. We sang, we prayed, we recited the national anthem with our hands resting proudly on our chests. We pledged to be faithful, loyal and honest.

I wondered if my father had ever pledged to be faithful, pledged to be loyal. I wondered how mom was faring now. I wondered. I fell asleep on my desk in the middle of a class and woke up screaming. My Teacher was almost too scared to touch me. He quickly took my shaky and terrified self to the infirmary. When I was discharged three hours later, the nurse gave me a note that said I should go to the Principal’s office. 

I met principal Kola working at his desk. I greeted him and he looked up at me. There was no pity in his eyes, I collapsed into the chair he offered and he still didn’t look at me with pity. Somehow this lack of judgement made  me feel better, more human, .

“Miss OBI” he called

“Sir?” I answered 

“I heard what happened to you,” he said as he looked at my puffy face and runny nose. “I think you should go home”

“No!” I shot out of the chair. “Don’t send me home sir, please sir, I can’t go home!” My tears were coming in huge drops now and splattering on the table, Principal Kola shifted his papers away quickly. I couldn’t let him send me home. I knelt down and begged as I wept my heart out. It was worth it, I was allowed to stay in school so long as an incident like that never happened again. However, I was sent home early to rest.

I was true to my word though, I didn’t go directly home, I walked around the neighborhood till It was 4pm then I walked some more till I found myself in front of my mother’s grocery store. A woman wearing a hijab walked among the shelves arranging the goods.

I wondered if my mother had hired a new sales woman until she turned and the heavy makeup and crooked nose told me it was indeed my mother in that hijab. My Christian mother forced to wear a hijab to hide her bruises. The tears began to flow again as my mother walked towards me. When she got to me she took my hand in hers and kissed them then she used an edge of the hijab to wipe my tears as I sobbed in her arms.

I stopped crying after a meal of hot tea and bread. During the meal, I and my mother had discussed the way out of our terrible situation. She was going to leave my father for good, she told me I should be prepared to pack up on short notice. It felt so nice to hear that, I began to nurse a tiny flame of hope. Yes, I knew it would be hard for us to run away but I also knew it was a better option than losing my mom to domestic violence.

I and my mom walked home hand in hand that evening. All the while I didn’t say a word about my nightmares, or the fact that three pages of that book were now open and glistening red, and that I was feeling worse everyday as my strength slowly left me. My mom had enough troubles to think about so I couldn’t bear to add mine to it. 

When I was safe in my room I picked up the book again, it was getting lighter every day as pages opened. It was also getting bloodier too and since I couldn’t leave it on the table I hid it under the bed. I woke up every night screaming and alone. I knew my mom must have heard me those nights, knew she would be too scared to come to my aid.

Looking at the book now I tried to remember how everything had started. I remembered the old woman and her request, remembered my rude refusal and her anger at it. I knew my nightmares were punishment for doing it wrong, every night while I dreamed that horrible dream I would imagine that the person outside the door was the old woman come to exact revenge on me. I put the book down and got ready for the torture, tonight would be no exception.

I woke up screaming and coughing up blood. While I choked on my tears and blood in my throat, I realized I was dying. The knowledge came to me so quietly that I stopped sobbing. I was a 16 year old with no achievements in life who was going to die and leave her mother in this wicked world with an abusive husband. I felt like a sinner, like an unfortunate. I felt wronged, what had I done to deserve this? Why did I have to die so harshly and without reason? My blood boiled as I got ready for school. I pulled out the book, the red glistened like gold in the half light of morning, a new page was open. I looked and realized there were not many pages to go, just three pages more. I had three days to live. I put the book back under my bed as I reached for my hidden jar of stolen sweets, I emptied half into my school bag and left the house without greeting my parents or eating breakfast. 

 I basically dragged myself to school, determined to be there till my last. When I was asked to sit up I complained of menstrual cramps and was sent to the infirmary. I drank pain relievers that brought no relief. As the closing bell rang I stepped out of the infirmary into blinding sunlight. I stood there for a minute soaking up the sunlight. Everything seemed so warm and beautiful outside. This time when I walked around the neighborhood I did it to see what I was leaving behind. I plucked fruits from low hanging mango trees and ate. I skipped down the road even if I knew I would pay for it later. I gave a little boy one of my mangoes and greeted everyone I passed on the street. Then I got home, crawled into bed and wept.

I was walking in that empty room again. The rodents still lay on the floor dead, I saw the spiders swinging from their dead perch. The place smelled of dust and death, I shivered even though I was wearing a very thick cloth. I shuffled to the other side of the room as I always did. My feet left bloodied marks on the floor as they moved. Once again the door creaked open and I was paralyzed with fear. The figure entered into the room with her head down, her skin was just white covering over her bones. She made to lift her head and I woke up. My mother was beside me, she was sobbing as she mopped the blood around my neck and shoulders. My father rushed in with other men from the neighborhood they were all  shocked to see blood gushing from my nose. They picked me up and I was rushed to the hospital in my father’s car. 

My screams must have woken everyone in the hospital last night but I don’t care. How does one apologize for dying? I lift myself from the bed with a lot of difficulty yet knowing how important it is that I take this walk. I was discharged from the hospital this morning, the doctors have proclaimed my case a hopeless one and have  sent me home to die. I open my wardrobe and I bring out my best dress, it is the blue dress I got as a birthday gift last year. What better dress to wear on a death day than a birthday gift? My mom has left the house in her quest for other solutions to save my life. My father is in his room, honoring my almost dead state by remaining at home, it is pitiful. Thinking of these things make me wonder what I am living for, why am I holding so tightly to life?

The sunlight is so friendly, warming me again today. I walk gently down the street looking five times my age, flies hurry after me and I let them be. Soon I will be too dead to notice, the thought gives me freedom. When I see a little boy in front of me  running into the road just like I had done that fateful day the same freeing thought gives me courage enough to run after him.

Here I am, standing in the middle of the road flinging the little boy to his mother. When this car hits me I will fly into the air and experience such distracting thoughts that I wouldn’t know if I am dying. Thoughts like

‘Hey Kiki, this world is so much bigger than you and your problems, be kind and no one ever really deserves to die. Thoughts like there are a lot of dying people, more innocent than you’.