Compound Tales

The compound echoed with the laughter of gossiping women and children. It was a chilly afternoon. The trees billowed as if dancing to give the one true God, praise. Like a whip, the air whistled furiously around everyone’s faces, but no one seemed to notice.

The compound stood in the middle of one of the busiest streets in the area. A two-storied building that was mostly falling apart from years of wear and tear. The roof that had once been green, now stood like a canopy of rust and dust, littering and decorating by bits of brown rust here and there. The building sighed heavily, heaving from side to side, depressed with the number of years it has seen.

The pillars were the only things that stood firm, unmoving as if to defy the effects of time. Although time had taken a massive toll on this house, the people living in it did not look too old at all.

The two-storied building that housed about 32 or more families stood like a giant rock of sadness before anyone that passed by. Like an old woman who had seen too many tales, her tired lips could no longer bear the stories that lingered within them.

Most of its occupants were lower-middle-class working individuals. People who could only have two healthy meals in a day, and anything more than that would be a luxury they would not dare to afford.

As we quietly approached the old giant house that stood before all of us, the women who had gathered in a little corner gossiping, chatting, and exchanging quiet whispers immediately noticed us.

Mama Nkechi, a voluptuous woman who talked too much and threw spits into the air was the first to raise the alarm that turned everyone’s head our way.

“Ehh..! my breasts have seen good days!” She hollered. “Look who has come to pay us a visit from obodo Lagos.”

As if set in automatic work mode, everybody’s head reverted in our direction.

Obodo Lagos was a colloquial term that was used to refer to the upscale part of Lagos where I lived.

I watched as my mother gently patted my back and indulged me. We were visiting after a long time, and like daughters of the soil, we had a part to play to people who still resided in the neighborhood that my mother had grown up in.

“Good afternoon ma’am,” Mother quickly responded to Mama Nkechi with a smile. She turned to the other women who were sitting a few meters away and threw greetings to the air.

Greeting one and greeting all at once.

“How is home?”

“How is your husband?”

“I can see Lagos has been fair to you!”

“Welcome daughter of the soil”

And many more filled the air. The exchange of pleasantries was welcoming and rented the air from all sides.

These women were genuinely happy to see us come to pay a visit.

A woman who appeared to be slightly older than mama Nkechi stood up, adjusting her wrapper In an exaggerated manner, as she wrapped Mama in a warm hug.

“Kedu?” She asked enthusiastically while staring at me.” I can see your husband is taking good care of you and your daughter… God be praised ooo!” she enthused bursting into a victory dance as she surrounded myself and Mama in an exaggerated manner.

I looked up at Mama and giggled. What remarkable tales I’d have for my friends after the holiday ended. They’d pulse with envy.

As the initial squabble slowly died down, Mama quickly chided me from behind.

“Can’t you greet your elders? Come on, be a good child, and greet these kind women”

Of course, if I didn’t say my greetings properly, I’d be termed the ‘Lagos kid with no proper home training’ as soon as we got out of earshot.

These women would openly dissect my behavior and butcher it into pieces of spiced gossip. I’d be on the list of their agenda of meeting for weeks to come till they got tired of the whole charade and found something new to talk about.

I did not want any of that, so I quickly forced a smile and looked down a little.

You must never look an elder in the eye when speaking with them. It was generally known and considered to be disrespectful.

“Good afternoon mothers. How is the family and everything else?” I said carefully, bowing slightly to acknowledge that they were older than me.

As if something sounded funny, the women quickly burst into laughter and smiled from ear to ear.

I quickly threw a glance at my mother, hoping to seek reassurance that I had not said the wrong thing.

Mama seemed to be smiling too.

“What a cute little girl you’ve become, Chisom!” Mama Nkechi declared.

“She speaks just like an Americanah!” Another woman uttered from the circle smiling.

The youngest woman in the group walked towards me and gave a hug.

“You’ve grown so plump like the fresh tomatoes in its ripe season, how did you get so big so quickly, Nwa’m?” She asked, hugging me too tightly. She smelt like baby powder and spilled milk. The smell seemed to taunt and overpower my senses.

Mother chuckled loudly, her throat bouncing up and down like a clown displaying an act for a circus as she spoke, replying to the other women.

“Children these days do not waste time at all after they’re out of the womb. They begin to shoot off like new yam leaves rooting their way towards the height of any tree they’d find around..”

As Mama engaged the compound women in chitchat, I looked around the compound and noticed that some children were fast encircling us curiously. They must have heard the excited chatter of the women, and come to find out for themselves what was going on.

“Good afternoon ma”

“Welcome mummy Chisom” they began to echo in groups. Their eager eyes visibly searched for any piece of Akara or sweets that we had brought for them.

It was generally an unspoken custom. Whenever you visit a place with little children, you must come bearing gifts of sweets and biscuits to pass around. Every child must get a piece of gift, even to the smallest child in the compound.

It would be inauspicious to do otherwise.

Gifts are signs and gestures of peace and appreciation. Never visit someone you haven’t seen in a long time without special gifts.

I watched as my mother reached into her bags, and brought out sweets, and finely wrapped packets of ‘Suya’ in large quantities and handed it to the eldest amongst them.

“Children, here, go and play okay” Mother encouraged them

“Thank you ma,” they chorused, with excitement clearly dancing in their voices.

“Won’t you go off to play with your mates?” Mama prodded me quietly,

“No,” I insisted. “I want to see grandma first.”

After exchanging pleasantries, we headed into the house, towards my grandMama’s apartment.

We proceeded into the darker corners of the compound and headed for the old and rusty banister, bidding the women a final goodbye.

And suddenly, the most uncanny sight struck us.

A young girl who looked to be about the same age as I, ran out of an apartment that appeared to be empty yelling and crying very loudly.

I looked around, and instinctively clutched Mama’s hands, startled by the sudden noise of conflict that appeared to upset the quiet compound.

She looked too skinny for her age, and her eyes were large, wide, and scared like a frightened cat caught stealing the master’s fish. She was someone who had seen more terrible days than her young body could hold on to.

Disorganized and curious to know why this girl was out here crying dejectedly on the floor, I forgot all about grandma and stopped to watch the scene.

Did her parents throw her out of the house?

Did she witness a sudden failure? Did somebody die inside that house?

I stood still and watched her. I yearned to reach out and help her. It did not feel right to watch somebody carry such magnitude of sorrow. Nobody should be so sad in life.

I noticed Mama had stopped to watch her too. Before long, the most uncanny thing happened.

Totally curious, I watched as a menacing and totally disheveled angry-looking man who looked older than my papa stepped out of the little apartment that the girl had run out of, and yelled terrible curses at her.

He was dressed very shabbily and had no trousers on, his underwear hung loosely around his waist, and I feared it’ll fall without caution plunging him into complete nakedness, considering how he appeared to be shaking and speaking furiously.

The next series of events were unprecedented and changed my mood for the entire day.

The girl who I would later learn was called Yetunde, seemed to mutter something to him. In fact, she too had some derogatory terms dancing on the tip of her lips. she made no pretense in hiding her hate and anger.

“Stupid man..you liar!” Yetunde yelled furiously. Her voice shaky and wimpy for somebody who spoke such audacious words

Startled, I looked on, wild-eyed. It was strange to watch a young person speak to an elderly person in such a manner. In fact, it was an abomination of the highest degree.

But here she was openly exchanging derogatory statements with a man who was old enough to be her father twice?

Who was this man anyway? Her father?

Her uncle?

As I watched the scene, the situation began to become clear before my eyes.

“You slut!!” He pronounced. “Get out of this compound, I have no money for you. Neither do I have any time for your immature whims…” He retorted

“No..you promised you’d give me money if I came today..how would I feed if I leave?” Yetunde retorted, her body shaking violently with heart-wrenching sobs.

“Ashawo, leave my sight…you’ve served your purpose for the night, when you come again tomorrow, I might have a little money to give you if you do everything I command you to!”

With that statement, I finally understood. The scene was not between a father and a daughter. Rather this was something more intimate.

This was a relationship that was wrong. One that should only happen with people of equal age levels and with consent and protection.

Not with a girl that was closely around the age of 15?!

It was all wrong.

Why did she have to rely on such an elderly man to feed in exchange for sexual favors anyway?

Where were her parents? Her mom? Her dad? Relatives?

Wasn’t there anybody to provide shelter for her aside from this wicked pedophile who was taking advantage of her ignorance and condition?

The man who was dressed shabbily in boxers walked furiously past us and began to drag Yetunde from his apartment to the open compound. As they passed me, I looked on at her with pity as I noticed a strange stench fill my nose.

She smelt like work, sweat, and dirt.

Nothing near what anybody should smell like. I could tell that she barely took care of herself and her health.

I looked up at my Mama, prodding, and willing her to say something. Something to prevent this chaos that played out before our eyes.

Mama’s eyes seemed to narrow, and her lips tightened as if she purposely put a suppressing clench over her mouth.

It was an unspoken rule. Never interfere in such matters. It never brings anyone any good.

By this time, the burly looking man had dragged Yetunde from the old building, past the women and children we had greeted earlier towards the end of the compound. Leaving a trail of dust and wails behind.

Upon returning, he hurried past us and shut his door loudly and menacingly behind him, like nothing had just happened, leaving me reeling from the bang and the sudden turn of events.

And that was when I heard the chatter of the compound women begin again.

They’d found a new subject for discussion. I’d not be the new suya delicately peppered and placed to skewer and roast on the frying grills of their tongues. Yetunde would definitely be a better-spiced specimen to butcher.

Mama Nkechi, who had greeted my Mother and I warmly only a few moments ago, anchored the conversation.

“You see that girl Yetunde, she was born a slut!” She pronounced like she’d been there on the day of the poor girl’s birth.

“A slut, yes, slut, that’s what she is,” she continued, “I’ve warned her severally to stop entering into that man’s house.”

“What does he give her any way that she keeps going back?” Another woman piped up.

“A young girl should not be seen doing such things that were originally given to married couples to do.”

“She’s bound to get pregnant soon anyway.”

“It’s only a matter of time I assure you”.

“Pregnant? Did you say pregnant?”

“She’s been there before. The other day I saw her somewhere near the medicine woman and local midwife in Makoko.

She held a bottle that had odd-looking spices, mixes, and condiments. “It doesn’t take someone of my age and experience to know an abortion drink when I see one,” the youngest woman in the group finalized.

“I can attest to seeing her too a little while ago last year in that same location that you’ve described so perfectly”.

“I’ve seen her there as well”

“She was there for the last two years too…”

On and on, they gossiped. What seemed to intrigue me the most was the fact that all of the blames were directed at Yetunde. A young girl who probably did not know the consequences of the actions she was being forced to take.

Sleeping around at 15?!

That was totally absurd. Not only this, what was totally incomprehensible in the matter was how nobody seemed to bring up the man in the conversation.

Why was she being labeled a slut, whilst her partner was exonerated?

Why was nobody pointing the conversation to the fact that heinous crime against law and humanity had been taking place for a long time…a full-grown adult was perpetrating such insolence on a child and everyone appeared to stay aloof on the whole matter?

Why did no one talk about the fact that this was a pedophile crime, and sexual favors were being exchanged for money?

Why?

I looked up at Mama again and watched her prod me from behind.

It was a clear gesture, that I understood properly

It was time to leave.

Even mama appeared to have lost her bearings and control over her tongue.

She did not utter a word too.

When the mouth failed to speak, the eyes mirrored depths of emotions.

One of the women quickly turned in our direction as if just noticing and registering our presence.

“Ah Americanah, mama Chisom, you’re still here?”

“You shouldn’t worry yourself with such things, these are things we are used to. it’s nothing new, it happens around here quite often.”

Mama nodded.

I knew that I would be worried about it for a long time. This was not right and nobody deserved to live this kind of life.

“Chisom, let’s hurry in,” Mama replied for the first time that evening, hurrying before me like nothing had just happened.

“Grandma must be waiting.”

All images are sourced from pixabay.com, no attribution is required.