Flakey Studios

Your Friend, Veronica.

By Tonye Willie-Pepple

The drive to No 2 Walter Carrington Street on Victoria Island is not too cumbersome; the appointment letter from the US Consulate General’s office reads 20th March 2006, 11am, since you left the hotel in Lekki early enough, it won’t be long before you arrived.

In the time you spend on traffic, you notice passersby heading for the day’s work, some standing at bus stops waiting for the Obalende route, others just there, selling.

You hear bus conductors screaming,

“Balende, Balende”

“Semes, Balende, Balende Semes”

You chuckle at the word “Semes” instead of “CMS” you remember the last time you were in Lagos from school on an adventure trip.

The driver then, a scruffy looking middle aged man had sworn that his bus was heading your way, only to realise you were been re-routed to Yaba as against FESTAC, venue of Tunde Ade’s party which was your aim of going to Lagos.

“Oga, No be Yaba we say we dey go now” Elohor had protested loudly..

“Ahhhh, wis kind nonsense you de talk?” the old driver had yelled,

“Nor be Osodi to Akoka you hear me de shout when we dey for Osodi?” He had continued.

“You de craze well, well, liar like you” Elohor exploded; she was a disciple of the saying “respect is reciprocal”.

Concerned about getting seen by any relative passing by, you had to calm Elohor down because you had known she could cause a scene.

“Come down abegi, Ashewo, na so una dey waka without control” The old man had added, spitting his irritation in the air as he pulled over, and came down to open the bus which from its rickety nature, he alone had the know how to do so.

For a moment you had prayed he wouldn’t spit again seeing he was close to you, for you may well have just lost some decorum and shown him how much of Elohor’s character you had imbibed if it did touch you.

---

That was in 1998 when you were still undergraduates at the Imo State University, Owerri, when all you could think about was Tunde Ade and his gangster ways. You wonder why you ever liked the boy as to even go to Lagos where he eventually became the first man to feel the moistness between your thighs.

Maybe it was the voyeuristic tendencies that lurked beneath his playfulness, his rakishness, you wanted to save a bad boy and ended up being the bad girl.

Or maybe it was you trying to make Elohor feel you were a big girl like her and enjoying the camaraderie that came with dating the roughest and the toughest. Whatever it was, maturity had dealt with it.

---

Now that you are with Kamsi in 2005, you have known the dignity of womanhood as he treats you like his queen.

You gaze away from the window towards Kamsi, you can’t believe you are finally married to him.

After four years of waiting For him to be a man and propose, not that he was a woman, but from the south where you both came from, you Ijaw, he Igbo, one was considered a man when could fend for his household in marriage.

You remember how Elohor had pointed her middle finger to her head asking if you were mad.

“A guy who cannot even afford to send you money to join your friends for shopping in Dubai, shopping that will help him in the end when you make profit from your sales” She had said.

When she yelled, trying hard to sink in a point into one’s head , she resembled Nneka the pretty serpent, a possessed but beautiful character in an old Nollywood movie.

“Elohor I am not mad but madly in love with Kamsi, he may not have enough to give me now, but he’s got prospects and last time I checked my family still cared”

You had replied her then, unconsciously admiring her make-up and how well it fitted her fair oval face. “I hear you, soon you will tell me about his plans to own a shipping line and bring goods from Spain, dem nor dey use vex buy ship ooo, na money.” She mocked.

---

“Honey we are almost at the consulate” Kamsi says turning to see you lost in him. He smiles shyly and asks “Why are you staring at me?” “Nobody said it was a crime to stare at my own husband” You reply and he says “I’ll stare back my turn when we’re in a room in Hawaii” biting his lower lip mischievously.

You laugh at the naughtiness of his words, and you look forward to being in his arms, leaning your bosoms on his chest. This was the Kamsi you believed in. The Kamsi you married against all odds, and yes, you looked forward to announcing to the world that your Kamsi was taking you to America for honeymoon from profits of his shipping business.

You can’t wait to see Elohor’s face when you mention it, you imagine her rejoicing with same energy she had used to advice you against him. You imagine her say “Ahh, baby girl it was good you didn’t take my advice oo.” Yes, she could say it. She is good like that, which is why you call her Angel, sometimes.

---

“Mr. and Mrs. Ugonna?”

The voice from the public address system calls out; you walk down to the office which a tag on the door has written on it “VISAS”. You remember the stories you’ve heard of people who were refused visas. From their narratives, it was never a pleasant experience, but somehow you knew you’d get the visa, were you not the wife of Kamsi Ugonna ? The shipping magnate who travelled abroad like it was the next bus stop.

A few questions and ticking on a paper, the stern African American lady smiles and says.

“Please pick up your visas tomorrow” she says as if it was never a big deal after all. You feel the sweat of joyous anxiety from your pores, you are finally going to America for honeymoon, you had wish-fully talked about it with friends in school but now it was going to be a reality.

Kamsi squeezes your hands softly and leads you towards the lobby.

The next day you pick up your visas from another office where a rather cheerful lady wishes you a pleasant stay on the Islands of Aloha.

“What is that?” you ask Kamsi and he explains that it’s a slogan for Hawaii.

On your way out of the premises driven by the hotel cab guy who brought you, he reverses without watching and hits a little boy down.

“Heeeyyyyy, e don die oooo, e don die ooo, hold am, hold am, ole, (Thief) e wan run” The voices shouting echoes and reverberates in your head like a hypnosis.

---

“Aunty, Aunty, wake up aunty” Chidiadi screams waking you up from a nightmare, you jump up, turning your head left and right to understand where you are.

“Take him to the hospital, lets take him to the hospital” You scream and Chidiadi replies

“Aunty we de for house”

“Blood dey your bed aunty” She adds looking sadly at your sheets, night dress and wrapper, all soaked. Then, you realize it has happened again, another miscarriage;

“Where is Kamsi?” You ask.

“Uncle just comot wit dog now, go jog” She replies, “Na en say make I come help you clean the bed” She adds walking into the bathroom, probably to get you a change of clothes and towel. You look at the time; it’s past 6am,

“So he knew, the son of a bitch.” You scream and burst into tears

“Sorry aunty, no cry, e go better.” Chidiadi says coming in to see you in tears,

“Get out of here.” You order.

“Yes Ma.” she replies.

You know she doesnt deserve it but being considerate is the least thing on your mind and to think that she is one of the people Mama Kamsi brought from their God forsaken village to keep an eye on you, adds salt to injury.

You think of this because you remember the series of misfortunes you have had with pregnancies and Mama Kamsi’s response to each episode.

First it was the twin you lost three months after your return from Honeymoon, you didn’t know what to make of it, your doctor’s report had proven you very okay during the series of private tests you had undergone after you said “Yes“ to Kamsi, because you were afraid the abortion you had years back for Tunde Ade, had damaged you somehow, but Dr. Edozien had certified you okay and only recommended an injection against development of antibodies in the event of a Rhesus factor incompatibility when you got married.

Even your family’s Presbyterian Church as a prerequisite for marriage counseling had requested a full blown test on you and Kamsi and the results had shown you and your husband were Rhesus compatible.

So you were shocked when you aborted the twin you had so much started preparing for after the scan.

Mama Kamsi and a host of other family members had come by then to sympathize with you, some said “Ndo” Sorry, others prayed or sang from some comforting hymn while Mama Kamsi sitting down, legs crossed and arms folded, made a face like she was the worst hit by the misfortune.

Later she had called you to say “My daughter, Ndo ooo, Sorry, they will return, they only came to survey how and what the world looks like, they will return and others will follow whom they have gone now to call”

“Chim-ama-nda! My God cannot fail, he knows what is best.” She had said.

And as she walked away towards her bedroom, she waved her left hand thrice over her head in fetish rejection of any evil that lurked around.

You had smiled at the contradiction of the Wrist Rosary on her right hand and her fetish gestures. And then sighing and murmuring a little prayer of thanks, you had retired to your bedroom.

But what you did not know then was that, that, was the behavior for first time miscarriages, everyone was so nice to you, expecting that a second would not occur.

---

The second time, it was not a miscarriage,; you were finally happy for a light at the end of the tunnel, Mama Kamsi reminded you she once said they would come back even when she was aware the scan this time, said you were expecting just a boy.

Then he had come out still ! after an excruciating labor which nearly saw you give up.

Gut instincts told you Kamsi was struggling between making you happy and being pissed off that you had not borne him a child, that was when you realized sometimes education and exposure did not matter, when it came to an African man and his family in dire need for children.

You didn’t blame him instead you had wondered if he were your brother whose wife had the misfortune, you would not stop to think if she was spiritually okay.

---

Within months, you had realized bitterly that intimacy with your husband was fast declining, most times he came back feigning tiredness and other times when perhaps he was tipsy from alcohol he freed himself inside of you as if you were a mere trash bin, going in and out of you without the least concern about how you felt.

“Kamsiyochukwu, our sex life is dwindling.” you had said, summoning all courage to tell him your mounting frustrations.

You were careful to call him by his full name, mimicking his mother who did so whenever she needed a favor from him, perhaps he would listen to you and try to improve if you called him that as well.

Sadly however it marked the beginning of your series of endless talks on dwindling intimacy which worsened by the passing days until you realized the reason for that was simply because he had been told by people he respected, that you were a man like him, For which reason he left your right to emotional satisfaction, beneath the sheets of his mistresses’ bed.

---

So on this third episode, you decide not to take any chances, it is a spiritual matter and you must handle it as such.

You don’t want to hear Mama Kamsi call you “Amusu mbamiri” Riverine Witch behind your back when either speaking on the phone with Kamsi or talking to Veronica, the neighbor, who comes occasionally to greet Mama, though she wants all opportunities to be friends with you but you always refuse to oblige her.

To you she is another neighbor looking for the next gossip and hadn’t Mama Kamsi given her enough already?

“My Angel.” You say as Elohor picks up your call.

“Heyy, Kalanne baby.” she replies in her ever happy tone.

“You just forget me abi? “So you have also joined all the people who call me witch?” You accuse her playfully.

“Shoo, my baby girl, nor talk so now, it is work that has tied me down, else I would have come to see you ehn.” She replies in her Warri accent.

You smile, grateful for her friendship.

“E don happen again ooo.” you mutter in pidgin English after a deep sigh.

“The witch don eat anoda of my pikin oooo.” you continue, the tears pouring freely now.

“Ohh, God! My God why now? I’m so sorry baby girl, I nor even know wetin to use console you again. Ehn, I nor fit say make you nor cry sef, because I know as you go dey feel, but abeg no cry yourself to sickness now ehn, abeg.” Elohor replies slowly.

“I want to go with you to that ministry you told me about.”You say, tightening your face and wiping your tears with the other hand to affirm your new resolve.

“My sister, na now you come, ehen.” Elohor answers, ecstatic that you are close to your final solution.

“Dr. Christ go just touch all these katakata comot for your life, trust me.” She adds.

“If you can come over by the weekend, I’ll be grateful.” You reply and end with goodbye pleasantries.

---

It is a month since Elohor took you to Foundation of Miracle Ministry, Aka Solution Ground to meet with anointed Overseer, Dr. Christ, a stout middle aged man, whose white three piece suite seemed to be over-sized on demand and whose pectorial cross dangled like a Tower clock’s minute hand.

He had prayed for you for three nights, anointing your insides with oil after pouring holy water on them chanting incantations which he and his believers, Elohor inclusive, called prayers.

You knew they were not prayers, you knew solution ground was a glorified black magic shrine but you didn’t care because while he performed his rituals; you imagined carrying your own child and Mama Kamsi’s Christian Women Organization’s wrapper stained by his shit for being upset that Kamsi had refused to take another wife in your place.

So on the night you manage to lure Kamsi, first to eating your meal, because he rarely ate at home, and secondly to bed with you, wondering what the hell had attracted him since he was not high, his mobile phone rings while you are in heated passion and trying to turn it off it falls on the floor under the bed, where it remains till you are both done and panting.

“What the hell is this?” He yells holding the egg tied with a white cloth and placed on top a bible, after bending down to pick his phone from under the bed.

“I can explain” You start, wanting to tell him that the egg was only a symbol of the expected child tied by God’s white cloth of protection and standing on the word of God.

You want to tell him, you believe your children will live from then onward, but your mouth is shut with a thunderous slap and blows you have never imagined on your worst enemy.

You know from his reaction that you cannot sleep there that night, without waiting to think, you run out of the compound.

---

You had thought she would say: “Get out you fool,” when you rung her bell and waited for her to open, but she didn’t, instead Veronica looks at you, first with surprise and then with pity on seeing your bruised face.

She hugs you and brings you in as if she had long expected to be your Good Samaritan at that hour.

“I can imagine what you have been through, I do not blame you for seeking spiritual help, perhaps if I had been in your shoes, I would have done worse” She says after hearing you narrate your ordeal.

This elevates you, these kind words from a stranger you thought was an accomplice to Mama Kamsi, the devil.

“Kamsi should never have hit you, look how wounded you are now.”

She continues gently pressing hot towel on your face and for some moment you forget your pain and imagine living in her world of serenity, beauty, forgiveness and abundance until your eyes meets a photograph of her late husband who you recall was buried in November of the previous year.

You feel sorry for her and tell yourself “everyone has their pains”.

You are surprised she never asks of your family in an inquisitive manner, instead says

“I’ll take you back to your husband tomorrow and talk to him.”

This is after you have spoken nonstop for thirty minutes on how tired you are with the marriage and how you are going to file for a divorce.

At first you feel bad for over sharing with someone who didn’t care to listen, but then you berate yourself, remembering that if she didn’t care, she wouldn’t have let you in to stay over the night in the first place.

“How is your dog?” She asks setting a tray of tea, coffee and biscuits on the side stool which she draws forward in between your chair and hers.

“Coffee or tea?” She adds, not waiting to hear your reply about the dog.

“Coffee will be fine” You answer and she gestures to you to feel free and pour yourself a cup.

Her daughter Ngowari comes and leans on her legs, dressed in a pink Barbie night gown, the talcum on her body mixes with the coffee smell to give the air, a scent of innocence, of tranquility.

“I see Kamsi jogging with the dog every morning on my way to work, he must be fond of it?” She says ignoring her daughter’s craving for biscuits.

“He loves dogs, if not for my headstrong rejection, Stacia would have had loads of company, the way he dotes on her, I’ve never seen.” you reply.

“He even made me so used to Stacia, she climbs the bed often, what I hate is the tongue licking part which seems to be her joy.” You add.

“Can I ask Kamsi tomorrow if he can allow Bruce mate with her? The dog is dying for a girlfriend.” She says to your amusement.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll jump at the idea” You reply.

---

True to Veronica’s words, she talks to Kamsi about you the next day, he forgives you and also apologizes for his outrage, but then he carries on like of old, ignoring you every now and then.

You resign your fate to that of a perpetual childless mother, shut out of social circles, even from Veronica, whom you all of a sudden resent for bringing a truce between your husband and you till one morning, you get an SMS from Dr. Abba, your family physician asking you to see him as soon as possible for some news.

Wondering what news it could be, you meet with him at St. Catherine’s Clinic where he tells you that a certain Veterinary Doctor friend of his by the name, Veronica, who happens to be your neighbor, learnt he was your doctor and approached him after trying several times to meet with you to no avail.

“After conducting some tests on your dog, which she says she wanted to mate with hers, she got concerned about your miscarriages.” he says to your confusion.

“Your dog, she said was diagnosed of canine brucellosis, a certain disease in dogs which we refer to as zoonotic because its transmittable to humans from animals.” He explains sensing your confusion.

“Sooooo?”You inquire further.

“There are certain people referred to in medical practice as immuno-compromised, among these group are pregnant women.” he lands and your jaws drop in utmost surprise which turns into disgust.

“To ascertain if this has been your case, given the spontaneity of your abortions and infant mortality, we may have to run some tests.” he concludes reclining back on his chair.

---

Its two years since Dr. Abba’s shocking revelation, you are gathered with family and friends on your daughter’s first birthday, Kamsi’s friends and their families are around, drinking, eating, playing, Mama Kamsi with her wrist rosary, dishes steaming hot goat meat pepper soup into bowls and orders Chidiadi to hurriedly bring plates for the rice.

You smile and look through the window at the backyard where Stacia’s cage used to be, it is no longer there, you were treated with antibiotics, and she was euthanized on Veronica’s professional advice, saying even if she were treated, there was a likelihood of a relapse.

Just then you wonder about Veronica, That woman, the imaginary devil who saved your life, you hear Ngowari’s innocent voice

“Good evening aunty, Good evening Mama.” she says to you and Mama Kamsi.

“Good evening dear, how are you? Where is your Mummy?”You bend towards her asking, and then the voice whispers warmly into your ear,

“Her mummy is right here.” You scream joyfully, like a kin returned home.

You embrace her, and in that moment, both of your eyes meet the children playing with icing sugar, your baby is there as well, then the tears roll down, tears of Joy and friendship.

At this time, all, your friend, Veronica hears you saying is

“Thank you.”

Tonye Willie-Pepple, © 2015