Dancing in the Rain (Part 2)

Everyone in school looked forward to Fridays. It was the shortest school day in the week and we let out at 1pm after an hour of club activities. I wanted to join the hiking club, but Mother said no, again. “It is a rugged extra-curricular activity for a young lady,” she said. So, I joined the Girls’ Etiquette Club, baking brownies and learning how to curtsy. I smiled and skipped as I exited the activity room that particular day, not because Eku picked me up earlier than her habitual 1:30, but I had seen the gathered clouds darken. It was going to rain and mother and father would not be home until 6pm. My hair was due for a redo on Saturday morning and I would have to loosen my plaits later in the day anyway, so Eku could wash my hair. Nothing could stop me from performing my first rain dance.

I race upstairs to change into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and race back downstairs. “Were u dey run as if fire dey for your bum-bum.” I stop dead in my tracks as Eku calls out from the kitchen. My joy slowly drains out as I struggle to come up with a good reason to give for going outside. She wipes her hands on the dishcloth as she walks into the living room, and stands with her arms akimbo waiting for an answer. “Abi person don cut off your tongue,” she angrily snaps at me. Mrs. Ama my Geography teacher asked us to count the raindrops for a project so we could measure the speed of a rain gauge. I know that made no sense at all, but for Eku who had no form of formal schooling, it would suffice. She gives me a long look that reads disbelief and walks back to the kitchen muttering, “all these things dem dey give small pikin wey dey read book to do, mad person no go do am sef.” I chuckle to myself and savor my tiny victory as I shut the door behind me.

The smell of rain is unforgettable, a mixture of wet cement with fresh leaves, and the sense of calm that sets in with it. The rain drops come down steadily and start pouring. Yes, let it pour. Let the rain wash me clean from all the evil I have come to know at the age of six. Let it purge my ears that ring each night with mother’s screams when she and father quarrel into the night. I hear the sounds of doors slamming as father leaves before the crack of dawn to seek peace and solace elsewhere from mother’s ranting before he heads to work. He says, “Atanka, you should have never happened, you caused your mother to go mad from childbirth.” May the rain remove the ring of bitter truth from my brain, I pray. I sing and dance to the tune I have come to master from my classmates. I spin faster as the rain falls even more. My wet clothes cling to my body and I start to feel dizzy. Why didn’t mother take those pills Eku swallows frequently, she says it kills babies. Then, I would not have brought misery to anyone and would dissolve into non-existence. No! That is an evil thought too. Those unborn babies deserve a chance to live. I pick up my pace again, spinning faster and suddenly everywhere becomes still. No more voices, no screams, just silence. The rain dance worked.

White walls surround me. I try to move, but a wave of pain overcomes me. Figures are moving around and I try to focus. “She really had a bad fall, you know. You should never allow your child to play unattended and on slippery ground too. That is complete negligence.” A man dressed in white is talking really fast to a man and woman. She is crying profusely while he paces the length of the room. “The fall traumatized her brain and she has amnesia. Thankfully, from the tests we have performed, she recognizes colors, shapes, and certain names, but her memory of events has completely been erased. She still does not know who you are.” I shut my eyes tightly so no one would know I have been listening. Was I meant to know who they were? They all look confused. I feel a soft hand clasp over mine and hear a woman say, “Ata everything is going to be just fine.” Oddly, I believe her. A smile spreads across my face slowly and I drift off to sleep.

THERE’S AN EMPTY SPACE HERE (Part 3)

“Flow, what’s popping?” It was Ayo. I could not be more grateful at the sight of someone other than him. Did I mention that I had heard about Ayo before he turned out to be my seat partner? You see, Ayo is one of those few people you meet who seem to be born to be popular. Almost everyone in school had heard about him for his dashing looks which came along with a rare gem, brains. Nonetheless, in elementary school, claiming to be acquainted with someone who does not know you exist, but you admire from a distance can deal a severing blow to one’s reputation. Therefore, can’t I rightly say that I was not acquainted with Ayo previously? I guess so. Flow struggled to carry on an engaging conversation with him and I mouthed a well deserved thank you. He smiled back and winked knowingly. At that moment, I knew Ayo occupied a space in my childlike heart.

Ayo was left-handed and he copied notes with a handwriting that could win anyone’s admiration. Aware of my scrawl, I struggled to shield my notebook as we took notes side by side in class, but all to no avail. Upon discovering my not so well kept secret, he playfully remarked about my jumping words bearing a semblance to chickens racing in the sand, a joke that we both shared. Then he offered to teach me how to write. From that day onwards, I spent lunch breaks and time after school learning the art of writing. Before long, my writing acquired flair and our friendship waxed ever stronger. We were faithful patrons of the Hausa men who grilled suya, a tasty meat kebab dipped in hot spices. We hungrily ate and talked about our young pasts, the present, and took a peek into the future during our walks after school. He wanted to become an architect while I told him I was a future cardiologist, or dancer, or engineer, or actress. My spontaneous and fickle plans amused him and I often said he was my focused twin. Speaking of twins, Ayo had a nephew in our class who was a twin, Eroms. He got in and out of all webs of mischief that a nine year old could spin and I often steered clear away from his path.

The piercing sound of the school sirens was just what I needed to hear on that fateful Friday afternoon. My sister had promised to take me shopping after school and I was anxious to get home. “Mademoiselle, you must be very eager to set off for an eventful weekend”, called out Ayo. I was about to retort with a sarcastic remark when it dawned on me that I had promised to watch him display his undeniable talent as our grade’s goalie in an after school soccer game. My face was masked with horror as I realized I was going to miss this much talked about playoff with the senior class. “Honey pie with a huge big cherry on top, I will buy some suya for you next Monday after school”, I offered while batting my eyelashes in an attempt to bribe him, but he refused to budge. Calculating my spending money, I added a huge strawberry cone, a treat we rarely enjoyed, and that seemed to do the trick. Hurriedly, I raced outside and called out, “See you on Monday!” or so I thought.

Everyone seemed to have a different story about who threw the stone. Some said it was the midfielder on the opposing side, while others proffered that it was Eroms. Nonetheless, all present agreed that the impact of the swiftly hurled stone during the scuffle was enough to knock Ayo into the coma he never recovered from.
Immediately, my mother pulled into the hospital parking lot, I ran with all the energy my legs could carry to the surgical emergency ward. The grief stricken faces of Eroms, Ayo’s parents, and some of my classmates did not faze me as I braced myself for the encounter. A long drawn out moan escaped from my throat as my legs turned to rubber and I crumbled to a sobbing heap on the floor. Ayo was gone. The doctor droned on about how the team of surgeons did their best to save him, but everything seemed like a blur as I felt my heart wrenched out of my chest.

We huddle close together for we are a bunch of inconsolable nine year olds at the graveside. I venture forward to view the hole his small coffin will soon be laid into. There was an empty space there. Mother pulls me backward with such a great force, fearing that I may do something stupid. Letting go of her firm grip, I sit by the coffin with my knees drawn toward my chest as I hear more wailing. With my left hand placed on my chest, I write beautifully with my right hand on the sand, “There will be an empty space here.”

Dancing in the Rain- Part 1

“Rain rain go away, come again another day, little children want to play. Rain rain go away, come again another day little children want to play.” I stare downwards at the playing arena where my classmates are singing and playing in the rain. Their words beg the clouds to wipe her teardrops dry, but their frenzied dance sends a clear signal that they are enjoying themselves despite the rain. Oh, how I yearn to be with them out there, where everyone is carefree, the rain soaking into my clothes and skin, as I sing happily along with them. No! Mother will not hear of it. Not in my well ironed school uniform and definitely not on a Monday when my scalp still smarts from my new hairdo. I struggle to catch my breath as a rippling wave travels down my chest and I weep uncontrollably in my empty classroom, drowning in my self-made rain.

Atanka! Atanka! Ata…, I raise my frame startled at the sound of my name. I didn’t expect Eku, our 24 year old live-in maid to pick me up from school this early. “You don dey cry for the tin wey your papa never even see”, she chided me in her patchy Pidgin English as she urged me to hurry. “Pack your bag quick quick so the soup wey I put for fire before I leave house no go burn.” My sorrows are quickly forgotten and a fresh anger surfaces. I was once again been ridiculed for my grades by Eku who knew my parents are never satisfied with an A-. We race down the stairs together and head toward the black suave Mercedes parked in my school’s driveway; in the same spot as always. Now out of the sheltered walkways, Eku struggles with the black umbrella until it finally opens and shields me from the pouring rain. I do not want to be protected; I want to be a child, a child free to dance in the rain.

As I sat alone in the backseat of my father’s latest addition to his fleet of cars, I hoped that one day, just one day, it will rain when I was home alone. No one will scold me for being wet from my head to my toes when I will sing and dance in the rain like never before. My wish did come true.