Tomato Money

The baby cried. She cried so hard I was scared. Her cheeks trembled as she wailed. I was confused.

It was cold and hard. She scrambled for the last piece. It had abaited her tears at least. She gave me a half smile through oil stained lips. But her eyes, her eyes. They seemed to tell a story. They glistened under the light of the setting sun. I was sad.

I knew.

The baby did not need to know of such. She did not need to grow up this way, not in this manner.

"Ma-ma!"

I smiled, holding back a well of tears. She managed to stand again and was able to grab onto my skirt as she fell. She began laughing. She was resellient.

Augustine had not returned. He did not have to.

Old yellowed newspapers, an amputated table, an oil lamp and a rotting pot of soup. That was all that was left.

This year was not good.

Augustine tried, he really did. The roads did no good for his chest disease. The dust, hustle and bustle of the city did not suit him. But he tried.

Augustine cried the night I told him there was a baby. He was not happy, he cried. Then, he had not started working the roads. He came home always with blackened palms.

"I want to start business.." I said with a lofty voice as I cleaned his palms with kerosene from the lamp.

"Its not time for that, pampam. Rest, you are still pregnant"

Soon enough Augustine saved a little money. He bought it but had to pay every month for it.

"Sorry, sorry.." I cooed as I massaged his chest with warm water and my old torn wrapper.

"I think this work is not for you..."

"Shut up, what do you know?"
I continued to massage his chest.

The baby was born, it was a girl. Augustine cried again. He was not happy. She had his eyes.

Augustine came home one night. He came home without it.
"Where is it?" I asked "The police took it from me at Isolo"

I knew that was the end. The begining of the end at least.

The market with its familiar putrid smell was noisy, hot and crowded. The baby was at home. Augustine was with her.

"Madam con buy na! Buy your tomato jos here oh"

The tomatoes were rotten.

The baby was sad. She had not had anything to eat. Augustine was no where to be found.

She shuddered as the water ran down her back. I washed her clean. It was reddened.

This year would be better. There would be change.

The baby was growing. Her hair thick, dark and beautiful. Its long natural curls fell to her back as she sashayed her way to school. My rival.

The market with its familiar putrid smell was noisy, hot and crowded. The baby was at home. Augustine was with her.

I massaged his chest. They were curled up, the hairs on his chest, just like the baby's. But his were gray now, he was getting old. He was still working on the roads but his palms were still blackened. He worked hard to fend for us. I cleaned his palms with kerosene from the new oil lamp I had made from an old can of milo.

I gave baby her bath. It was reddened again. The arch of her back, her smooth skin. It all sparked something within me. Jealousy.

The full moon was beautiful. Transfixed by its sheer radiance, I wondered when this would end. His calloused hands rustled around, and reached beneath a wrapper to loosen it.
The beast between his thighs needed taming. It was not my wrapper he loosened.

I believe she enjoyed it. She must have. She never complained to me. Never.

Augustine was ill. His chest. I had to care for him. Or did I?

The room was quiet upon my return from the market. There they lay. Him and baby, his hands all over her innocence. Her innocence was reddened. Her thighs were blackened by his palms. They asked for privacy. I obliged.

I had money now. Tomato money.
I was confident.

I did not mean to do it.

He lay on the floor naked. My shame. My husband. Bleeding from his head. Heaving, holding his chest, begging for help.

I had seen the way he looked at her. How he played with her curly hair, how he placed her right in between his thighs.

I had seen his stubby fingers reach for her middle. I had seen it at night, under the light of the glistening moon. I had seen her broken smiles. I had seen her special place reddened.
Day after day, countless night after night.

I had seen her eyes question me, they queried my motives. I had seen them ask me "Why?"

I had heard my heart beat with guilt. I had felt my throat harden.

"Ma-ma!" I had failed her, over and over for so many years.

I was a little older than baby when my parents gave me to Augustine.

But now I would make things right. I would take baby and we would run away. I had tomato money now.

Pastor came today. "You must be submissive!"
"But I have tomato money..." I muttered under my breath.
Augustine was back from working the roads. He had a bandage around his head.

He seemed helpless.

Maybe baby and I would run away with tomato money another day...

'DWN