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

DUMPED!

Dumped by the ex boyfriends named employment, money etc etc You get the drift...
So i woke up this morning with itchy fingers. No, i mean literally itchy. Red bruised palms and I was scratching them like they owed me money. "It means your money is coming..." Said my aunt. "Shey ori woman yi pe ni??" I said(of course 'for my mind'), as I squeezed on a bottle of hydrocortisone Now why so violent you may ask. Simple. F**k the world. Yea I said it.
Ok Im sorry.

You see the thing is I've suffered quite a number of disappointments back to back. Now I'm trying to figure out how to get back the 2minutes of my life where I bashed my head against a brick wall of all my fears. My fears that had somehow morphed into tinny goblins... Err Ojuju calabars rather, taunting and dancing around me, letting me know that 'wahala dey'. And no please I do not need to go to prayer city. This is all figurative... Or is it?

This morning for me is about God telling me "Dewunmi write, write! " During yesterdays third mainland debacle, as I stood stranded in the middle of the gazzillion foot long bridge, admist thoughts about the stories I heard about 'awon boys' who miraculously get on the bridge, rob and maim you, I pondered on what my place in life was. There I was with my brother and we were trying to flag down total strangers who were driving at cut-throat-scatter-bodi speed. Hahaa! Where did I think I was?

I knew where I was. I was in a near hopeless situation and I stopped to look at the view, to appreciate the scenery, you know maybe I might get a good photo for instagram lol. Looking far ahead I noticed the shanties at the far ends of the bridge. And no it wasnt a humbling moment for me. I wasnt thinking about how some people had more than I did or that some people earned less than a dollar a day or that my degree gives me an edge over them. No.

For once I realised that that manner of thinking brings mediocrity and a satisfaction in ones miniscule victories. Rather I thought to myself that in as much as the little victories are important, the big victories are equally important. Running away from big challenges makes you a big loser. "Challenge yourself Dewunmi" I muttered. I saw that my people who live in horrible conditions of abject poverty here in our country, aren't poor, rather Im the one who is poor. I am poor because I know I do not have the strength and mental capability to be in their shoes. They are the people who have true strength, they are a large part of our population and they are the true Nigerians. So I drew inspiration from that view, that magnificent view. The view of our reality. My real, my true.

Then it hit me. It hit me as a yellow bus sped by, causing the salty ocean breeze to smack me accross the face. It hit me. Mesmerised by the strong ocean current, I realised that my place is where I make it. Its here. My city, my people, my life!
Still stuck on the bridge, seconds after my great earth moving epiphany and Aha! moment, a miracle occurrred (a story for another day).

And so this is how I've tucked my white flag back into my backpack and I'm hopeful this day not for my exes to return. No. Hopeful for new relationships with laughter, confidence, adventure, risk taking, depth and endless possibilities. So as I erect my flag of 'Dewunmi Nation', with my superbite and lacasera in hand, I'm screaming "lebete! Lebete! Lebete!!!!" at the top of my lungs :)

'Dewunmi Nation.