Heart to hearts

It was the morning of my eighteenth birthday, it was still dawn, and my lantern shone dimly; the kerosene must have been exhausted for the wick burned poorly. On my bed were several papers and sheet of my many drawings. I loved to draw outlines of buildings and some isometric shapes could be seen boldly on the sheets which were sprawled on the bed. Some of them were already rumpled . I packed them neatly in a file I had always kept my drawings in It . It was peculiar. 

The cockerel croaked loudly while I made my way down the street to iya obi's stall. She was the woman who sold catfish to us and it was always cheaper to buy from her. Iya obi was a nice eastern woman who was slightly obese with thick lines of stretch marks running across her large arm, she had her traditional wrapper thrown across her waist.

I stood far off, while I watched her select some of the biggest fishes from her pond. She weighed them on the scale and categorized them skillfully before facing me. 

"How many do you need my son? " she asked. 

I was distracted by the splashing the fishes made, they seemed to be protesting against been disturbed from their peaceful discourse.

She repeated the question again before I responded. 

I was silent, while she put an end to their disturbances by hitting them slightly on the head. 

"How is your mother? Has she not returned from her journey? " Iya obi asked with concern. I could see the outlines of her face drawn together to create a worried expression. 

"No, she hasn't "–I lied

"You are doing an excellent job running the restaurant all by yourself " she said while she continued weighing the other fishes.

"I'll come around during the week to check up on you, if you need anything let me know." she added with a smile. 

I was already becoming a professional liar, But it wasn't my fault really, it was what life demanded. Mom was in no condition to see anyone. I was already familiar with the market, most of the women who sold petty ingredients knew me already, for six months, I had been the one, running errands and trying my best to push the business. Sometimes, I would often bump into my old high school classmates and each encounter was embarrassing. I decided to get the supplies for the restaurant very early in the morning, that way I avoided a whole lot of people. I beckoned on the woman who sold the vegetables to help me in balancing the supplies on my head. I had already adjusted the cushion I placed on my head to minimize the impact of the goods on my scalp. 

The sun was already peeping through the skies, I had to hurry, I didn't want the whole neighborhood to see me with a basket of vegetables on my head, the blood from the fishes were already draining and soaking my clothes. I was glad the flies hadn't woken up. 

My house was a very peculiar one on the estate. You could see rows of beautiful houses and then ours stood like an eyesore right in the middle. This was proof that my father was a stubborn man. Years before his death, developers had come to our community buying off land from Indigenous land owners at fantastic prices, a whole lot of land owners were swayed by this but father wasn’t. The developers had tried to entice him with juicy offers, but he had declined. As a result, they had to build round our house. Till date, the locals respect my late father for his stand. Father considered it sacrilegious to sell an ancient landmark —it was our heritage . My family was from a long line of fishermen while the women processed the fishes. My great-grandmother began selling some of these fresh catfishes as ‘pepper-soup’ a local dish enjoyed by the indigenous people. Great grand ma’s pepper soup was a delicacy none could resist. Overtime, this business grew to a restaurant and then was passed down through generations. At the front of the restaurant, you’d see the inscription: ‘Mama pepper-soup’. I was popularly known as the pepper soup boy. On getting home, I found out that mom had woken and was already seated on her bed. This was a huge improvement, for she had not left her room in weeks. I was grateful for the heart-to-heart clinic. She inspected the market supplies and praised me for my negotiating skills. Mother’s eyes were sunken and her collar bone was more pronounced . Her health was slowly returning; seeing her walk back and forth attested to the fact that the anti-retroviral drugs were already doing their jobs. She had handed over to me the certificate of ownership of our ancestral land that morning. I tried not to think of the worst. 

I hated washing the disgusting slime off the fishes, but I was short of options. Out of practice, I salted them and added them to the already boiling pot of pepper soup. After dad died, contrary to the expectations of others, the business had thrived, mom had proven against all odds that she was competent. It was rumored that mother had the same touch on the pepper soup that my great grandma had—maybe even better. We had a whole lot people paying us visits, then I started noticing different sorts of men, some won't leave until very late at night. I was no child, I knew mother was having affairs with them. I had once confronted her, and her defense was in that she put me in a fancy school and the ends were not exactly meeting. I knew this was not entirely true, for mother began to develop an obsession for jewels and foreign wrappers. I could hear her coughing from her room. Ever since we went for the test, mother had refused leaving her room. “I’m waiting for death." she had said one night. She also forbade me from telling anyone, and we cooked up the story of her travelling. I thought of all these things while I stirred the soup carefully.

I made ready the pepper soup, for the evening was when the few loyal customers arrived. I served mom some corn gruel Ogi. While I packed some of the soup I had made in a separate dish; it was for someone. There was a gentle tap on the door and I knew who it would be —John. John was perhaps the only friend that wasn't ashamed of me. I meet him in the fancy prep school mom made me attend. We were roughly the same age, with our legs as long as giraffes. John was already in his second year at the University, where he majored in architecture, my dream course. He had behind his hands a wrapped present, I had forgotten it was my birthday.

"Won't you open it?" John asked with a raised eyebrow. I had starred too long at the present in shock. 

"I would "–thanks for remembering I added plainly. 

John was more Interested in the plate of pepper soup I placed before him.

"What of that in the other dish? “ he asked. 

“ No, don’t touch that” I scowled.

“Is it for a customer? He asked again between mouthfuls 

“No… no it’s not.” I replied in a tone that spelt don’t push it. John was engrossed in his soup; he didn't notice the smile that crept upon my face when I opened his present. It was a box full of drawing sheets and different special pencils. 

"How is your mother? " he asked in almost a whisper. 

"The same" I replied, trying to sound unattached. John was the only person who knew mom was at home, although I had hidden the peculiarities of the ailment from him. 

"Is she asleep? " His eyes were morose as he spoke. The last thing I needed now was pity. 

"yes" I replied in a monosyllable, I didn't want the conversation to push further, he knew too much already... I felt conversing with him about this was a betrayal of my mother's trust. 

"Am just concerned about you—I don't need details" he added. 

I was grateful for his discretion, for that was how far I was letting him know about the situation. 

"So what's new at school ?" I asked. 

He didn't reply me until he had drank all the soup off the dish. 

"You sure make the best pepper soup " he complimented. 

I only nodded, as I remembered the ordeal the fishes put me through. 

"School is fine" he eventually replied. 

"Seyi, why don't you come to my place, it's your birthday you can't be all alone , beside I have some things for you "

“I..... I can’t." I replied. I had to go to the heart to heart clinic later this morning, but I just couldn’t disclose that information to him. 

“ It’s alright," he shrugged. "Before I forget, Kemi requested I give this to you". There was a mock smile on his face while he said this. 

I understood the reason for the smile, he gave me a hand made birthday card, with tiny shapes of heart splattered across. John couldn't contain his laughter has he burst out uncontrollably. I was in shock. 

"I think my little sister has a crush on you." he added when he could finally catch his breath. 

I was silent as I wondered why a thirteen year old would do such, her sweetness was a luxury I couldn't afford.

Going to the heart to heart clinic was gradually becoming one of my favorite moments, and it could be trailed to a girl named Amanda. Amanda was the prettiest girl I had ever met. She was different from all the other people I met at the center. Amanda always had a smile on and a word to encourage another. Her smile; I treasured it more than life itself . For when she smiled, it exposed her set of white sparkling teeth giving a gleam to her eyes. I was enchanted. Sadly, she was also a patient. It was cruel for someone so young and innocent to suffer such fate. She was born a carrier of the virus, her parents had died some years back from the disease leaving her to the care of her uncle. Amanda had been the one to pull me out of my depression, forcing me out of the rabbit hole I always crawled in. We connected; for I felt we were both suffering from the selfish decision others had made. Today , she wore a bright yellow dress with her hair packed in a bun. She always had a crucifix on. I had asked her once about why she wore it and her reply was that this faith kept her alive. I found it insane that she thought her faith kept her alive when she was practically living on the antiretroviral drugs. The doctors had given her a life expectancy of fifteen years, but she had clearly exceeded that. She was strong, young and oh! she was beautiful. I couldn’t tell her for I know she won’t believe me. For me, she was the ray of sunshine that lighted up my darkness. I watched her as she took a spoonful of the pepper-soup. 

“It tastes really nice,” she said between mouthfuls, “ I've never tasted anything like this.” she complimented. 

“You should have a bit of mother’s, it tastes so… …..” and then the dark cloud set in again. The thought of mother always brought a certain level of pain. 

“What did you draw today?” she asked shaking me from my dejected state. Asides from John, Amanda was the only one who loved my drawings. No one else had seen them anyways. I had promised that if she lived long enough, I’ll build her a house beside the sea. 

“Why don’t you meet my uncle Seyi, he’s an architect, he‘ll put to good use all of these beautiful designs of yours.” She suggested. 

“I just…..i don’t think—”

“You don’t have to think about it, you’ll meet him Seyi.” And then she smiled at me and she won all over again. 

#

I trimmed the lantern again while I helped mom to her seat, she was slowly regaining her strength. She had used her dose of medicine for tonight. 

“What is it that you wanted to tell me Seyi? “ mother asked.  

I shifted on my seat uneasily, how could I possibly tell her?I had met Amanda’s uncle earlier in the day, and his discussion with me prompted many weighty decisions. I doubted if I had the courage to pull this through. 

“Iya obi asked after you “ I said without looking at her. 

“And what did you tell her? “

“that you travelled “

“Good.” she nodded as she said this, “I also want you to… …..”

“l’m selling the house mother” I blurted out. Mother stared at me for some seconds like she had not heard me. 

“kilo wi” her eyes were alarmed with uncertainty. 

“I want to sell some part of the land not all of it, and also the restaurant” I said in almost a whisper . Her hand went across my face that instant hitting me hard on the cheek. I was surprised she still had that strength left. The force of the slap made her stagger backwards. I tried steadying her but she stopped me with a wave of her hands. 

“Don’t touch me!” she hissed, and then she started to cry, shaking uncontrollably. “You couldn’t even wait until I was dead and buried” she wailed. 

Mother didn’t give me the opportunity to respond before continuing 

“Give me the C/O” she demanded. 

“I can’t ….i… I don’t have it with me” I admitted as the tears swelled my eyes. “It’s not what you think mama, I actually…. ……”

“Shut up!” she screamed. “You are a bastard child, selfish…. Oh! You are very selfish”. She sobbed. Her last statement threw me of balance. Was selfishness devoting my time for a crumpling business? Was it selfish to care for her ? Was selfishness forsaking school, my ambitions and a whole lot of luxuries. Maybe selfishness was enduring the scorns that came from my high school mate when I was seen with a basket of vegetables on my head, It should also be stomaching the stigma that came from visiting the heart to heart clinic. I thought.

“You have no right to talk about selfishness” I finally said. 

“You greedy…. …wicked… ..I should never have given you those papers today ooooo” she lamented in the manner of distressed African mothers.

“You should have thought about me—your son and my future before sleeping around with every man that visited the restaurant”. This earned me another slap on the other side of the cheek. 

“I should never have birthed you,” she said with fire in her eyes “ You’d have fared better as a washed down menstrual blood”. She spat at me this time after eyeing me from head to the toes.

“ I had better see those papers tomorrow morning, omo oloriburuku” she cursed before retiring to her bed. 

I stood motionless, I never bothered to clean the saliva she had spat at me. It didn’t matter. Mom didn’t know hat the restaurant was not doing so well, she also didn't care that we have been out of electricity for months. She didn’t care that it was the last cup of rice I had made for dinner this night. It never crossed her mind that while her hands were gifted in making the pepper soup, mine was trained at drawing buildings. I wondered who was selfish.