An Old Lady's Tale

Now, come sit around me in a circle, the beautiful moon will be our light and I shall tell you the story of my life. I must warn you ahead of time, grab your tissue boxes because it is a rather sad one. Of unrequited love, terrible sufferings, faith and the pride that permitted my terrible sister push me in my early grave.

My grandmother, Mama, had twelve of us, seven girls and five boys. The first boy died making us eleven and I know what you're thinking. It's still quite a lot but I guess back in those days when the dinosaurs still roamed the streets. The cost of living was much cheaper, if I tell you the amounts of sweets you could buy with ten naira, your mouths will water in vain.

 So those eleven children grew, married, had children and other cousins and uncles and the family kept growing and spreading. My mother was very generous, even with all her children and grandchildren, her doors were still open to the needy, neighbors and children in need of proper discipline.

Mama was a disciplinarian. Whenever two children fought in her house, it meant you had ate to your fill. Hawking plantain and coconuts and firewood before going to school and still having energy to fight was you begging to miss dinner. Or to be sent on a journey of a thousand miles to gather firewood from her friend's house.

Mama was never rich but we never went to bed hungry, except we were caught brawling of course. We would hide away in an old room at the back of the house to watch wrestling matches. Nene and Etewan those days were a sure bet, they were like naked wires and since we only had television on Saturdays, they were a good promise of entertainment. We would stay at the sidelines cheering and spurring what would have been easily forgotten remarks into fully fledged fights, then hush them to keep it down so as not to alert the adults.

Those days your grand uncle, Tata, the gentleman you see now was the label of our nightmare. Once any child rebelled or was caught fighting, all Mama would say was, "Wait till Tata gets back." And that statement was good enough to calm any hail or storm and humble any child born of a woman. Uncle Tata, now a successful business, used to work as a labourer at a construction site before he could save up to send himself to university.

Once he was back in the evening, mama would welcome him and serve him his food, then later tell him the matter at hand. After eating his fufu and ogbono soup, he would wash his hands, have a drink of water and request for the rod of correction. He would flog that child like it was just another task and he did all his tasks thoroughly and efficiently. He was practically Mama's on-demand assassin and although he smiled and laughed a lot, he was a terror among the children.

I also remember Mama's lapdog, Eteyin. He always helped her prepare for church. He'd wear her her jewelry and shoes and sweet smelling perfume. 

Anytime food was ready, all the grand children and young children would all line up from the youngest to the oldest with all their plates. The aroma of the food would engulf the entire back yard. Once you recited any one of the required Psalm chapters, you were good. What pissed my siblings those days is Mama would take your plate and heap food and meat and give it to Eteyin before serving anyone else. I always thought it was hilarious. 

Some week days, she'd wear her best clothes and jewelry and sit on her rocking chair in the varenda, next to papa's own empty chair till he returned from work. She would cross her legs and read one of her mills and boons romance books that still appealed to her at sixty. Papa loved her with all his heart. Even as everyone thought him to be quiet, papa was the head of the house. 

Our nextdoor neighbors were a military woman and her husband. Whenever he spoke back at his wife, she would grab him by the shirt, slap him both ways and fling him into a corner. Mama and Papa would always be called to make peace between them. Mama would tease Papa about his luck to have married her and they both would laugh.

They too had their misunderstandings but I tell you, the day mama died, papa cried and refused to be consoled. He wept for mama like a baby. It was a curious and deep love they shared. He fought to hold himself together and look after the family, but he died merely two years after from a lonely heart.

After mama passed, we understood everything she did was for our good. And with all the effort of her children to look after the family and keep them together was from one struggle to another. Eventually, everything fell apart.

The values of love, togetherness and godliness were lost by many and in it's place stood wickedness and envy. And the days of sorrow began with the death of the first daughter of my sister, Rita. A cloud of mourning came over the family and their terrible days began there.

My sister, Rita, was driven mad after the death of her first daughter. She remained in the family laughing and playing by day while plotting destruction at night. She was like a rotting rodent that remained undetected because no one perceived any fowl smell. Nothing ever became of anything that came out of her womb. Her womb was cursed out of her wicked heart.

Her pregnant daughter died in her sleep just months after her marriage. She was a nurse and the only hope of prosperity amongst her children. Rita mourned and cursed her daughter for causing her so much grief. Since then, in the space of four years each first daughter of the family had began dying. They died young and from mysterious diseases. Once the forth year drew near, the whole family was in panic not knowing who would die next.

Since Mama was a spiritual woman, she brought us up in the way of God. We sought for a prophet of whom God had used his hands to heal sickness, fortell the future and reveal the evil done in darkness. He came one evening and we all gathered in Mama's big parlor. We sat on the floor and prayed to God and God heard our cries. Rita was there too.

When the spirit of God descended, the prophet walked up to Rita and asked her if she was willing to talk or if he should.

Rita agreed to confess. She admitted to always blaming her better-off siblings for her ill fortune and the death of her child, as if she didn't know what killed her daughter. Rita used the daughter of her youth for a sacrifice to get a title in the witches coven. She used her mystical powers to turn her daughter into a goat and slaughtered her. They cooked her meat over a big fire and devoured it like animals. Her blood was wine and her flesh was their meat. All this Rita said with her own lips."

"But Aunty, is it a crime to grow old?" One child asked feeling a bit cross. "Once someone is old, they are labeled witches. Aunty Rita we have laughed and lived with for many years is now a witch and so is the old Mrs Jacobs nextdoor to us."

Another child spoke up. "But what became of Rita?"

"She still lives, my dear. But some lives are more wretched than death. Since she refused to change in her heart, she was abandoned at the mercy of God and man."

The child pressed on with large worried eyes, "You were innocent as children. How did Aunty Rita turn so bad?"

"She was selfish and was greedy for all that glittered. She would dress promiscuously to university and work to gain all sorts of favours. She went to all sorts of parties and didn't have great friends. Rita had wild blood in her and no one could control her, not even Mama. I guess her bad company got initiated into evil societies.

"Dearest children, we only know people by their bright smiles and what they want us to know, but God, God sees the heart. When you have the holy ghost in you, he lets you know man for who they are."

"So how did you die?"

"I lived fifty years on medication from one sickness to another. It was the will of the evil one not God. I prayed and also ate what I liked instead of following the doctor's orders. I thought God would save me because he promised to, I forgot the bible says not to put God to test. He gave the doctors the wisdom to take care of us and I was blinded to it all. And the night I suffered of a stroke, my sister and I were the only ones at home. She stabbed me in the heart with a knife in the spiritual eye and since then I fell. I couldn't move, eat or talk. I could only blink and I died regretting every wrong thing I had done. I wished I lived in peace with my daughter and loved my siblings and children more.

I begged for a second chance to return to the earth to share my story. It does happen but we can only roam the earth till our time is up. We can't interact with our families or even enter our homes. We must run to God now while it's still day, for the darkness is coming. We must be wise.

Now children, I don't say this to frighten you but to let you know the way to live to make it to heaven. The bible said God saw the hearts of man and was grieved in his heart. The heart of man was filled with desperate wickedness. Be careful with what they call man, because you can never be too sure with them."

The children looked deeply touched and one by one, they got up to return to their various homes.