(Ayodele Arigbabu chose this title for me,
even though it may not be connected to my dilemma. Thank you)
Before I
started writing this, I called my sister and my mother to remind me of the
names of the two ladies who lived with us and terrorized my life while growing
up. My mother said she hasn’t seen the two ladies in many years. Last time she
saw one of them was in January of 1999, after my grandmother’s funeral when
they came to our house to pay their condolences. Now, what she knows about them
could just be stories from people. One of them has been having problems having
children and the other one, has 7 children and has finally changed from being a
Catholic to Anglican.
I was
born in a rustic village in Imo State to a very large family. A young lady from
another village, who was not related to us, was brought to live with us. Her
name was Amarachi and my last born, Ifeanyi, used to call her Abachi, because
he was very young and could not pronounce her name properly. We started calling
her ABACHI and the name stuck to her.
Few
months into living with us, she set up an altar with the statue of Virgin the
Mary and lit candles. She was Catholic. My father is a Knight of St.
Christopher and my mother is a Lay Reader in the Anglican Church. My father
didn’t care a fig about what denomination she belonged to. They respected her
and made us sleep in the same room with her when my uncles and aunts came home
for Christmas or Easter, because the entire Nwelue family lived under the same roof
until recently when they started building houses here and there.
Amarachi
came to live in our house, because our house was close to her secondary school.
She didn’t come to live with us as a house-help, so my mother made us call her
Auntie Amarachi. She wasn’t related to us. I didn’t find that annoying then,
but now I do, because she did terrible things to me, which I liked back then,
but now, feel awful about them.
One
Tuesday morning, my mother had gone to school and my father had gone to work. I
was sick, suffering from severe fever and could not even eat. What I hated then
was taking pills. I hid every pill they gave to me somewhere and drank water,
pretending that I had taken it. If my mother was the one giving it to me, she
would put it in the middle of a lump of garri or fufu and I will be made to
swallow it. I was told it was to reduce the bitter taste of the drugs. I hated
drugs. That morning, I can remember now, Auntie Amarachi was bored to the bones
and needed some excitement. She needed something to keep her body warm and
there I was. She stripped me naked and slightly placed me on her naked body,
after removing her clothes and lay on her back on the mat. She smelled of
something I didn’t know; now I know she had an ordour, the ordour of a woman
who wanted to have sex. She smelled of something strange. I was very young.
Maybe 6 or 5 years then?
She knew
what time my parents got back from where they went, so she ‘enjoyed’ me while
it lasted. She touched me here and there. I didn’t know what happened next. She
was busy, making me hug her and I kept hugging her and perceiving her ‘feral
scent’, which made me cringe. She smelled of something strange. If I had grown
up, I would have known what she smelled of. But she just smelled of something
strange.
Auntie
Amarachi was mean. She was very dark, her skin beautiful and she had big
bum-bum. Her arse was in order. I noticed this, even as I was very young. I was
scared she could be related to me; even as a child, I was scared of incest, I
was scared of sinning against Heaven and Earth. Somehow, after those
experiences, lying on her naked body, Auntie Amarachi started treating me like
a demi-god. She liked me. It showed. She made sure I ate properly and she was
hated by my eldest brother, who scorned her. I didn’t care. Her velvet skin
looked amazingly beautiful. I was stuck in another world with her. The colour
of her eyes I could not remember now, because I was scared of looking into her
eyes. But this was her problem: she turned into a beast towards my siblings
when my parents were away. I just didn’t understand why she acted the way she
did.
After
her WAEC and NECO examinations, Auntie Amarachi left our house; with her altar
and her feral scent that she made me perceive each time she made me lie on her
naked soft body. The last time she made me do that to her, was in my own mother’s
bed, on a Friday, because she was asked to stay home and take care of me. For
missing school, she took her vengeance on me. I liked it then, though, because
her mother was really soft.
Before
Amarachi came, there was Stella, who was from Oguta, my maternal home. She was
young and so, we were meant to take her in as our blood. But she was very
stubborn and at the same time, very hardworking. She helped my mother in
everything, but usually became hostile to us when she was away. She would
pounce on us and beat the hell out of those she could. My elder brothers dealt
with her when they could. They fought for us.
For once,
I didn’t see any of them as house-helps. Now I do. So, the last house-help my mother
got was a very young boy, from my village. I saw him as a house-help, but my
mother didn’t. He was one of my mother’s pupil and he loves my mother just the
way he loves his own mother. It showed. My last born hated him. He kept telling
him, ‘Please, go to your house. You are taking my place. Just leave my house.’ The
boy didn’t want to leave. Even when my mother mistakenly burnt his hand with a
hot spoon and the boy’s parents came hurling slurs on my mother, he told them
to stay away, that it was his fault. I came home and saw the wound on his hand
and I said to my mother, ‘This is not cool.’ She felt very terrible. And buried
her head in shame. It made me remember also when my mother broke my head with
the heel of her left shoe out of anger, because she was I was bugging her. My
mother kept telling the boy, ‘Dede gi
Prof is coming back.’ Young boy ended up taking me as his ‘dede’, which means ‘elder
brother’. One night, I called him aside and very mean, I said to him, ‘I am not
your elder brother. Don’t believe madam.’
He
called my mother madam and madam was his teacher in school. After school, he
always returned home with madam. My father flogged the ‘house-helps’ with the
same koboko and canes he used on us. My father would have used pepper on any of
them if he had to; same way he used them on us.
My last
born hated the boy whom he believed came to take over his shine. So, he made
sure he left our house. But the young boy didn’t have feral scent, because my
madam took very good care of him like her son.