JEFF UNAEGBU: A YEAR IN PARADISE (Second Prize Story in the Cecilia Unaegbu Competition 2011)

As we drove past the Orphanage, I smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile, neither sad, simply nostalgic. I could never pass an Orphanage without remembering. The bus driver slowed down for a speed bump and I got a clearer look. Through the metal bars of the gate, I could see children playing. A few boys were playing ‘three-aside soccer’ with a tattered ball; some girls had gathered together, by the look of things they were listening with rapt attention to a girl of about eight, as she gesticulated, no doubt telling them an incredulous story. The others were preoccupied with climbing the mango tree or riding the shiny red bicycle; most probably a recent donation. I shuddered as my heart filled with emotion I didn’t realise I still carried. That feeling of depending on strangers for sustenance was not one I’d wish on anybody. Deep down, I still felt the same fear I’d felt that fateful morning. Tears welled up in my eyes and I feigned tiredness. A quick yawn should dispel anyone’s suspicions. As the bus moved along leaving the orphanage behind it seemed as though the hurt, pain and fear were also being left behind. I took a deep breath as I settled in my seat more comfortably, with the resolve to enjoy the bus ride, as much as anyone can possibly enjoy a commercial one; and for the first time in decades, I cast my mind back to that dreadful morning.

*******

“David, David, wake up!”

I heard my brother’s half-frantic whisper. In my half-sleepy state I was still deciding on whether to give him a knock on the head or a slap when the next words cleared any vestige of sleep from my eyes.

“There are strange men in the house!”

I jerked up immediately, shoving him aside. Part of me was mortified. I was the “man” of the house yet it took my younger brother to let me know we had not just strangers but male strangers in the house. Since I had no Father the onus of defending our family fell on me. Whether my Mother was a divorcee, a widower or an ‘outside wife’ I had no idea. The kind of environment I was born in did not leave room for being inquisitive, most especially about ‘such issues’. I walked to the sitting room of our room-and-parlour apartment and there I saw a sight I would never forget. My mother still in her wrapper and faded t-shirt, on her knees, crying silently as she rubbed her palms together in a manner not unlike African women, begging the two ‘thugs’ in the room. Transfixed by fear and embarrassment I watched as one by one, the thugs threw our meagre belongings out of our house.

My Mother’s pleading didn’t help, even the tear-stained faces of Ayo and I did nothing to move the thugs. The Landlord’s orders were clear. Our rent was six months overdue and he was tired of hearing ‘tomorrow….tomorrow’. By afternoon Ayo and I had stacked our property in a corner of a sympathetic neighbour’s compound.

“I’ll find a way” Mother said as she got ready to leave in a quest to find a solution. We waited for her for hours, feeling the hostile glares of the gardener and the house-help as they went around their errands. Didn’t they know we weren’t interested in usurping them? They could keep their filthy jobs! By evening, Mother returned looking five years older. Tears filled my eyes. She waved to us and went straight to the main house to see “Oga”. A few minutes later she came out with a weary smile, the best she could muster I was certain. Holding each our hands she said confidently:

“You’re going to Paradise.” She gave us a look that said ‘no questions allowed’ and we followed her obediently, like lambs to the slaughter. Soon enough we were at ‘Paradise’, literally. It was a recently opened orphanage with air-conditioning, toys and even a bus to take the children to school. There was also the option for parents who couldn’t take care of their children to leave them and visit once a week. This, Mother did for a year. It was only years later, when I was graduating from University that she decided to open up as to what she did during that year. She had taken the job I had despised and offered her services to all as a “House help”.
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