THIS LIFE (Consolation Prize Story) by Augustine Ogwo

No other vacation had been so eventful in my life. I stayed with my uncle who often told us true stories. He narrated this story to me while Chike was sleeping on the couch. I later decided to do a sketchy documentation with tears in my eyes. I wrote this using the first person narrative so as to bring out the story’s essence. It goes thus:

Though I resided in Nsukka; the town which played a pivotal role during the war, I felt something which was more than a déjà vu. Several events may have come through in 1990 but my wife’s bulging belly interested me the most.

Being successful lecturers had attracted petty gossips that surrounded our existence in the Campus. We would always resign to the will of God and to our fates by taking the rumours we heard about us with a pinch of salt. At Eni-Njoku Street where we lived, women would often gather in small groups to discuss what we always thought to be about us. From our balcony, my wife would often look down at half-a-dozen women standing under a tree and discussing in low tones like chirping birds but with droplets of tears hanging just beneath her eyes. She would run to me while crying with touching words in her mouth, ‘Di, they are talking about us’. I would always let her come into the warmth of my torso while I consoled her. Each time I consoled her, I was also consoling myself. Our childlessness bothered me more but I would always try to wear my cloak; that pride of an African man. I was beginning to explore other options while letting fate resign to itself.

When I got into my office on the first day of the semester, I began to realise that most things women did, men also did. Everyone was in resumption mood as most mathematics lecturers shuffled around offices aimlessly. A large section of the students had not resumed for the new session. Female lecturers exchanged greetings while discussing their exploits at last month’s August meeting. Later that afternoon, while going into the clerical section of my department, I noticed that my secretary and the department’s messenger were in a tête-à-tête. I decided to monitor proceedings from outside by hiding behind the gray wall which preceded the polished door. They chuckled and discussed about my wife’s barrenness and how it had affected my work ethic. I didn’t go into the clerical room anymore rather I went back to my office to produce some documents from my LaserJet printer.  When the duo came into my office at my behest, I gave them letters which were enclosed in khaki envelopes. They had to proceed on ‘compulsory indefinite leaves’. They left my office with bowed heads and looks of dejection.

When I decided to visit a juju man so as to ascertain the unfortunate fate which had befallen our 15-year old marriage, Chinenye had told me to remain calm and steadfast in my faith. She even reminded me of the biblical story of Sarah and her husband Abraham. I knew that I would go ahead with my plans even if a saint or an angel had been sent to preach to me. The day I left to see Agbarume, the powerful juju priest at Igboeze, I had a ghastly motor accident which nearly cost me my life. While I was admitted into the critical unit of the casualty ward at Bishop Shanahan hospital, I waited for family and friends to share in my pains but it was only my mother and my wife, Chinenye that were able to meet me at my point of need. I returned to my house a week later feeling repentant and apologetic to my wife for ignoring her advice.  She said she had forgiven me and planted a kiss on my forehead. We continued to live our lives without children that we soon began to get accustomed to the rumours. Months later when Chinenye began to feel nauseated so often, I took her to Nduka, a doctor friend of mine for typhoid and malaria tests. Being a family-friend, he did the tests I required of him but went ahead to do a pregnancy test out of his ingenuity. Other tests were negative but for the pregnancy test which turned out positive.

Nine months later, she went into the pains of labour but never came out alive though Chike was able to make it to this cruel world.

AUTHOR:

 Augustine Ogwo lives in Ikoyi, Lagos.

MY HERO (Consolation Prize Story) by Annette Najjemba

Maria sat under the large tree in her maternal grandfather’s compound. The other children were happily playing in the big courtyard. She never seemed to care what went on around her. She closed her eyes, and then opened them, a tear dropped down.

It was about 3:00pm. Her elderly great grandmother, about eighty years old came out of the kitchen, with teary eyes reddened by smoke. With the hem of her rugged skirt she wiped her face, and then looked to the tree shade.

“Munyoro,” she called as she fondly referred to Maria.

Maria did not answer.

“Oh you’re unhappy with me, I know. You must be very hungry by now.”

Grandmother reached for a dirty, old polythene bag on the kitchen roof. She had kept some roasted ground nuts for Maria.

“Come on, have this.”

Maria remained motionless. Grandmother moved closer to her. Maria blinked and a stream of tears rolled down her cheeks.

Maria was seven years old. Her mother, Justine Birungi had dropped out of school after conceiving, at the age of seventeen. Her unknown father, a Kenyan heavy vehicle driver had left without leaving any contact information. All Birungi remembers is that he was referred to as Hajji. She had met him a few days earlier, before she slept with him in a lodge in Masindi town.

Birungi was walking to school when the heavy truck stopped by her.

“Come on darling. I will give you a lift to school.”

Similar offers from hajji went on for about a week, until he lured her to boycotting school to spend a day with him. He offered her one thousand shillings and that was the last time she saw him, way back in 1985.

Three months later, Birungi dropped out of school after realising that she was pregnant. She went to live with her grandmother Perusi in Kisabagwa village. She gave birth to Maria and lived with her grand mother until her baby was weaned.

Birungi was determined to give a happy future to her daughter. She went around the village seeking for odd jobs which mainly involved digging. She used the money that she earned to buy milk, snacks and clothes for her daughter.

One evening, as Birungi sat on the fire place with her grandmother, she revealed her plan of going to town to seek for a job. She left the following morning, leaving behind Maria, who was then three years old. She secured a job as a house maid for a school teacher in town.

Birungi worked for teacher Lydia for several years. She made sure that she saved the bigger percentage of the money she earned. She only visited her daughter on festive days but carried several gifts for her daughter and grandmother every time she visited.

In the village there were several other children living with Maria’s grand children. However, Maria was always the miserable girl in the home because she lived on insults from her cousins. Several times they referred to her as a bustard, and called her names because she did not know her father. She however found hope in her mother, her hero whom she always referred to as ‘Mummy of the city.’

After four years of working as a house maid, Birungi had saved enough money to help her rent a room to live in with her daughter and enrol her in a primary school in town. She opened a food vending business at the local market. With the meagre savings she managed to pay her daughters school fees, pay rent and provide for her daughters needs.

Birungi shifted from one petty business to another, to make ends meet. She vowed to work hard to make her daughter happy. She vended fresh food, water, and some times went on to dig on peoples gardens for money.

Maria admired her classmates who talked about their fathers, but she was happy with the love her mother showed her. She was sure her mother could never withhold anything good from her and for this reason; Maria has given her mother a new name, ‘MY HERO.’

Today, Maria holds a bachelors degree in economics and is a Banker. On her graduation day, she introduced her mother to her guests as the most important thing that has happened to her life. She explained that only a mother can deny herself the joys of life just for the sake of a child she mothered at a tender age and for an irresponsible man. 

AUTHOR:

 Annette Najjemba lives in Hoima, Uganda.