ÀṢÀKẸ́

CHAPTER NINETEEN

He lifted up his cutlass and struck my left hand with a great force which tore my flesh and caused a deep wound, or so I imagined he would do with the cutlass he held in his hand. I trembled as we maintained eye contact and couldn't help but remember that night.

“Káàrọ̀ o” (Good morning o), he said. His voice wasn't as deep as I had imagined, it still didn't change my impression of him. I wiped the tears off my cheeks with my hands and greeted him in return, stammering all the way. He adjusted the abetí ajá cap he wore, whose edges were sharply pointed upwards, and smiled at me, causing his tribal marks to form a somewhat curved shape on his cheeks. We won't stop staring at each other. While I tried to rebuke the thought that he was going to be a replacement for bàámi, he smiled more broadly. The uncanny resemblance we had, that became more apparent as I stared intently at him, sent chills down my spine; mother didn't lie afterall, he was truly my father. Before then, my expectations were for màámi to tell me it was all a prank, but staring at the face of reality, I was left with no option than accept what had already been.

“Jọ̀ọ́, àjọkẹ́ ni mo bèrè” (Please, I'm here for Ajoke), he finally said something. Well, I said nothing, I kept on staring and taking in large gulps of saliva. He repeated himself, but this time, he spoke, looking at our door hoping màámi would come out herself if she heard his voice; and she did.

“Ehn? Àlàmú?! Kílò ń ṣe níbí?” (Ehn? Alamu?! What are you doing here?), she lamented as she sighted him. He slowly put off his cap and folded it in between his armpit and rubbed his face with his hand. His eyes were watery, and he had the perfect 'prodigal son' expression in his face. If he could deceive màámi, there was no way he could deceive me with slantly curved lips and a blank stare, he still looked as evil as ever before me. Màámi's voice shook, and her breathing and heartbeat increased. She looked me in the eyes, and I understood her message clearly. I was brought up to decipher codes and receive information from her just by looking into her eyes, something many yoruba children would be used to. This time, she was asking me if we've had any conversation, and I could tell by the hurt and anger in her eyes. I shook my head and passed back my 'eye message' that clearly meant "ẹgbàmí" (help me). She pulled me off the stool where I sat and wanted to drag me inside.

“Àjọkẹ́, jọ̀ọ́, kàn gbọ́ mi ná” (Ajoke, please hear me out first). Màámi halted, turned back at him and tightened her grip on my wrist.

“Gbọ́ kíni? Ìwọ ìkà, ẹni ibiì yí” (Hear what? You wicked and evil man). My soul delighted in her response, and my heart blessed her. She eyed him, and I also did.

“Ṣé ọ̀un nìyẹn? Ọmọ mi?” (Is that her? My child?), he asked with a calm tone. I felt completely irritated by that question, and hoped she would feel the same way too.

“Ọmọ kọ́ọ̀, ẹwúrẹ́ ni, ọọ̀ wá jagbà” (Child kor, goat ni, why don't you come and snatch her), she hissed and turned her back against him and pulled me inside.

“Jẹ́ kin ṣàlàyé ǹka—” (Let me explain wha—), was what he said last before màámi shut the door and locked it behind us. She took in a deep breath and rested her back against the door with her eyes shut and head inclined upwards. She slowly opened her eyes, and I could tell she was very nervous and scared. As she loosened her hold on my hand, I could spot water marks around her arm.

“Màámi, ṣé ẹ̀ ń sunkún ni?” (Mummy, were you crying?) I asked in my high pitched– low volume sympathetic voice. She placed her hand on my shoulder and stroked my hair from the front to the back with tears slowly streaming across her cheeks. She pulled me to herself and gave me a hug as she wept and patted my back.

“Àṣàkẹ́, kìí n ṣe ẹ̀bi mi, mi ò lè ṣé ni” (Asake, it's not my fault, I can't do it), she repeatedly said, still crying. I imagined she experienced, at the moment, the comfort I felt whenever I was in her arms; the feeling of never wanting the moment to pass, a reassuring feeling that all would be well. Màámi felt guilty for bàámi leaving, and was broken that my life wasn't normal and she felt it was her fault, but I didn't want her to feel such way. I was caught unawares by the tears that flowed down my eyes. I burst into tears and we both cried loudly, in each other's arms.