FOR THE LOVE OF EARTH

Chapter 1: Agbalumo.

Chapter 1: Agbalumo.

I must admit that I am not too familiar with your ways. Your customs are uncustomary. Your way of speaking is long, drawn out and usually boring. Still, I respect you. As such, I will do what one must in  conversation.

First, I will introduce myself. No, I won’t tell you my name or  age or where my father’s father is from. Of what use is that to you? I will only tell you what defines me and gives me purpose; what I think of when I when I wake and when I lay down at night. This is not out of respect oh. It’s just so you understand the story better. So when I tell you what I did you won’t ask me stupid questions like “why?” You will simply nod and let me continue the gist.

Do you know what an agbalumo is? No? If you had said yes I would have skipped to the story but it’s important you know what it is. It is far more important that I describe the agbalumo in detail without any form of summary so please get comfortable.

The foreigner may describe it as a small simple fruit with impure orange skin. On the outside, a deformed peach ; on the inside, more fruitful with four small seeds instead of one. They would say it’s flesh is just as plain- orange as well and translucent.

Of course, I am more informed. Any one who knows good things and has known this good thing could never call it that- a fruit. An experience maybe. An eye opener. To me, it is a watering hole in the desert. A partner who kisses you today and slaps you tomorrow. Not always present to avoid “see finish “ and to keep you waiting, begging for more.

Do you understand now who I am? Know that everything I did was to indulge in it. When I slept, when I ate other foods, it was not for satisfaction but for sustenance so that I could see the next season.

Obsession you say? Maybe. But I prefer the term devotion. Devotion is always rewarded.

I received my prize in May, a few weeks before the beginning of a new season. My mother had just returned from the market. The basket on her head was unusually full. I say unusually because my father was a stingy man but this is unnecessary information. Anyway, unloading the basket was more stressful than normal. I had to peel and air potatoes, grate the yams and grind the peppers into paste. I would have left the rest till the next day but my spirit pushed me. The basket was mostly clear. At its bottom, wrapped tightly in banana leaves bound by twine, one more package. I felt different when I saw it. My spirit turned within me. When my fingers touched it, a current passed from it and through me. It wasn’t electrical like that flowing through the homes of present time. It was the kind that in those days, we usually felt beneath our feet. The kind that grounded us.

As I unwrapped that package, I did not think of anything. I did not wonder what month we were in and how the fruit had grown so quickly. I did not think of my mother or father. I thought only of those four agbalumos , fatter than any I had seen before. Not glistening but glowing. I blinked and in one second was filled with immense pleasure. The sweetness was overwhelming. The sourness danced with it’s partner in perfect harmony. The next second came too quickly. I was shoved back into reality, thrown onto the cold mud floor with nothing but seeds in my hand and an intense craving. Such cruelty.

“What are you doing on the floor?”

My mother stood before me all of a sudden, sneering.

“So you couldn’t leave some for the rest of the house?”

“I-”

“Is this how you’ll be behaving when you enter your husband’s house?”

What husband?

“ Please Ma,” I said “ Tell me where you bought it so I can buy some more.”

“With which money?” She responded, kissing her teeth. “Your daddy won’t know anyway. I’ll buy them next week.”

Is that what I meant?

“Please Ma.”

I held the hem of her rapa.

“Are you crazy?”

“I need to go now.”

“Wo!” she screamed. “Release me before I count to ten.”

“Please—”

“One...”

She counted to ten and then to twenty. I did not release her. I begged and pleaded and bargained but she refused to tell me where she bought the fruit. My own mother. In the end, I had to insist. With the few breaths left in her she told me what I needed to know. I cried then. I loved her . It would hurt me to be without her. But another love came first.

I tied all that I needed together and wrapped them around my waist. I had money. A few cowries I’d gathered over the years. I stuffed some between my clothes and wove the rest into the cornrows on my head. I did not need food. Dugbe , the place I was heading to, was not far but I would not return to that house. Of that I was sure.