The small fridge in the parlor was buzzing silently. A tiny radio was mounted on a four legged plastic stool that was right at the door which led to the rest of the small house. The man on the radio was speaking Yoruba, something about how traditions were starting to fade.
The light in the tiny passage kept flickering on and off. Nothing unusual, everyone was used to it, just like they were used to the smell of irú(locus beans) in the house. A visitor would most certainly pick up the smell a few steps from the entrance, but for a household that prepared the ingredient, it had become their normal.
Tomike watched as her mother cried helplessly on the kitchen floor. She was only five but she could tell something was seriously wrong.
"Mummy why are you crying? Where is daddy? Daddy! Mummy is crying" she didn't understand what was going on.
Her mother and father had stepped out of the house together that morning. But now here was her mother, crying profusely on the ground like her world had ended. Or had it?
Her mother looked up at her, eyes red and swollen from all the crying. Without saying a word she stood up, took Tomike by the hand and walked her way to the small cubicle that was the only bedroom in the house.
As she sat on the torn mattress laid on the floor, she put her daughter on her lap and wiped the tears rolling off her cheek.
'My love, mummy is sad because something happened to daddy"
"What happened to daddy?" Her little face was now stricken with concern.
"There was an accident... " her mother began to sob again, trying hard to keep her tears down, but was barely able to. "While driving his keke (meaning commercial tricycle) a truck carrying diesel collided with him and some other cars. Your daddy is.... is gone" she burst into tears again, this time with deep groaning.
She was not only mourning the death of her husband but also the end of her life as she knew it. Alabi wasn't a perfect man, far from it. But he was a good man, a good husband and an even better father.
When Cynthia still had no children after almost three years into their marriage, he bearly flinched. Not even when his family members and friends insinuated that his wife might have been barren. Even Cynthia herself worried, but he was unbothered. And after they had finally had Tomike, he loved her and didn't make a fuss when another child wasn't forth coming.
Now he was gone. The end. She was finished.
Tomike still confused asked "But mummy I don't understand, where did he go? Will he be back?"
Those questions, her mother was unable to answer. Her wailing increased instead, leaving Tomike in more confusion.
There was a knock on the door. That would be the first of condolence visits that wouldn't stop until another month or so.