Chapter 1: Chapter 1

INSPIRED BY TRUE LIFE EVENTS

CROPS

OF

BARREN LAND

………things are fallen apart, because the center can no longer hold

-Chinua Achebe

A Novel by:

MOSHOOD ABIODUN ADEBAYO

To my late Mum,

Mrs. Tawakalitu Bolaji Adebayo,

a selfless loving woman with a heart of gold.

Episode one

Embittered Love

I love you more than songs can say, but I can’t keep running after yesterday………

-John Mayer

We normally sleep with the light turned off, but tonight the full moon outside the window illuminated the room enough to see objects clearly. I lay on the mattress sprayed on the floor in my parents’ bedroom, staring at the ceiling fan swaying and creaking loudly doing little to ease the temperature of the room. Its sound had become a lullaby to me over time, so it wasn’t the noise that kept me awake but my parents’ murmurings. They were having another disagreement which was getting worse every day. “I don’t know why I agree to marry you. Maybe you put something in your mouth to talk to me.” I heard mother accused father in a controversial manner. Father’s voice was firm but subtle. “Woman! It is not too late to choose again if you think you chose wrong, I’m tired of your constant nagging. What did I do wrong this time?” “Everything!” mother snapped. “Take a good look at me?” She asked her voice raising an octave. “I have no special cloth. You want to know why we end up in this face me I slap you house ehn? It’s because your children’s upkeep consumes all my profit. It’s a miracle I still have market in that store.” “Salamat! They are our children,” Father said. “They bear your name not mine; I even changed my father’s name for your useless surname. Who bear Surulere and make it in life? It was because of that “suru” you lost your job refusing free money. How many more years are we going to live in poverty tell me? ” At this point I could sense father’s patience was hanging by a thread. “You complained about using your money to finance our family, have I ever refused to refund your every kobo spent to help me?” Father asked in a leveled tone trying to calm her down. “Congratulations o! Is that how your mates manage their family? How they take care of their wives? When was the last time you bought anything into this house that my wife take? You don’t even wish me on my birthdays, if you don’t have money you have good words, but you intentionally wanted to treat me like dustbin.” Mother threw caution into the wind. “Let me tell you” she said raising her voice further. “I am not your dustbin and you are going to find out soon.” Father sighed. “Why are you making life more difficult for me? You know I do these things before. But these are desperate times,” father said frustrated. She cackled. “You are even speaking English for me. Okay o Mr English, I’m in the present not the past, I get am before no be property, you hear? Buckle up!” I wanted to tell mother that the correct expression was buckle down, but I would rather jump in front of a moving vehicle than face her wrath.

I covered my ears with my pillow to get some sleep because I couldn’t afford to be late to school. Tomorrow would be my last day in high school and I’m planning to cruise it with my friends. Most importantly, Mr Oyeniyi known as “touch your toes” by the students would be on punctuality duty, he had been looking for excuses to punish me for rejecting his love advances; despite he was old enough to be my father. Initially I was intrigued that he would shower me with gifts and money but it is useless. I would be forced to share the gifts among my friends because father kept tabs on my possessions. He must not see me with the opposite sex not to talk of taking strange things home, he would raise hell! He said that was the reason he tried his best to provide for me which I don’t think was enough. One time I went home with items he didn’t purchase for me, I was grateful mother was there to bail me out. Sometimes I felt like I’m the most watched girl in the city, could it be because I was his only daughter. I will never know the answer to my errant question because I never got a sister, just two younger brothers, Yusuf and Ibrahim. I take respite in the fact that while father always kept eagle eye on the things I do, the people I moved with; mother gave me freedom.

Father was a devoted Muslim through and through. His religious beliefs and doctrines affected the whole family. Mother however was a fun-loving beautiful woman: her skin is the colour of groundnut paste, thick long hair, tall and huge, curvy with a slightly pointed nose and a face models would be willing to go under the knife to acquire. I looked every bit like her; one might think we are identical twins if the age gap wasn’t considered. Mother was the reason I could balance my life between religion devotion and conventional lifestyle. She once told me, “Aisha you are very beautiful, men will run after you try to make a good choice. Don’t love someone that can’t take care of you, the love is fake and wouldn’t last. A broke man does not deserve pity let him work hard to take care of you.” As much as I cherished having private conversation with mother, I wasn’t impressed that she left her wife duties to me. Being the only female child in my family meant I do most of the chores and usually go to bed very tired.

“Wake up! Lazy bag of meat her father’s daughter. Wouldn’t you prepare for school?” Mother threw indirect jibe at father. Since our situation went from bad to worse she couldn’t help taking a dim view of him every chance she got. Sometimes I wondered why she married him; they have conflicting personalities. I once asked father when I was younger and naive why he married her. “Your mother is a very good woman. Don’t mind the comment she made at times, it’s her way of showing that she cared for this family. You will understand when you grow up” he said and I believed him. Flashing back to that memory I realized he was pathetically in love with her, but what I remembered more vividly was the yearning in his voice to be loved back with equal measure. I guessed it was good for his mental health he didn’t take it to heart, if not he would be in his grave or the brink of it. Mother loved to have fun. And fun was what she bargained for when she chose to marry father, not a poor life marred with religion doctrines father tried to enforce that zap the life out of her.

I got up from bed and walked groggily to the sitting room to wake my brothers. Father stopped allowing me to sleep in the sitting room the year I turned 10. He said a female child should have a private space. I entered the sitting room and called Ibrahim. He had always been the easy one to wake; he loved to go to school like he loved food. He stood up at once like I expected while Yusuf used his wrapper to cover the exposed part of his legs. I spanked him. “Get up lazy son of his father,” I said looking over my shoulder to confirm no one heard my attempt at duplicating mother’s jibe. He kicked at me. “Leave me alone o, did I not just sleep” he said rudely. I thought of what I could say to save my time. “Yusuf! Touch your toe is on punctuality duty today, I’m sure he would be happy to dish out some strokes on your behind” I said. He opened his eyes instantly and I knew I got him. “Are you serious?” he asked. I smirked at him. “I’m not serious, sleep some more mother has ointment for your buttocks when you returned from school”. I left him and went to prepare our breakfast. After putting the food on the coal pot, I entered the bathroom and took my bath as quickly as possible.

I was ready to leave for school and went to father to ask for our pocket money. He checked the back pocket of his black trouser which had obviously seen better days and handed me a crumpled 200 naira note. “Father is this for me alone or the three of us?” I asked. He glowered at me. “Are you insinuating that 200 naira is not enough for you to eat snacks, after the mountain of breakfast you and your brothers pack to school” he said in a critical tone. Father had HND certificate in Electrical/Electronics Engineering, so he was not a grammarian not even close. But when he started to use his passive vocabulary like “insinuate”, I knew I would likely lose the money altogether after an excruciating lecture on the importance of appreciating little, and the story of how he never took money to school when he was my age. I turned on my heels hurriedly and went to meet mother. “How much did your father gave you?” she asked. “200 naira for the three of us” I replied. She shook her head sadly and I wondered if she felt sorry for us or for herself. “Bring my pulse” she said. I got the pulse for her and to my relief she gave me additional 200 naira note. “You are the best mother in the world” I said happily, gave her a peck before hurrying out of the house. Let history not remember the head girl was punished for coming late to school on her last day. I knew “touch your toe” would relish my pain as pay back for snubbing him.