Mama's Eternal Smile

8/13/2019 Mama's Eternal Smile

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Mamas Eternal Smile

I love it when she smiles like this. She looks like an angel with the way her head is

thrown back in wild abandon. Am I insane to want to keep her smiling like this forever?

I remember a time it wasn't this way. Her face would be like Lagos skies in June,

darkened with the promise of angry rain. It's like she was stuck in that state, as if she

was always chewing on foliage from a bitter-leaftree. There are no half measures with

Mama. There are no flashes across the sky of her face or the crack of smile to herald it.

It's either she smiles or she doesn't. But when she does, the clouds peel back from her

moon face the color of kuli-kuli-- finger shaped cookies made from peanuts-- and the

smile shines through. The skin around the sides of her mouth would fold back like the

curtain over our door. These curtains reveal a set of white teeth she religiously washes

every morning with stalks of Mama Chichi's bitter-leaf tree. My favorite part of Mama's

smile is her eyes. They tinkle with mischief as the sides of her eyes wrinkle with the

footprints of a pigeon.

She smiled when Papa left.

Papa of early bird specials at Mama Tobore's Paraga stall down the road. It is always

better to get the Paraga when the gin is still strong with the herbs and barks that are

soaked in it, was Papa's argument when Mama darkened at his alcoholic dragon's


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breath. Papa of afternoons sprawled out on the couch in our cramped one room, his

snores and the smell of his alcohol tainted sweat causing the words on the pages of my

homework to jumbled up into a mess. Papa of nights of fights with Mama over topics as

diverse as the different types of clouds there are. Yesterday it was over how she gave

him N40 instead of N100 for his Paraga, the day before it was how there was less dried

fish in his Ogbonosoup than last week. He had argued that an abundance of fish in the

soup for a man would aid the journey of the Fufu- our staple cassava morsel meal -

down the throat and into belly and faster.

One day he had come back late in the afternoon, while Mama cleaned the little statues

and photographs at the family altar. Neither of us bothered about Papa's absence, we

had assumed he had slept off his hangover on the ground in front of Mama Tobore's

stall. Mama was humming as she carefully cleaned the statue of St. Jude when Papa

walked in. His smile shone like my face from the coconut oil Mama always makes me

rub every morning. He had the grace of an eagle in captivity set free to roam the skies.

He looked sober when he told Mama that a Prophet said she was the source of his

problem. It was a surprise that he mentioned that, since he was always passed out

when we went for the morning mass on Sunday. He had looked surprised that she did

not fight him over it like she did everything. So he gathered his belongings in his favorite

threadbare Rapa.

The ankara cloth of the Rapa was the color of Egusisoup, its designs of big cowries

were bordered by smaller cowries, once black but had faded to a dark grey. It had seen


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better days even before it became an almost permanent fixture on his waist along with

his formerly white singlet that had many holes from the tireless work of cockroaches.

The left strap of the singlet was slack and used to hang over his arm, like an off-

shoulder dress. It was a memento from the day Mama Tobore had accosted him

publicly for the debt he owed her from last Christmas. But the day he left, he was

dressed more formally. He wore the sky as a shirt, the blue full of hope. I didn't even I

didn't know he had one of those. He had them tucked in black trousers that stopped just

before his ankles. The shirt billowed the way Mama's wrappers do when the breeze

blows them on the clothesline.

He had an urgency to his movements like the roof was going to cave in, as he tied the

knots on the wrapper. His right arm bulged into a spidery network of veins when he

hoisted the knotted wrapper on his back. He looked once at me, then at Mama and

without a word stalked out of our room. There was nothing different about the whine of

the screen door's spring or its eventual slam on its frame.

Even though I felt empty, I didn't cry when he left. It wasn't because Mama broke into

the first smile I remember from her, soon as he was gone. I wasn't sad even after and it

was not because Mama gave me meat with my Sunday rice the following week after he

left -- a ritual left for Easter and Christmas. I thought I'd be glad that Mama's face

wouldn't have to darken so often anymore. But I wasn't happy either. It seemed like

there was a comfort in the variability that Papa provided. Somehow, I became

dissatisfied with doing my homework because I was done sooner, without papa's


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alcohol laced sweat to fill the room with that stench that my homework had become

accustomed to. The silent nights didn't bring comfort either. I'd wake up at different

times of the night willing myself to hear Papa's snores that sounded like he was

continually hacking phlegm.

The clouds didn't leave with Papa.

The first indication of this was two weeks after he had gone. Mama sent me to the local

miller, two streets away to grind pepper for the stew she wanted to make for the week.

On my way to the miller, I had this private ritual. Since it was the only opportunity I ever

had to go out anyway, I would maximize it. I'd do a quick stop at Abdullahi the Hausa

man's Kiosk to buy one Okinbiscuit. I favoured the rectangular ones over the circular

ones because they had more sugar. The biscuits were four in a satchet and shaped with

borders like a miniature picture frame. With the sachet of biscuits in hand, I'd run over to

the edge of the deep black drains, gutters we called them. I'd break off one of the

shorter borders and eat the rest. I'd then crumple that short piece of biscuit and sprinkle

the dust the way I'd sprinkle sand over the play dishes we made in the playground. The

fishes, that Mrs. Okonkwo said are not fishes but baby frogs, would swarm around the

biscuit crumbs. With the small bowl of tomatoes, peppers and onions seated next to me

by the gutter, I'd sit and watch till every single crumb was gone. I'd do the same to the

three other biscuits.


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On this day however, I didn't stop over at Abdullahi's kiosk made of iron roofing sheets.

It wasn't because I hadn't saved money from my N5 a day lunch money at school. It

was in my pocket. But before I left, the clock on top of the TV had its longer hand on the

number 8 and its smaller hand on 4. That meant that my favorite TV station would soon

start their programs for the day with my favorite cartoon - Voltron.The joy that came

over my soul when the show would begin with how the Voltron force made me feel like a

citizen of Aurora. So I ran, for Voltron and for Aurora. I jumped over the gutter in front of

our house. I ran past the boys playing football on the road in front of the house. I

jumped over potholes on the road, when I would have walked through them. When I

crossed the road without looking both ways, I prayed the blessed virgin would protect

me from Okadamen's motorcycles. I ran like I was representing Blue House in the

Inter-House sports competitions at school.

It was the Miller's snores I heard before I saw him at his shop. The back of his left wrist

was over his closed eyes like he was shielding it from some glare in dreamland. His

other hand was over his belly. It looked like he had hidden a smooth but very large

calabash underneath the skin of his belly. Like a smaller hill on the mountain that was

his belly, his belly button also protruded in the same manner. He didn't flinch when I

cleared my throat or even when I clapped my hands like those people who wore white

dresses to church with no slippers or shoes. I put down my bowl of pepper and picked

up a little stone and tossed it at his cheek. Thankfully, he woke up this time even though

he scowled like he would have beaten me up for disturbing his nap. He looked at me

and snapped, Pepper fifteen naira! I frowned and told him that I had only ten naira that


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Mama had given me. No light, we go use gen, he said with a finality as he began to

recline again. It was almost 4 o'clock. If I went back home to ask Mama for the

remaining five naira and then come back, I'd have missed over half of Voltron. I

remembered the 5 Naira that I always kept in my pocket for the Okin. Oga, I said with

an urgency, I will pay you. He groaned again, as if he had hoped I wouldn't have the

money. He snatched the little bowl from my hand and stalked over to the mill. He

walked past me back out of the shop to where the mill connected to a generator was

installed. He pulled at the ignition cord with effort, it sputtered to life at the third pull and

I sighed with relief. I willed his slow movements to move faster as I felt the clock ticking

in my head.

I ran faster than I had the first time around. The wind that rushed past my ears spurred

me to run even faster. I ran past ice cream men that ambled along on their bicycles with

an ice box mounted in front of it. I ran past children playing Suwein front of their

houses. I ran past kids running around playing catch on the road where cars didn't pass

often. I was now in view of the boys playing football near our house. I slowed down to a

walk, with my chest heaving and the sweat pouring down my face and forearms. I was

on the wide plank looking at the door to the house when it hit me. It's odd because when

this happened, I was thinking of how I had finally made it home. I felt like the five

fearless warriors that manned the lions that made up Voltron. They must have felt like

this every time they defeated their enemies against all odds. While I thought that, I felt

something soft hit my head hard and I felt the already shaky plank tilt at an angle. Both


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my hands were holding the bowl full of red liquid as the sides of the gutter rushed up to

meet me.

Call it reflex, but I shut my eyes and my mouth tight. I hit the bottom with a splash. Mrs.

Okonkwo always said that there were harmful germs everywhere. She said that the best

thing to do to avoid them would be to wash our hands as often as we could, and stay

away from the easiest places to find gems. These places were the pools made by the

portholes on the road after it rained, and the gutters, she said. Im sure Mrs. Okonkwo

must have felt that the only contact wed have with the gutter would be when we played

football by the road and the ball rolled in. She would never have bet that Id be here, like

this.

My eyes were still shut tight and I clamped my lips shut. I didnt know what made me

more hesitant to open them more. Was it the laughter I heard from the boys

approaching to retrieve their ball and mock me? Or was it the thought of Mama flogging

me without mercy, while she asked me whether money grew on trees? Or was it the

shame of just being in the gutter or the fear of the germs that would by now have made

a home in my body. I still held the bowl in my hands as I lay on my side. I heard a little

girl say to someone near her, see, he likes it there, hes a dirty pig. I was willing myself

to dissolve into dust when the worst happened. I heard Mamas voice.

Stand up, she commanded. She had said it the second time with a change in the lilt of

her voice when I stood, eyes still clamped shut. Give me the bowl, her voice boomed.


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By now, the boys had gotten bored of me because I could hear them continue their

game. I released the bowl to the sound of her voice. Once Id done that, I felt strong

hands pull me out. I flinched when I felt the shock of cold water wash over me because I

was expecting a slap. Open your eyes, she said finally. I faltered at first, and by the time

I did. Mama wasn't there. All I could see was the green bucket of water only a quarter

way full, with a small bowl dancing in it. I heard my mother call to me from behind me to

follow her back into the house. Mama's tone was like listening to a transistor radio at the

beach, because the boys playing football had scored and they were celebrating. I

followed nonetheless.

You wasted the pepper, she said when I had finally entered in our room. I looked at her

nose, then at the Sacred heart of Jesus on the altar and finally at the ground. Somehow,

the water, shame and the germs that all clung to my skin made the Kobokosting even

harder. I felt too defeated to even cry out from the pain. In that moment, I thought of the

kind of horse, it would be whose life was so miserable that even in death, its hide was a

source of pain and suffering.

Sometimes, the dark clouds turn to rain.

I knelt waiting for the evil horse whip. Mama's now usual frown had become as sure as

the rising and setting of the Sun. It was usually one thing or the other but this time, I had

brought my result home and had failed Biology. Failure was not tolerable to Mama.


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Failing in any class meant wasted money. Wasted money made Mama darken with

anger. I looked at her and I knew something was different. She took a step forward and

she began. Her eyes rained as steadily as the horse whip screamed its thunderous

applause. I had never seen Mama cry. I tasted tears, and iron. I wasn't sure which was

mine and which was hers and which was from the blood in my mouth. It was like

watching Voltron in fast forward. There were no words, well none decipherable anyway.

It was just that buzzing in my ears and faltering speedy actions. Soon it became a blur,

it could have been the tears that clouded my eyes.

We have this game, Mama and I play when she flogs me like this. It is this macabre

version of catch. I run, in what little space (haha! Space) there is to run (run! Haha!) in

our cramped room. I know I can go nowhere that her horsewhip won't reach but I try

still. Going out of the door is not an option. I am that canary we learnt about in Biology

that had gotten so used to captivity that it didn't escape an open door. Biology. God.

How was I to tell Mama that I failed because I didn t buy Mr. Musas book. Or that he

had told me my scores would pay for my parent s stinginess. Pain hurts extra hard when

you feel innocent. The stroke of the whip in the middle of my back cut deep. I had no

choice. I ran, and broke the rule.

Outside our room, I cowered like I'd seen the Madam Koikoi; the female boogeyman

that torments the boarding school students at my school. Maybe Mama was Madam

Koikoi. That look in her eyes was anything but human. I had crossed a line, and we both

knew it. I don't know why I didn't run any further than a few steps from our door. A part


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of me knew I'd broken our unspoken rule. She moved the dangling whip to her left hand

and strode to me. She had to stand on the tip of her toes to pull my ear. The Okro will

never be taller than its planter, she said to me. It will not. The Okro will never be taller

than its planter. It will not. She said it again and again as she dragged me back into our

room. She dropped the whip and reached from my shirt.

I cried and she did too. I love you. Why are you doing this to me? Do you want to end

up like your father? After all I have done for you, you want to become a vagabond like

Cain? I will not allow it. Jesus will not let it come to pass.

The rain of blows, bites and scratches stopped only for a moment. I opened my eyes to

see what had stopped the storm. Mama had reached for the cross on the altar. My

world exploded into white as my head erupted in pain sharp as a razor. I could scream

no more. I opened my eyes as she turned me away from her, to give her hand a wider

arc as she swung again. I only saw the picture of Our Lady looking in from the corner of

my eye before the storm faded into a darkness that rivaled a moonless night.

Sometimes, out of the deepest darkness comes enlightenment.

As I drifted on the now familiar terrains of the inky blackness. Its depths spoke reason to

me. I began to see why Mama was so hard on me. Finally! I understood it! I will never

know why it took me so long to figure it out. The servant that master loves, he chastises.


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You chastise the one you love. No longer would the stings from Mama's Koboko hurt

me and make me cry. It was all for my own good. How could I not understand it after so

long. Of course I failed Biology. I was too slow. So I began to plan how to make Mama

smile for always. It took a while to fully understand every single thing, but I did. In that

time, she flogged me for taking too long in fetching water for her to bath. I took the

lashes with a smile on my face. I don't know what it was, but the look of adoration I gave

Mama as she flogged me made her stop. So I wasright!

On that fateful night, I couldn't sleep. I listened to everything. The grunts of the various

power generators outside each apartment to supplement to incessant power cuts. The

sounds of the crickets. Somewhere in the next compound, in one of the 15 rooms of the

bungalow, a couple was shouting each other down. I heard the distant rumble of

Trailers on the expressway. Finally, I heard the steadiness of Mama's snore. So I snuck

over to where I hid the things with which I'd finally use to make Mama happy.

When the dark skies usher in the night, the whole world is covered in the sepia hue of

kerosene lamps and the blue tint of LED lamps.

It takes a smile from the Governments power company to end this world of darkness

and shadows, but that is like winning the lottery. When the darkness lingers long

enough, the dark clouds on Mamas face float away and she gives way to peace that is


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the colour of blue skies interspersed by fluffy white clouds. This peace never finds me. It

hasnt since I came home with that evil biology result. Im tormented by the darkness.

No, its not the shadows, it is the light that bothers me that hazy light like in a fever

dream. It is a being, omnipresent like Mama says God is. It brings with memories like a

shy perfume on the wind. You sniff too hard and it is gone. You take them in whiffs and

they spread through you with their essence. Since I had no peace, the scents were all I

had.

On the night I finally understood everything, the darkness brought with it the memory of

the day Papa left. His billowy shirt had been tied to Mamas Rapa. They had stared at

each other with the animosity of the horned devil and Angel Michael in the calendar that

hung over the TV. Even with her Sword raised, Papa kissed her. In that moment, the

knots dissolved and Mamas clouds floated away. She found peace. Papa began to

float. He was free. On and on, in the light breeze, he floated. He was a pale blue plastic

bag dancing in the wind like an airborne tumbleweed. On and on he went, into freedom.

Night after night, these scents came on a rotating schedule. It took a week of these

visits from the darkness for truth, freedom and the truth to finally find me. I wish Mama

had told me sooner. I would have done something, anything to make her happy. The

darkness wore a cologne the scent of Mamas disappointment. Her eyes were red as

the color of the biro used to indicate my failure. In the moment just before, she reached

for her horse whip, Jesus stepped down from the shrine over the TV. The light from his

Sacred Heart bathing our room in a blinding glow. He had kissed his own mother whose


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face of peace and repose were unshakable. I am the answer, he said to me. He looked

over at Mama who was frozen in the moment. He began to float and shimmer as Papa

had done. He ascended through the air and into Mamas head by her left temple. In that

instant, I knew. I just knew as I watched her sleep. She loved me, and I knew just what

to do. Jesus was the answer.

She hadnt been very excited when I watched myself wake her up at first. I saw her

struggle with me, but Jesus had warned me about that. The hands that held her down

were mine but there werent mine. I watched from the chair as Michael and The Devil

fought. I was surprised as I saw how the strength of the Lord helped me prevail. And

then I watched me feed her with the bread of life.It was me watching, it was also me

doing, like I had the spirit of the Lord upon me. As I tore each morsel of the bread, the

crinkling of the paper was like sigh of angels. Psalm 91, Psalm 48, and Psalm 51.The

last morsel of the bread was a bonus because on that same page was Psalm 50. Her

heart could do with a bit of praise to God. I could see the peace on her face had

changed to those dark clouds, but it was nothing to worry about. It was not a problem,

our sinful nature will always fight with the word of God. I held the rest of the bread of life

against my chest and reached for Jesus. The slight niggle was trying to get him into her

head so she could find peace again. Mama had always said, when she was trying to get

me to do something particularly difficult, that he who must eat honey, must not look at

the damage to his cutlass against rock. So I didnt mind. I would have had to wash the


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sheets later, with all that evil blood coming out of her. It is good. Jesus will replace it

with his, anyway. And finally, the Prince of Peace was in her.

The peace in her, had been enough to keep the darkness and its memories away. I

could not help but just stare and stare at her hour after hour. She had that hypnotic

quality of fluffy clouds floating by. She didnt even mind that I had to move her to the

couch to clean the room. That peace that surpasses understanding cannot be assailed.

Jesus comes down again. I understand. Hes omniscient, that one. How does he know

that our knives arent sharp and where we keep the razor blade? If the joy of finally

making Mama happy werent so great, this peace would have been enough.

Drink, he says. I am ready to go 40 days and nights without food or water like he did.

Mama and I have done pretty well so far. But who am I to disobey? So I do, and he

offers me some more. Those who drink of the water of life will live forever. When he

says this, I share with Mama as well. He clears his throat and I know that there is no

more time to waste. I will make her smile and, like Papa billow, away into my freedom.

Now look at her. I love it when she smiles like this. She looks like an angel with the

way her head is thrown back in wild abandon. Am I insane to want to keep her

smiling like this forever?


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I curl up in the corner and bask in the glory of her smile. It is so bright. I can see all of

her teeth and her gums. Most people will never get what it means to grin from ear to

ear, but Mama does right now. The beauty is so blinding, dark spots dance in my vision.

I am going to cry. I feel so sleepy. Those infernal flies wont leave Mama alone even in

this moment of glory. I feel so light. This must be what the billowing away part feels like.

I look up at the shrine. Mary is smiling. Jesus is back next to her and smiling as well.

Mama is so beautiful. Her smile is eternal now. The joy in my heart is turning in my belly

like a washing machine.

There is someone banging, no barging against the door. Nonsense. They cant stop us

now. Mama wont like it. But no, her smile is eternal.

Im billowing away.

I feel so soft.

Peace.

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Mama's Eternal Smile