Serena was born in Benin City, Nigeria, and at the age of 6, she moved to a family house in Sapele Road, where her life took an unexpected turn. It was on a Saturday morning, and like every other hawking day in Sapele Road, the sun was blazing hot, and Serena wouldn’t stop crying: for the most part, hawking drained and depleted her. She saw a lady hawking moi moi or, as the Englishman would call it, steamed bean pudding. The English always had their ways with words—"very fancy," as Serena would sometimes say. She turned and asked her mother if she could have some.
“You’d better quit throwing tantrums before I forget the palm of my hand on your butt, you just ate before we left the house a couple of hours ago.” She said.
Their mother shut her ears to any remonstrance coming from Serena, the only thing on her mind was selling all the cassava flakes, commonly called garri, and, if time permitted, also the bowl Serena’s 11-year old brother Jack, was carrying on his head.
Jack had always been the mature one, and his love for books consistently overwhelmed their mother and most grown-ups around him; he considered reading as an escape, and no one could tell where his mind was sometimes. He was the only one who managed to talk sense into Serena.
“Mum has always done her best to ensure our well-being, and although we are used to having few or no luxuries at all, you have never gone without!” Jack said.
“You do realize I’m only six, right?” Serena said.
“Yes, and you are the brightest six-year-old I know,” he said.
“I think you should stop burning the candles at night on those Chinua Achebe’s novels
you always spend your time reading,” Serena said, looking towards their mother.
Jack ignored Serena’s words and continued his intellectual conversation; it felt more like a monologue, as Serena looked more confused each time Jack had anything to say.
“Listen, Serena, I know our mornings wake us to a constant routine of toil, but how hard we work during the day will determine what we will have on our plates while sitting around the lit candle this evening and the one after that. Remember that,” Jack said, looking at his little sister with a smile.
“You are right. And she ran to catch up with their mother, who was further away from them.
As they rambled along the streets that day, calling out, “Buy garri, sweet garri,” you could tell Serena wasn't into it at all, she would have much rather be somewhere else. After a few hours of walking and almost 2 liters of water consumed by the four of them, the bowl of cassava flakes on her mother’s head was half empty with 500 naira tied to the edge of her wrapper. Her brother had only sold a quarter of his cassava flakes, but he was shaking, and his clothes were dripping in sweat, enough to fill an entire Coca-Cola bottle. To put him out of his misery, their mother took his tray as they sat on a bench next to a kiosk—after resting for about two minutes, they got up and continued hawking. A few minutes later, they came to a house on Sapele Road painted dark red. Serena had an awkward feeling and asked if they could go somewhere else, but what she didn't know was that it wasn't the first time her mum had visited that house. She knocked on the gate, Serena was terrorized and wanted to run away from the fear and discomfort she felt standing right outside the tall gate. A little boy opened the gate, greeting Serena's mother in Edo dialect while placing both knees on the ground—it was an insult to greet an elderly person while standing up. They entered the house, and the little boy ran inside and called the parents. Jack and Serena went down on their knees at the precise moment they saw the woman all dressed in white and her husband in short boxers and a striped t-shirt. Although their mum would have wanted to fall right down on her knees as she ordered her children to, she had to first get the bowl of cassava flakes off her head, and the moment she felt that weight lifted, she fell on her knees and greeted them both. Serena couldn't help but notice the total submission in her mother’s face as she greeted them.
That evening, they went home with the two bowls of garri, empty, and almost two thousand Naira—their best hawking in a long while. That evening’s meal was guaranteed, and maybe even the remaining weeks.
The other times they visited that house, their mum would leave them there and would sometimes help with house chores even without being asked, she would join others in washing clothes and take over from where they stopped. Other times, she would cook with them or even sweep and wash the floors.
Months passed, and Serena and her family became permanent residents at the family house (as Serena called the place). Their lives changed completely: new routines and habits. About 20 kids were living in that house, and some had their mums with them, just like Serena. Soon after, it became clear mums who couldn’t provide for their kids came to seek help from the lady who owned the house—she was known as ‘mummy’ and was highly respected by all.
It was a typical Saturday afternoon after chores. Their mother called them into her room to tell them she was leaving for a while and she’d be back soon, but they had to stay in the family house until she got back. The sad truth was that no one from their mother’s family was willing to look after them—their plate was already full, as they would say. “You know we are struggling with our kids, and we can’t afford to take in another mouth, let alone 3. Why don’t you leave them with their father”?
That was always a delicate topic, and somehow, the conversation would stop at that point.
The children arrived home from school at around 3 p.m. The older ones always arrived later on. Before Serena and her brother could notice their mother’s absence, they were summoned by the lady into her room, and she had this to say:
“your mother has left for Lagos, and she will be back soon. Now go change into your house clothes and wash your uniforms,” she said.
And that was all she did say, in a completely normal voice like she was used to giving the same pathetic speech, it was void of any feeling whatsoever.
Jack looked at Serena, and smiling, he said, “Let’s pray Mother finds what she went looking for.”
But what they didn't know was that she wasn’t coming back soon—for another ten long years.
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