It was another hot August break. The scorching sun made the soles of my feet find shelter under the large Udala tree at the centre of our village path. The ukpaka tree from Mama Kelechi's farm gave out explosive sounds from the sun, which glared its teeth on it releasing it's seeds.

I had just finished making the last set of yam ridges for our new planting season. Taking a spot next to a toothless elderly man cleaning his farm tool, I settled down to quench my thirst. Taking the iko-mmiri inside my akapa-ji, I quickly gulped in the last quantity of my water. It gave me a soothing feeling to my parched throat.

When I had rested for awhile, I then went to pick the left over palm fruits from our last palm fruit harvest, which mother will later use to prepare ofe-nkwu for us by tomorrow night.

On the day of our village's palm fruit harvest, we had all woken up at the first crow of the cock and prepared our baskets,

cutlasses, ropes, head pans and wheelbarrows. Papa wore his palm wine tapping clothes; a pair of khaki shorts and a white cotton shortsleeve shirt, strapping his strong climbing rope round his shoulders. As early as 3am, he had left with his age grades to cut down the palm fruits while Mama, Chilota and I came to gather them afterwards.

Chilota, my twin sister, who was yet to recover fully from her illness was given a light farm tool to carry. Mama had insisted that she carried only the baskets and accompany us after she Chilota, had convinced Papa that she could walk properly on her own, without missing her steps. We were skeptical at first because the previous morning, after I and Mama came back from the stream to fetch water, we were afraid we were going to lose Chilota when she kept vomiting everything she had eaten. But by evening, she was in high

spirits telling her not so funny jokes.

The only person who found her dry jokes funny was me. I was her only happy audience while Papa and Mama only showed

an indifferent face. They weren’t your typical type of laughing and soft parents. Sometimes I wonder what planet they came from.

Chilota, my twin was the complete opposite

of me; introverted, funny, strong-willed and fragile. She had gotten this personality

from our maternal side while I got mine from our paternal side. She was naturally gifted in numbers and calculations that Uncle Nnabuife frequently took her with him to the market whenever he wanted to calculate his business profits for the

month.

Taking another gulp of the cool water, I sat and watched as a group of women were making ridges and the men, planted the corn seeds. If only we listened enough to know that activities like these were totally odd. But our villagers had initially chased out the missionaries the moment they arrived and mentioned the words “education” and “religion” to them, it was a taboo to see their

young women go to school, when they should be tending the homes or the young men serve at Mass when they should be getting married.

The missionaries had a very simple way of living. I so much admired the way they spoke through their noses. It sounded like lullaby to my ears.

Every morning after

my day’s work, I would drag Chilota to follow me to the next village, which was a stone throw, to hear the missionaries teaching the children the “English alphabet”. When they saw my enthusiasm in learning this foreign language, I was given a very small book; Queen Primer English. Every night, I would sneak it out from under my

head rest and read it throughout the night using the flicking light from the mpanaka . Each night, I’ll rush to tell Miss Gwendolyn that I learned a new word and

she would reward me with an apple and more books would be given to me. This sparked my interest in going to school and I vowed that I would become a teacher like Miss Gwendolyn.

Mama was the first to know of my ambitions and didn’t see

any reason to reprimand me unlike my aunties who shunned my cousins. In fact, mama was in support of my reading of so many books. Soon, I found myself speaking and behaving like the English teacher, Miss Gwendolyn and it didn’t take long

before Papa enrolled me and my sister into the Mission School for Boys and Girls. This was after our King had reluctantly agreed for the missionaries to stay and

teach us. I would always come home feeling excited from school and show Papa and Mama what I learned.

Catechism classes were one of my best classes for the

week as I would join my cousins and chant happily and loudly the Lord’s prayer or the Regina Caeli.

The books I read were all written by people living in the city. It was though I was hearing each writer’s voice while reading his book. Some books I read were

covered with beautiful illustrations while some were just plain words. Sitting at

Grandfather’s house, I dreamed of going to the city to be able to speak like those city people Miss Gwendolyn talked about and someday I will write like them too.

After resting for a little while from my farm work, when the sky began to turn dark, I gathered my farm tools, accompanied by villagers and headed home.

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Three months later, Aunt Nnenna, Mama’s elder sister and my cousins who lived in the city, came to spend the Christmas holiday with us. She brought for us a lot of city foods that tasted like our village’s honey. Some were brightly colored, packaged with fancy bags and boxes

while some weren’t. I couldn’t even find stockfish, crayfish, peeled melon seeds or smoked catfish among the foods she had brought but couldn't find any. They were all rice, cereal, rice and more rice.

Mama prepared the rice she had brought and made ofe-nkwu with it for everyone. Aunt Nnenna didn't enjoy it because the food was so spicy; she ended up taking tea and bread afterwards. Although the weather was chilly but due to the much pepper in the food, we had to stay outside to receive fresh air. Later that night, while Mama and her sister were having their sisterly conversation, I and Chilota stayed at the grandpa's obi to play with our cousins. Papa came back later to prepare Chilota's medicine.

A dimly lit fire was glowing from the kitchen when Mama poured out the herbal drink from the earthen pot to give to Chilota to drink and the

moment the bitter substance touched her mouth, the whole place was messed up to everyone’s disappointment.

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By the next nkwo market day, I saw myself traveling to the City with her to start school. My joy knew no bounds. Everyone was happy about it; except for Dee Ifunanya,

one of my Uncle’s wife. She was the only one in the family who always had a contrary opinion in any discussions said in the family meeting. Even though she was the wife to Papa’s youngest son, she always loved trying to maintain the same profile as Mama, the first daughter-in-law married into the family.

Grandfather had severly warned her of her too audacious and repulsive behavior in the family and she would always talk back at him.

“Why would Cheta travel to the city when all her cousins have not finished mission

school?”

“Ifunanya is it your business?” Mama dramatically tied her wrapper round her head pointing a finger at her. That was actually the first time I had seen mama so pissed. Everyone that gathered were speechless when she spoke. Papa only smiled while helping me park my load into Aunty Nnenna's car.

Dee Ifunanaya for all I can remember, had no respect for a dead person; she opened her sewing shop right on top grandma's grave.

She was outrightly standing on Grandmother’s

grave with her hands held akimbo on her waist when she was ranting. Her noise attracted almost half of

the villagers and in few hours, news about my travel to the City had spread like wildfire.

“So Cheta you’re going to the city to eat rich man’s food and leave us here?” Obiora, a friend from my catechism class had asked me.

“And who says what we eat here isn’t good food eh?” I asked, giving him one of my

don’t-you-dare eyes.

“Just saying” he muttered helping me to pack my luggages.

Some villagers were happy to hear the news of my departure to the city---the rest of

the villagers for all I cared can drink enough water and go to sleep.

For me, I was happy to go to the city to get to read those big books those rich people usually read and become

like them. Miss Gwendolyn had said schooling in the City was better compared to the village and I would get to see how things over there are more better than the village—well except the food which was too artificial compared to our natural

foods.

“You'll meet face to face, Doctors, Lawyers and Engineers too” she had explained during one of her English lessons.

Whenever I

read her recommended books, I would picture myself becoming like them one day.

I was very happy when I heard all these things. I wanted to go to school so I could educate people in my village that it was proper to

wash their hands after eating instead of plastering their oily hands on their heads and bodies

or that wearing foot wears prevented one from sustaining injuries to the leg.

On the night before my departure, Papa prayed for me and Mama was so happy,

that she prepared Vegetable soup and pounded cassava; Papa’s special meal. After eating, we stayed at the general house to receive some fresh air outside.

I wished I and Chilota went to the City together. Papa said she couldn’t and would

stay back and attend the Missionary School due to her illness. Chilota cried so

much that I thought her eyes were going to go blind because they were too swollen and red. We tearfully hugged each other as we bid ourselves goodbye. I was really going to miss her so much.

****************************************************

The City, on arrival proved to be the opposite of my village. Buildings, roads,

transport and places and things you could think about. While my father and his brothers lived together in a large compound, the City had a monotonous style of living called “living in apartments” While trees dominated my village, the city was void of trees and replaced with “street lights” The first sound I heard on the first

morning I woke up came from a megaphone speaker from the church opposite my Aunt's house. They kept blasting in prayers with their incessant clapping snd singing waking me up. I battled with sleep for the first two weeks while my Aunt and her family slept like babies.

I was surprised when my Aunt told me she was leaving for

work by 5am but after a while, I understood it was a normal way of life of living in the City.

One year later, I was enrolled into Grace Elites International School, a big, private school where I was later nominated as a library prefect. I participated in

several competitions like the spelling bee and debate competitions because I was

more inclined in the arts than science. I won so many awards for my school and became the talk of the school.

And that's when my problems began.

Firstly, on the night of my arrival to the city, I was admonished by my Aunt's husband to return back to the village with

immediate effect. Aunt Nnenna had to plead for my stay before I was given a room to myself.

Secondly when I arrived, I stayed an extra one year with my aunt’s husband, learning how to sell at his supermarket. Every

afternoon while students would enter his shop to buy some items, I would mentally wish to be like them, wearing their neatly ironed uniforms and polished black shoes. I received a totally different treatment from Mama’s brother-in-law. He

was this prideful kind of person that made sure I worked to the point of being very hungry before I was given food to eat. My Aunt’s husband wasn’t who I thought she said he was. Underneath the prim and proper face was the very face of a child molester.

I remember when I arrived newly in the city. He would constantly advice me to be careful of city boys and focus on my school. Out of a naive heart, I took

his advise. Little did I know it was a different game entirely. The constant buying of biscuits and chocolates were all a bait to win my heart. At first, I took them with a grain of salt because from the onset, he wasn’t happy to see me live with them in the city. Gradually, I didn’t see any harm in collecting them anymore. Then the sexual advances came and as usual it was all strange to me. I couldn’t even tell my

Aunt what I was going through. Everything was so new to me as I couldn’t handle my circumstance. The constant unnecessary fondling whenever my Aunt wasn’t around at home became a problem for me. The first time it happened was one

certain weekend when she had gone to visit one of her friends and I was told to

look after Ebele, her youngest child of two years. Her husband breezed into the room where I was with Ebele and started demanding that I carry his baby on my back to stop him from crying. I did. I placed him on my back using my aunt’s C.W.O

wrapper. The moment I strapped it round my chest, the reaction I got from my Uncle when he fondled my breast was out of

curiosity instead of shock.

I told him immediately to get his hands off of me. But that didn’t end there. Because they lived upstairs in their compound, I would always lock the door whenever he was to leave for his other work at night. It continued for

a long time and each time it occurred, I would rush into my room, bury my face into

my pillow and cry out my lungs. All this was still happening and still I couldn’t tell my Aunt about it.

When I was still in Junior School, my Aunt’s husband told me one certain time that he wouldn’t be paying for my school fees again. I couldn’t understand why because

he was capable of sponsoring me and his children in school. And he was rich for goodness sake! My Aunt was working but her salary wasn't enough to pay for my

school fees.

Asking my Uncle his reason for saying that shocked me to my bones. I wasn’t bold enough to tell my Aunt about it. She noticed some changes in me and saw that I wasn’t my usual jovial self anymore. I persuaded her that everything was

fine and that I was undergoing school stress. Everyday after school, I would lock

myself in my room and cry myself to sleep. And once it was fifteen minutes to

midnight, I had a duty to fufil for my Aunt’s husband. I couldn’t tell Papa and Mama

because I didn’t have a means of communicating to them. The threats kept pouring

in in numbers.

Little by little I started recoiling into my shell. The once jovial girl

became a walking shadow of herself. Each time my Aunt’s husband was at home, I

would feel as though I wanted to choke to death. I became insecure and it affected

my studies.

So, I was removed as a school prefect because I wasn’t functioning well. Once had I visited the school clinic and was probed by the Nurse where I had

gotten some red marks between my thighs. My twin sister came to visit me one certain holiday and she noticed it too but I lied to her that all was fine. I told a lot of

lies to cover up my shame and sadness. I knew I was sinking into deep waters but I

couldn’t speak up to save myself. I shut down everyone who tried to get close to me and find out about it. And I also shut down from Martins.

Why spoil my Aunt’s blissful home when she’s so happy in it?

****************************************************

As I wake up from this deep sleep, I try to register my environment. Moving my throbbing

head side by side on my bed.

It’s been fifteen years now. I’m now a full time, best selling Novelist and successful

businesswoman, living here in London. The secrets of the past have been discovered. The damages have been done. Aunt Nnenna never wishes to hear my

part of the story. The police found out about last painful incident before I ran away and decided to close the case.

They talk about protecting a high profile personality in the city. Till today, my Aunt still blames me that the reason for sleeping with her husband was because she

couldn’t give birth to a male child. Such nonsense reason. It makes it look like a

planned move on her part. I sometimes use the word “he” to describe her husband

because I have tried to mentally clear out her husband’s name from my memory.

Papa and Mama have nothing to do with me anymore. They say I have brought a curse into the family by doing a very bad thing and causing a scandal in Aunt Nnenna’s marriage. My uncles, aunties and cousins have nothing to do with me

anymore.

Peeking over my bedside calendar, I remember that Chilota’s memorial service comes up next month, which is unlikely I'll attend.

How will I attend her

memorial service when almost half of the village blames me for her death?

"Your scandal caused a heart failure to your sister" they had rebuked me.

Seated in my room on my bed, alone, nursing a scar diagnosed from a doctor’s

medical report;

“I’m sorry Miss Ezeagu but you can’t take in anymore. Your womb has been…."

The rest of the sentence drones out of my head as I sit and stare blankly at the

Gynaecologist face. I can’t really stand bearing the problems of men anymore as I

choose to live in solitude. My past is in my present glaring at me.

I’m glancing towards the seaside opposite my house. It appears calm yet full of chaos

underneath—just like me; like a dry bloom.

Reaching for the yellow bottle beside my bed and taking the last swig of it’s content, I drown its last content.

Feeling satisfied, I lay my head down to finally sleep in

peace.