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"Good morning, Ma." From her voice, I guessed she was in her late teens.
"Good morning, Dear," I replied as I opened the locks. "You want to see me?"
"Yes."
I ushered her into the shop and motioned her to sit. The room was stuffy. I opened the windows to let in fresh air. Uche stirred on my back. My movements must have woken him. I loosed the wrapper tied across my chest and carried him, resting his head on my bosom.
The girl looked on intently.
"So which kind of cloth do you want to make?" I asked her.
She was silent. After some time, she spoke up. "I am not here to make a dress."
I shot her a queried look.
"I came...I came to talk about...about the baby." Her gaze was fixed on the floor.
"Which baby?" I asked, alarmed.
"My baby. The one you are carrying."
She would wish she never made that statement. I calmly set Uche down on a wrapper and bundled her out of my shop. I was enraged.
"If I ever see you here again, eh! Rubbish!"
She was visibly shaken. Some persons passing by stood and watched.
I heard Uche's voice and hurried into the shop. He was crying. I rocked him gently.
"Who is that small girl outside?" Ebere, one of my student tailors, asked as she entered. "She is crying and kept pointing at our shop." I was too angry to respond.
The events of that morning marred my day. I pedalled the sewing machine furiously, stopping momentarily to wipe away the occasional tears that came to my eyes. She came to talk about the baby. My baby. What guts! By noon, I took a break to feed Uche. In between feeds, he would break into a smile, baring his scanty dentition. I tried to smile in return.
"Aunty Stella," Ebere said, directing her gaze to the door.
I looked up from where I was sitting. An elderly couple entered my shop. Right behind them was the girl from the morning. I felt my rage return. In a split second, I was on my feet.
"Didn't I tell you that I don't want to set my eyes on you?" I was screaming.
"Praise, please wait outside," the elderly man told the girl. She stepped outside.
"Madam, please calm down," the woman began. "We are not here to make any trouble."
The couple sat down. I struggled to stay calm, holding Uche tightly.
"We don't really know where to begin," the man started. "We buried our only son last week."
I looked on impassively. His grey hair told of a lot of suffering.
"Jimmy, our son, was a final year Engineering student in Unilag before his death. On the night of Monday, last week, some suspected cultists stormed his off-campus residence and shot my Jimmy dead." His voice was shaking. His wife was sobbing.
"I was called by one of his friends. When we got there, my Jimmy had ten bullet wounds and was lying in a pool of his own blood."
"He died in my arms,"the woman said, amidst sobs. "Before we reached the hospital, he was dead."
The man continued. "Yesterday evening, the girl outside, Praise, visited our house. We have never seen her before. She said she was in the same University with Jimmy. That she was his girlfriend. We didn't know what to make of the information. Till she told us that she had a child for Jimmy. At first, we did not believe the story. Jimmy never told us about getting anyone pregnant. We called some of his friends and they all admitted that they knew the girl. Two of his friends knew of the pregnancy. They said Jimmy denied the pregnancy."
"Praise! Come inside," the woman said. The girl entered, avoiding my gaze.
"Tell us exactly what happened," the man told her.
She was fidgeting. "When I found out I was pregnant, I told Jimmy. He told me to stop the joke. When he realised that I was serious, he broke down and told me he was not ready to be a father. The next day, he gave me some money for an abortion. He said that his parents were pastors and that the news of my pregnancy will embarass the family."
The couple shifted uneasily in their seats.
"When I refused to have an abortion, he grew very angry and accused me of trying to trap him with a pregnancy. He stopped picking my calls. The last time I visited his house, he threw me out and told me to go to whoever was responsible for the pregnancy. I was heart-broken when I left his house. I could not tell my parents. I was still in 100 level, far away from home and confused. I finally confided in one of my fellowship sisters, a girl in final year. She encouraged me and helped me during the pregnancy.
I left school when the pregnancy was six months. I spent the next three months hiding in her house. She graduated before I was due to give birth and left for youth service the week I put to bed. I was alone again, accompanied by the endless cry of the poor child I brought to this world. One day, I could not bear it any longer. I dropped the baby at Olaitan street. Near the refuse dump."
"You little devil!" I suppressed the urge to give her a resounding slap. "Where is the baby now? Where?" I asked, to no one in particular.
"I saw you pick him up. And I followed you at a distance as you went home,"she said, looking at me. "I have seen you go everywhere with the baby. I have never had the courage to approach you. I have felt guilt and emptiness since that night. So, when I heard that Jimmy was dead, I felt I should let the parents know that they have a grandchild."
"This is my Jimmy." The woman handed me a photograph. I was not expecting what I saw.
Uche was his spitting image.
©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015.
Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.
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