TRAPPED...Part 18.

The cot was empty. 

I had woken up in the middle of the night and reflexively went to the cot. My mouth had parted in alarm when my brain restored some parts of my dreaded memory. Uche was gone. Gone for good. I slumped into the bed and was racked with sobs. How did I let this happen? How did I let my bundle of joy slip through my fingers? 

How could I let go without a fight?

For two days, Vicky has refused to eat or speak to me. That was after her question "Mummy, where is Baby?" was met with an empty stare. I had tried to explain, but it was not making sense to her. After bouts of explanation, she would still ask where Baby was. I decided that explanation without bringing Baby was useless. She grew sullen and withdrawn. I was too broken to be bothered. My mind kept replaying the events of that afternoon, wishing I could take it all back.

As soon as I agreed to allow them raise Uche, Jimmy's parents jubilated. His mother stood up to hug me. Jimmy's father joined in the embrace.

"My daughter, you just gave us a new life,"he said, beaming with smiles.

His wife was effusive with gratitude and made to carry the baby. Instinctively, I withdrew. I held the baby tightly, watching his tummy rise and fall with every breath. Inwardly, I wondered how a person so small could be so powerful. He had been my lifeline. Now, he is the cause of their joy. I looked at Dan. He was nodding silently where he sat, the only one not swept away by the euphoria in the room.

"You will always be welcome in our home," Jimmy's father said. "You can visit the baby anytime. You are his mother and hence, our daughter."

I was unfazed. I kept looking at the baby, struggling to keep my emotions in check.

"You can go home with the baby and bring him tomorrow," he said. "I know this must be very hard for you."

Teary-eyed, I thanked him and we left. Outside the gate, Dan finally spoke.

"You were amazing in there. You did the right thing."

"What?" I asked. "I feel like I have let Uche down. How do I explain this to Vicky?"

Dan shook his head. "If this had gone to court, it would have been way messier. You just rescued a couples' life singlehandedly in there. Without this baby, the magnitude of their loss could have given any of them a stroke. They are nice people and will give Uche the very best, which I know you want for him."

"How will I cope?" I asked, staring blankly into space.

Vicky was sitting outside Mama Tunde's verandah when we entered the compound. She ran to embrace me. I could not share her enthusiasm. Dan carried her as we proceeded up the stairs. As I bathed and fed Uche that night, his every smile and giggle drew a sharp pain in my heart. His innocence was my redemption. I watched Vicky play with him. Their joy and smiles were infectious. I was ending a good thing. The next day after dropping off Vicky at school, I packed Uche's things in a small bag and took him to his new home. As I handed him over to Jimmy's mother, he let out a loud cry. I winced. His crying voice trailed my exit as I battled with the pain gnawing at my heart. Upon returning from school and finding an empty cot, my five-year old daughter asked the question I have come to fear. "Where is Baby?"

It has been two days. A huge part of our lives was missing. The loss was palpable. I fiddled with my phone for some time and decided to call Dan. I had not heard from him in two days which was unusual. He picked at the third ring.

"Stella. How are you doing?"

"I feel terrible, Dan. Terrible. I wake up many times in the night thinking I heard his cry. His empty cot haunts me. I really need to see you."

"Stella, there is something I need to tell you." His tone sounded distant.

"What is wrong?" I asked.

"Stella, I don't know how to say this. But I am no longer allowed to visit you."

"What?" I could not believe my ears.

"See, Bola and I had a heated argument on Sunday night and it was about you. She asked me to choose between you and her."

"Ahn ahn! Which one be choose, again? Me and you dey do anything?"

"She said I give you too much attention. That I visit you  too frequently. And that our relationship is suffering because of that. After some soul-searching, I realized she was right. I had a beautiful thing going on and I was throwing it all away."

I was perplexed. Have I suddenly become a stumbling block? "So, you chose?"

"Yes."

"You chose to stay away?" My voice was laced with anguish.

He was silent. I hung up, just before the tears escaped my eyelids and flowed onto the neckline of my blue flowery dress. My loss just doubled.

The days brought with them slight glimmers of hope. I buried myself in work,  taking out my revenge on the sewing machine. Amazing designs emerged, my fury finding its usefulness. Vicky started eating after I took her to visit Baby. Uche looked well-fed and giggled on seeing Vicky. I carried him as much as I could. He could stand with support and was making some baby steps. Vicky played with him, making him crawl all over the living room. When it was time to leave, the crying ensued. Uche cried less.

I was busy in my shop one afternoon when a black Toyota Corolla car parked just close to the entrance. I wondered aloud who could be blocking my door when the driver's door opened. I felt mixed emotions as Dan entered the shop. He responded to Ebere and Ola's greetings and sat quietly in a corner.

"You got a new car?" I asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Yes." He forced a smile.

"That's good. Congratulations." I focused quickly on the satin dress before me. I was avoiding his eyes.

"Stella."

"Yes?" I looked up. There was irritation in my voice.

"I came to know how you are doing and to tell you about the car. You had always encouraged me to save money and get one." 

I was unmoved.

"As you can see, I am fine. I will always be." I stood up from the machine and walked to the table to cut.

"How is Vicky? And Uche?"

"They are doing great. Vicky asks about you, sometimes." 

His face lit up. 

He went to his car and returned with a red polythene bag. 

"I got her this." He handed the bag over.

Inside it was a small golden-yellow dress, with patterned laces at the hem and beaded designs.

"Wow! She will love this. It is beautiful. Thank you." I put the dress away.

"Stella, there is something else." 

I looked at him and noticed he was clutching something. He approached where I sat and placed it on the table. A small, beautifully designed invitation card.

"My traditional wedding...is coming up next month." His voice was shaking.

"Congratulations," I said, trying to smile. I could not. 

"How is Bola?" The question escaped my lips before I could stop myself.

"She is fine. We have been very busy lately, you know. Wedding arrangements." He stood up to leave. I saw him to his car.

"I am happy for you," I said, as he entered his car. "I may not show it, but I truly am."

"I know." He started the engine. "Stay happy."

As he drove off, I allowed the first tear drop. The war was over before I fired a single shot.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015.

Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.

TRAPPED...Part 17.

"What is really going on between you and Dan?"

It was Bola. I had called her to inform her of the text message I got and my intended visit to the address. Apparently, Dan had told her that he would accompany me. I swallowed hard at my end of the line.

"Nothing."

"It better be. I know you two had something in the past. But that is where it ends. In the past. I am Dan's present as well as his future. I would not like us to have an issue over this."

The click of the phone as she hung up buzzed in my ears. I had listened like a chastised pupil. I stared at the phone and then threw it on the bed. Her question had startled me. Is she getting jealous? If she has an issue, she should take it up with Dan, not me.  Dan had always visited me voluntarily. I had supported her engagement to Dan. How on earth could she consider me her rival? She was spoiling for war. A war which I have no strength to fight.

The chime of the clock jolted me back to my senses. 10 am. I was running out of time. I hurriedly went to get Uche ready. Dan came around by 10.30 am. He was looking worried.

"I don't know what is wrong with Bola," he said.

My heart skipped a beat. "How?"

"She was not sounding happy when I called her this morning and yet when I asked, she said she was fine. I persisted till it almost sounded like I am nagging her. She still maintained she was fine."

"Oh! Most times when we say we are 'fine', we really are not. We simply try to draw strength from saying that to enable us tackle the problem. Maybe you check on her when we return."

"Sure, I will. Are we ready to leave?"

"Yes." I had deliberately not mentioned Bola's warning to him to avoid adding gasoline to a smoldering fire. I had taken Vicky to Mama Tunde's house to play with her children while we were away.

The address was not hard to locate. We stood in front of the gate and knocked. The gateman answered and directed us to the main building. It was a brown duplex with a driveway just in front of the main entrance. The living room was spacious with black leather sofas arranged in a semi-circle. Jimmy's father sprang to his feet on seeing us.

"Ah! Thank you very much for coming." He motioned us to sit.

His wife emerged from an adjacent room and smiled on seeing us.

"Una welcome o!" she said.

I looked around the room.  Jimmy's pictures hung on the wall. Baby pictures. Birthday pictures. Matriculation picture.

We were soon joined by two elderly men. One was introduced as the Senior Pastor in their church. The other was their family lawyer.

"We appreciate you all for making it to this meeting," the Senior Pastor said. " God in his infinite wisdom and inscrutable ways has decided to console this family, who recently lost their only son, with a grandson. Despite the circumstances surrounding his birth, his survival up to this moment is a testimony that this child was sent to wipe the tears from the eyes of these two servants of God." He pointed to Jimmy's parents.  

Jimmy's father spoke next. "Stella, we have been trying to meet you. Not to make trouble. No, not at all. The fact that this baby is alive today is just because of you. You really possess the milk of human kindness. You are a candidate for heaven." A tear trickled from my left eye.

He continued. "You fed, clothed and provided for a child whom you picked up from the street. Raising children is very difficult. But you did this, single-handedly."

Jimmy's mother came and knelt before me. I tried protesting but she held onto my knees.

"We appreciate the kindness and love you have lavished on this baby," she said. "I am your fellow woman. My only son, whom I suckled, is no more. This baby is the only hope we have left. Kindly, allow us raise him. Please. Please." She was sobbing.

I looked around. Everyone in the room had their eyes fixed on me. I opened my mouth to talk but no words came out. Tears flowed freely from my eyes. I closed my eyes for a moment, wiping the moisture from them with the back of my hands. I looked at Uche. His face was expressionless. In an instant, flashes of our journey together hit me- his smiles, giggles and babbling. His first words. I felt his smooth skin and ran my hands through his luxuriant hair. The room remained silent. I looked at the woman kneeling before me. A third of her hair has turned gray and wrinkles were deeply etched on her forehead. She cut a pitiable figure.

Jimmy's father broke the silence. "Here is a cheque for one million naira. We know it is nothing but you can have it for all the troubles the baby may have caused you."

"No, no, no,"I said, shaking my head.

"Please, take it,'he insisted.

"Sir, with all due respect, Uche is my son. He has been my son since the day I picked him from the refuse dump and I had treated him as such. I never knew this day would come."

My voice trailed off. I was crying profusely. Dan held my shoulders.

"I will always consider him my son. Whatever I did for him, was done out if love. I cannot accept any amount of money for that."

"Will you allow us raise him?" Jimmy's mother asked, looking up.

I looked at her. Her eyes were expectant. I fought back my tears and turned to Dan. His face was blank. I knew that decision was up to me. Summoning every energy in me and suppressing my screaming maternal instincts, I said the one word that will change their lives.

"Yes."

© Kelvin Alaneme, 2015.

Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.

TRAPPED...Part 16.

"Why is there a scarcity of good, marriageable men?"

I turned to see the person who asked that question. It was a female passenger in the back row. We were trapped in the traffic as I was returning from Habiba's wedding. Sandwiched between two passengers in the second row, I was sweating profusely. The question prompted mixed reactions from the passengers. The men sharply disagreed while the women nodded in agreement.

"No talk that thing!" It was the conductor. "Na just money dey stop most men. The country is hard and wedding too dey cost these days. Men full everywhere!"

"For where?" The girl who asked the question insisted. 

"Almost one quarter of able-bodied men dey prison. Half of the men wey go school are unemployed and have no money to start a home. Na the remaining one-quarter wey una want all the girls to dey drag, abi?" 

The bus was thrown into laughter.

"I think it is the value system that has changed," an elderly man said. "Present day girls want ready-made men. Unfortunately, most of those men are married. They get involved and before they realize, the boat has moved." 

The bus fell silent. We jerked forward a little as we made the semblance of progress and the bus stopped again.

I closed my eyes in fatigue. The day had been hectic. Habiba's wedding ceremony had been brief but colourful. After the initial pleasantries, the Imam collected the brideprice from Dalha's parents and handed it to Habiba's father, together with some kolanuts and packets of candies. The brideprice was only thirty thousand naira.  After the payment of the brideprice, the Imam declared them husband and wife and prayers were offered on their behalf. I sat quietly in a corner of the room and prayed for the couple in my mind. Food was served afterwards. 

I noticed I was probably the only single lady in the room. Most of Habiba's relatives were married. It got me thinking. Does polygamy help them in the North to mop up the 'excess' women in circulation? When will the people in the South cut down the marriage requirements to encourage more persons to get married, just like in the North? Just then, I remembered the text from the morning and let out a big sigh. Tomorrow is almost here. 

The voices of hawkers announcing their wares interrupted my thoughts. Our bus began another series of slow movement.

"Your gele is fine." It was the man on my left.

"Thank you," I said with a smile. He was dark, dressed in a white native shirt and probably in his mid-thirties.

I had been struggling to keep the extra large headscarf on my head, but after several failed attempts, I removed it altogether.

"Did you tie it yourself?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "Though I had little help from my sister."

"Na dis one dem dey call 'canopy' abi?" He was laughing.

"Not this one," I said. "Na the elder sister." More laughter.

"I am Timi,"he said. "Timipriye."

"From where?" I asked. The name sounded strange.

"Bayelsa. Na we dey sustain this nation with oil."

"Really?"

"Ehe nau! Most oil wells are in our place. The whole economy is built on our oil. Without us this nation would have collapsed since."

"Hmmm. How did the oil come about?" I asked.

"Many years ago, our grandfathers had a meeting and thought of how to help their children and future generations. So they agreed that when they die and are buried, they will produce oil daily. Till date, my ancestors are working hard, producing oil in the ground, so that we their children, will not suffer."

I could not suppress my laughter. Some other passengers were laughing. Timi was smiling satisfactorily.

"So why is oil not in other places?" I asked, still laughing.

"Maybe their ancestors are lazy. Maybe their ancestors don't care," he said. 

The whole bus roared with laughter.

Just then, we reached my bus stop. I collected my balance from the conductor and walked into my street. I climbed the staircase wearily and knocked on the door. The door opened. It was Dan. He was carrying Uche.

"You look beautiful," he said. "How did the wedding go?"

I was blushing. "The wedding went fine. Thanks. Where is Nkechi?"

"Deaconess called her. She said it was urgent. I just came by this evening and met her waiting anxiously. I told her she could go."

"Mummy!" Victory ran out from the room upon hearing my voice.

I carried her. "V-Darling, how have you been?"

"Fine," she said, smiling.

I went into the room to undress and then prepared dinner.

After dinner, I told Dan about the text message.

"I am coming with you tomorrow," he said. "We really need to straighten things out with Jimmy's parents."

"You know, I have come to see Uche as my son," I said. "Maybe that's why it is so painful." 

He placed a hand on my shoulder. "Everything happens for a reason."

As I saw him off that night, I asked him a question that has been bothering me.

"Dan, why are you being so nice?"

He was silent for a moment. 

"You would have done the same for me," he began. "You know, I feel so guilty for shutting you out when I did. Maybe if I had not, we would have been in a better place."  His voice was shaky.

I held his hand reassuringly. "I think we are in a better place." 

He smiled.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015.

Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.

TRAPPED...Part 15.

The beep from my phone woke me up. The message icon danced on the screen. I sat up and pressed the message button. The message was brief and the tone, terse. "You have been avoiding us. We have given you enough time. Please, come with the baby to 13 Alao Crescent, beside 2nd Rainbow junction tomorrow by 12 noon, or face legal action. Thank you." I sunk back into the bed, tears welling up in my eyes. I have merely postponed the evil day.

It was the morning of Habiba's wedding. Nkechi had agreed to come over and take care of the kids to enable me attend the wedding. I thrashed about in the bed for some time, thinking of a plan. None came. I gazed longingly at the solitary bulb at the center of the ceiling, allowing its light dispel any beclouding darkness. "It is well," I reassured myself, repeatedly. My lonesome musing was interrupted by a knock on the door. I stood up reluctantly and went to answer the door. It was my sister.

"I thought you said you are leaving early for the wedding,eh? You aren't even dressed," she said as she walked past me, into the living room.

I closed the door behind her. "I am not even sure I am still going," I said.

"Why? What is wrong?" she asked, facing me.

I scratched my head. I was at a loss for words.

"Go and dress up, joor! You don't know you should still be in circulation?" she said, laughing and patting my shoulder.

"Hapu m aka, biko. Was I out of circulation before?" I retorted, smiling.

I have kept my sister in the dark about my entire situation. Maybe to avoid the soul-piercing 'I told you so'. She had warned me about Jide, but I was carried away by the euphoria of that moment. She was not aware of my status. I had told no one, except Dan. I had to tell him. When we ran into each other at the hospital after Jide's death, he had wanted to rekindle the relationship. The children did not deter him. He loved them to bits. But he realised I was holding back. 

One evening as I was seeing him off, he drew me to himself just outside my door. My heart raced as a flood of emotions swept through me. I could feel my walls breaking down as I melted into his arms, his fast heartbeat outracing mine. His touch reawakened a fire I was trying hard to douse. I felt his lips on my forehead, earlobe and neck, each touch sending shivers down my spine, my lips smacking in anticipation. The next instant, a tiny fragment of my reasoning returned and I forcefully pulled away.

"Stella, what is the problem?" He had the look of a child denied his favourite toy.

"I am sorry. I can't do this," I said, adjusting my clothes.

"What is wrong? Is there another guy?" he asked, still surprised.

"No, Dan. You know that there is no other guy. It's just that, em, there is something you should know."

"What?" There was anger and irritation in his tone.

I was silent. Confusion, disappointment and shame engulfed me. "I am HIV positive."

For some minutes he stood there, looking at me, saying nothing. I knew he was heartbroken, again. His next action threw me off-balance. He hugged me tight, kissed me on the left cheek and whispered in my ears.

"I know he did this. But always know that I will be there for you. Always."

He had his own confession to make: He has a girlfriend.

The bus dropped me just after Ikeja bridge. I took a cab going to Esomo Close through Toyin Street. I stopped at No.10. Just outside the compound several cars were parked. A good number had military plate numbers. I entered the compound. At the center was a white duplex with its balcony suspended by two pillars. There were canopies in the compound with seats arranged under them. I went into the building and asked for Habiba. I was directed upstairs.

"Ah Stella, you made it!" she shouted gleefully, upon seeing me. I embraced her, offering her my congratulations. Aisha and her cousins were dressing her up. She was dazzling in her looks, smiles permanently pasted on her face. They were chatting in Hausa, occasionally breaking into laughter. I could not follow the conversation. I lingered in the room for a while and became restless. I quickly excused myself and went downstairs. There were many people seated in the expansive living room. I found my way to the backyard.

There were some seats there. A dark young man in blue kaftan and matching cap was seated in one. He was looking disinterestedly at the flowers adjacent to the fence. He looked up as I passed him and took the next seat.

"When is the wedding starting?" I asked him.

"Anytime from now," he said. "The Imam is already here." He spoke without any accent. I had never seen an Hausa man without one.

"I am Stella, a friend of the bride," I said, offering him my hand.

"Ali," he said, shaking my hand. "Friend of the groom and a relative of the bride."

"So Ali," I began, smiling. "Who did you sell your accent to?"

He laughed hard and long.

"Oho! Maybe I wasn't at the meeting when it as agreed that we must all have an accent. I bet you also think every Fulani man is a poor cattle rearer."

"Stop joor!" I said. "But most of them are cattle rearers nau?"

"Of course. But they are far from being poor. Don't allow their dressing fool you."

"Really?" I asked. "How rich can they be?"

"Very, very rich. Some families may have up to a fifty thousand cattle, scattered all over the country. Each son may be in charge of a group of ten thousand. How much does one cow cost?"

"About a hundred thousand naira," I said.

"Do the maths. That is a total of five billion naira. Yet, you won't see them dress fancy or show off."

I was stunned. I knew I would never look at a nomad the same way again.

"What do you do?" he asked.

"I am a tailor. Or a fashion designer. Whichever you prefer. You?"

"I am a banker. I was recently transferred to Lagos from Kaduna. I am still trying to relocate my family."

"You are married," I said, partly asking. He smiled.

"Yes, four wives."

"Kai!" I could not hide my amazement. "What are you doing with four wives?"

He started laughing again. "The more, the merrier. Besides, it is allowed in Islam."

"Hmmm. You wan born one village ni?" I asked, gesturing.

He smiled. "We are working on it. Each of my wives has 3 kids."

He asked for my number. I gave him. Just then, we heard the sound of prayers emerging from the living room.

"It seems the ceremony just started," he said, rising.

As we were entering the building, we met Aisha in the hallway. She looked surprised to see us. "Megida," she said, looking at Ali. "They are asking for you inside."

"Your husband?" I asked Aisha. She nodded.

"You know my first wife?" Ali asked, looking uneasy.

"Yes. It is really a very small world," I replied, smiling.

He was about saying something but I snapped him out of it.

"Don't bother," I said, walking past him. I sashayed into the living room.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015.

Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.

TRAPPED...Part 14.

"Why do men cheat?"

It was Ebere, asking no one in particular as she cut a lace material on the table. I paused momentarily to look at her and couldn't suppress the laughter. 

"Aunty, why are you laughing? Is it not an important question to ask?"

"It is important o!" I said, still laughing. "When you see men, help me ask them."

We were swamped with work and I was hurrying to meet some deadlines. Habiba was on my neck. Her wedding was the next day and I had promised her the clothes will be ready that evening. I could not afford to disappoint her. I stood up to stretch my back. The standing fan in the room blew hot air. It was that time of the year when the sun fires down with rage, as if angry with mankind. The rains have not started and everywhere people complain incessantly about the heat. I picked up a scissors and trimmed off the excess thread from one of Habiba's hijab. Her clothes were almost finished.

"My landlord and his wife had a big fight in our compound today," Ebere said. She lived in a public yard, housing  twelve rooms in two wings facing each other.

"Again?" I asked, amused. "Don't they ever get tired?"

"Hmmm. The fight this time was very serious o! The man was having his bath when his phone rang. The wife picked the call. It was a woman. Na so the wife begin interrogate the woman. As soon as the husband came out of the bathroom, she confronted him. The next thing we knew, they were shouting on top of their voices, throwing accusations back and forth. Next thing, dem begin fight. They fight comot the house and continued at the centre of the compound. Their children were trying to separate them. Dem no gree."

I shook my head. "So, how the fight take end?"

"The woman brought a pestle to hit the man. The man dodged it and landed her a blow on the head, with his fist. The woman fainted. Na so me I pick race begin come shop, because if Police come, dem go arrest everybody. As I was leaving, the children were pouring cold water on her, trying to revive her. The man just sat on a chair, fanning himself."

"Tufiakwa!"I snapped my fingers. "In his mind he is one heavyweight champion, abi?"

"Mtchew!" Ebere hissed. "I still don't understand why a man will cheat on the mother of his children." 

"Men are complicated beings," I began. "Their minds don't work like ours. A man can just leave his mistress' apartment and go straight home to his wife and children, feeling no qualms. Some men cheat because they are bored. Some cheat because they feel that they can. But majority cannot explain why they cheat. I think cheating is a bad habit some men picked from the past before they got married. A few kick the habit by becoming more disciplined and God-fearing. The rest just keep slipping till one day when monkey go go market, e no go return." Ebere exploded in laughter.

Uche started crying. It was his means of announcing that he was awake. He had been sleeping on the floor at one end of the room. Ebere brought him to me. His cry reduced to whimpers. I fetched his feeding bottle and fed him. I had tried not to think of the events of the past week. Jimmy's parents have offered severally to meet but I refused. I avoided anything that will take me back into that dark place. I tried to be happy, burying myself in work and loving my kids. Life is too short to be lived unhappy.

Just then, Ola, my student tailor, entered the shop with Vicky. I had sent her to pick Vicky from school.

"Mummy!" Vicky ran to where I was working.

"V-Darling, how was school today?" I said, setting Uche down on a wrapper. 

"Fine," she said, removing her school bag from her back.

I ran my hand through her braids and stroked her cheek. She smiled. Her yellow checkered uniform had a brown sandy spot at the hem.

I checked her lunch box. Her food was untouched.

"Why didn't you eat your food?" I asked her.

She was quiet.

"Oya, carry this food now and go and finish it. I don't want to see one grain of rice remaining." She carried the lunch box and moved towards the fan.

I worked silently for another two hours. By 5.15 pm, I stood up in triumph. I had completed Habiba's clothes. I called to tell her it was ready. Thirty minutes later, she entered the shop in the company of an older woman. Her hands were covered with intricate designs in ink.

"Amariya," I said, smiling. "Your work give me wahala o!"

She laughed. "I am happy you finshed it. You tailors know how to disappoint pesin eh!" She turned to the woman with her. "This is my friend, Stella. She owns this shop."She faced me. "Aisha is my cousin. They all came for the wedding." 

I greeted the woman. She seemed more interested in the children sleeping at the far end of the room.

"Are they your kids?" Aisha asked, pointing at them.

"Yes," I replied, seperating Habiba's clothes from the pile of finished work.

"How long have you been married?"she asked again.

Her question caught me off-guard. "I...um...am not married," I said.

She gave me a queried look. I shrugged.

"You are a lucky woman," she said.

I could not believe my ears. "How?" I asked, surprised.

"I have been married for ten years. And I am yet to have a child." There was pain in her voice. "My husband went ahead and married a second wife. Then a third and a fourth wife. None of us have given him a child. I am praying, inshah Allah, that I be the first one to give him an heir. And here you are, with two children. Two!" Two of her fingers were almost in my face.

"Have you been to a hospital? At least, to know what is wrong?" I asked, touched by her plight.

"No," she said. "I mentioned it once. My husband dismissed the idea."

"Hmmm. I think you should go to the hospital. They may be able to help you there. Habiba should be able to take you."

She suddenly became uneasy. "I can't go without my husband's permission."

I stared at her in disbelief.

After they left the shop, I went to wake the children. It was time to go.

Ebere and Ola had left some minutes earlier. I locked the shop. As we walked into the busy street, I ran a checklist in my head. I was counting my blessings.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015.

Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.

TRAPPED...Part 13.

"Dan, I need help." I hung up as fast as I had dialed. He was trying to say something. But it didn't matter. Nothing does. I was in a very dark place. The past three days have been bleak. The thought of anyone coming for my  baby was unbearable. As soon as Jimmy's parents left, I dismissed my student tailors and locked up the shop. I went to pick up Vicky at her school and we headed home. 

As the weekend wore on, I grew more and more despondent. Vicky must have noticed something was wrong because she kept to herself, talking endlessly to her doll. Uche became increasingly quiet. I went through the motions preparing their meals. My appetite was gone, as had my interest in everything. I sat in the bed from morning till night, holding Uche in my arms. On my mind was a million questions, all of which filled me with anger and dread. 

I was sinking fast and I knew the only reasonable thing was to make that call. A flurry of text messages entered my phone as I dropped the call. Three were from Habiba. One contained directions for the wedding the following weekend. She had come to the shop with Dalha on Saturday and found it locked. She wanted to know whether I had finished any of her clothes. One was from my sister Nkechi. She was trying to check up on me. I switched off the phone.

I heard a knock on the door. A second knock. As I went to answer the door, I took a quick glance at my living room. It was in disarray. It didn't matter. "Who is it?" I asked.

"Stella, it is me." I opened the door to let him in.

He looked at me and I saw his shock. He has never seen me so unkempt.

"What is wrong?" he asked.

I broke into tears. "They came to...they want to...take Uche." Tears were streaming freely from my eyes.

"Who are they? And where is Vicky?"

"She is inside. Vicky, Uncle Dan is here!"I called out, wiping away the tears with my wrapper. She emerged from the room and greeted him. There was no excitement in her voice.

I proceeded to tell Dan everything. He listened, shaking his head on occasions. When I was done, he was disturbed.

"No no! They can't do that. They can't take the baby away. Let me call Bola. She is a lawyer. I think we need to know what the law says in this matter." He made a phone call.

"Mummy, is anyone taking Baby away?" Vicky asked, holding Uche's left arm. I had forgotten she was present when I was talking to Dan.

"No, Sweetheart. Nobody is taking baby away." I stroked her head.

"Bola is on her way back from work. She will stop over," Dan said.

He left briefly and returned with Bola. She was dressed in a spotted white shirt and a black suit. The sound of the heels of her shoe interrupted the silence in the room. She greeted me and asked me to tell her everything. I narrated everything, starting from the night I picked up Uche.

"After, you picked up the baby, did you make any move to formally adopt the baby?" she asked.

"Like how?" I asked, confused.

"Did you go to any Social Welfare Department to begin the adoption process?"

"No. I went to the Police Station. They collected my statement and sent us away. I never knew about Social Welfare."

"Hmmm." She shook her head. "Your going to the Police clears you from any accusation of child kidnapping. But you ought to have began the adoption process."

I was indignant. "I didn't know! I had no idea there was a Social Welfare department."

"Ignorance of the law is no excuse."

Her words stung. The room was silent again. I was distraught. Vicky shuffled her feet.

"Please, can you help stop them from taking my baby away?" I was pleading.

"I will try. But your case is weak. Granted, Praise may be ruled unfit to raise Uche. But what of his grandparents, to whom he is related by blood?" She was blunt and I hated that about her.

"Ok. Enough of the crying and moodiness," Dan said, standing. "No one is taking the baby away. Not today."

He turned to me. "Get everyone dressed. We are going out."

He was tickling Vicky. Vicky's eyes lighted up as she laughed.

"I am not in the mood to go anywhere," I said, trying to smile.

"I was not asking." I knew what that meant.

Forty-five minutes later, the cold blast from the air-conditioner welcomed us as we took our seats at Mr. Biggs.

The fried tenderized chicken did much to restore my appetite. Vicky was licking her iced cream, casting frequent glances at the children having fun in the play section. She soon went to join them. Bola was eating quietly, occasionally looking my way.

"So, how was work today? Any highlights?" I asked Dan. 

He smiled. "Hmmm...Something strange happened this evening,"Dan said, setting down his glass of orange juice.

"An elderly man was brought to the mortuary. He was said to have died in his sleep that morning." Bola and I listened with rapt attention.

"The mortician pierced the man's vein to introduce formalin and noticed something strange. Fresh blood flowed. Suddenly, the 'dead' man grabbed his arm, shouting. The mortician broke free and fled, screaming."

"What is formalin?"Bola asked.

"It is a liquid chemical used to preserve dead bodies,"Dan said.

I cringed.

Dan continued. "One of the security men, held him down and people gathered. News quickly spread and some security men decided to go back with him to verify. Lo and behold, the 'dead' man was standing at the entrance of the mortuary, bleeding from his right forearm. Everyone took to their heels. The 'dead' man was walking around the hospital. A nurse saw him bleeding and took him to the Accident and Emergency. The wound was closed. He had suffered some kind of memory loss and could not remember how he got to the hospital. His people were called. You need to see the shock on their faces when they saw him."

I was shaking my head in wonder. Bola was laughing. 

"So, would one say he rose up from the dead?" she asked.

"Maybe he wasn't dead in the first place. We are still struggling to explain what happened," Dan said.

"Maybe it is a miracle," I said, smiling. "Death looks final. But God can turn even death around. He can give us back our lives. Just as he did for that man." Dan and Bola nodded in agreement.

The night ended warmly.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015.

Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.

TRAPPED...Part 12.

I saw her standing in front of my shop as I approached. I had left the house early to drop Vicky at school and to catch up on the workload at the shop. She was young, dressed in a blue denim jeans and a sky blue loose-fitting blouse. Probably a customer. 

"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.

TRAPPED...Part 11.

"Ma-Ma."

I could not believe my ears. I had just finished feeding Uche and was gently stroking his back when he made that historic sound. His first words.

"Ma-Ma," he babbled again. I was awash with emotions. "Vicky!" I was almost screaming. "I think Baby just talked." Victory abandoned her dinner and ran to where I was sitting. She started tickling the baby to get him to talk again. Uche giggled then made his crying face. "Stop that!" I said, standing up to console the baby. Talk time was over.

I had watched him with keen interest as he developed. By three months, he had been able to carry his neck. Prior to that, a hand had to be placed behind his head anytime he was carried to avoid a sudden backward tilt. By six months, he could remain in a sitting position with minimal swaying. Two lower teeth sprouted at about the same time. It was also around that period that he fell ill. I had woken up one night to discover that he was having a fever. He was also passing frequent watery stools. I ran to Mama Tunde's house with the baby.

"Ah! His problem is 'teething'. Just give him these drugs and he will be fine," she said handing me three plastic bottles. One had 'Teething Mixture' boldly written on it. The others looked strange. I picked up my phone and called Dan.

"I think he is just having an Acute watery diarrhoea,"he said, after listening to my complaints.

"Bring him over to the hospital tomorrow and don't give him those your 'teething mixtures'," he said with a chuckle. 

"You can give him liquid paracetamol for the fever, if you have it. Or you can clean the body with a towel soaked in water. It will reduce the fever." I thanked him. 

The next morning, I took the child to the hospital. After examining the baby, the doctor prescribed Oral Rehydration Solution. I was given three satchets and the nurse taught me how to mix it with water. When I gave it to the Baby, it worked like magic. The stooling and the fever disappeared. The next evening, I went to see Mama Tunde.

"Iya Vicky, how is the baby?"

"He is very fine now. I came to return the drugs. E se pupo!"

"I told you they will work,"she said, smiling satisfactorily.

A black Range Rover SUV pulled up outside my shop. As if on cue, the sewing machine noise died down we waited with bated breath. The left back door opened and a woman wearing a brown hijab came down. My face lit up as I saw her.

"Habiba! Na you be this?" I asked, smiling. Her face was glowing.

"Ahn ahn! Stella. I told you I will come nau."

I offered her a seat.

"We thought it was one big politician o!" I said, motioning at the car parked outside.

"Don't mind my fiancé. He insisted on bringing me himself." She was looking around the room, admiring some finished clothes. Her eyes soon fell on Uche, who was crawling at one end of the shop. She went to carry him.

"When is your wedding coming up, again?"I asked.

"Next weekend," she replied. She went through my catalogue and chose some designs she liked. I started taking her measurements.

"Can you make hijabs?" she asked, as I measured her bust.

"Yes, sure. I could make you fine hijabs to match the designs you chose." I felt the texture of her hijab.

"Why do moslem women always cover up?" I asked, laughing.

She smiled. "It helps keep our beauty under wraps. The Quran instructed that we should not display our beauty to outside males. Only one's husband and close relatives should see such beauty on display. For me, it is both an identity and a fashion statement."

"Hmmm...and you pray five times daily?" I shook my head in wonder.

She laughed. "Of course. Every good moslem prays five times a day."

"Interesting," I remarked. "If a Christian could pray up to five times a day,miracles will happen."

My student tailors burst out laughing. We concluded on the designs and the price.

She rose to leave. I was seeing her off. The SUV was parked further down the street. Out of ear-shots, I asked her a question that had been bothering me.

"Is your fiancé also on drugs?"

"No," she said. "He is negative."

"What?" I asked, confused. "Is he aware of your status?"

"Yes. I told him during the early period of our courtship. He had his period of conflict. Men always do when you tell them the unpleasant truth about yourself."

I was listening with rapt attention.

"But he had a doctor friend who understood how deeply he loved me and reassured him that a marriage between us will be possible without him getting infected."

"How?" I asked. We had stopped a small distance from the car.

"Since I have been on antiretrovirals for a long time, my viral load was very, very low. Therefore, my chances of infecting anyone was also very minimal. The doctor said that if we decide to have a baby, we can meet unprotected only during my ovulation period. That way, I can still conceive and if continued on the drugs, I can give birth to an HIV negative baby." There was triumph in her voice.

"Sounds very good and doable," I said, as we approached the car.

The tinted glass on the driver's side came down. A man in an army uniform smiled at me as he opened the door. At the centre of his chest, he had a badge with three black stars.

"Dalha, this is Stella, my tailor and very good friend,"Habiba said. "Stella, meet Dalha, my soldier love." She was laughing.

Dalha shook my hand. His grip was firm.

"I will try and attend your wedding. Habiba will send me directions," I said.

"We will be expecting you," he said. The accent was unmistakable.

As they drove off, I stood on the road watching the car recede into the distance. Knowledge is indeed, power.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015. 

Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.

TRAPPED...Part 10.

"Bola, will you marry me?"

I was still shaking Bola's hand when without any warning, Dan went down on one knee and popped that life-altering question.

For ten whole seconds, the living room went pin-drop silent as all eyes were fixed on Bola. She was in shock. Her palms were clasped over her mouth as she looked on, dazed. Dan's voice punctured the silence.

"Bolarinwa, will you marry me?"

For a split second, I wished the past eight years had not happened. I felt like going back in time, to my village and embracing the young, shy, twenty year-old version of me. For a split second, I wished Dan's question would go unanswered. Bola's voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Yes! Yes, Dan. I will marry you." She was ecstatic. She hugged Dan and gave him a heart-warming kiss. She turned and gave me a hug and then pecked Uche and Vicky on their foreheads.

"Congratulations, Dan," I said, forcing a smile. "You two will make an amazing couple."

"Thanks, Stella,"he said, embracing me. "Thanks for everything."

As Abdul closed the gate behind us, I wondered what was wrong with myself. "What were you thinking, huh? That you can have your cake and still eat it?" I was amused by my actions and misplaced expectations. I had made my choices. I have to learn to live with them.

"Mummy, come let's bathe Baby." Vicky was tugging my wrapper as I prepared dinner. 

"You. You should get ready to bathe. But we have to eat first. Have you done your homework?"

She shook her head.

"Ok. We will do it after bathing Baby."

She smiled and ran out of the kitchen. 

'Bathing Baby' has become Vicky's most favourite activity. She will stand beside the big plastic basin as I bathed Uche, looking with glee as the water cascaded down the body of the infant. She will then smear her hands with soap and rub it repeatedly on Uche's tummy. The boy will giggle while she laughed. After bathing, she will stroke his soft hair while I apply oil on his skin. Afterwards, I undress her for her own bath with Uche lying in the cot. Dressed up in her pyjamas, I will tell her native folktales till she slept. She usually enjoyed the stories especially the ones about the tortoise. Most times, she falls asleep before the end of the story and I tuck her in. Occasionally, she will be wide awake, forcing me to tell another story. Sometimes, I run out of stories and have to 'invent' new ones with haphazard story lines.

"Your CD4 count is very high and other tests look good." I had gone for my routine medical check-up and to collect my antiretroviral drugs. The doctor was smiling as he gave me the good news.

"Your body is really kicking this virus," he continued, smiling. "Whatever it is you are doing, just keep it up." 

I thanked him and left. I headed towards the Dispensary to collect my drugs.

The HIV Clinic was situated in a separate newly-built bungalow, complete with consulting rooms, laboratories and dispensary. The doctors and nurses working there were exceptionally nice and empathetic. Prior to seeing a doctor, the nurses organise a teaching forum where HIV/AIDS is explained: modes of transmission, symptoms, testing and the importance of taking one's medications regularly. Questions are asked and clarifications are given.

"Your baby is so cute,"a young girl seated beside me, remarked. "How old is he?"

"Eight months,"I replied, smiling. "I am Stella."

"Habiba,"she said, tickling Uche's cheeks. The baby giggled.

She was wearing a multi-coloured hijab over a dress made from yellow native fabric.

"Your dress is amazing," I said. "Where did you have it made?"

"I made it in Kano before coming."

"I am a tailor," I said.

"Oh really? I have been looking for one since I came to Lagos. How good are you?"

We both laughed at the question.

"Very, very good. Believe me," I said. "How long have you been on the drugs?"

"All my life," she said, smiling.

"How come?" I asked, confused. "How old are you?"

"I am twenty-one,"she said. "I got the virus from my Mom when she was pregnant with me. Testing was rare those days and drugs were scarce. She passed on soon after I was born. My dad ensured I started getting the drugs early enough."

"Eeya! Pele," I said, in sympathy.

"For what?" she asked, laughing. "See, having this virus had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I just graduated with a First Class in Law from the University and currently doing my Law School Programme in Lagos. Living with HIV has made me appreciate life the more and make the best use of every given opportunity. So, for me, that is a huge blessing."

I was transfixed. Her wisdom and courage baffled me.

"Habiba Usman!" a voice called from the dispensary. She entered and soon emerged with her drugs. She handed me a designed envelope.

"My wedding invitation. Next month. Promise me you will come."

"Where?" I asked, enthusiastic.

"Here in Lagos," she said, smiling. "Let me have your number. I will check out your shop." We exchanged contacts.

"I will try and attend," I said, standing to go and pick my drugs. "You are an amazing lady."

I left the hospital in high spirits. Habiba's story literarily opened my eyes. There are no limitations. Everything is possible.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015.

Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.

TRAPPED...Part 9.

My phone was ringing. I stepped outside my shop, away from the chorus of sewing machines, to answer it. It was Dan. We have been dating for a year and he had been sweet beyond words. I was just starting out as a tailor. My shop was two months old and I had two student tailors.

"Babito, how's your day going?"he asked, with excitement in his voice.

"Great," I replied, smiling. "What's up with you?"

"I am good. You won't believe what just happened."

"What?" I asked, wide-eyed.

"You remember that my fair-complexioned friend, Ugo? The one I was with the day we met?"

"Yes, yes. I remember him. The quiet one that later went with my friend. What about him?"

"He is getting married. In fact, he is holding an engagement party at the Mr. Biggs close to your area, right now."

"Oh,"I said, deflatedly. "Good for him o!" I still could not understand why this is special news.

"He is getting married to your friend. Tolu. Delight Inn."

"Chineke meh!" I screamed. "Wonders shall never end!" I could not believe my ears. "Dan, you mean Slow P, em, Tolu is getting married to one of her 'customers'?"

He gave a satisfied laugh. "Exactly. Na so we see am. We don talk tire. Ugo insist say na Tolu him wan marry o! He doesn't care about her past."

"Kai! This one na love made in Tokyo. Are you guys still there? I want to come and see for myself."

"Yes o! Come fast fast."

I hurriedly left the shop and entered a bike going to Mr. Biggs.  I sighted them seated at the far right corner. As soon as she saw me, Slow P stood up and gave me a big hug. She had tears in her eyes. "I can't believe this!" she kept repeating, showing me the ring adorning her left ring finger.

"I am so happy for you, Babe," I enthused.

I walked her back to the table. Ugo was seated with Dan and two other guys. He was beaming with smiles.

"Ugo, you are a good man. A very good man," I said. Everyone at the table nodded in agreement.

"Tolu is a special woman," he said, taking her hand. "I have never met anyone like her."

The party was brief. The enormity of what just transpired weighed in on me. Love truly has no boundaries. Love appears in strange places.

Dan was the last child and the only son. He had four elder sisters and grew up without his mother. He rarely mentions her. His eldest sister, Adanne, was the maternal figure in his life. She was a banker, newly married and she made sure that he lacked nothing. He was managing one of his Dad's shops in Alaba market. He finished his secondary education in 2001 but had repeatedly failed to gain admission into the University. He was a smart, young man but I felt he was not studying hard enough.

"You are very lucky you have a family ready to sponsor your University education. Wetin dey worry you?"

He will laugh and tell me how making profits is better than earning a salary.

"I see many unemployed graduates everyday. They move around with files in search of jobs. Any salaried job. I just don't want to become like them."

We often argue on the pros and cons of a University education. After one of such arguments, he was hurt when I told him that 'it is a pity those who have buttocks do not know how to sit with it.' He bought a JAMB form the next day. The examination was four months away.

A month to the examinations, disaster struck. Dan called me one evening, sounding distraught.

"Babito, wahala dey o! I dey St. Louis Hospital now."

"Wetin happen?" I asked, anxiously.

"Adanne is very, very sick. They said she has breast cancer."

"Wetin be cancer?' I asked, confused.

"Na one very serious disease o. E dey kill. E dey kill." He was sobbing.

I hurried to the said hospital. Adanne was lying on the bed. She had lost considerable weight. The smell of decaying flesh coming from the right breast hung heavily in the air.

She smiled weakly when I entered. Her husband, Dan and Old Major were on a seat beside the bed.

"Aunty, Dan just informed me that you were sick. Sorry o."

"Nwa oma. Thanks for coming," she said.

I soon learnt that she noticed a small growth in her right breast six months earlier. She went to her doctor, who after several tests, told her she had breast cancer. It was still early and it can be cured if the right breast is cut off. She discussed it with her husband who rejected the idea and opted for a spiritual solution instead. She frequented healing houses, revivals and crusades. The growth grew bigger and soon formed a sore. Seeing the negative development, the husband agreed to have the breast cut off. But it was too late. The latest tests revealed that the cancer has spread.

The doctors did their best. Adanne died the following week.

Adanne's death broke Dan's heart. He was inconsolable. He did not go for his examinations. He rarely picked his calls. I tried to offer comfort but he rebuffed every attempt, telling me he needed space to grieve. Meanwhile, my tailoring business was booming. I rented a second shop and took an additional student tailor. One particular day, I just couldn't  concentrate at work.

Dan's condition worried me deeply and I resolved to see him after close of work. That evening, as I was locking up my shop, a handsome young man approached me. Jide.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015.

TRAPPED...Part 8.

It was the January of 2004. I had left my village for Lagos to make something out of myself. I had just finished my secondary education and the prevailing financial situation of the family made further schooling, a  pipe dream. The alternatives were to remain in the village and be plucked like a semi-ripe paw-paw or to travel to Lagos and become useful. I chose the latter.

I had always been fascinated by clothes from childhood. I could remember sitting in the church as a child and admiring women in their clothes as they danced past during offertory. I had made a skirt from a jute sack when I was ten using only a needle and thread. So, when my relative in Apapa asked me what I would like to do in Lagos, the answer was ready. 'Tailoring,' I told her. Everyone called her Deaconess. I soon realized that the name gave her a special form of satisfaction. She was a kind-hearted, middle-aged woman, who lived in two rooms with her husband and five children. Deaconess made it clear that schooling was not an option. 'It makes girls stubborn and headstrong,' she told me, when I first mentioned it. "Many of these campus girls just dey follow men anyhow,"she said, pointing at imaginary winding paths. "You can't learn righteousness there,"she said with a tone of finality.

She prided herself as a virtuous woman and was quick to list a litany of educated but divorced women, whom she was 'better' than.

The next morning, she took me to her friend's tailoring shop in Igando.

"Deaconess! Deaconess!" A well-dressed woman greeted us as we entered.

"Bless you! Madam Ese. How una dey?"

"We are fine o! We just dey as Tinubu keep us," Madam Ese replied, hugging Deaconess.

 The shop was busy. Three machines were humming in sync, manned by young girls about my age.

"I brought my niece, Stella, to learn tailoring in your shop."

Madam Ese looked at me from head to toe. I avoided her gaze.

"I hope she can run errands," she said with a sneer.

"Ah! Very well," Deaconess said, taking her leave. "We will see at the church."

I was Madam Ese's unofficial housemaid for one year. After close of work, I would go to the house, cook, clean, wash. It was a good thing she was single. I soon made friends with the other girls at the shop. Nkoli was the oldest and most talkative. Robust and well-breasted, she had been in the shop for a year and is always discussing men. Atinuke was the youngest and the funniest. Her lanky frame made her look fragile. The third girl, Tolu, was the quiet, moody type. Her often recriminating stares can throw one into a quick examination of conscience. I gave each of them a nickname. Sharp-mouth. Toothpick. Slow Poison. After several protests from Tolu, I shortened her nickname to Slow P. P for poison. Not to be outdone, she quickly coined one for me. Bad belle. I soon began to bond with Slow P. She had an air of mystery around her. Soft-spoken, tall and well-mannered, her amiable character was marred by her erratic bouts of melancholy.

One weekend, I finally persuaded her to take me her house. Madam Ese has travelled to her hometown, Ekpoma and will be back the following week. We alighted from a danfo in front of a gate with a neon signboard reading 'Delight Inn'.

'You live here?' I asked, surveying the environment.

'Kind of,'she replied, nonchalantly.

A heavy-set woman in her forties met us at the gate. She was wearing heavy make-up.

'Tolu, you are late,'she said, glaring at Slow P. She gave me a flippant look. ' Is she the new girl?'

'No Madam.' Slow P's tone was apologetic. She is my friend from the shop.'

'Oya, go and change fast fast. Table 2 has been waiting for you since.'

Inside, music was blaring from the speakers. Seats were arranged around tables. A football match was showing on the television. Slow P led me to a table, ordered a  drink for me and left, promising to be back shortly. As I sipped my malt, I looked around with piqued interest. The people drinking there were mostly men. At the next table, two men were having an argument in Yoruba, their voices struggling to stay above the loud music. A dingy building was on the other side of the fence with a connecting gate. 

Slow P soon emerged from the gate, completely transformed. She was wearing a clingy, short, orange gown. She was looking sensual, her lips smeared with red lip-stick. 'Slow P!' I screamed in disbelief. 'Wetin be dis?' I pointed at her outfit. She shot me a disapproving look, said a quick 'I dey come' and slithered seductively to the next table. The arguing duo beamed as they saw her. She sat on the laps of one of them, smiling demurely. She was acting animated, the direct opposite of the quiet girl in the shop. A popular tune was being played. Slow P started dancing, gyrating her bosom. My eyes wanted to pop out of their sockets. After the dance, she disappeared with one of the men into the adjacent building. I just sat there, shell-shocked.

More scantily-dressed girls were coming out from the house and following the same routine. "Is this seat free?" Two boys had approached the table. "I guess so." They sat down and ordered their drinks. "So, what are you doing here, all by yourself?" the dark one  asked. 'Drinking,'I replied, curtly. He found it funny.

'My name is Dan. Daniel Olise,' he said offering his hand.

'Stella,' I replied, taking his outstretched hand.

I could feel his penetrating eyes on me as I sipped my drink. Dan's friend drank quietly, looking uninterested.

Slow P soon returned and found us chatting. 

'I can see you guys have met.' She promptly sat on Dan's laps. He whispered into her ears. She laughed and suddenly stood up. "You sef, you no dey ever gree do anyhing. Fake Pastor Daniel." She transferred to the fair quiet one, who brightened up and soon followed her into the building.

'You seem to be popular around here,'I remarked.

He laughed. 'Actually, this is my third time here. Ugo always insist I must come with him. He seems to like your friend a lot. I just come to drink o!'

'I want to start going home.' I stood up to leave.

'Which side are you going?'

'Igando.'

'Oh. I am going towards that area. I stay in Ikotun.'

'Let me inform Slow P...Tolu...that I am leaving.' I opened the gate leading to the building.

Some girls were smoking at the verandah.

'Who you dey find?' one of them asked.

'Tolu,' I replied, consciously stopping myself from breathing in the smoke.

'Check am inside.'

The hallway was filled with moans and grunts emanating from the rooms. I stood there confused. One of the doors opened. Ugo emerged, trying to buckle his trousers. He looked surprised to see me. 'Where is Tolu?' I asked.

'She dey inside,'he answered, lowering his gaze.

I entered the room. Slow P was lying on a flattened mattress, cigarette in hand, her naked frame facing the ceiling. She was jolted when she saw me, flung away the cigarette and wrapped herself with a bedsheet.

'Slow P, which kain life be dis?' I began. 'I thought I knew you. I thought you were a good girl.'

She gave me a cold stare, stood up and went to pick the remnant of her cigarette.

I wanted her to say something. Anything.

She turned to face me, anchoring the bedsheet on her chest.

'Have you ever been raped by your father? Ehn?' Slow P asked me, visibly incensed.

'No,' I replied, surprised.

'No?' Her eyes were filled with rage. 'Then, shut up! Shut the hell up!'

She was shouting now. I quietly left the room.

Outside, Dan was waiting for me. 'What is wrong?' he asked. I couldn't speak.

He flagged down a cab and we entered. On the drive home, he asked for my phone. I gave him my Nokia 3310. He punched in his number and dialed. I was silent all the way. I tried imagining my father raping me and almost choked at the thought. Could anything else be more abominable? I thought about Tolu and the girl she had become. By that singular act, her father had irreparably damaged her. Her heart has been shattered into a thousand and one pieces.

I stopped at Igando. It was a lonely walk home.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015. 

TRAPPED...Part 7.

  Armoured car, Shelling machine, Heavy artillery

  Ha enweghi ike imeri Biafra!

I watched with amusement as Dan's father sang with gusto. Dan had invited me to their family house and made me promise him I would come. I had turned down previous invitations. This time, he used Vicky to get to me. "Mummy, you promised to take us to Uncle Dan's house,"she reminded me repeatedly. I couldn't refuse.

Their Amuwo-Odofin family residence looked the same except for the slimy greenish tint on the brown fence.I knocked at the black gate. A familiar pair of eyes looked through a square opening in the gate and hastily opened it.

"Madam Stella welcome," the gateman greeted, smiling. I was surprised that Abdul could still recognize me. 'Abdul Sanu! I nakwa na?' I asked in smattering Hausa. 'Ah! Lafia.' He looked pleased. 'Kai Madam! Your pikin dem fine well well.' 'Thank you,' I said as we made towards the main house. 

Dan's father, an amiable man in his seventies, was seated on the sofa when we entered. Everyone called him 'Old Major' because of his wartime stories. On seeing me, he sprang up. 'Stella nwa m. Long time, no see." I hugged him. 'So you ran away from us, eh?' I could sense the reprimand in his voice. ' Papa, not really,' I answered, looking away. He carried Victory in his arms. She was touching his spectacles. I loosened the wrapper, my left hand deftly bringing Uche forward. 'Your kids are beautiful,' he remarked. I beamed. His love for kids was legendary. He set Victory down and carried Uche. 'Daniel went to pick something from the supermarket,' he explained. 'He will be back shortly.'

The room was unchanged save for the plasma TV hanging on the opposite wall. Picture frames were arranged adjacent to the floor on all four corners. Vicky was staring at one intently. 'Mummy, is this Uncle Dan?'she asked, visibly confused. I shot a glance at Old Majr and we laughed. 'No, Sweetheart,'he volunteered. 'That was me as a Major in the Biafran Army during the war.' 'What is war?'Vicky asked again. I was at a loss on how to explain 'war' to a four-year old. I was born long after the civil war. 'War is when soldiers fight,'I began, smiling weakly. 

Old Major burst into wartime songs. The rate at which he altered his pitch made the songs sound funny. At the end, Victory was laughing. 'It is a miracle that I am still alive,' he said. 'I almost died during the war.'

'What happened?' I asked, sitting up. 

'I was in charge of the troops sent to reclaim Umuahia when it fell. Nigerian soldiers has taken total control of the city. We had perfected plans to launch a surprise counter-attack but somehow our plans were leaked to them by a saboteur.' He shook his head, adjusting his glasses.

'They were waiting readily for us. We were beaten black and blue in broad daylight. Surrounded, there was no escape route. Bullets were flying, we were shelled from left and right. The last thing I remembered was an explosion near me. I woke up weeks later in a hospital at Ivory Coast. The doctors told me I have been found, covered by sand after three days. The rest of the troops were dead.'He had tears in his eyes.

'Who found you?'I asked.

"Some Biafran soldiers. Luckily. Usually, after a battle, some soldiers are dispatched for 'combing'. They search the dead soldiers for valuables like guns, ammunitions, uniforms. One of the soldiers tripped over the sole of my boot. He proceeded to pull me out of the sand to his surprise, I sneezed.He then saw my rank and with the help of others, carried me to safety.'

The door opened. It was Dan. Vicky ran to him. 'Finally,'he said with a mischievous grin. 'Papa, you remember Stella? I gave him a queried look.

'You mean your first girlfriend?'Old Major asked, feigning surprise. We burst out laughing. 

"Sorry I can't stay much longer," Old Major said, standing. "I am already late for a meeting." He left afterwards. 

Dan left briefly and returned carrying a tray of drinks. Uche started crying. I quickly fetched his feeding bottle.

'So how did it go? The proposal?' I finally summoned the strength to ask.

'Oh that! I haven't found the appropriate time to do that,' he replied.

'What?' I asked, somewhat amused. 'Which kain cock and bull story be that? Ehn Dan?' It really didn't make any sense to me.

'Bola just returned last week and we both have been very busy,'he said looking away. I knew that was a ruse. The Dan I knew always created time for things he deemed important.

"What is the problem?" I asked him, matter-of-factedly.

"Nothing o! No problem at all."

"Really? Then why are you dragging your feet?"

He smiled and looked into my worried face.

"I am not dragging my feet. I just want to be hundred percent sure."

"Oh really?' I asked, drawing the syllable for emphasis. "Can one be hundred percent sure? Abi you wan make devil come pour sand sand inside your garri?'

He convulsed with laughter. 

"No be laughing matter o! From all you have told me, she is a nice, caring and homely girl. And she loves you. I have seen her picture sef. She fine well well. Wetin be your problem?"

He was just relaxing on the sofa, smiling sheepishly.

"You are right," he said, standing up. "No further delays."

He brought out his phone and dialed a number. "Hello, Sweetheart. Come over to the house. It is urgent." He hung up.

"What are you doing?" I asked, surprised.

"The proposal, of course," he replied, with a grin. "Let me get the ring." He entered the adjoining room. 

I was speechless. A flurry of indistinct emotions coursed through me. Eight years ago, we had dreamt of happily ever after, in each other's arms. Then, life happened. The dreams evaporated. Nightmares punctuated the nights. I made to stand, but felt a little dizzy. I balanced Uche on my back.

Dan emerged clutching the ring case. He shot me a surprised look.

"I need to get going...before...before she comes,"I said with a stutter. The words were heavy and rolled out of my lips sluggishly.

"No way," he protested, carrying Vicky. "Vicky, do you want to go?" Vicky shook her head. "Bola will soon be here,"he said. "She lives down the street."

Just then, the door opened. A tall beautiful girl in a navy blue gown entered. The scent of her cologne filled the room. The surprise on her face cleared when she saw Dan. 

"Hello,"she said, waving at Vicky.

"Sweetheart, meet Stella," Dan began.

"Oh!" she said, flashing a set of pristine teeth. "Your Stella?" she asked, looking at Dan. He nodded.

"Stella, meet Bolarinwa." I tried to force a smile. We shook hands. Her hand was soft and warm. Our gaze met and lingered for a brief second. 

My heart sank.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015. Visit www.kelvinalaneme.blogspot.com for all you have missed.