BROWN

“Stories, for some reason, have always had a life of their own, separate from their maker and even their characters; they remind me of the air – invisible enough to be taken for granted, yet so vital, so alive, its continued absence will seep out life from your soul.
My story won’t be remembered by anyone, because you were the only one who knew it.”
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Before she met Madam, whenever ‘rich’ was mentioned around Lade, she used to think of happiness. That’s what Iya, her mother said everyday while she led the family in morning devotions. Her deep accented voice would cut through dawn every day, the compound’s most reliable alarm clock. “Lord, make us rich so that we can be happy. Lord God, in your Word, you have said that your thoughts of us are of good, not evil. That your children can never ever suffer. Lord, we will never suffer. Lord, all those spirits and demons of poverty in this compound that say we will not succeed, strike them down by fire!!! Lord…” And on she would go, in her Ijebu dialect, until the sun was fully out and it was time to open the shop. Lade’s father, Baba, was solidly snoring in the couch waiting for the ‘big’ employment he and Iya were sure he would get soon, because he graduated with a First Class in Political Science from Osun State University and this was just a phase that would soon pass.
Lade misses her mother’s voice. She misses the messy compound and Sister Yemi’s loud voice making fun of how long her father spends in the bathroom everyday scrubbing his scrawny body. She misses Bolade and Jimi and all the other children in the compound. She misses the ‘fruit’ tree that holds most of her childhood memories; she still doesn’t know the name of the fruit named ‘fruit’.
Most of all, she misses the days when rich meant happiness. She realizes now that she was happiest when her family was living in a self- contained room meant for a single person, when they were sharing the compound with 6 other families, when she thought that rich was happy.
But she has met Madam now. She now lives in a three-storey mansion with Madam, Oga, Oga’s boys and Baby. She now doesn’t need her mother’s praise – songs – alarm. Her mother would be shocked to find out what time she wakes up now. She doesn’t eat meat anymore. She cooks it, but never eats it. She doesn’t go to school anymore. One day she will, after Baby grows up and doesn’t need her every time, Oga promised.
She doesn’t wear underwear anymore. Oga finds it too inconvenient for his afternoon quickies when he comes in from work and Madam is at the boutique gossiping with her friends. She doesn’t walk well anymore. Her leg did not heal properly the last time Madam got Edet to beat her because she fell asleep and the stew she had planned for important guests got burnt.
There are so many things she doesn’t do anymore, many things that she cannot even remember how to do. She is fifteen years old, and seems to have inherited her father’s body. All the hints of flesh she had when she first came disappeared in the first month after Aunty Caro left her in Madam’s house, promising to come back for her the next day.

Written by Afoma  M. Chiegboka
Abuja, Nigeria.

Would you like to know more about  Lade?  Stay tuned for the next episode...