Inside the Mind of a Damsel.
When will she be big?
She pushed in some logs of wood that had almost burnt out and picked up a broken plastic parker to fan the fire to flame. It stopped smoking after a while and the firewood burned in all its strength again, piercing the darkness of the night, while several anxious questions raced in her young mind. When would she get to kiss someone?
Her Ewedu soup simmered for a few minutes before she dismounted its pot from the three big stones set as a tripod, and replaced it with a pot of water for Amala, awaiting Mum, who would prepare it.
A couple of times, she had attempted to cook that probably overrated Swallow, (that was her opinion though!) but it was either she ended up with a pap-like Amala or Mum came to her rescue. In fact, the last one she made, it was her younger sister who helped with pouring the whole solution away, else Mum would have ‘skinned her alive’ as she always said.
Sitting peacefully on a rounded log of wood set as a stool for cooking, she waited for the water to boil, and shook her head while she sang the popular mythical song, l’ábẹ́ igi òrombó (under the shade of the fig tree). Several thoughts kept flashing through the mind of this twelve-year-old adolescent, among which was the daring sight of Uncle Mike and Eunice kissing behind the tree that was at the back of their house.
She beamed at the remembrance of the rather captivating scene that she had watched and enjoyed all by herself.
Eunice stood against the tree while Uncle Mike towered before her, with one of his hands resting against the tree, positioned slightly above her head. At first, none of them seemed to be saying anything, just gazing and smiling at each other.
Then all of a sudden, in the most gentle manner, Uncle Mike moved his head closer to Eunice’s, bending a little low, until both lips touched, and this adolescent was left to wonder how it felt to have another mouth in hers. Whether it would be hot or cold, salty or sour, salivary or whatever…!
She couldn’t resist the urge to keep watching the love birds who were under the tree some meters away from her house, Uncle Mike’s hand now on Eunice’s neck, hers also on his, both vigorously in possession of the other.
When exactly would she get to do this, and with whom? She hiccupped. How would she hide it from Mum? Would Jesus be happy? Countless questions flooded her young inquisitive heart each time she remembered Uncle Mike, Eunice, and the tree, or sang l’ábẹ́ igi òrombó.
Last week, Mum had boasted at the well about how disciplined her daughters were, and would never be seen with the boys flirting around corners and buildings under construction. She wouldn’t want to let Mum down or put her at the mercy of the uncultured tongue of the women whose daughters had gotten pregnant in school.
Yet, even the tempting sight was so undeniable, and she hadn’t stopped thinking about it since she had watched them. Not that she didn’t want to, she simply couldn’t.
Time and time again, she had caught herself scrubbing her chest very hard in the bathroom, hoping that the soap would wash it away. But soap could not take a memory away, or could it? Dad had once said that only the Spirit of God could take such dirty things off one’s mind. But the question remained, was kissing dirty? Uncle Mike seemed to have enjoyed it.
‘Ajoke!’ Mum’s voice jerked her back to the present. ‘What are you always thinking about? Can’t you see that the fire is no more burning?’
Startled, she shouted. ‘Ehn, Uncle Mike … Jesus!’
'Ehn, what did you just say? I'll skin you alive today today!'
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