I should feel remorse for the disgrace I brought upon my mother and myself. Instead, my heart feels warm, grateful that I can keep this miracle. “What’s to be happy about?” Mum barked unexpectedly at me. My hands flew away from my belly, and I became aware of her intensely contemptible gaze at my three-month pregnancy. I’m her 19-year-old daughter.
Mr Audu hurriedly swerved off the road, and mother got down from the car, greatly annoyed. While mum worked off her anger outside, Mr Audu watched me through the rearview mirror. His eyes held a kindness which made me distraught. “Be good to Grandma,” He said casually and smiled. I could not return the smile. I would miss my unsuspecting course-mates at the University, but not as much as I would Mr Audu.
Mother returned to the car a while later, and we continued our journey to Grandma’s house.
Grandma was outside a sturdy but unpainted house, waiting for us, and watched as Mr Audu parked the car under the blooming fruit tree. I checked her expressionless face. She was supposed to be 75 but looked much younger and quite energetic enough to spank me if the need arose. I watched my things get transferred to the front of the house. Never ready for what came next, I got out of the car onto the flower-covered sand without a fuss. I glided toward my Grandma, clad in a colourful Ankara. The other two watched the procession. I went down on my knees as though to say ‘Please accept me.’ Grandma instead hugged me tightly. Tears formed in my eyes, and I let them flow while inhaling the old-woman scent while more flower petals showered on us.
Grandma gently drew me up and wiped my eyes with the edge of her wrapper. It was not the most appropriate occasion, but everything screamed ‘Welcome!’ at me.
We entered the sitting room, and I became drawn to a picture of Grandma, late Grandpa, and my much younger mother hung on the wall. It reminded me of what my mother told me about my maternal grandfather. I was never to mention him because of his premature death in the Nigerian army.
At Grandma’s request, we all sat at a raffia mat to eat pounded yam and egusi soup. She wanted to relieve the moments her children lived in the house. I looked at our plates and found that my meat had additional premature chicken eggs. Grandma caught me looking around and smiled.
“How’s the pounded yam?” I smiled after swallowing one of the boiled miniature eggs. “I could eat it every day,” I replied honestly.
“Akinwale, Baale’s grandson from Lagos, pounded the yam very well as I taught him. Very good boy, he is serving in NYSC.” Grandma said resolutely, and all three pairs of eyes turned on her. She chuckled, knowing what curiosity she had sparked.
“Grandma, I’m here.” A male voice called in a refined Lagosian accent from outside the house.
“Wole, Omo Akin” Grandma replied, and a lightly bearded chocolate-skinned guy entered the sitting room. He looked twenty-something years old and was on a checked shirt. His faded jeans were barely below the knees. When our gazes locked for a tense moment, he looked away, confused. Realizing what was happening, I tore my gaze away from him and held on to my belly.
Mr Audu and Mum left that afternoon, but not without a minor argument between mum and Grandma.
“He won’t impregnate someone who is already pregnant,” Grandma insisted when mum expressed her dissatisfaction at not being told about the existence of an Akinwale.
The first week was novel. I drank surprisingly cool water from a clay pot and ate fresh vegetables. Grandma listened to the radio most of the time, while I had to attend to the books I had brought along.
Akinwale usually came around to pound yam at Grandma’s requests and did some manly duties around the house. He helped put on the small generator, so we could watch the box television and charge our phones.
Fridays were my antenatal at the local hospital just a few walks away from home. But I had to go with Akinwale for those four weeks. I suspected his motives for a while, but finally got used to seeing him around.
My pregnancy grew into six months, and life became more difficult. I had several headaches and gradually grew weaker. At the foot of my hospital bed, Akinwale sat, watching me keenly till my face caught fire. He then came around and placed his hand on my forehead to check my temperature. The gesture made me flinch, and he moved away. When the awkward moment passed, he cleared his throat.
“What were you thinking about?” He asked, and my pupils widened. I wondered if my conflicting feelings were that obvious. He looked at me as though I had to answer. Seizing my condition as an excuse, I closed my eyes and pretended to fall asleep. I later got to know that he only wanted to ask me about my high blood pressure.
I got discharged a month later when I felt a lot better. Grandma came with Akinwale on that Saturday to take me home. While the taxi drove past a vast body of water, I marvelled and wished I could go see the water.
“You look like you haven’t been to any water body before,” Akinwale said pointedly at me, and I nodded.
“The water is quite calm today.” The taxi driver chipped in.
And before I could process what was going on, Akinwale was helping me out of the taxi, and Grandma was telling him to bring me back home early.
We walked in silence down the winding path to the river. My tiny frame swerved from right to left, and my belly moved in the opposite direction. I had no choice but to accept Akinwale’s help as he wrapped his arm around me to keep me from sinking in the grainy soil.
We got to the water, and I breathed in the fresh air. I had not noticed how blue the sky was since I became immersed in my pregnancy. And from where I stood, the world looked massive than I had thought. I looked back and caught Akinwale staring at me.
“I’ve never seen you smile this happily.” He said gravely and spread a cloth from my bag on the floor.
“You thought I wasn’t a happy girl? If you had met me before now,” I was saying but paused. “You wouldn’t have met me anyway,” I replied quietly and sat after he did. He then started preparing tea from the hot water in the flask. I watched him for a while before bringing out a novel to read.
“Have some tea,” He said to me while gently putting the novel away. The tea warmed my hands.
“What do you want to do after giving birth to our baby?” Akinwale asked after a brief moment of silence. “Our?” I laughed. I know who the father is. Akinwale’s face turned serious all of a sudden.
“I can be a good daddy to your baby,” Those words left his mouth, and the tea in mine escaped, splattering all over the sand.
Akinwale looked at me, causing me to look away. Slowly, he inched closer to me and took my hand in his. My breath caught at the surprise move, and I tried to wiggle my hand from his grip. Gently, a smile spread across his face. He was enjoying how uncomfortable he was making me.
“Hmmm,” I cleared my throat, and he let go of my hand.
“I’ll study to be a lawyer, so I can catch spoilt rich boys who think they can get away with raping their naive girlfriends,” I was about to say. But without prior warning, I was tearing up again.
“Are you okay?” Akinwale asked gently. I looked at the nice guy before me and wondered why I was going through a rollercoaster of emotions.
“It must be the pregnancy hormones,” I said plainly, wondering how life would be after the baby is born. Whether or not I allow my feelings for Akin to blossom, I won’t forget what I felt in these places.
Read – Sight to Behold – A Short Story by Ngovi LeBron Bulelani, South Africa
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