Endless : The Diary Of A Nigerian Orphan - Episode 4

 

I left for Ojuelegba , Lagos with Mrs Ojo, few days after my visit with aunt Sally. The night before I left, aunt Sally had made a merger-promise with Mrs Ojo - to take care of me. Mrs Ojo had never been effusive on giving my aunt Sally a generous kind of answer.
“Salima , I have told you never to worry about your niece, I will see that she enjoys her stay in Lagos”, Mrs Ojo had assured my aunt. A loud- voiced madam with large buxom, that sunny day , she had fondly pulled me to herself and for a split second, I felt close to being invisible . Her thick presence and frame had shielded me away from life’s outer cycle.
“I believe her, Deesay”, my aunt had meekly returned, turning to me.
What more could I say, I thought, fondling with a shredded part of my gown. If this would definitely means that my education would surely continue, at least in a private school, then I was spurred on already. But I never showed it, I allowed the traces of doubt read through me. Nevertheless, in the end, I could see a crack of sheer smile spread through aunt Sally’s cracked lips.
“you will definitely enjoy Lagos, Deesay”, Mrs Ojo had warmly embraced me as my numb feet greeted the sparse brown sand of Lagos. Now, all had become a tale gone sour as being at home with Mrs Ojo and her two teenage boys made me less of a human

All episodes of this story can be found here >> https://www.ebonystory.com/story/endless-the-diary-of-a-nigerian-orphan

. To add salt to the injury, I was only bathe with little dose of dignity. Feeding on the same pot with her and the boys hangs by the tiny line of promise she gave my aunt Sally. I could still hear her voice of assurance to my aunt, reverberate within me, saying, “Salima, I have told you not to worry. I will take care of Deesay”. if those were mere words, I would relax, but to have her and the boys verbally insult me and my dead parents were nothing less than the word, ‘gruesome’.  
“Deesay!”, Mrs Ojo would scream each Saturday morning. One, out of the sparse mornings that I would be a little later than my usual 5:00 clock every day. “I want to perceive the aroma of peppered stew this morning”. 
“yes, mummy”, I would reply drowsily. As quick as I could out of my slumber, I would rush into the kitchen to spice my now hardened palms with some red hot juices of chilly peppers and red bonnet pepper. 
“don’t waste time at all, you still have laundry to do”, Mrs Ojo would fiercely add.
“okay ma”, I would return as tears would stream down my face and into the bowl of chopped onions. Saturdays, I thought, were for resting time, since they were chief days in weekend. Only Mrs Ojo and I ,sure do understands that, ‘the aroma of peppered stew’ means that it is to be prepared and properly garnished with iced bony fishes. 
Same me, would still run round the neighborhood to catch up with iya eleja, before she would carry her fresh stocks to the market. Buying from her at her doorstep was worth it, because she would give it to you half the price and as well, one could select generously. For that, I wouldn’t mind buying like that, over and over again. Again, it wasn’t worth it, because after I would have made those spiced -peppered stew, I never got to eat from it. I would only know the taste, because I prepared it.
“thank God, you are done. We would need water to bathe before eating O”, Mrs Ojo would guffawed, after smacking her stew stained lips. In time, I got used to the ‘new way’, she would usually rule me out from taking breakfast; Saturdays’ especially. If her teenage boys, who were always playing away their time would not understand this, how would they understand the language of ‘making a river’, that is the task of fetching water, and not that alone, but filling several large bowls with water. The arduous chore I once detested , but I have now come to like it. 
In the stiff comfort of my worn out mat, bitter streams of water would run down my eyes, ‘when would things change for the better? When would I enjoy the life, Mrs Ojo had promised me. And the one, aunt Sally had assured me also. Just, when?’
Everything as I can remember, happened few weeks ago. Being with the Ojos , for a while now, has got me accustomed to their way of life and their maltreatment towards me. So far, my attendance at school were fairly regular, and my academic standard had not waned too much. I relaxed, because I choose to.