CHAPTER 1: When Curiosity Killed

I knew it was Mama’s cries the moment I stepped in to the house. I knew he was going to beat

her again that day. I could feel it coming, like a sixth sense. I wish I had the guts to warn Mama

ahead. The air felt lighter, cocks crowed louder, and the clouds, well they made me more anxious. The

joy I wanted to experience from the weather was coming a bit too easy, it was too good of a day for

someone like me, happiness freely given to me was a wish, a dream would be a far stretch.

I came back home from hawking my first batch earlier than expected, way too early for me to make

the sales that would make me happy. Whether it was my chi or some other force involved I had sold

everything today at the twinkle of an eye. Another imminent sign this day was going to be worse than

normal.

I had expected it to be bad but not as bad as it was.

It was when I came home to pick up the goods to hawk a second round that I sensed something was

wrong. And then I noticed—Mama had not come down today, and the food I had made that morning

was untouched. I wish I waived the curiosity off; Mama had always said I was the good kind of nosy.

I should have ignored that feeling to check. I wish I didn’t check.

I did. I checked.

He was doing it again at his usual spot.

Her room.

Mama’s screams were always high pitched, you could tell she sang in church, you could also tell

when he had beaten her whenever she sang. Like music to his ears, you knew it fuelled his anger to

beat her even more. And he did.

As I walked slowly in to the kitchen from the back door, I noticed he had left the television on. I stood

in awe anytime it was on, I wasn’t allowed to watch with the others. Outcast? Yes. Her screams put

my racing mind to action, it was then I realized that I was scared to see what she looked like when he

was done. I was never scared to see the new wounds he marked on her as territory, I had my fair share

of territory markers, mine even looked like rail lines but thicker.

By the time I had gotten to the door of the kitchen, I could hear his voice loud and clear, the door was

closed but not shut tight. He was calling her barren again and finding new words to describe who she

was to him now. Anything but his lovely wife.

As I tiptoed to the stairs, I heard her scream like never before, she gave it her all, like it was her last

and then it went quiet. That was when I noticed that his belt was downstairs. Whatever he was using

to hit her was definitely doing its job. I heard the thud of his foot hitting the ground each time he

kicked her sides.

He says he would never kick her head—that her womb was the problem and her head was already

empty. He said my head was empty too that’s why he slapped me very often so there was at least hope

of not turning out like Mama. A reject hated by her husband.

I heard the door open and as I hid under the stairs, he muttered curse words under his breath, wore his

sandals and left the house. I waited to hear his bicycle leave the compound before making my way

upstairs, in hopes that he didn’t see my unsold goods outside. He didn’t.

Normally, I wouldn’t run to Mama after she had just been beaten or even whisper a little prayer

asking Osanobua to please make sure she was still alive. I ran, and either my prayer was too late, or it

just wasn’t enough.

Her room—even though he had left the door opened—smelt like fresh death, like her soul was about

to leave and I had opened the door to let it through. I had hoped my guess would be wrong for the first

time today but it wasn’t.

I stood at the door in shock, that prayer was definitely way too late. It was blood. Mama’s blood. My

mother’s blood. On the floor. Everywhere. I needed to think but all I could see was blood, I

desperately needed less evidence to prove whatever conclusion my mind had reached. I listened for

her breathing or groaning—anything to calm me down. I couldn’t see beyond the blood.

Why was it everywhere this time? Was she still breathing? Where was she? Why wasn’t I moving?

And why wasn’t my mouth opening to call out-“Mama” was all I could bring out from standing by the

door. I called out again “Mama” breathlessly this time. Was I really struggling to breathe?

Nohuoma, move your legs and look for your mother. I tried to the first time, and then I moved my left

leg into her room, I stepped on something warm. Blood.

“Mama,” I called again. She groaned a little—too little to fuel my bad thoughts and big enough to

give me hope. I tried to avoid the blood but it was everywhere. It was like trying to walk in the ocean,

my heart sank with each step.

“Mama,” I called out again as I took steps towards her.

“Nohu,” was all she whispered in response as she tried to move. Lying by the window in her once-

white dress, where the blood had made patterns of red everywhere—Red River. She was now fighting

to hold on to her dear life. She looked lifeless. I felt lifeless. You could tell from her eyes that she was

dying. Her wincing gave out just how much pain she was in.

I tried to think of whose name to call first. My sisters had all been too stupid to help and they always

sided with Him.

“Nohuoma,” she managed to say, as if to tell me that it was pointless.

I wanted to cry but all I could feel was hate. I needed to cry but I couldn’t and I wouldn’t.

I slowly lifted her upper body, it felt empty. Drained. I sat on the floor and rested her head on my

thighs. Her hair had always been soft and shiny. She has beautiful hair, so I stroked it and sang our

song

“May you find your way home, may the wind be your guide and the sun your shield and, if night falls,

may the moon and stars be your friends. But safe journey home, my angel.”

She took one large sigh and slowly turned to look at my face. As she called my name out, gently

closing her eyes. I knew.

Mama just died in my arms, and her husband was responsible.