Growing Pains

Rahab

It is always quiet whenever I get home from work. The night air whistling violently, threatening to carry me with it. Pausing outside the house I cautiously go through the keys in my hand. Keys, older than me, all still on the chain making my already laborious task harder. Finding the key, finally, and unlocking the padlock, the first thing I perceive is the burning smell. 

"Daddy!" I call out frantically, running into the smoky haze. The responding quiet doing nothing to expel my fears.

Wrapping my cardigan around my nose and forcing myself to look around, even though my eyes stung. I finally locate the source of the smoke. A burning pot with its contents charred beyond recognition. Taking a rag from the floor I grab

the pot by its worn handle and half run, half skip to dispose the pot outside. A plastic bucket filled with rain water by the side of the house catches my attention and I quickly slosh a good amount into the pot. I hear a sizzling followed by more smoke and after a while all is calm, or as calm as it can be given the current situation.

There is a small crowd forming already in the compound people milling out quietly to see the commotion. Standing in little groups in front of their doors. Some holding their unruly children firmly by their upper arm. There's no surprise written on any of their faces, I see pity, irritation, annoyance even, but no surprise. This has happened before, it is almost like they expect such behaviour from us. If not this something else, something more tragic. I go quickly behind the house, opening all the windows and the door. We didn't really have curtains which in this case is good, forcing clean air into the house, but apparently not fast enough.

"Where's your father?" I hear behind me and stiffen, it sounds more like an accusation than a question, one which I really can't deal with at this moment. Pulse racing, eyes smarting from the effect of the smoke and un-shed tears, and a cough that doesn't seem to want to end, Sighing, I turn around facing my accuser— mama Tunani.

I don't answer, I simply shrug in response. The house is too hot and too smokey to stay in at the moment otherwise I'd have fled this woman and her never ending questions.

"Who left the pot on fire?" She quizzes gesturing at the pot on the floor.

"I M-must have left it on w-when i came b-ack earlier" I lie forcing myself to calm down. just leave already woman!

"Mhmmmn" she doesn't sound convinced, but non of that matters.

I launch into another fit of coughing which I hope for all its pain will cause this particular nosy neighbor to leave, taking her questions with her.

"Ah, sorry... Poor child, you shouldn't be so forgetful! What are you thinking about? The husband and family you kept somewhere? She tries for a lighter tune but it falls flat.

There is a piercing cry which immediately steals her attention. Thank you God!

"Jemima! Tunani! Esau! Who is fighting? Didn't I ask you all to go sleep?! Dan Allah! Inna shiga, zan wanke maki mari! She threatens running into her flat. 

'Finally!' I sighed outwardly, crumpling as the relief hits me. I decide going into the house using the back door is the best (and quite frankly only) option for me to dodge the rising crowd forming fast in front of our flat. You'd think people had better things to do than gawk at an 'almost incident'.

I manage to sneak in without being noticed and nearly die of fright when I hear a voice behind me. 

"I slept off" comes the simple reply, like that is enough to explain the horror which was the past 30 minutes. I have to strain my eyes in the dark to make out his figure, nodding my head at what seemed to be his version of an apology.  Wait, has he been in the house all this while? Even with the burning, the smoke and all that has happened? How? How??

"They cut the power, so no light, but I will go to NEPA office tomorrow to see if anything can be done" 

'They won't do anything unless you give them something' I muse, but don't dare say out loud. Leaning against the wall shaking my head, feeling a sudden wave of tiredness.

His response is a simple grunt. This conversation is already over before it even began. I shake my head and I push myself off the wall,  walking towards the kitchen I am a woman on a mission. Lightning a match I try locating a candle and it doesn't take long before I find one. Flipping a cup upside down to act as a candelabrum, I quickly melt its base, sticking it to the cup and snuff out the Matchstick's light underfoot. My stomach growls reminding me I hadn't eaten save for the dish of rice and beans I had last night. I take a quick look around inspecting the small kitchen, there are no pots on the stove. Something cold sinks in my gut. 

"The F-food? W-where is it?" I ask closing my eyes, already dreading the answer. 

"It got burnt, I tried warming it, I told you... I slept off"

There was no food in the entire house except for the pot of rice and beans Mama Tunani had given me this morning. I couldn't—can't afford anything yet, not with payday being at least a week away.

I fight the tears that come to my eyes. I had poured almost half a bucket of rain water into the only food we had in this house. Daft hope pushes me to want to check the pot outside in case there is any leftover I can sift through while wariness tells me otherwise. There is a loud hiccup from the living room followed by some garbled sounds. I let out another sigh that is equal parts frustration and melancholy. Taking the candle with me, I quietly walk to my room, this is going to be a long night.

...

So... This books is partly set in northern Nigeria, hence the reference to hausa language, uh, its a simple phrase, (i'm terrible at hausa) here's the meaning anyways.

Dan Allah! Inna shiga, zan wanke maki mari — God! If I enter, I'll slap you... Or something in that general neighborhood😅