I was three when my mother walked out on us, so my daddy says. She was a beautiful woman with long kinky hair; she got it from her Arab grandmother. I have a picture of her in my drawer. Once in a while, I stare at it for a few minutes. I imagine her lips moving to tell me stories like daddy does on most nights. Her voice is melodious but with a touch of raspiness. She tells me she loves me and can’t wait to see me one day.

“Tell me about mommy, do I look like her.”
“You look like your grandmother, you have her eyes.”
“But my hair? Nanni the hairdresser says my hair is like mommy’s.”
“Nanni doesn’t know what she is talking about. Finish your food and wash up. You have school tomorrow.”

Today Ma Neli made a delicious chicken stew with white rice. My favorite. I usually concentrate and finish my food before I even talk but the words Nanni said earlier are dancing in my ears and I needed to speak to daddy about it. Nanni, the owner of the neighborhood salon, is the eyes and ears of the town. Today, I went there after school because my teacher threatened to send me home if I showed up again with the same two-week-old braids. Nanni’s shop has always been like a second home; I went there when it was time for new braids and daddy settled the bill when he could.

“You are carrying the central African bush on your head hein my girl!” she said as she yanked the metal comb.
I squealed at each pull, believing she might just be trying to pull all my hair out, “Aiiiii!”
“If only your mom could see the beautiful young lady you have become. You tell young man looking your way that I will burn them hein!” She picked up the electric hair curler and held it up in my face. I almost laughed until I realized she was serious. “I have been watching you since she left; it’s the least I could do for my dear friend. She had no choice. I am your mother now, if something happens to your father or your aunty, I am here.” It was the first time I heard her talk about my mommy. Ma Neli did tell me that the two were like sisters and grew up together. I never asked more about it, Daddy was the only person I could talk to about mommy. Every time I mentioned it to him, Ma Neli sent me to go complete some chores out of his face. Nobody ever told me why she left.

Tonight, I was determined to hear more, so mommy’s lips in the story could tell me more about her absence. “Daddy, I just want to know if I will ever see her again. What did she say when she left?” I had struck two nerves on the same night. His left temple was throbbing in synch with my heartbeat. He leaned back into the chair gazing out the window. I leaned in pushing my arm forward just in case his chair gave in to his weight, I’d hold on to him.
“My one and only child. When we got married, we prayed for a child. Nine years later when you were born, we thanked the gods. Your mother was devoted to you day and night until everything changed.”
“What changed, daddy, what happened?”
“She changed. My Aya was absent. Before, anywhere you were there she was, you were both like rice and beans. Then I would come home, and you would be in Ma Neli’s arms sleeping or playing, and your mommy nowhere in sight. The day you turned three there was a storm. Ma Neli carried you on her back the whole day, you wouldn’t stop crying. Aya was on her knees in the rain and was shouting, eyes looking at the sky. I could only make out, ‘Old Abou will take her from us.’” The stew was rising in my throat, something was pulling me back to a day I didn’t even remember. I wanted to scream, maybe roll down the floor although I didn’t know why. “I tried to pull her inside, but she dug her nails in my left eye and ran.”
“Your eye, that’s why it looks like this,” I said softly.
“I… just couldn’t find her. I never found her.” He got up and walked out of the house. I waited for hours but only saw him the next morning.

I thought about ‘Old Abou’, it was not the first time I heard of this person. It was also in Nanni’s shop that three ladies were talking about the year when they consulted Old Abou, one to keep her husband from cheating and the other to attract the love of a man. Their ramblings gave the direction of his house at the edge of town two hours away. Old Abou lived in an abandoned government house and had turned one of the rooms into a consultation space. I had to find out the whole story linking him to my mother.

With Ma Neli avoiding my gaze, I knew that she heard the conversation with Daddy and knew more about Old Abou. I finished my breakfast and rushed to school. It was only in the evening that she finally said a word to me as I pushed around pieces of chicken with my fingers and hummed the song of sorrow, that song we only sang at funerals.
“So, today we are playing with your meat hein?”
“Hum…”
“Child, finish your food and go wash up.”
“This Abou, I am sure you know who it is… can you tell me what happened that night? You were there.” She avoided my eyes again. She turned to the sink and pretended to wash clean dishes. “Ma Neli, I need to know, tell me. I want to know where Mommy went. You said she loved me, why would she leave me?”
“There are things better left unsaid. The world of the dead and the spirits are to be left alone.” I could see she was about to spill a river of words. Only someone about to tell a tale mentions the world of the dead to ease their conscience.
“I think the spirits would want me to know what happened to Mommy.”
“She went to see Old Abou, the witch doctor, because she was desperate to have a child. He said he would one give to her, but a sacrifice was required when the child turned three. Of course, she agreed. I am not sure she asked what the sacrifice would be.”
“Did she tell you this?”
“Old Abou started paying her visits to the house when you were about two and a half. Poor Aya, what he asked was beyond reasoning. She lost her mind.”
“What was he asking?”
“I don’t know child! you are asking too many questions. It’s disrespectful you know.”
“I am just trying to find…” I barely finished my sentence when Daddy walked in, his head thrown back laughing. His friend Abbas was right behind telling a funny story as he usually did. I saw Ma Neli’s sigh of relief. I shrunk into my room.

The next morning, I put on my uniform and moisturized my hair and face with shea butter as usual. I even ate my breakfast of mango slices and corn porridge with appetite. Ma Neli was sure all was back to normal. I walked four blocks away from the house, it was safe enough to drift in a different direction without the watchful eyes of grannies sitting in front of the gates. I stopped, took off my uniform shirt, and changed before walking up to the main road to catch a bus. I have never been this far alone. I told no one so if the bandits I hear so much about grab me, Daddy might never see me again. I slapped my face to force myself to get the thought out of my head. The bus was empty. Teardrops preceded every step I took to the back, falling on the seat like a rock dropped in the river. After what seemed like hours on the road, I shouted at the driver to stop when I saw the abandoned building. He must have seen my tears; he gave me a concerned look with his lips quivering like he was about to say something. I hurried down before lending my ears to yet another speech telling me I am too young to understand that some things are better left unknown.

The path from the main road to the building was short, I couldn’t enter the door, something or someone was pushing my soul back.
“Little girl, what are you doing? You should not be here,” the voice slid into my personal space, soft and raspy.
“I am… I… am looking for someone they call Old Abou.”
“Who are you?”
“I am looking for my mother… I mean Old Abou. They said he maybe knows my mother… she left…” Each heartbeat matched each word pouring out of my mouth. Somehow my brain scrambled the meticulous story I had practiced telling on the bus. The salty and sand-filled sweat filled my mouth.
“Slow down… your mother, who is she?”
“Aya, she was… she left.”

I glanced at half of her face. She walked closer to me, she was veiled and pressed it across her face. I saw grey eyelashes, she looked young. I had never seen such a thing. “Don’t come back here again. It is not safe.”
“Wait, please tell me where I can find him. Please help me,” I lunged forward towards her, stubbed my toe on a stone, and grabbed onto her arm to keep my balance. She hid her face and tried to unlatch my hand off of her arm. I held on. I don’t know this woman, yet I am holding on. There was a burning desire to see her whole face.
“He is not here, he is dead,” she shouts as she still tries to get away. I started sobbing, the tears I had been trying to push back since I left the house came like rain in August. “You need to leave now… the one who was your mother is no longer herself.” She is also sobbing, louder than I am. No longer fighting to get away, the woman stroked my hair and ran away, her hair long and flowing behind. Fixated, I understood. I was not scared. A calmness I could not explain poured from the parted lines of my braids to my toes. Even the pain of the stubbed toe was gone. This must be what the Sunday school teacher called peace that surpassed all understanding.

“Ma Neli, what’s for lunch today?” The bus ride back home was just sweet. Sitting next to an old grandma on her way to visit her son, she told me stories that made me laugh until my ribs were about to cave in. I even accompanied her to her son’s house before heading home.
“You make sure you fill your belly well so that you can explain to your Daddy why you didn’t go to school today hein!” The justification was good enough in my mind, so I ate well. I was prepared to now tell my side of the story.

“Start talking! When have you learned to skip school?” I didn’t even hear him walking in. Sitting on the steps, I was gazing at the stars and letting the breeze carry me to earlier in the day.
“I had to find out what happened to Mommy, so I went to see the place where Old Abou lives.” Just a few sentences were enough to explain my ordeal of the day, the woman, the eyelashes, the hair, the voice, the peace. “She left but didn’t go far so that I can live.”
“What are you talking about?” Daddy’s voice was no longer agitated and sat next to me; a knee crack gave me goosebumps. I gently rubbed it and looked into his eyes.
“She had to make a choice, but Daddy, you and I will be alright.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Yume Photography on Unsplash