The Night of April 7, 1879,

Dear Ajayi,

All the land is experiencing a dry spell. It is hot and the soil is hard. The skin on my lips peels and falls like cassava flakes. All the green has disappeared, perhaps it is because there’s too much spilt blood.

News has reached us that the Balogun Ajayi has passed.

I can hear the heavy breathing of the guards outside, armed with the dry jaws of predators and sheathless cutlasses. They have not slept a wink since the day broke, have they even been sleeping at all for the past two years? I wonder when this will come to an end, but we are safe – your mother and I, at least for now.

How are you, my beloved? I have been running my hands over one of the buba I had dipped in dye for you. I do not particularly miss you but I can feel your absence, I miss your company and our gossip at night. I terribly miss my own voice since it has not called out your name for more than four moons? You were stolen from me a moon after your mother washed my feet into your house so how can I not feel this way?

What can I ask you? I do not want to bore you with the sorority affairs in the Ajele’s compound. They hardly do anything but rub adi on their skins and hate at one another. I am not mostly seen so I do not get to be involved in their senseless fights. Though, Ajele’s youngest wife does not seem to appreciate my presence in the compound. Recently, she has raised up the hem of her wrapper and it is almost betraying the fact that she doesn’t wear any underwear. Her yellow thighs distract the guards but they dare not complain, and I can only imagine what runs through their minds whenever they see her shake her waist.

Now, I will not talk about the Ajele’s albino. Should I ask you how many people’s blood have stained your cutlass or when you think the war will end? Are you not frightened? Do you not want to return? Could you briefly come to see me and then return? I want to see your face again. I want to see the eyes that vowed to forever be by my side. Your mother also yearns to see you, she hardly speaks nowadays, I fear she might have completely recoiled into quiescence, which is not healthy for her. When the servants bring her meals, she barely swallows a morsel. I fear she has lost the appetite for life. At least, return before she departs from us.

The night is growing darker and we are approaching moon-down so I must extinguish the lantern now.

Your Caring Wife.

 

The Morning of June 15, 1879,

Dear Ajayi,

I am pleased to have gotten this expensive ileke from you but I must be frank, I know it is Latosisa’s pillage. But it is also a sign that you have not forgotten me. Thank you. But I must confess, I am not in high spirits this morning. I may be experiencing some kind of intimidation presently though I do not think I am unable to handle it.

But I want to know, why do people attack us? People like me? Me? I am literally a black woman too, or is it because I know how to read and write? I did not even grow outside the sands of Africa, I was just fortunate to have been born to a learned man. Yes, my father was Portuguese but I am not bothered. Why then are they bothered? I do not dispute the fact that I am not fully a child of this land but then the fact that I am dark skinned should not be overlooked.

However, then, when I think of it, men are not inherently strong. They nurture fear for those that they believe appear different from them. I will only stop at that conclusion. Though I am despised by the womenfolk, the men are quite nice and always ready to listen to me. Even the Ajele. I have spoken to him about five times in different summonings. He hardly alters the rugged look on his face but when I speak with him, a small twitch finds its way to the corner of his mouth. But then, that friendliness comes with a consequence – the wives have turned to my direction. However, do not fear, I can handle their arrogant heads and disdainful tongues.

They… goodness gracious! The toddler of the third wife has started wailing again! I am certain they can hear her all the way to Sokoto. What might you be thinking now? That I am averse to children? That is definitely untrue. In fact, nowadays, I think I might be getting the baby rashies! Perhaps it is a sign that I will soon have a seed planted in my womb. How would that feel? I think I might have to suspend my reverie for later.

Have you taken my suggestion into consideration? Will you spirit yourself away from the battlefield to come and see me? Your mother will be delighted. Alright, I will be delighted too.

I will drop my pen now for there’s this gathering I detest but I must attend, where the women escape into the kitchen to fill their noses with scent from spices and their ears with high-class gossip. One man, Dejumobi, a supposedly louche concoctioner, has been a recurring subject for the past few weeks upon his arrival in town. Perhaps, he might continue to be for some time.

Your Dutiful Wife.

 

The Night of July 31, 1879

Dear Ajayi,

This is no way to begin a letter but my dearest, I am not feeling too well. I’ve been down with fever and ague. The physician has not said much besides me having to drink a tasteless tonic twice a day to reduce the fever. But I think there’s more to my illness, Ajayi, though the Ajele promised that I would be fine. I am not able to chat with you in this letter as my hands are rather unsteady and my head, restless. And it is hurting.

Will you come home to see me? It is possible I will get healed when you come home to take me away from here. Maybe I am no longer safe, maybe the environment here is attempting to repel me. I’ve been shot by a number of evil schemes recently, a monstrous fire devoured my hut to the ground yesternight, attracting a throng of false sympathizers this morning.

The Ajele moved me to a bigger and cleaner hut but I could have died. Death darkened my doorstep. I might not have had the chance to write to you. You can return now, and we can leave this place with your mother.

Your Longing Wife.

 

The Night of August 24, 1879

Dear Ajayi,

I heard the news of your arrival in town. Is this true? If it is, then why have you not come to see me? Why are you hiding away from me? If the Ajele had summoned you from the battlefield, why have you not shown yourself to me? Why do I hear of your arrival like the commonplace tapster that listens on the idle small talk of his customers? Why? Or are you cross with me? Do you want to pretend not to know how much I long to see you? Or, are you more devoted to a senseless battle than to your wife? Please, tell me what has come over you.

Now, I shall send this letter to you through the squire, and I do not expect to wish for any memento to be returned as a response. It is you I want to see, nothing besides you, your presence. If that is impossible, please do not take the pain to send me any of your loot.

Your Wife Who You May No Longer Regard As One.

 

The Morning of September 19, 1879

Dear Ajayi,

Why, I have not seen you and you do not respond to me! Did you leave town?

I am no longer cross with you. In fact, I must plead your forgiveness. I have kept a heavy secret for some time now. It disgusts me to think about it and I am ashamed of myself. I will never defend myself, as adultery is adultery and has no other name.

I have sinned against our matrimony. I have opened my legs to another man, and now I am with child. It is not my wish that a child should be conceived out of this great sin but who can beat fate at its own game? It turns out that my fever was a symptom of the sickness that accompanied pregnancy.

Your mother does not know. If she knew, it would kill her. I feel I have betrayed you both, her, as my guardian for fifteen years and you, my friend for over a decade. I do not know what steps to take from now. I have told the father of the child I’m expected to deliver in six months. He accepts responsibility but I am uncomfortable with my predicament.

So far, I have leveraged on your mother’s bad sight and the fact that I am usually overlooked by the women of the house, and carefully hid away my baby bulge with wide kabas. However, sooner or later, my shamelessness shall be known and I will be the talk of the town.

I cannot wash away my guilt with a thousand rivers of water but I know that you can find a place in your heart to forgive me. You are a good man with a good heart and I am fortunate to have had you know me first, though I didn’t conceive your child first. If you return now, I will go with you to wherever you want and we can always be together.

Please, forgive me.
Your Wife Who Is Now An Adulterer.

 

The Morning of March 18, 1880

Dear Ajayi,

Perhaps I was wrong to think you would pardon my great sin.

It is today that I delivered a boy into this world. Now, I have kept this from you until this day but I will not any longer – the boy is the Ajele’s.

It happened that I was watching through the small frames between the entwined branches of bushes when I bathed in the stream one fateful morning. I had felt a presence but I only took it to be a dishonorable act of one of the phallus-driven guards of the Ajele. As you are among the Ajele’s men, you should know how dishonorable they are with women and how rakish they are. Though, Olodumare has created you differently. You are the true manifestation of chivalry.

But I cannot ignore the truth that we both know – the fact that they sleep with anything that wears a wrapper. It is what we know them to do, it is what we hear them do, so I ignored it. However, when the individual would show himself, I saw the Ajele ogling from a short distance. I was ashamed and I immediately reached for my clothes but he walked inside the river and snatched them from me. Then he ordered me out of the river and began to touch me. It had happened, just like that, on the dew-wet grass by the river.

What might be going on in your mind right now? That I am no more than a dirty whore? I should have tried my luck in slitting his throat, or castrating him there and then. Should I have done that? Perhaps, I might have some epics composed about me.

Certainly, I feel stupid but I have compensation – the boy is the Ajele’s first son.

Your Wife Who Is Now Mother To Another’s Son.

 

The Morning of March 25, 1880

Dear Ajayi,

Karma is such a reality. Those who do not acknowledge it, fail to see what life really is about.

I mourn the boy today! Pardon my levity concerning the matter, I suddenly feel as though I have lost all humanness. Do you not think I am being judged accordingly? The Ajele too. I bask in his sorrows today. The first son of his loins passed on the seventh day of his birth. What a good comeback!

I must confess I feel free and released from the shackles of guilt, though I feel rather unlucky to have lost my first child. But I am thankful, I now know what being a mother is. I fed him with the milk of my breasts for seven days, even while he was bizarrely restful.

The physician blames me for not being observant enough, and I think the Ajele hates me for that. He has refused to eat anything, according to the servants, and he does not want to be attended to. I hear he’s also mad at his god. How empty he must feel? He should be made to feel empty over and over again. He should be made to feel all that I felt on that terrible morning.

Now, enough of him!

I must tell you that your mother cannot see again. It saddens my heart deeply so much that I am holding back tears so as not to ruin the ink on this parchment. Please, come and see her. I have the feeling that the lethal stillness is imminent upon her. She refuses to eat and grows leaner with each passing day. At least, come and bid her farewell.

Your Wife Who Is Now Cut off Concubinage.

 

The Morning of April 7, 1880

Dear Ajayi,

Mama has left this world.

Yesternight, I went to her hut to check upon her and I found her utterly still atop the bamboo bed. But I was not too scared for myself, I am an orphan. But I was and I am scared for you. Your mother was your whole world and now, she is gone.

Perhaps, now is the time to show your face. It–

 

The Night of July 2, 1880

Dear Ajayi,

I might have been a fool for so long. This is not a letter, this is a necroscript now that I know that you have been snatched away from this world by the evil claws of your enemies.

So, you have been dead all along! Since when have you left me? Since when have you stopped receiving mail in this fashion? Since when did your address change? Since when did you stop stealing loot to send to me? What has that slothful squire been doing with all of my letters to you?

What a life! You most probably do not have an appropriate resting place, you most probably have had a heap of dirt dumped on your cold, lifeless body. My heart breaks to imagine this.

I wrote a letter but couldn’t complete it on the seventh of April. That was the day I knew of your death.

For your death at the frontline, I wanted to give the remainder of life up to chastity, like the women of the habit, that I may know peace in this life and the afterlife. However, I’m unable to.

I am with child again!

There is by far no more dubious a man than the Ajele. He forcefully added me to his train of wives after he found out that his yellow wife consorted with Dejumobi, the suspicious stranger. Now, I am nothing but a replacement. A substitute, to bed and to wound. Why, my life is totally miserable! And all my literacy cannot save me! And all my difference cannot salvage what is left of me. I can only write to a dead man, no one can know what I have written.

How can I accept my lot now? I still love you very much. I don’t think I can ever love that man. He’s the cause of your death. He sent you to the frontline, where the battle was the fiercest and you laid down your life for the foolhardiness of your people – a people of one complexion, one tongue thrown into utter confusion and divided by vanity. How many more lives will be laid down?

When will this end? Perhaps, when I finally bring this child to this sullied land, I’ll take my leave.

Your Wife.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by anyka from Canva