Mama Anuli, my grandmother's bosom friend, and her last born, Emezie – my partner in crime since we were knee-high to a grasshopper. Same chalk dust on our uniforms in primary school, same stolen glances and whispered dares behind the science block in secondary. Emezie, that bright spark, practically waltzed through university with a mathematics degree. Me? The university gates played hard to get for a whole three years after we finished secondary school in 2012. When that admission letter finally landed in 2016– food and nutrition, no less! – it was like sunshine after a long rain. But then, like a mischievous spirit, Mama's sickness crept in, turning our joy sour. Suddenly, it was back and forth to the hospital, the smell of antiseptic our new perfume. Mama, swallowed her pride and reached out to my mother, but got nothing but cold shoulder in return.
So here I am packing up our bits and bobs, thinking maybe, just maybe, I could hawk them for enough to chip in for Mama's surgery. If Mama got back on her feet, she'd pull a rabbit out of a hat, like she always did, and find us a place to lay our heads.
I dragged myself to Emezie's compound, hoping he'd lend a hand in turning our worldly goods into market money. As I got closer, the air thickened with the heavenly scent of onugbu soup and akpu, like a party in my nostrils. My stomach, that greedy thing, let out a rumble loud enough to wake the ancestors. It hit me then: I hadn't tasted a morsel since sunrise, and poor Mama hadn't seen a bite either.
"Nne, kedu? How's Mama holding up?" Emezie asked, his eyes catching the weariness etched on my face as I trudged towards him. "Odinma," I managed, the word a flimsy shield against the truth.
"You met me well o!" he exclaimed, his voice bright with genuine pleasure. "Come, join me, let's eat!"
As if my stomach understood Igbo, it responded with a joyous rumble that echoed his invitation.
I washed my hands in the dented metallic bowl tucked beneath the wooden bench where Emezie sat, then eagerly began to mould the soft, yielding akpu, dipping it generously into the fragrant, bitter-leaf onugbu soup. Each swallow was a small act of defiance against the despair that threatened to engulf me.
After polishing off a portion that would have made a grown man blush, I looked at Emezie, who was now peacefully gnawing on a succulent piece of goat meat.
"Emmy," I began, the words heavy with dread, "the doctor says Mama needs a deposit of one hundred and seventy-five thousand naira for the surgery. And Oga Amadi just threw us out. We have nowhere to stay." My voice cracked, the dam of tears threatening to burst.
"Bikonu," I pleaded, the word a desperate prayer, "if you could just help me sell our things at the local market... maybe, just maybe, it would amount to something."
"Chimo! One hundred and fifty thousand naira?...Oluchi, you're my sister. I'd do anything for you," Emezie said, his voice firm and unwavering. "But you know Mama's not around; she's gone to Sister Anulika's house for omugwo." He paused, his eyes meeting mine. "We have enough time to gather the money. Don't worry, we're one blood. And you can always sleep here until things get better. Don't you worry, okay?"
A wave of profound relief washed over me, loosening the knots of anxiety that had tightened around my heart. My mind, for the first time in days, found a fragile peace. Emezie had always been my anchor, my unwavering source of strength.
Words failed me. I simply nodded, continuing to swallow the akpu, each bite a testament to his unwavering loyalty.
"Ehen! Has Mama eaten?" he asked, already rising. "Let me pack some for her."
"No, no," I replied quickly. "She's diabetic; she can't eat akpu. When we sell the chairs and some other things, I'll buy vegetables and make soup for her."
Emezie waved his hand dismissively. "There are vegetables in the garden behind – ugwu, spinach, waterleaf! I'll just rush to Mama Nkem and buy fresh fish for protein. All the ingredients are in the kitchen. You just keep eating and wait. I'll be back before you know it."
"Emmy, thank you," I whispered, tears welling in my eyes. "Chukwu gozie gi. You would never lack."
"Oh!" he exclaimed, then darted off with the speed of a startled antelope.
I couldn't resist. I snuck three more wraps of akpu from the flask tucked beneath the bench and devoured them, surrendering to the simple pleasure of good food in a moment of overwhelming uncertainty.
Afterward, I gathered the dishes and carried them to the back, washing them meticulously. I arranged them neatly in a woven basket I found in the kitchen. Then, armed with a knife, I ventured into the backyard to gather the vegetables. I plucked enough ugwu, spinach, and waterleaf to serve Mama for dinner and the whole of tomorrow, unsure of what the coming days might bring. I returned to the kitchen, washed the vegetables thoroughly, and began to chop them with care.
"Oluchi beke!" Emezie's voice boomed from the front of the house.
"AHH, Emmy, you're back so quick!" I exclaimed, trying to sound calmer than I felt.
"This aroma ehh, Maka Chukwu! Ị bụ wife material one million yards!" he declared, his eyes wide with mock admiration.
I burst out laughing. "Wife material ke? Abeg, Emezie, leave me o!"
We both laughed, the sound echoing through the small house, a brief symphony of joy in the face of adversity. I felt a lightness steal over me, as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It was something akin to therapy, a momentary reprieve from the crushing weight of our reality.
Emezie kept talking, a steady stream of words tumbling from his lips, distracting me, comforting me, filling the silence with his unwavering presence.
Finally, we packed the food carefully and headed to the hospital together, a united front against the darkness that threatened to consume us.
On reaching the hospital and the ward, I found Mama lying peacefully, her face serene. But she had been moved to a separate section, set apart from the other patients with their visible wounds.
"Mama!" I rushed to her side. "Oluchi, you are back!"
"Yes, Mama. I brought food for you from Emezie's house."
"Ahh, Nna muo, kedu?" Mama asked Emezie, her voice weak but warm.
"Very fine, ma," he replied, his smile reassuring.
I helped Mama sit up so I could feed her, and she ate her meal with a quiet contentment.
"Annabelle!" Nurse Popoke called out.
"Ma!" I responded.
"The doctor wants to see you," she said, her expression unreadable.
I handed the flask to Emezie and walked slowly behind the nurse, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. What news awaited me now?
"Good evening, Doctor," I said, taking the seat opposite him.
"Evening," he replied, his gaze steady. "Annabelle Oluchukwu Amuneke, granddaughter to Mrs. Felicia Adanna Okoro."
"Yes, sir," I answered, my voice barely a whisper.
"Have you been able to raise the money for the surgery?" he asked, his tone devoid of emotion.
"No, sir, but I'll raise it before the week runs out," I answered, clinging to a fragile thread of hope.
"Your grandmother's case is very bad, though I'm glad we are able to manage her sugar level. You've been adhering to the diet, which is commendable." He paused, his expression softening slightly. "But she's also hypertensive. Her drugs have finished, and you haven't provided the money for them. You've also not paid for the wound dressing set, so her wound can be dressed."
"I'd do that right now, sir," I answered, my voice trembling.
"The possibility of your grandma surviving this surgery is very slim, and even if she survives, the recovery stage will be very tedious. She needs all the support and prayers she can get. But if you don't provide the money, the surgery may not hold, and... well, we don't know what next. Hope you understand," he said, his gaze piercing.
"Yes, Doctor," I mumbled, the weight of his words crushing me.
I walked out of the office, numb with despair. Emezie had given me six thousand naira earlier, which I used to pay for her drugs and the wound dressing.
I insisted on staying with Mama through the night, but she refused, urging me to go with Emezie to source for money. She assured me that Nurse Popoke would help her if she needed anything, just as she had been doing. I didn't tell Mama about the house issues, deciding to wait until she recovered fully.
Emezie took my hand, his touch a silent promise of support, and together we walked back to his house, the weight of the world heavy on our shoulders.