Zoo-lay-kha!
Just the way Mathew calls her name in that nasal voice of his. “ Zulaikha is the reason you are alive”, he would say. And whenever I remind him that my story is incomplete without Umu Zulaikha he would respond “There would not have been a story without Zulaikha”
But then, there was an older story between Umu Zulaikha and Modeniola, my mother.
I had a faint memory of my own mother. I guess I should have been about 4 years of age when she died. She was a sickly woman as I remembered her. She was passing watery stool frequently. She would often also cough non-stop as we trudge the streets of Ijora with an older brother whose name I still cannot remember. Every morning we would leave the stall at Ijora-Badia where we spent our nights and start begging for alms again. Most times we would stay at Ijora-Seven-up and at other times we would leave the streets of Ijora. Occasionally we would head for Ebutte meta, Marina, Obalende and at other times Ikoyi. Towards the time of her death she would often use about three or four clothes to serve as a diaper to stop her frequent stools from sipping out. She often smelt of feacal materials. She was growing weaker by the day, losing weight and now even coughing out blood-stained sputum. It was about this time that my older brother disappeared.
On that fateful day we were headed for Ikoyi. I cannot remember exactly where we stopped when mother sent my elder brother to get water for her as she was too weak to continue walking. She was also very hot. We were still waiting for his return when people in the vicinity took notice of my mother’s condition. Her frequent cough and sickly outlook did not help matters. They chased us out of the street and told us never to return. That was the last time I saw my brother.
All attempts to get back in to the street was rejected despite my mother’s plea that her son was still on the street. I remember faintly how we lingered at the entrance of that street and one of the people coming back to speak to my mother. And then she broke down weeping. After a while we headed home while I kept asking for my brother only to make her cry the more.
We eventually got back to our abode in ijora late in the night amidst numerous stops because mother was getting weaker. It was late and most people had gone to bed including the hausa woman who owned the stall that was our home. Often she gave us food to eat at night. Ever since my mother became ill she was now giving us both breakfast and dinner. She had also given mother some drugs to use for her ailment. That night she had left some food outside for us before she went to bed but mother was too weak to even eat. The frequency and loudness of her cough was reducing and then she seemed to fall asleep. I had left her to sleep while I ate before I eventually fell asleep with thoughts of my brother tormenting me.
I woke up the next morning only to realize mother was still sleeping. Her cough seems to have improved as she was no more coughing in her sleep as she usually does. Her temperature too had gone down significantly, she was almost cold. I attempted to wake her but she seemed to be enjoying her sleep so I let her be. Soon the Hausa woman opened up her shop which also doubled as her house and asked after her.
“She is sleeping ma, I think she is better” I had replied.
So she moved closer to check on her and suddenly she became restless. She ran to the surrounding stalls after telling me and her little daughter not to go anywhere. Then everything became a blur from then on. More people converged on her stall staring at my sleeping mother. Then suddenly she took hold of me and her little daughter who was just about a year younger than me and dragged us away from where my mother laid. Looking back I saw a crowd forming around my sleeping mother. Then I saw a cloud of flies already hovering all over her and then it dawned on me that I would never see her again. I started screaming “Mama! Mama!!Mama!!!” like it will bring her back. I cannot remember what happened thereafter, I guess my mind lost that part.
When I came around I was in a room and two pairs of eyes stared down at me like guardian angels – Umu Zulaikha and little Zulaikha. That was my first night in the house of the Hausa woman, her name was Umu Zulaikha. It was also the first time I met Mathew.


TO BE CONTINUED
Hassan Bo.