Ajoke Ajayi was just an ordinary schoolgirl at Mokola Memorial High School before the day she saw red and everything became a blur. The people that knew her on Irede Street where she lived, all agreed to the sweetness of her spirit. Her laughter rang loudly and she was fast to render a helping hand to the elderly. After the incident that changed her life from simple to complex, she became quiet. So, everyone thought she’d settled into the change. No one could tell the exact moment she snapped. The neighbours expressed their sympathies by looking away whenever she passed by, whispering to one another.
“Eeew! Such a fine girl. And she fell into the wrong hands,” was what Mama Alamu said as Ajoke walked past her stall and the woman buying garri from her muttered, “O ma se o. What a pity.”
One morning, three months after the incident, Ajoke curled into a tight ball on the mattress laid on the cement floor in her room. She wanted to melt like the iced-tea, sold in front of her school gates every afternoon. She drew her covering-cloth over her head to hide from the streaks of sunlight streaming in from the window, from a spot with a missing wooden louver. Her father had always promised to fix the window but he never did it. Rain came, sunshine came and the louver remained missing. During harmattan, when the wind whistled and the hairs on her arms stood straight, she taped a cardboard to the space.
Ajoke listened to her mother’s clashing dialogue with the pots in the corridor which also served as their kitchen. A dog barked somewhere close by and there was a continuous pitter-patter of footsteps. Mrs Ajayi’s off-key singing of a hymn created an interlude to all the sounds of that morning.
Ajoke had rehearsed what she was going to tell her mother all night but as her feet touched the floor, her tongue became heavy in her mouth.
“Good morning, Maami.” She knelt in greeting. Mrs Ajayi looked up from the asaro, she was stirring with a ladle on the stove. Ajoke’s eyes were fixed on the palm oil her mother was pouring into the pot. It was red. When she saw red, she thought of blood; her blood – the red hibiscus flowers on the road to school, the red lolly sold by the man with the carriage bicycle, and the red liquid trickling down her thigh.
“How was your night? I hope you slept well? Do you feel fine?” She asked the questions without pausing for breath as if she had hot yam in her mouth. Ajoke nodded because her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her mother looked at her through the corner of her eyes, as she sluggishly picked up a bucket. Ajoke could feel her eyes trailing her as she walked to the well.
Outside the house, Kolade was sweeping the fallen leaves under the almond tree. Ajoke watched the swift strokes of the broom, listening to the fuuum fuuum sound it made because she didn’t want to meet the mocking eyes of Damilola, who’d climbed on the edge of the well, drawing water while her eyes stayed on Ajoke. Damilola’s family lived in the three rooms facing the Ajayi’s rooms. Since both families shared so little a space in close proximity, spats occurred frequently between them. Ajoke and Damilola were sworn enemies, fighting many battles in that fervent way teenagers tested their powers.
Ajoke felt something hard forming in her chest. She wanted to push Damilola into the well; to wipe the smirk off her face. “Here, take.” Damilola said, handing the water-fetcher to her, still smiling. Ajoke swallowed hard; once, twice and with the third swallow she grabbed the ifami. Kolade had finished sweeping. He was walking back into the house. Ajoke felt his eyes on her but when she looked up and met his gaze, he looked away. He knew. Damilola knew. They all knew.
The sun was already high in the sky when Ajoke headed for school in her blue checkered uniform. Buses and taxis zoomed past her, their conductors shouting Dugbe! Dugbe! One chance! But she didn’t board any of the vehicles because she wanted to kill time. She didn’t want to join the other students on the assembly ground and have them all stare at her as if she’d rubbed shit on her face.
She wrapped her cardigan tightly around her, walking with her eyes cast on the ground. She missed Margaret. They’d both walked on that same road every morning to school, from Ore Meji to Mokola. They walked very fast in the mornings, to avoid being punished for late-coming. They did not linger to stare dreamily at the bright coloured body-hugs and jeans displayed on the hangers in the roadside shops. But in the afternoon, after school, they placed baby footsteps against the other to lengthen their return home. They popped chewing gum bubbles, removed their tucked-in shirts and let it fly loosely over their skirts, and slung their school bags on one shoulder and linked their hands. They walked, swaying their buttocks to the delight of the school boys who tagged behind them for the free show. When they got home, they removed their uniforms and changed into their house clothes. Then they walked to the market together where Margaret joined her mother at her tomato and pepper stall and Ajoke went to her mother’s tailor shop.
Ajoke stopped at the school’s entrance, willing her legs to turn and leave but she knew she couldn’t do that. Her mother had made sure she had no chance to flee. Mr Akande, the geography teacher who lived on their street had been told to watch her. “Please make sure Ajoke writes her final exams. I want her to complete her secondary school education.” Mrs Ajayi had said to him, her hands clasped together in a praying manner. Ajoke had bitten down on her lips until she tasted the saltiness of blood. She’d wanted to scream, “I don’t want to write the examinations!” But she quelled the sounds in her throat and nodded numbly when Mr Akande, with his teacher’s voice, pulling at his ear lobe for emphasis told her, “You’re not going to misbehave. Is that clear?”
When she entered the classroom, the once buzzing noise quietened and all eyes turned on her. She saw Damilola whispering to her friends two rows of desks away from her. Ajoke knew they were talking about her. Since Margaret left, Damilola had gained courage and scorned Ajoke in overt ways. Margaret was the one she feared; the one who made Damilola eat sand the day she cursed her mother. The students’ attention on Ajoke shifted when their class teacher entered with two large envelopes, containing the exam questions and answer sheets. “Settle down. Settle down. All books and bags to the front. Now!” he ordered. Ajoke was one of the last to make it to the front of the classroom. As she lumbered back to her seat, all eyes were on her. Even the teacher was looking. They were all looking at her stomach.
***
Pau pau pau, that was the sound we heard that day as we walked home from school. Margaret was the first to turn around and run. I’d stood confused for some minutes staring at the scene before I turned on my heel. We’d walked into a fight between the two rival political parties in the city. The Democratic Alliance members were armed with guns, not the umbrellas on their party’s posters while the Congress of Action members carried their brooms, the party’s symbol, waving it at their opponents. Everyone knew that the brooms were no ordinary brooms. Brooms that did no sweeping. They waved off bullets.
I saw many young boys, happy for a chance to do evil, lashing out with sticks, hitting anything that crossed their pathway. They entered the shops whose owners had escaped hurriedly, stuffing their pockets with valuables; money, gold wristwatches, and cigarettes. One of them raised his stick to hit me as we ran past but I ducked just in time. We’d been running for a while and we were tired.
We stopped to rest on one of the inner streets, breathing hard through our mouths. Our rest was cut short when we saw a group of boys with sticks approaching us. I looked around for a hiding place but saw none. A door opened in one of the houses on the street and a man called out to us. “Come here, come. You can hide here.” He said. But we made no move towards him. I looked at the approaching boys, then at the strange man. He was wearing a white t-shirt with AON written in large black letters on its front and a blue jeans. I looked at Margaret beside me and together we moved into the red sea escaping Pharaoh’s soldiers.
Inside the house, we were thrown into silence as the closed door shut out all the noise. I started to shiver as I looked around the almost bare room. There was no furniture in the room except for a cabinet which held a television.
“Will you drink Fanta?” asked a second man who came into the room. He had protruding teeth and his lips couldn’t cover them. We shook our heads and stood with our backs against the wall. The man who had called us to the house told us to sit but we remained standing. He brought out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighted one and puffed out smoke from his nostrils. I became afraid as I watched him smoking. Teeth was smiling, licking his lips and rubbing his palms together, like someone waiting to consume a delicious meal. Margaret was pulling my hand and whispering, “we want to leave now.” We didn’t hear shouting in the street anymore. So Margaret said, “Thank you. We want to go now.” The two men looked at each other and burst into laughter.
“Go where? We helped you. So, you must do something for us too.” Teeth said. I ran to the door and tried to open it. But it was locked. I banged on the door, screaming help, help but nobody came to our rescue. Teeth clutched me in a tight embrace and pushed me to the floor. There was a loud crashing sound and I saw that Margaret had pushed the TV down. The other man got very angry. I heard Margaret’s screams but I couldn’t see what he was doing to her. Teeth was ripping my skirt and forcing my legs apart. I dug my fingers into his eyes and scratched him. “Stupid girl! Idiot!” He yelped and slapped me so hard I couldn’t move again.
They pushed us into the street when they were done. Margaret and I shivered like wet fowls lost in the rain. It was early evening and the shadows were just becoming long. So, I could see Margaret’s face clearly. My mouth opened and refused to close when I saw it – two thin red marks on her cheeks that looked like the tribal marks made on sickly children to make death leave them alone. But the marks weren’t straight like the tribal marks. They were crooked and red. I saw the blood trickling down my thighs and in that moment, I hated red.
There was nobody around when I got home. Baami worked at the stone quarry and he always made a stop at a beer parlour before coming home. Maami was still at her shop. I didn’t know where Kolade was. I went into the bathroom in the backyard, where I scrubbed myself vigorously until my body tingled as if a thousand pins had been stuck in it. Then, I went into my room. I laid on the mattress, shutting my eyes tight. I once shared the room with Kolade but when I started growing breasts, Maami sent him to sleep in the parlour. I stayed that way for several hours.
“Are you sleeping?” Maami asked when she got back and poked her head into the room. I faked sleep and didn’t answer. I’d begun to sleep truly when Maami burst in suddenly, dragging me by the hand to the parlour. “Ajoke! Ah! You’ve killed me!” She wailed.
In the candlelight, I saw Margaret and her mother sitting in the parlour. Baami was picking his teeth as if he’d just finished eating.
“How could you girls have been so stupid! Were you born yesterday? You entered a house with two strange men!” Maami cried. Margaret was sobbing. She wiped her tears with her sleeves. I didn’t cry. Water refused to fall from my eyes.
“We should report to the police tomorrow” Margaret’s mother said.
“Police? You must be joking.” Baami said, talking for the first time since I entered the room. He said it wasn’t a matter for the police. “I will handle it myself,” he said, not looking at me. Margaret and her mother left after it was agreed that nobody should hear of what had happened to us. They called it that thing, refusing to call it by its name. “It’s a thing of shame. They will be shunned, if others know about it.” Baami said.
Maami came into my room later, with two Panadol tablets that she pressed into my palm. “Take it. You’ll feel better,” she said. Her eyes were puffy as if she’d been crying. I swallowed the medicine but the pain didn’t go away. The Panadol couldn’t touch the pain I felt. It was buried deep, deep inside me.
Like a ripened boil, the secret burst oozing pus for all eyes to see. I told no one that I felt sick in the mornings. I covered my vomit with sand before they all woke up. Until the day, Maami noticed my heel was white as paper. She clasped both hands on her head, “Mo gbe o! I’m doomed!” she screamed. Baami hurried into the room, tying the strings of his trousers. “What’s the matter?” He asked. When he was told of my condition, he cleared his throat several times. Then, he said, “I will handle it.”
That afternoon, I took Baami to the house where it all happened. “There, that’s the house.” I said, pointing at the house with peeling blue paint. I stopped walking. I stood still. I didn’t want to enter the house. But Baami dragged me along. Teeth opened the door. When he saw me, he tried to close the door but Baami forced his way in. Teeth backed against the wall, casting his eyes about as if he was looking for a weapon. “I’m not here to fight with you. You have to marry her.” Baami said, pointing at my stomach.
Two weeks later, Teeth and his family came to pay my brideprice. They agreed that I will move into his house after my final exams.
Nobody asked me if I wanted the child. They didn’t ask if I wanted to marry Teeth. They made all the plans while I sat quietly, watching them.
Maami only cared about my exams. “Write your exams well, you hear me?” She repeated everyday. I obeyed her. I wrote the exams. On a line I wrote my name, Ajoke Ajayi and nothing else.
I didn’t care anymore when Damilola and her friends laughed at me. Margaret was my only true friend and she was gone. After that day, she’d refused to leave their house. She wept everytime she looked into the mirror. The man had cut her face badly with the glass from the broken television. After a week, of watching her daughter’s swollen face, Margaret’s mother sent away. She went to live with her aunt in Lagos.
Kolade didn’t talk with me anymore. He looked angry. I didn’t understand why. Maami’s womb had closed for seven years after my birth. So, when my brother was born, I was very happy. He was my baby. I carried him on my back. But now he avoided me like a dead lizard.
They took me to Teeth’s house on the Friday after my exams. Maami told me I could come home anytime. Then, she was crying and hugging me. I just stood there, in her arms, saying nothing.
The room was no longer empty. Three chairs and a table were arranged on one side of the room. A flowered curtain now divided the room into two. The other side was the sleeping area. I laid there, on the mattress all day after he left for work. Teeth was known as Makinde, a mechanic at Sango bus-stop.
I heard his footsteps outside the door before he entered the room that evening.
“Why are you lying in the dark?” he asked. I was silent.
“Are you deaf? I will teach you a lesson today!” he shouted. The first lash of his belt caught my left ear. It burned. I ran across the room and fell hard on some engine parts in a corner. He was breathing heavily as he came towards to me. I was ready for him. I waited. When he came close, I hit him over the head with the heavy iron. He fell on the floor, groaning in pain.
I saw red. The red blinding light in my head mixed with his blood on the floor. I didn’t stop hitting him till he was still.
***
Many people on Irede Street stood in the frontage of their houses that morning. They stretched their necks, watching Ajoke walking down the street with dried blood on her clothes and hands. Some said she’d lost her mind, others said she’d been bewitched. She didn’t look to the right or left. She walked until she reached their house, where she sat under the almond tree, humming a tuneless song.
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