Wake Me When I'm Gone

by Odafe Atogun

  ‘I hope they have something to eat,’ he said anxiously.

  ‘I’m sure they do,’ I said, trying to alleviate his fears. ‘They have a farm, remember? Like us, they will also have a barn, so they will have something to eat.’

  ‘I’d love to start building the orphanage. Maybe when the rain stops?’ he said.

  ‘Don’t worry too much. You will build the orphanage one day.’

  An angry clap of thunder drowned his words. We trembled and snuggled closer.

  *

  I told Noah folktales to keep the tedium at bay.

  I told him of the lizard who fell from the tall iroko tree and praised himself when no one would praise him. I told him of the parrot who fought her enemies and defeated them with incessant talking. And I told him of a time, long ago, when kings rode on golden horses.

  The stories intrigued him. He asked me many questions. He wanted to know if the kings in that long ago time were bad people like the Chief of our village. I told him that the kings were good then, but that a time came when they had bad advisers who corrupted them and turned them into bad kings. And that was when wars began. Pestilence and disease overtook the world. The tribes fought each other, and they invented weapons of war capable of wiping out entire villages. Hostility intensified and wars raged. Many people lost their family, many were displaced, and then a good king came who put an end to all wars. And then peace reigned.

  ‘Are we going to see war in our village one day?’ he asked fearfully.

  ‘Our village has seen war before, a long time ago, before I was even born. So we are not likely to see war again because our ancestors taught us how bad it was. We know about the horrors of war, and we know that it could destroy all of mankind. We must avoid it if we want to enjoy prosperity.’

  ‘Why do people go to war?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s a question no one has ever been able to answer, not even the great warriors. Maybe one day someone will find the answer. But we must pray never to see war again.’

  The chill in the air bit harder, and we wrapped our blankets tighter around us.

  *

  After seven days, the rain stopped and the sun came out. We were not deceived. We knew that the rain would come again soon. But in the meantime, we hurried to do whatever we could while the sun lasted.

  I went with Noah to the outskirts of the village to see his friends. It was the first time I had entered the abandoned building, and I was surprised to see how well the boys kept it. It was the first time for Noah too. I could see in his eyes how impressed he was.

  The boys were delighted to see us. Noah introduced them to me in turn. They greeted me with warm hugs. I felt moved, and I smiled at them and assured them that one day things would change.

  We had taken some food with us, so I went to their kitchen and cooked yam pottage, using some of the smoked fish I got from Duka. We ate together, and they told me stories of their lives. They said they were much happier living there in the abandoned building than with families who treated them worse than slaves. I promised that I would help them and that one day they would be treated with the love and compassion they deserved.

  ‘How are you going to do that?’ Tega asked, very much intrigued.

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ I replied. ‘But I will find a way. I will talk to Chair-Lady and try to appeal to her motherly instincts. I’m sure she will help me. And together we will take our petition to the Chief and the priests. Don’t worry. Somehow I will find a way.’

  ‘Thank you, Mother,’ Noah said, beaming with pride.

  ‘You’re both very kind. Your son is like you.’ Mofe’s voice was quiet.

  I wanted to say that Noah was like his father too, but I did not want to open a floodgate of memories. ‘Thank you,’ I said. And I asked Bomboi, the youngest boy, ‘I hope your brothers are taking good care of you?’

  ‘Yes, they are,’ he said. ‘But sometimes they don’t let me score enough goals when we play football.’

  We all laughed.

  ‘Mother, can they visit us sometime?’ Noah asked eagerly.

  ‘Yes, you should visit us,’ I told the boys. ‘The Chief does not react to anything these days. I’m sure he won’t do anything even if he gets to know.’

  They screamed with excitement. I felt uplifted to see them so happy.

  Igalo asked, ‘What is wrong with the Chief?’

  ‘I don’t know. No one knows,’ I said. ‘But all is not well with him.’

  None of them showed any emotion.

  After we had eaten, they told me about the bandits who had lodged with them for a night, how the men had treated them so well. ‘Come, come and see the room where they passed the night,’ Bomboi said eagerly, pulling me by the hand and leading me into a room.

  It was a large space filled with old stuff such as wooden boxes crammed with worn clothes, broken farm tools, flattened baskets, wooden boards and torn mats.

  Mofe explained to me: ‘This was where they spent the night. They drank and smoked cigarettes all night, talking loudly about their past adventures. And they gave us biscuits and sweet drinks, which they had stolen from the city. They told us they were not proud of themselves, that society made them what they are, and that was why they stole from the rich and gave to the poor. They said they had grown up as orphans themselves in a faraway village. Before they left, they gave us some money and food. And they advised us not to follow a life of crime. They were very nice men,’ he concluded.

  I wanted to ask if they had seen a large painting with the men, but I knew there was no point.

  We spent several happy hours together, then Noah and I had to leave for home to avoid the rain that threatened to start falling once again.

  *

  I spoke to Chair-Lady about the orphans when I next saw her.

  ‘They could not possibly be evil children,’ I told her. ‘I paid them a visit with my son. They’re very well-behaved and polite, even though they have no guardian.’

  ‘You must be careful,’ Chair-Lady said, a worried look on her face. ‘If the Chief gets to know, you could be in big trouble. What were you thinking going to visit those boys?’

  ‘It’s not their fault that they lost their parents. Is it possible that the gods are angry with us because of the way we treat orphans? Have you ever thought about it that way? That the rains are our punishment? These are hopeless children who should be treated with love; instead we neglect them. They could be our children. I wouldn’t want my son to end up like them.’

  ‘The priests say they are evil and should be treated as such. They speak for the gods. What else is there to say? Look, Ese, I warn you again, if the Chief gets to know about this, you could be in serious trouble.’

  ‘Think of them as your children,’ I pleaded. ‘Imagine that something happened to you and your husband – not that I pray for that – and your children were treated as badly as those orphans. How would you feel? Those boys deserve to be loved.’

  ‘Look, we should be thinking of how to revive our economy, not how to rehabilitate orphans,’ she said. ‘Leave matters of tradition to the priests and let’s concentrate on how to restore Main Street. Take my advice, don’t do anything that will get you into trouble with the Chief. You know what he’s capable of.’

  ‘Chair-Lady . . .’

  She cut me off. ‘No buts!’

  I felt disappointed by her response, but I was determined not to give up.

  *

  Word got to the palace sooner than I thought that my son and I had visited the orphans. But, to the surprise of all, it did not elicit any response from the Chief. He felt too sad about his loss to bother with anything or anyone. He had stopped coming out of his inner chamber, and he would not see or speak with anyone, including his wives. They took his food to him. He ate alone, and left the dishes outside his door. At night, he could be heard wailing and cursing the bandits who had stolen his most treasured belonging. His wives became very worried. Although they rarely cooperated amongst
themselves, they saw the need to come together to address their common problem. They called a meeting and debated what to do. Each had a different idea, and the rowdy meeting ended in a brawl.

  I saw the Chief’s condition as an opportunity to give the orphans a treat in my house. The Chief was the only person who could take action against me. All that the priests could do was to report me to the Chief, but they no longer had access to him. And as long as the Chief remained in the condition that he was, I knew that I could get away with it. So I invited the orphans over and we had a feast. I had never seen Noah so happy. The orphans said it was the happiest day of their lives.

  Chair-Lady showed up soon after they had left. Word had reached her. In fact, the whole village was agog with the news that the orphans had been in my house. ‘Ese, Ese, Ese!’ she cried. ‘How many times did I call you?’

  ‘Three times,’ I replied.

  ‘I won’t call you a fourth time. I have come to give you a warning. Don’t get yourself into trouble with the Chief. Don’t allow those boys in your house again. I have said all I can. I only hope you will listen.’ At that she turned and left.

  NINE

  Days later, news of the Chief’s death spread round the village. We all rushed to the palace. When everyone had gathered, the High Priest addressed us from the balcony. He explained that the Chief had locked himself in his bedroom for days. And when the servants took his breakfast to him that morning, they found him immobile on the floor with an empty bottle of whisky by his side. He had died of his drunkenness.

  The gathering broke down in a loud cry. It was tradition for everyone to wail very loudly when a chief died, even if you were not pained at all by the death. Only the wives were not allowed to cry. They were locked up in a black room, all dressed in black, and they were fed with ashes to intensify their sorrow. They were to live in the black room for a whole month. And when a new chief had been appointed, they would be married to him. This was the tradition of our village.

  I wailed until my lungs were bursting and there was no breath left in me. ‘Ah, our Chief is dead,’ I cried like everyone, putting my hands on my head. Many flogged themselves on the ground and tore their garments like lunatics. I told myself that I would not go that far for the old Chief. In truth, mine were tears of joy, for I knew that I was free at last from my tormentor.

  The High Priest encouraged us to cry louder. It was the way to show that we really loved our Chief. Our tearful voices were supposed to accompany him to the other world, where the gods would receive him with a fanfare, seeing that he had served his subjects well and that they truly loved him. So everyone wailed louder. The High Priest kept motioning with his hands for more. Many began jumping up and beating their chests with venom. Everyone was watching everyone to see who was not crying loud enough. Such persons could be considered witches or wizards, and they could be lynched for being the cause of the Chief’s death.

  While we were still crying, a huge commotion began on the balcony. The High Priest began to scream in fright. When we looked closely, we discovered that the Chief had come out to the balcony with a horsewhip, screaming and lashing at the High Priest and the palace staff who were on the balcony, asking why the entire village had gathered to disturb his peaceful sleep.

  The Chief had woken up from his drunken stupor, but we thought that he had woken up from the dead. Everyone took to their heels. The rain suddenly began to pour, chasing us to our homes.

  After that, the Chief regained his senses and took charge of the village’s affairs again. He rode on his horse round the village, scowling at everyone to establish his authority. We all sensed that he would now rule the village with an iron fist, worse than before. I wondered if they would tell him all that had transpired while he had locked himself in his bedroom. I told myself that I must be careful. Chair-Lady had told me that she would not call me a fourth time. And by that she meant that she would not come to my rescue in time of trouble.

  *

  Fortunately, the Chief did not take action against me. Instead, he kept sending servant after servant, asking me to marry him. The servants approached me on their knees. They told me that the Chief had instructed them to come before me on their knees, to show how much he wanted to have me as his wife. I sent them back on their knees, with the message that nothing had changed since the last time. It was said that my message left him heartbroken.

  I could not tell whether the Chief had enlisted the help of Chair-Lady to convince me to marry him. But she came to me, telling me that I was too young to remain a widow for ever.

  ‘Marry the Chief,’ she told me. ‘When you become his wife you can get him to pass laws that would be favourable to the orphans. You and I can work together to get a lot of things done in this village. Can’t you see?’

  ‘Chair-Lady, I said it before. I’ll say it again. I cannot marry the Chief.’ And then I added, to keep her on my side, ‘I agree with you that we should be more concerned about reviving our economy. I’m prepared to work with you in that regard. It’s far more important than anything else.’

  I saw a brief smile on her face. ‘True,’ she said, ‘our economy is far more important than anything else.’ And she nodded her head.

  *

  The rain was falling more and more now, and we were trapped in our houses for longer periods. I noticed that Noah slept more, and when he was awake, he seemed to be drained of life. I thought it was the rain. I told him more stories to cheer him up. His eyes lit up with interest, but he remained very weak. And then late one evening I discovered that he was actually coming down with a fever.

  I panicked, remembering the last time Noah had been ill, and how bad it had been.

  I boiled some neem leaves and got him to drink a cup of it and I bathed him with a bucket of the herbal potion. I prayed that he would be better in the morning. But when morning came his condition had deteriorated. His body was hot as coal, and he could not speak or get out of bed. He looked at me without life in his eyes. I broke down and wept.

  But I told myself that crying would not do any good. I fed him more neem tea and I carried him out of bed and bathed him. I could not get him to eat anything. I prepared him his favourite dish, but he would not touch it. Desperate, I rushed to Chair-Lady’s house. ‘My son is very sick,’ I cried to her.

  She rushed back with me to the house. And when she saw Noah’s condition, she shook her head. ‘This is very serious,’ she said. She had seen a lot of sick people, so she knew what she was talking about.

  ‘Please, help me to save my son,’ I begged her.

  ‘Calm down, Ese,’ she said, patting me on the shoulder. ‘We have to get a herbalist to come and take a look at him. This is not the kind of fever you treat only with neem leaves. It is more serious than that.’

  ‘Which herbalist do we consult?’ I asked.

  ‘I will go and get one,’ she said and left.

  *

  A little later, she came back with an elderly herbalist. But before then, Pa Umoh and Ma Umoh had turned up. Chair-Lady had informed them that Noah was ill. Ma Umoh was rubbing some ointment on Noah’s body when Chair-Lady returned. We gave way for the herbalist to examine Noah, who was drifting in and out of sleep.

  Finally, the herbalist straightened up, coughing quietly to clear his throat. His diagnosis made me tremble with fear. ‘His condition is very bad,’ he said.

  ‘What can be done?’ Chair-Lady asked.

  ‘I will do what I can. Let’s see how he responds to treatment. If he does not improve in a few days, we may have to get help from afar.’

  I began to cry quietly.

  ‘Stop crying, Ese. Crying will do no good,’ Ma Umoh said. ‘Let’s focus on what can be done to get Noah well. He will be well again. Please stop crying.’

  ‘This particular herbalist is very good. I’m sure he will make the boy well,’ Chair-Lady said hopefully.

  ‘I have seen worse fever than this before,’ Pa Umoh said. ‘The boy will get well again. And you are rig
ht, this herbalist is very good.’ He nodded at Chair-Lady.

  The herbalist had gone into the compound with his bag of herbs to prepare the potions he would administer to Noah. I sat down on the bed, holding Noah’s hand. He was covered in sweat; Ma Umoh kept mopping his face and body with a towel. ‘You will get well soon,’ she whispered to him. And then she moved him gently so she could mop his back.

  The herbalist came in moments later. I stood up from the bed to give him space. He had a black potion in a small bowl and another yellowish potion in a bigger bowl. He carried a cup whose liquid contents I could not see. He arranged the bowls and the cup on a bench. First, he made Noah drink the contents of the cup. Then he rubbed the yellow ointment all over him. And then he rubbed the black ointment on his head and face. I could not recognise my son. He looked like a child wearing a strange make-up. I began to cry again.

  No one paid any attention to me. The herbalist was now muttering quiet incantations over Noah. He did this for more than an hour. Noah drifted off to sleep. I fixed my eyes intently on his face. I could not tell whether he was getting better just by looking at him.

  The herbalist gathered his things and took his leave, promising to come back in the evening to examine him. He said Noah was responding well so far. His words drew a murmur of approval.

  *

  I felt so grateful for Chair-Lady’s support. I had come to realise that she was a good woman; it was just that she believed so much in tradition. She had prepared some food and made me eat. ‘You need strength if you are to look after your son and help him to get well,’ she said.

  As news of Noah’s illness spread through the village, a steady flow of well-wishers began to arrive. Some came into the room briefly; others stayed outside, talking in excited voices. They said they were grateful that I took steps to salvage Main Street, even though the rain came and destroyed everything. So they had come to show me support in my darkest hour. They prayed that Noah would get well soon. I thanked them for their support. None of my relatives or in-laws came, and there was no word from the palace.