by Atieno Mzuri
“Strong woman like you from Africa. Sure you can manage it! Haven't you been doing that all your life?”
I crawl into my bed and squeeze myself into the fetal position. I feel safest in this position. From where I am laying, peeping with one eye through the covers, I can see him standing out there. The room has large windows. There are no curtains. He wouldn't allow me to buy any curtains. In the entire house there are no curtains.
“The view of the lake in the morning is so refreshing.” he insisted.
He looks perplexed. He just doesn't understand why I won't talk about it. I watch him walk away. Slowly. Like a defeated old man with lots of weight on his shoulders. He looks so exhausted. Tired. The face of a dying man. He walks through the front door and gets into the living room. And I am left out here in my room, which is outside the house.
I know he is going to get out the blood pressure thing and read his pressure. And swallow some pills to calm himself down. Remembering this I suddenly feel guilty and jump out of bed and follow him into the living room. I don't want to be the death of anybody.
He is checking his blood pressure. As I predicted.
“Are you alright?” I ask him.
“Yeah” he says. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not now. Can we do this tomorrow?” I ask him.
“Whatever you wish my little flower.” he says.
As I stand there the silence fills the room. It's just the two of us but we can no longer talk to each other without it ending up as a yelling match. Who's going to have the last word? We have become two strangers living together. Two strangers that are clinging to each other through a bond of depression and failures and low self-esteem and inability to change the situation.
He wants us to move across states to join his daughter. After two months of missing and never contacting him, never a phone call or email, her whereabouts unknown, she has finally gotten in touch. And she is demanding that her old man move across many states to go help her out. She doesn't have a job. Has never been able to keep one. And she needs him again. He missed out on many years of her life. So he is willing to jump when she says jump. But I am not going to jump anymore. I have had it up to my eyeballs.
“Little flower, please listen to me...” he starts.
“Not now...” I say and run out of the living room. Outside the main house and into my room.
Let me tell you about this room that I keep calling mine. This was an addition to the main house. The main house has two bedrooms and a living room and a kitchen. When we got married and I brought my stuff over from Dionne's house where I used to stay, and was busy hauling it into the bedroom which I thought we would share, the bedroom that we had shared as we were dating, I was surprised and taken aback when he told me.
“No, don't bring your luggage into the house. Leave it in the tool shed over there. I want to fix you a place to put in all that stuff.”
“Oh, ok, there is no room in the bedroom?”
“Nope, I want to fix you a new big bedroom with closets to accommodate all that stuff.”
“Why? We already have a bedroom.”
“No, you can't use that. I come from work so tired, sometimes I just want to be on my own. So a new big bedroom for you, little flower. With walk in closets for all those clothes you got there.”
“Sounds reasonable.” I said.
And so I left my clothes and belongings in the toolshed while he worked on the new room. Which as I have said was an addition to the house. It was outside the main house. As you walked into the yard, that was the first room that you would meet. He did live up to his word. He put in a walk-in closet to accommodate my stuff.
So, on this super cold September evening, summer just over and winter quickly setting in, I was lying out there in the unheated room. It was getting slightly chilly, but he wouldn't have me heat up the room.
“It's too hot...” he would yell. “We are not rich folk!! No no, you don't need to be wasting electricity and running up big bills around here.”
He came out of the living room and stood on the patio. Looking across at the lake, in deep thought. I lay there under the cold blankets piled on me, heavy, choking me. After a while he shook his head and trudged heavily back into the main house. And as soon as I saw that he couldn't see me through the glass window any more, I let the tears flow. Huge hot tears streaming down my cheeks and blinding me for a minute. My chest heaving and feeling really tight. And I was trying to calm down and at the same time feeling sorry for myself and crying and asking myself why I was doing this and why didn't I just go back home to Africa where I belonged.
And then pinching myself and telling myself that I had come too far to turn back and it would be unfair to everybody who was depending on me to be a success to now throw down everything that I had spent chasing over the last four years and crawl back in shame to start afresh.
I must have fallen asleep for it was after midnight that I had him crawling into the bed besides me and fumbling with my clothes and asking “Are you ready to do your wifely duties?”
And I rolled over on my back and held him as he climbed over me and began kissing me and then suddenly I felt him insert his penis into me and he was pumping and heaving and pumping and heaving and sweating and breathing heavily and then he jerked as he came into me and then rolled over and kissed me on my cheek, threw on his old bathrobe and walked away back into the black of the night and through the front door and into his bedroom.
I lay there for a while and steeled myself not to cry. I had spent too many nights crying in that little room where it felt like I was a prisoner of some sort.
I was a prisoner. I couldn't leave without putting into jeopardy all that I had put in motion. I had filed my application for a green card with the immigration department. We hadn't gone for our immigration interview yet. Also I had filed for a green card for my daughter. My little girl whom at that point I hadn't seen for four years. The last time I saw her was at the airport as she bid me goodbye and asked me why I hadn't wanted to go with her.
And she said to me “Mummy please hide me in your purse. I want to go with you.”
If only it were that simple. I looked into her eyes and told her
“Child, I shall be back soon to pick you. And we shall live together.”
“Mummy, when will that be? December?”
“Okay” I promised her. “I will be back by December.”
Several Decembers had gone by. I regularly spoke with her on phone and on each conversation she would ask me.
“Mummy has December reached? After how many days will it reach?”
And I didn't have any answers on when December would reach. But since everything was in motion, I knew December would be here soon. At one point she had been in hospital as an in-patient suffering from pneumonia. I didn't have money to pay for the hospital bill when they finally let her go. And I walked around in utter desperation, stopping to kneel and pray several times. I don't think I knelt consciously. I just kept falling to the ground as my stomach muscles tightened and my heart beat faster thinking what if she died and I never saw again and I couldn't even bid goodbye to her because my passport had expired and I didn't have the money to renew it and I didn't have any airfare since my ticket had long expired and if I went back I wouldn't be able to come back and I would have lost everything that I worked for my entire life and...
Thinking of all that brought another stream of hot tears... “Keep it together, Atieno ...” I told myself. “Keep it together girl, things will soon be alright.”
What kept me going was the knowledge that she would be here soon as all things had now been set in motion.
The next morning I woke up early and went into the main house and helped him prepare his breakfast and packed lunch. He was off to work, wearing his work clothes. To call them work clothes is to honor them. He wore a tattered shirt and shorts that were clearly falling apart and which were of an indiscernible color because of all the paint that had been spil
led on them and hardened without being washed
“I don't see any need of wasting clean clothes.” he had once told me. “No need of ruining them.” I watched him walk away. Looking like one of the Nairobi street children that we called chokora in Kenya. I turned away nauseated. What would people think of me if they knew I had married a man that dressed like a chokora?
“Bye little flower.” he said. “Remember the plants. Make sure they are watered.”
I turned away. I didn't want to risk bursting into tears in his presence. We had had many long talks. And he couldn't understand why I wasn't adjusting to the life that he offered me.
As soon as he left, I logged onto Facebook. My only means of communication with the outside world. I couldn't make any telephone calls because I didn't have any international credit. And I posted something like how happy I was and how my hubby constantly surprised me with his goodness. And my friends on Facebook said wow, we envy you. Please introduce us to someone similar. The men in Kenya are killing us. And I responded, yeah I should totally hook you up, my hubby has so many cool relatives.
Logged off. Went back into the main house to collect the Jerri cans so I could make the trek to the neighbor's house. I would make four trips with the 20 liter Jerri cans in order to water the plants. The plants were at the back of the house, hidden from public view by a high wooden wall.
Marijuana plants. Five large plants that took a lot of water.
As I trudged back and forth bringing the water for his precious plants I sighed out loud. How could I ever tell anyone that I was in America watering weed? Who would even believe me? The educated girl from Africa didn't have a job and was staying in a shack with no running water and taking care of weed...
I stepped into the house. And the girl sitting on the couch began to scream and yell at me “F#!$ng bitch, get out of my house!!!!!! What do you want?? Why won't you go away?? Stupid"
When I had gotten married I knew there was a stepdaughter involved. What I hadn't counted on was that she was deeply addicted to drugs. I had expected to deal with a teenager who had regular problems.
I didn't say anything. I wanted to tell her that I would soon be out of her and her father's life but I held my tongue. My biggest consolation was that at some point I would be reunited with Matt after a quick divorce.
I turned back and crawled into my room outside the house, got into bed and lay in my fetal position. I listened to her movements from the main house as she threw the pots and pans around and continued cursing. I crawled further under the covers and tightened my fetal position and pulled the covers tighter around me and in the blessed darkness I said to myself over and over again “relax Atieno , stay calm, don't lose it”
I slept. Later when I woke up in a panic I looked at my phone and noticed it was four o'clock. My husband would be here any minute now...
I rushed into the main house and straight into the kitchen and began to do the dishes. And at that moment he walked in...and looked around
“Why is nothing done in this house?” he yelled. “I go to work and come back and find you have done absolutely nothing. What good are you people? Fuck this shit!!”
His daughter walks out of her bedroom where she has been blaring loud rap music.
“Hi daddy!!” she hugs him.
“Hi Atieno !!” she smiles at me as she hugs me.
I cringe and take a step back. My husband sees my movement. He lifts a questioning eyebrow.
Later he pulls me aside and says “I really want you to try to get along with her. Why are you being so hard on her? She has had a difficult past and she is really trying. And she has told me she really loves you. Why won't you be nice to her?”
I have no answers for the rapid fire questions.
“Atieno, let me make it clear. If my daughter were to leave my house because of you, I would never forgive you. Try to get along with her. My ex-girlfriend adored her. She is a good person.”
“I understand” I say meekly.
He goes into the living room. I follow him there. But I find that she has already taken the extra chair in the room and has turned on the TV. She is watching something on ABC, something that I am not inclined to watch. But even if I were so inclined, I couldn't watch. Because there is no space for me to sit in the living room. Unless I were to sit on the floor. But I won't do that. The room has exactly two large armchairs. It can only accommodate two people. I have asked that we bring in another chair from the toolshed. There are some extra chairs there. But my husband has constantly declined.
“I love the living room just the way it is now.” he says “It's been like that for years. I would be uncomfortable changing it.”
So, I walk back outside the house and go into my room. And climb into bed. I haven't eaten anything today. I only succeeded in quickly gulping down a glass of juice while I was doing the dishes. I am hungry but I can't bear to go into that house where they are sitting and laughing hysterically. I feel so alone. I can't talk to him about her. She puts on a totally different act when he is around. And the more I complain, the more I look like the horrible person. The one who wants his loving daughter out of the house.
I log onto Facebook. “Hey guys, you know you could make your woman happy by doing simple things for her. Today, my boo boo cooked me a fabulous meal. So sexy, a man cooking. Ladies choose your man wisely. I did.” My post gets 20 likes and the women still hope that I can introduce them to someone like the fabulous guy that is mine.
He goes into the living room. I follow him there. But I find that she has already taken the extra chair in the room and has turned on the TV. She is watching something on ABC, something that I am not inclined to watch. But even if I were so inclined, I couldn't watch. Because there is no space for me to sit in the living room. Unless I were to sit on the floor. But I won't do that. The room has exactly two large armchairs. It can only accommodate two people. I have asked that we bring in another chair from the toolshed. There are some extra chairs there. But my husband has constantly declined.
“I love the living room just the way it is now.” he says “It's been like that for years. I would be uncomfortable changing it.”
So, I walk back outside the house and go into my room. And climb into bed. I haven't eaten anything today. I only succeeded in quickly gulping down a glass of juice while I was doing the dishes. I am hungry but I can't bear to go into that house where they are sitting and laughing hysterically. I feel so alone. I can't talk to him about her. She puts on a totally different act when he is around. And the more I complain, the more I look like the horrible person. The one who wants his loving daughter out of the house.
I log onto Facebook. “Hey guys, you know you could make your woman happy by doing simple things for her. Today, my boo boo cooked me a fabulous meal. So sexy, a man cooking. Ladies choose your man wisely. I did.” My post gets 20 likes and the women still hope that I can introduce them to someone like the fabulous guy that is mine.
At midnight, he comes into my room. Since he came home at four he has been sitting in the living room giggling and laughing with his daughter, and I have been alone in this room. Alone with my thoughts. Alone from the rest of the world. Nowhere to go. We live in the middle of nowhere. In the middle of white farmland. I don't have a TV in this room. I have been laying here with my morbid thoughts wishing this situation would end soon. As I hear the laughter, which she makes deliberately loud, I sink into more despair. I am truly alone.
“I missed out on a lot of her growing years with her.” He once told me. “She lived out over with her mother and for many years I didn't see her. I want to spend a lot of time with her.”
I have turned out the light and I am laying as still as I possibly can. There is nothing as hard as feigning sleep. Your breath suddenly becomes louder and you can hear it in the room. He moves next to me and starts to pull off my clothes...
“Hey little flower, you sleeping?” It's hard to pretend anymore. He pulls me closer to him. I can feel how hard he
is against me. He kisses me violently and with passion and I really don't want to do this but my body starts to betray me as I feel the warmth creeping up and he grabs my butt roughly and arches me up high and begins to thrust deep and deeper. And I forget the bad day I had in the heat of the moment and he says he loves me and kisses my forehead over and over and says how lucky he is to have me and how he would do anything for me and how everything is going to be fine and how I should be more patient with him and...and then as he finally comes I begin to think that maybe I could make this marriage work, perhaps I should try to be friends with his daughter and everything would work out and we would be one happy family...
“Goodnight little flower.” he says as he puts on his old bathrobe and walks back into the main house and into his bedroom.
I am left out there in the room. The room outside the house...
Chapter Twenty Three ( Matt Dies) It had been six months since my wedding and this morning I was sitting out on the patio idly watching the birds on the lake. They looked a little like flamingos but were not. Upon enquiry when I woke up one morning and saw thousands of birds on the lake, I had been told that they had just come in from Canada.
I was quite lost in thought when I felt two tiny hands reach up and cover my face and happily yell "Mummy guess who?"
And I smiled and played along. She had only been here for a week and I hadn't stopped smiling. True she was a little wary of me but I thought, or hoped that she was still learning to trust me again and would finally do so once again.
It had taken three Decembers to get her here. But she was here now and we would rebuild our life.
Having gotten my resident's card and my employment permit I was finally working as a receptionist. It wasn't much but I didn't care since it was a big improvement from being an illegal nanny. I would soon start to rock it, I was sure.
Idly I turned the page on the Minneapolis Courier that I was reading and I landed on the obituaries. A picture stared up at me. I gasped and clutched at my chest as I felt breathless. I held onto the couch nearby to steady myself.
