The God Who Flogs 2

Baby. Not. Babies

Part one

“I want to commend your perseverance and Godly devotion.” Pastor Mike shifted gingerly on our broken plastic chair. He rose and walked to the door.
He never stayed long.
“Not many Christian couples are able to display such loyalty to God for seven barren years, and we bless the Lord for his reward.”
He gave me a big smile, and once again, I was rendered stunned by the Pastor’s good looks. He had to be in his early forties to late forties and was still attractive despite his pot belly. Pious, generous and prayerful, Pastor Mike exemplified what I wished I and Bright would be in our old age. I gave him a bigger smile in return.
“You will give birth to twins, and soon.”
My smile disappeared. “No,” I uttered without thinking.
Bright frowned at me. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t forget your tithes, offerings, and prayers during this time,” Pastor Mike said with a puzzled glance in my direction. “This is not a time to owe God.”
I was still a good three weeks away from delivery, but I rubbed my stomach and rejected it vehemently and silently, I did not ask for twins, do not give me what I did not ask for.
“God himself will train the twins, don’t worry.” Pastor Mike said with a bigger smile aimed at me.
I gasped. Had he read my thoughts? I felt a twinge in my stomach followed closely by a contraction that faded away almost immediately.
“Twins,” Pastor Mike looked to the heavens, “the Lord is good.”
Sudden pain tore through me, and I felt like I was being split in two. I dug my nails into Bright’s hands and gasped like a badly strung fish drawn out of water.
“She’s having her babies now,” Pastor Mike said calmly.
“Baby. Not. Babies,” I gasped through clenched teeth.
“Babies,” he corrected. “Bring her to the car.”
For the first time in our marriage, Bright looked lost. He’d given the Landlord all the money he had for rent yesterday.
“Here,” I managed, pressing a wad of notes into his hand, breathing heavily through the pain.
“Thank you.”

What is wrong with you?

Source

“Jesus, they are beautiful,” my friend, Mummy Nonso breathed.
“They have beautiful parents. Of course, they are beautiful,” my neighbor said.
“And identical,” another returned in a voice filled with awe.
“A true Ejima, twins,” our Pastor’s wife said. “God is everything.”
I observed them dully from my position on the bed. Beautiful and identical weren’t going to feed my babies. Their presence here wasn’t going to feed them either. I glanced away from them to stare up at our sagging ceiling. Now, we were four in this tiny room. How would we survive?
I sighed, so tired it hurt to breathe. Since my delivery more than a month ago, I’d felt this way. I tried for the sake of the twins to get up, to move, to live, but it was getting even more difficult every day.
“What’s wrong with her?” My mother in law asked.
“She’s just tired,” Mummy Nonso returned. “Do you think it’s easy to born twins?”
“Even though she gave birth to everyone in this area at the same time!” Angela my neighbor snapped. “She should smile, be up and about, not seated in a corner, staring upward like she just lost her husband!”
“Angela, mind your business. If my daughter in law says she’s tired, then she’s tired.”
“At least the children are angelic, anyone who’d give birth to such beautiful children should be forgiven anything I guess. Let me go and cook for my husband.”
I let out a deep sigh and tugged at my wrapper. The house was too hot. Again, they’d closed the windows because of the children. What about me?
“There’s something wrong.” I heard my Mother in law say. “This is not the daughter I know. Look at her hair.”
“Don’t worry,” the pastor’s wife assured, “the Lord is in control. I need to go to the church, I will visit these beauties on my way out.”
No sooner had she left that another visitor walked in. I didn’t bother raising my head to see who it was. Since I gave birth, the house seemed to be filled with people all the time.
“Where are the angels? I bought something for-- what’s that smell?”
“-I-I-I think it’s the toilet, the Landlord still refuses to do something about it,” my Mother in law stammered.
“These Landlords,” she tsked. “Mama twins, well done. What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s tired.”
“Hmmm, help her cover her breasts well,” she said.
My Mother in law glanced at me, and gasped, hurriedly covering and arranging my wrapper around my limp, unprotesting body.
“Are sure there’s nothing wrong with her?”
“I’m sure,” she said defiantly.
It was afternoon before our one room caught a break. My mother in law crossed the room to close the door. The twins were crying the neighborhood down. She picked the girl and cradled her in the crook of her elbow.
“Chiaza, are you not hearing your children?” She walked towards me. “Look at her face, you heard your neighbors, angelic. Since they returned you’ve never carried them, someone has to hold them to your breast so they can suck. Chiaza, what is wrong with you?”
I gave her a wan smile.
“You even smell, when last did you bath?” She walked back to place the screaming infant beside her twin. “Let me press your body, so you can get strong.”
I pulled away from her outstretched hands.
With a frustrated sigh, she walked to the stove and returned with the feeding bottle filled with breast milk. As she propped the nipple to the baby’s mouth, she eyed me from the old plastic chair.

When last did you bathe?

“It’s been more than three months, my son. When your neighbors come to greet the children, they take them outside because Chiaza smells--”
“Mama, don’t tell me my wife smells!”
“You sleep beside her every night. Remove sentiment, admit there’s something wrong, she needs help. She has no interest in the children. She keeps repeating how she never wanted twins.”
I glanced down guiltily. Chiaza truly never wanted twins.
“Then she says she’s unhappy, she’s tired. She has no appetite. I tell you it’s the devil at work.”
“Give her another month. We--”
“If you give her another month, she will run mad--”
“Mama stop!”
The children burst into tears. I took a deep breath and lifted Nedum from his pallet on the ground. As I rocked my son, I willed my heartbeat to slow down. I stared at Chiaza with burning eyes. My helplessness threatened to choke me. The truth left a bitter taste in my mouth. My mother had overstayed already, the house was too small for one adult, let alone three adults and two active infants. My mother should have left exactly three months ago according to tradition.
Chiaza was behaving strangely.
Chiaza was not getting better.
Right now, she looked mad.

She looked mad

Source

A harsh sob worked its way up my throat before I could stop it. I pressed my face into the unsuspecting face of my son and broke down in tears. Perhaps, he realized his father was at the end of his tether because Nedum stopped crying immediately.
My mother took the child away and stared in pity. “It will get better.”
I nodded, wiping the tears from my face with shaky fingers. I inhaled raggedly and nearly choked on the smell. Because of work, I rarely had the time to bathe Chi, and she never allowed my mother to touch her. I closed my eyes, mentally tracking when I bathe her last. Jesus, my Chiaza, the most beautiful girl in my village was the unkempt, dirty woman staring at the ceiling above her with disinterest.
What have I done?
Fresh tears worked its way slowly down my cheeks like a tired cattle rearer after a long journey with its herd. I never promised her a wealthy life when we left the village to come to the city. But I never promised her madness either!
“It will get better.”
“But when?”
“When you realize and admit there’s something seriously wrong.”
I shook my head. “My Chiaza is not mad,” I whispered fervently.
“No, but something’s wrong. Let’s take her to the church.”
“My Chiaza is not mad,” I repeated stubbornly.
I took determined strides to our bed and pulled Chiaza into my arms. She didn’t return the hug. Her eyes remained dull and almost lifeless. Her hair was matted like a bundle of old, piled grass left for too long. Her head dangled on her neck like an ill-fitting costume for a masquerade dance. As my fingers felt the individual bone of her ribs through the wrapper, I raised my eyes to my watchful mother and forced myself to inhale a lungful of her unwashed smelly body.
“What do I tell her parents in the village, Mama? What do I tell God? What do I tell our children? What do I tell myself happened to Chiaza?”
The room rang with my questions and returned unanswered. I felt my heart split in two inside my chest as I took a look around our room. I had nothing except a few clothes and money for house rent when we left the village with my mother. Love was a dangerous thing, it was like a keg of palmwine. It made you think you could do anything. I have brought my Chiaza to the city to go mad with suffering.

Let’s take her to church

“What do I tell my God?” I whispered.
“You should have listened and remained in the village,” My mother said harshly. “Not sell your father’s land and his farm--”
“Uncle planned to take it from me!”
She sighed. “I know, I shouldn’t blame you. I was there. We will survive this as we survived that.” My mother ran a hand through Chiaza’s matted hair. “Let’s take our wife to church.”
For the next hour, I bathed my wife and took time combing and packing her hair in her favorite style. I had always been interested in everything she does, so I had no problem making the hair. Mama stayed back with the children while I took my wife to church.
As we walked down the street to The Lord can do all things ministry, I clutched Chiaza’s hand tight. I took a sidelong glance at her profile, and just like the first day I saw her, she took my breath away. With skin so dark and smooth they gleamed like a freshly coated blackboard, white teeth, and dark hair, Chiaza was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
She chose me.
I failed her.

(To be continued)