The God Who Flogs 1

Mama twins

“Is that how to kill something?”
“Jesus, Chi, I’m trying my best. It’s a snake--”
“Not a lion,” I snapped. “Oh, God the pastor will be here soon, and all my arranging is all for nothing!”
“I thought you were worried about the snake,” my husband peered under our bed. “I will help you arrange the room-- Chiaza, will you go sit down outside?”

Bright dashed to the corner of the room, cutlass extended. His target, the snake wiggled out, slithering behind their blue bucket. I cradled my baby bump, leaning as far as I could reach on my tiptoes to follow the offending snake’s movements.

“There, did you see it?” I whispered to my husband. The snake was the last thing we needed as Pastor Mike would be here any moment from now.
“Yes, just go outside and wait. This can’t be good for our baby.” Bright turned to make sure I will obey just as the snake made an appearance.
He lunged- and missed, the cutlass landing on one of our only two buckets with force. I bit my lip to hold back a moan of frustration. After seven years of marriage, our belongings consisted of one ‘ghana- must-go bag full of clothes, a couple of plates, two pots, the old stove my mother gave me, our sleeping mat, one plastic chair, and two buckets. Now one bucket since the other had just been sacrificed to the snake. The thought of borrowing bathing bucket from our neighbor had me rubbing my extended stomach in agitation.
“Chiaza.”
Bright only used that warning tone when he absolutely meant it. ‘Chi’ was his dearest form of address for me, so I knew what he wanted. With a tired sigh, I waddled out of the room.
Outside, I sat on my usual spot, the low uncompleted fence bordering the compound. It was uncomfortable, and a total strain to my lower back but I had no choice. Between Bright’s job as a bricklayer and my business selling small chops to school children, we barely made ends meet. Sometimes, I wondered if our years of childlessness weren’t a gift from God. The thought had me taking a guilty glance at the door, as if Bright could hear my thoughts when he was busy pursuing a tiny snake round our room. We could barely feed ourselves, how could we feed a baby?

I glanced down at my stomach for the millionth time. Yup, it was still huge. My friends joked and danced I had to be carrying twins. No way, only one child would be in my stomach. A shadow fell over me, momentarily blocking the slight morning sun.

“Mama twins, Good morning,” the pregnant woman who lived on the next street greeted with genuine warmth.

I forced my chin to stretch into a smile as my tongue turned bitter. The last thing I and Bright needed was a baby. The worst that would happen to us was welcoming twins into our shabby, empty and pathetic one room apartment.

“Good morning, how boy?” I managed.
“We dey,” she replied, using the native English slang, we are alright.
“No small chops?”
“No, but after the child come--”
“Child? Bouncing twins!”
Will you help me care for them? I managed a smile, holding back my instinctive retort with effort. “Amen.”
“No problem,” she continued with that annoying smile, as if she’d not just wished hell on my family, “I will come when you resume.”
“Thank you.”
As she walked away, a kick against my stomach wall had me gasping in wonder and discomfort.
How had God done it?

Please God, let it not be twins

It was an unimaginable miracle that a child grew inside me. It filled me with awe even greater than what I felt watching a corn seed planted grow tall and produce fruits. Truly, there was no one like God. As I stared at my stomach, an image of a heavily pregnant goat came to mind, and I shivered.
“Please God, let it not be twins,” I whispered fervently. “It’s not that I’m not grateful. You’ve blessed us with a child after seven years of ridicule from my mother in law, from friends and neighbours. But I only asked for a child, one child, not twins. Let it not be twins.”

After the short prayer, I felt better. The sun slid behind the clouds like a child playing hide and seek with friends, and I frowned. The weather was perfect for farming, and if the Pastor didn’t come soon, Bright wouldn’t go to work. Farming was a hobby for me. If it weren’t for Pastor Mike’s visit, I would be at Mummy Nonso’s compound tending to my vegetables. The woman had been so kind to us. She’d been generous with her prayers, advise and even her land. Though, Bright didn’t know about my farming activities, I wondered where he thought the vegetables for our soup came from. After, he would raise a quarrel over how he didn’t want me working for the baby’s sake.
Men.

“Yes!”

The triumphant growl had me turning my head to Bright, who waved the decidedly not too tiny snake like a lifetime achievement award.

“Come on.” I struggled off my perch and waddled towards the house, “we need to clean the room before the Pastor comes. We may not have chairs but we can at least keep our one room clean.”
“You killed that this morning?” our neighbour asked in a horrific whisper. At Bright’s nod of confirmation, she ran screaming across the yard for the others to come see.
“We can’t stay here any more,” another said, “that means the snake slept with you all through the night.” He shook his head. “Imagine having children here.”

Yes, I thought, this was were we planned to bring up our child. In this room infested with God knows what.

Source

I am your husband

“Come on,” I hissed in exasperation. “We don’t have time--”
“And I said, sit I will do it,” he said with a laugh.
That was my Bright, nothing phased him. He’d do what needed doing and leave the rest for God, and for that I loved him completely. “Thank you.”
He waved it off. “I am your husband and--”
“I am your wife,” I finished his familiar saying with a sigh. “How many blocks do you need to mold today and sell to make up the house rent?”

He hesitated. I knew Bright hated discussing finances with me, but I found it ridiculous. Only the Bible could sway his doggedness on the issue.

“You don’t need to worry about that, sit outside and watch out for the Pastor.”
“According to the Bible, I am your helper,” I retorted smartly. “So, how much?”
“Twenty thousand.”

I flinched. I really couldn’t help it. Twenty thousand naira. He’d have to mold and sell one thousand blocks today. I knew how hard he worked. The average bricklayer in our area produced four hundred to five hundred blocks a day. My husband produced seven hundred on a bad day. And on a day we needed one thousand, today was already a bad day.
What will we tell the landlord?
I walked over to my old hand bag flung carelessly on the ground in the search for the snake. Quietly, I rummaged through the pockets.

“Come on, Chi--”
Bright broke off when I handed him a wad of cash. He stared at the money without making a move to take it. “Where did you get it?”
“It was from the sale--”

One day Bright had returned quite late, and with time on my hands I had gone to our neighbour’s room to wait. They had a television, there was light and a movie was on. A volcano had rumbled, and grumbled before erupting. That was what Bright reminded me off, that volcano. He froze, took a deep breath as if to still his inner rumblings, then walked to the side of the bed and gingerly lowered his muscled bulk to it.
I swallowed. I have known Bright for ten years, and in all that time, he’d never raised his voice to me, not once. His never ending periods of joviality made his sliver of annoyance a great thing to witness.

“You stopped selling chops more than two weeks ago, did you not?” he asked softly.
“I continued selling for one extra week,” I admitted, knowing it was pointless to lie.

He took a deep breath. “We’ve waited seven years for this baby--” Bright broke off. “No, forget the baby. Aren’t you concerned for your--”
“I will not sit in the shade in the house while you labor under the hot sun all day with no one to help you carry the sand, the cement or the blocks!” I snapped.
“I understand you want to help, Chi, but not while you’re pregnant.” He held my gaze with that force of will I imagined made him gain the respect of wealthier men who employed him. “One week of extra sale, where did the rest of the money come, how much is it?”

I swallowed so hard it burned like a hot ball of cassava going down the wrong way.

“Mummy Nonso gave me a tract of land to farm. Bright--”
“What!”

Even the ‘what’ was uttered softly, enhancing it’s ring of disbelief. The silence in the room and the tension thundered through my blood stream making breathing difficult.

“Peace be unto this house!”
“It’s the Pastor!” I exclaimed in relief.
“Sit down,” my husband muttered and walked over to usher the Pastor into our shattered apartment.

(To be continued)
Part Two