Image by @sad-dad

Snows From Africa

--Daddy, what's that?
She said, looking at me with intent grey eyes. She had a way of asking questions, you see, that made it never appear as if a question is being asked; that made it appear as though she was trying to get you to admit your ignorance, so she could teach you.

--Daddy, daddy, I said what is that?

Her voice had that brilliant inflection that a kid's voice has. She turned seven last may.

--What is what, honey?
I said.

--That! That white falling thing.

She moved closer to the television screen, pointing to the white ethereal objects falling from the sky.

--Oh that. That's the snow.

--The snow?
She said, once again not as though asking a question, but as if she was on the verge of an indescribable joy and serenity, and she needed only one last affirmation before she could allow herself a dive into that heaven.

--Yes, dear,
I said. --yes, the snow.

Instantly her grey eyes transformed into the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Her eyes enlarged and her mouth widened in wonder.

--Snow! I love it. Snow. Snow.

She cavorted all around the house, her hands in the air, going up and down as in a wave motion.

--I love snow.
She screamed.

Then she came to a sudden halt.

--Daddy I want snow! Make it snow, daddy please. Please?
Once again she wasn't asking. She was daring. And for the first time I didn't have the answer.

--I'm sorry, honey,
I said. --but it doesn't snow in Africa.

Her face went from ecstatic to pensive to disappointed to sad and then to full blown anger. After a minute she started to cry.

--It's okay, honey,
Her mother said, trying to console her. --Don't mind your daddy. Anything can happen; it is Christmas, after all.

---

--The salary isn't enough,
I said to him, staring at him with all the coldness in my heart. I had never felt much hatred all my life. In the end I wasn't even angry at him, but at everything. It was a chore hating everything, though, a great chore, so I focused on a few things at a time: I hated the cold harmattan breeze. I hated the smug look on his face. I hated the circumstances that pushed me here, begging at my step-brother's supercilious feet.

--What do you mean your salary isn't enough?
He said. --You make like a hundred thousand Naira.

--That isn't near enough,
I said. --you know that. It can't even pay for my ticket alone.

--What about your wife's salary?

He took a gum out of his pocket and started chewing in a dreary, contemptuous way. I wanted so badly to walk away, but I couldn't. I couldn't possibly walk away from this.

--Must you travel out of the damn continent, anyway?
He said. --What could possibly be over there to help her that isn't here?

He was still chewing and I felt like punching him in the face.

--Snow.
I said.

He laughed.

--You're one hell of a motherfucker, to make a joke in a situation like this.
He cackled loudly like a full-blown maniac. I faked a laugh.

--Alright, alright,
He said. --I'll send you the cash. How much is it again?

--Ten million,
I said. --Ten million Naira for everything.

---

--Are we ever going to get out of here?
My wife said. Her voice was weak, but I understood it could be weaker. Hell, any other woman and it would be weaker; probably destabilized and disconcerted and all in tears. Hell I was on the brink of tears and destabilization myself. But she was strong; she had always been strong.

--There's been a delay,
I said.

We were at the airport, sitting on a bench alongside three other couples.

--That's a cute girl you have over there.
One of the couples said to us, pointing to my daughter who was sleeping peacefully on my wife's laps. My wife smiled at her and said thank you.

--What's causing the delay?
She asked the lady.

--Oh snow. It's snowing hard over there and we'll have to wait until it stops.

My wife cursed. I'd never heard her curse, but she cursed the damn snow. The lady appeared hurt.

--Sorry about that,
My wife said. --It's my daughter, she can't wait, she just can't wait.

---

It was night when we arrived in Montreal. We checked out our baggages and got a cab straight for Montreal General hospital.

On the way it was dark and snow fell in all directions with a sublime orchestration, as if a divine invisible hand ordered their dispersions. The street-lights also contributed their own rays of brilliance, and the cab-driver gushed about how it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

On my wife's lap, my daughter laid, asleep with a perfect serenity. My wife couldn't stop stroking her hair, and as we passed the snow I could see teardrops tricking gently from her eyes, like the snow.

--This was all she wanted.
She said, shaking her head while stroking. --All she ever wanted and she can't even--

--It's okay,
I said, trying my best to hold it all together. --it's going to be okay very soon.

There were footsteps in the snow, leading, along the winding road, to our destination. I remember it was a comfort to see the footpaths in the snow. Someone had walked this path before, I thought. That was comforting.

The snow fell gently, swiftly, and just as we passed the winding road I felt a stir in my lap.

--Daddy,
I heard. --daddy, what is that?

And as I looked into her brilliant, brilliant eyes I knew she wasn't asking. She knew.

---

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