The Sanctuary #8

Amaka angrily wiped away the tears from her face as she walked to work.
“What is life if one cannot be free?” she wondered, angrily pushing away a child off her path, ignoring the curses which the child’s mother sent her way for not apologising.

Her day was tagged a bad one from the moment she woke up, and the curses would just be a minuet part of it. She had been awoken from sleep by her aunt’s slaps to her back. As the slaps jerked her awake, she knew without looking at the still dusty clock that it was not yet four A.M.
She was immediately grateful that her aunt didn’t get more creative in waking her. She knew she could do worse.
“Wake up Amaka,” she shouted, even though Amaka was already sitting up. Her angry voice sounded like additional slaps in the still, quiet night.
It crossed Amaka’s mind that it was too early to be this angry. What happened last night?
“Aunty good morning,” she greeted, hoping it would serve as a proof that she was awake.
“What happened last night?” her aunt echoed her thought without acknowledging her greeting.
Amaka frowned trying to remember. She froze as she realised she could not remember a thing about last night.
She obviously had another blackout last night. It has been a while since she had one.
“Err… I… I,” she stammered, not knowing what to say, and was grateful when her Aunt interrupted her.
“Your saving grace was the presence of Biodun,” she said menacingly. “God really saved you.”
Biodun was the father of the twins. He was a good father to them, and that was the only reason Amaka liked him. That and the fact that he apparently saved her last night. If only she could remember how exactly he saved her.
“First, you come back late,” her aunt continued. “And then barged into the parlour when he was talking to me like a friend, and would have asked me to get back with him, and then you didn’t greet. I would have slapped the taste out of your mouth if not that Biodun had held me back. Let that not repeat itself.”
As Amaka nodded, she tried to imagine Biodun holding back her Aunt, and knew it was not possible..
Biodun was a thin man, and though he could not be described as being short, he could not be described as tall either. He brought to Amaka’s mind the picture of a fried lean chicken, with his bleached skin.
Amaka hated when people bleached their skin, but hated it more when a man did it. To her, it showed that he was vain.
Her Aunt on the other hand was a fat woman. A short, fat woman. She was so dark skinned, Amaka could only refer to her as being black, inside and out.
Together, her Aunt and Biodun made a funny picture, made funnier by the thought of Biodun holding off her Aunt.
The threatening laughter created by the picture in Amaka’s mind died in her stomach as her Aunt changed the subject and asked her a question.
“Are they not paying you at that job you found?”
“They are. I …”
“Are you even sure you are working?” her Aunt asked, interrupting her reply. “Or you have started following men about?”
“No o! Aunty I am working,” Amaka replied, hoping the discussion doesn’t go as she suspected it would.
“Then why am I not seeing anything?” her Aunt asked again. “The only reason I allowed you work was so you could support the family. If you are working and being paid, why am I not seeing the effect?”
Amaka stared at her Aunt in confusion. The discussion was going exactly as she had suspected.
With the whole of her first salary, she had bought some food for the house, and some much needed things, not that it did much though. From her second salary which she got last week, she had also stocked the kitchen. What was her Aunt getting at?
God please!
Her Aunt’s next words dashed her hopes, weakening Amaka.
“From this month, you submit your salary to me. I will share it and give you some for your upkeep. We will use the rest for the house. You cannot stay here for free anymore.”
It felt like déjà vu to Amaka. It was like her College fund all over again, only this time, it was her sweat and energy.
At that point, Amaka knew her freedom was far from being actualized. She had drawn a plan, to save some money for a while so she could be free. Now it seemed like it was not happening.
Death suddenly looked really kind compared to her kind of life.

The crowd gathered at the salon drew Amaka out of her self-pity. She could hear the cries before she saw the woman.
“Ngozi what did I do? Ngozi what did I do wrong in coming to your salon?”
She was on the floor, and refused to be consoled.
“My children. All I want is my children. I want my children back,” she continued crying, her hands on her breasts.
“Madam Beatrice, hold yourself together. It is not the end of the world,” an onlooker said. “You can’t be sure this woman is responsible.
“God punish you! Is it your business?” the grieving woman replied, her eyes showing that she was on a verge of insanity. “My three children, all dead! O God! Kill me too! I want to die.”
It was at this time that Amaka recognised her. She had come into the salon days ago, complaining about her kids and how they made her life weary. She had said it was like they hindered her from flying.
In her words, her husband was late, and she would have made it big if not for her children whom she needed to serve as a good example to, and also cater for.
She had lost her husband early in their marriage, but apparently not early enough considering that they had three children before he died.
What did Ngozi do to the children?
“You witch!” the woman suddenly screeched as she stood up and rushed to Ngozi, choking her.
Just before Amaka could react to the woman’s assault at Ngozi, some policemen arrived the scene, and carried the woman to their van along with Ngozi.
The crowd quickly dispersed. No one wanted to be the eye witness lest they end up in the police custody.
Amaka looked around for Calista and Ire. She saw them being led to the van by another policeman.
“What’s going on?” she wondered.
Her eyes caught Calista’s who was obviously trying to pass a message to her. Ire just looked at them both with a smile. She seemed to be enjoying the attention.
“What?” Amaka asked Calista, walking towards the police van.
Calista shook her head so hard, making her stop in her track. Too late, another policeman had seen her, and was already walking towards her.
As Amaka sat in the van, hearing something about writing a statement, she hoped she wouldn’t have to talk about her whereabouts last night.
She didn’t remember anything about last night.

#1: https://mspsteem.com/fiction/@djoi/the-sanctuary-1

#2: https://mspsteem.com/fiction/@djoi/the-sanctuary-2

#3: https://mspsteem.com/fiction/@djoi/the-sanctuary-3

#4: https://mspsteem.com/fiction/@djoi/the-sanctuary-4

#5: https://mspsteem.com/fiction/@djoi/the-sanctuary-5

#6: https://mspsteem.com/fiction/@djoi/the-sanctuary-6-ccd98a1505083

#7:
https://steemit.com/fiction/@djoi/the-sanctuary-7-d8a4b886d85ea