How I lost my Husband

Joanda Da Maria stepped gingerly down from the opened doorway. The hot sun blasted her arm and face and arms making her recoil and also making her at the same time to shield her face with her palms against her face. It was hot. Damned too hot.
The black clothing around her emaciated frame didn’t help at all as it began collecting heat from the environment, back in the airplane it had been cool.
She scanned the horizon for any familiar face. Although its been nearly three years since she and Nnamdi – she still called him Nadi, had returned to the states after the traditional rites / she still remembered vividly the faces of her husband’s relatives –at least if not the mom and dad, surely at least Emeka. Thanks to facebook, she had been updated almost periodically on his facial identity. At least Emeka was still a familiar sight. But as she scanned around while descending from the Gulf 453 Virgin Airline Charter Jet, she couldn’t see any Emeka or Nnadi’s pa or mom.
Surely the must be around here somewhere, she thought as she collected her flapping hair into a hastily formed bun.
“I believe you’re Mrs. Maria Nnamdi.” The young man whom she placed at around 20 or 22 askd. He was the fight porter and was holding a thick sheet of paper with a solid hard cover like the type nurses held at hospital beds. She was now on the ground – but not on Texas ground – she was now on a Lagos ground – in Nigeria.
Great! She thought as the name ‘ Nigeria’ brought all the memories of her last visit.
“yes of course” she replied taking off her sunshade and putting her dark swede purse under her armpit/
“Ok, you’ll have to sign off the freight,” the young man said turning the paper toward her. She noticed how handsome he was. But that was a shameful thing to notice uh. Especially when you considered the fact that she had just lost her husband. Whatever she thought.
She signed off her name at the two short lines indicated for signature. She wondered how many wives or husbands –husbands? Nah she thought, but yeah, how many wives had to sign such papers often.
“Do you guys get to do this often?” she asked looking around to the back of the huge airplane where two men were wheeling out the gold plated but solidly covered casket of Nnamdi uche Nnamdi and for almost a hundredth time fresh tears were about to rise that afternoon.
“Nope,” the guy answered shaking his head, “ but of course, once in a while we do get to do this.”
“of course you do.” Maria said squinting at the casket.
“Well,” the young man replied scratching his hair briefly, “we truly don’t get to do this often , but when we do, we get huge cash.”
Of course Maria thought. It had cost about two hundred thousand dollars to – that was roughly half a million naira –to bring back the body of her husband. That had been a fortune. She would have preferably lay her dear to rest at the ste. Maureen’s cemetery at Tapaco or if that weren’t enough then there was the Andrews Memorial Cemetery upstate Dallas. But unfortunately the family of her husband had without hint of conceding asked – no , demanded for his body – their son’s body to be brought back. “He came from somewhere, he has roots,” they had said. Maria wrinkled her nose at that. The way they had made Uche look like a god. Whatever she thought again with a sigh.
Anyway, she was doing it for Nnadi. Nnadi will have wanted his body to be brought back. She had loved him. She had loved him so much and now-
“Am truly sorry for your grief, Ma’am,” the young man said, hauling her back to the harsh reality.
“oh whatever,” she said waving an offhand smile at the young man, “ thanks for your service. Dear.”
“Oh please,” the man said, “feel free to call at any time.”
She smiled and said of course and then paused. “Did you just say I should ‘feel free to call again?’”
“Yes, why?”
Maria gave an exasperated gasp and gave the young man a funny scowl, “ you don’t want me to bring another casket all the way from the states here again, now do you?”
He was about to reply then he understood. And they both broke into laughter.
She shook her head and offered her hand. “Thanks afterall,” she said and turned away to the casket. She turned in time to see him ascend back up the stairs of the Gulf jet. She slightly jealoused them. They were going back to the United States, to light, to air – to a temperate climate and here she was all alone. She felt so alone and broke into fresh tears- not for Nnadi who lay inside the bronze platted coffin but for herself. She wished she was somewhere else. She wished mother was close to pull her in in a hug but she was alone –alone in a far off country –in a far off place, in a far off continent. Far from home. Far from mom.
“Do you mind if we took the body to the custom guys or uh?” the two men asked. The bronze casket was catching the sun and reflecting off sparklings where it was gold framed. Maria was dazed for a few seconds. The thing really looked huge now.
“Ma’am?”
“Oh yeah –of course please.”
They were about to wheel the casket down across the tarmacto the reception hall which was all glass and stood about a storey tall when four men and a woman came springing out of the hallway.
The first person she recognized was of course Emeka. He still had that shaky steps – almost like someone dancing rather than walking. Maria had found it cute at first. Though somehow, she still felt it cute.
They waved. She waved back. A distance of about one hundred yards separated them.
Never before had Maria been so excited-so genuinely excited to see her husband’s kinsmen. She turned to the two men who were rolling the stretcher and said, “ I think I’ll be fine now.”
“I bet you’ll.” The bulky one said. He was sweating on the nose and seemed all reddened up. Maria wondered too if she too wasn’t also reddened up by now under the hot tropical sun. some few minutes later, she watched as the two men went back to the jet with their stretcher. They were laughing gaily. Even though Maria couldn’t hear – thanks to thick reinforced glass, she could see them. She guessed that in a few hours’ time they’ll be at a bar in San Francisco drinking golden foaming beers from sweating mugs.
Soon the little jet taxied and in no time was up running toward the end of the runway from where it shot up and made for the sky. Its only trail was the white contrail in the blue sky. Soon the plane was gone from sight. Tears came to Maria’s eyes as she turned to go back to the counter where Nnadi’s family were all busy chatting excitedly amidst signing off papers with the green clothed customs guys t the corner. Nnadi lay just ahead. His mother was weeping furiously and Emeka was consoling her.
She wished again for a million time that it was all just a dream. A horrible nightmare from which she’ll wake up and be on the bed beside Nnadi with the sun stealing in through the glass through the flower bed just on the window sills.
But she knew better. This was it.
This whole process was going to last until the 14th –two long weeks before her husband, or rather her late husband – she reminded herself- was finally laid to rest. She wished it was only going to be a week –no she thought; a week was still too long. Three days or perhaps just a day or two so that she could be done with all these an d go back home. Home. She really needed home. All she wanted was home. Home home home. Of course she realized that number 48 Havanna Vale was never going to be the same again. Not without Nnadi –her Nnadi waking beside her every morning.
She gave a sad smile and felt the salty elements on her lips as fresh tears started pouring down all over again. They had only been married for three years. Next month – April will have made it three years , at least officially.
She wished again that none of this was happening. That she wasn’t with her husband’s corpse and wouldn’t have to go back to the little rural village and have to be subjected to some form of cultural whatever. God! How she wept.
But deep down, she knew too that it was something she had to do. A must. She remembered vividly, the night of the 18th of march when Nnadi had explained everything to her – the need for this, the African respect for culture, the bond between him and his homeland. Maria remembered how he had asked her to rethink and to be sure that she understood what she was entering into. She had said that she had thought, had rethought and had made up her mind. She had loved him and he her. Hell! They had dated each other for more than five years and in that time, love had gone from bronze to iron until it had been sealed over and over again with solid lead.
Yet as Maria leaned against the Murtala Mohamed International Airport counter that hot afternoon, she realized that she had never believed that the vow ‘for better or for worse’ was going to tilt soon towards the ‘for worst’ angle. Hell! She had not believe it will be so soon and once again the tears came to her eyes. She wondered if she was ever going to forge ahead again after this.
“Hey, we are so sorry for all…,” he broke off lost for words. It was Emeka. In her she hadn’t notice him approach, “I am especially sorry for the fact that you went through all of this.” He said.
Maria only gave a weak smile.
He moved to her and pulled her in in a close hug. She could smell his perfume, yes! His damned perfume. She still remembered.
“I will have come over to bring him personally to bring him, but you know…” he shrugged and broke off.