Truth
.
Continues..
“Truth is any statement made to build up
one’s family.”
***
Rapping my sore knuckles on the steaming
hot gate for the umpteenth time, my mind
swayed back to my previous conversation
with Stella. Her assurance that everything
would be fine had made something snap
inside of me. I had grown tired of believing
things would be fine, when in reality they
only got worse.
I had been stupid to believe she could help
me. No one could. After listening to me cry
over losing my scholarship, she had done
nothing but assure me it would be fine. And
then she had given me a card of
Paracetamol to ward off my fever and
headache.
After moments of waiting for her to devise a
plan to help me, I had finally realized the
bitter truth. Cinderella lived a fairytale, and I,
reality. I had no fairy godmother who would
come to my aid and turn my distress to joy.
And the fierce determination I had seen in
Stella’s eyes in the morning? Had it all been
for nothing? She no doubt found me
unworthy of her help. I wouldn’t feel like this
if she hadn’t offered to help. But she had.
Had she forgotten so soon?
I never should have put faith in her promise.
Once a promise is made, life finds a way to
break it. I didn’t want to be pessimistic, but
I couldn’t play dumb to the truth.
Experience had taught me never to put faith
in promises. Dad had made lots of promises,
and although he meant to keep them, life
never gave him a chance. He had told me
he would always be there for me. He once
told me I would never have any reason to be
broken in spirit.
Mum no doubt had made promises too. An
image of my pregnant mother drifted past
my mind. She rubbed her baby bump, her
eyes aglow with love as she promised to
always be there for the child.
My stepmother had also promised. She had
promised to love me as her own. And now,
Stella’s promise had just joined the heap of
broken promises, breaking my heart over
and over again.
Blinking back the tears that threatened to
overcome me, I returned to knocking the
gate. I needed to talk to my stepmother. It
wouldn’t be easy, but I had to.
Considering that I had exchanged words
with the apple of her eye, it didn’t sound so
good an idea. I reflected back on my
conversation with Cynthia. All these years I
had been able to keep my cool, playing the
part of a feeble girl who could not speak up
for herself. Why did I have to speak up
today? Today of all days.
Perhaps I could just go on with my plan
without informing my stepmother. I would
work overtime to meet up for school. I
would do most of my chores before going to
bed, and do the rest of them when I
awakened. That way I would meet up.
‘How come you never thought of this?’ a
pessimistic voice in my head asked. I rolled
my eyes, hating how cynicism always sought
to interfere with my life.
It had a point though. I had come up with
this overtime technique in my sophomore
year, but my stepmother only let it work for
the two days she most likely spent plotting.
On the third day, I had started to prepare for
school when she approached me with a
shopping list, sending me to the market.
When I returned she had asked me to
prepare vegetable soup just so I couldn’t
meet up. And the next day she had me
select a ridiculously great quantity of beans.
After spending three hours sat on the
kitchen floor, picking beans, I had finally
realized she wanted me to stop pursuing my
punctuality goal.
These memories swallowed my frustration,
leaving rage in its wake. I vented it out on
the gate, knocking as hard as I dared. The
gate trembled where it stood, and I knew I
had just signed in for some extra sessions of
abuse. But at this point I didn’t care what
they did to me. I just wanted to be home.
“Break it oooh,” my stepmother yelled, her
voice almost musical. “If you don’t bring
down that gate, shame on you.”
Her footsteps advanced from the other side
of the gate. Instinctively, I took a step back
as though to escape what would come. But
I knew the futility in seeking escape.
Sucking in a deep breath to prepare myself,
I undid the distance I’d just created.
My stepmother shot me a scorching look as
she opened the gate. She held it open, and
for a moment, I could only stare.
“Good afternoon, ma,” I said.
When dad still lived, my stepmother had
allowed me call her mummy. But after dad’s
death, she had warned me never to call her
that. Sometimes the word would slip out of
my mouth and I would feel the sting of a
slap across my face.
I stepped in through the open gate, my
focus more on my thoughts than on reality.
My stepmother’s palm whipped across my
face, blistering my cheek. My ear rung from
the impact. It felt like I had been attacked
by a thousand furious ants. Barely giving me
a moment to recover, she grabbed my ear
and wrung like she would a damp cloth. A
gasp escaped my throat as her painfully
long nails dug into my skin.
“Mumu.” She wrung harder. I bit my lips to
keep from spitting out hurtful words. “You
have ears but you don’t hear. How many
times will I tell you not to knock like that?
Or did you employ any gate keeper?”
The muscles in my ear screamed out in
pain. I clenched my teeth to keep from
yelping. I would not give her the satisfaction
of seeing me express pain. I ignored the
discomfort, reassuring myself it would not
go on forever.
And it did not. A knock at the gate
distracted my stepmother, giving me the
chance I needed to writhe my way to safety.
Holding my scalding-hot ear, I moved to
open the gate.
Emotions slammed into me at the sight of
Stella. On one side stood fear, on another,
shock, and on yet another, hope. The dim
light of hope burning within me, craving
death, had been rekindled by Stella’s
presence.
“Hello yourself,” Stella said, indifferent to my
blankness.
I had never seen her dressed in a cloth
other than her uniform. A black jacket
enclosed her torso, giving an ash camisole a
sliver of space to peek through. A pair of
blue jeans hugged her legs, halting just
before a black pair of sneakers.
Before me stood a perfect runway model,
save for a few pounds. With such physique,
and an angelic personality, I wondered why
she hadn’t found a husband yet. Or had she
resolved to stay single?
“Do you feel better?” she asked, breaking
through my thoughts.
“I…yes…” Good lord. I could not speak to her
in front of my stepmother. This didn’t look
good.
“Why are you still in your uniform?” she
asked. “I thought you left school an hour
ago. Vicky, did I not ask you to take a cold
shower once you got home? It helps with
fever.”
Again, words eluded me. Stella stared at my
face as though I had something on it. She
reached out and held my jaw with two
fingers, turning it sideways to thoroughly
examine. Her gaze fell on my injured ear
and she stared at it for a moment too long.
“What happened to your face?” she asked.
“I…I fell,” I said.
Stella clicked her tongue. “This isn’t the
kind of wound sustained from a fall. No,
these are scratches. Do you have a wildcat
or something?”
Looking over my shoulder, she raised her
brow at the sight of my stepmother, the
wildcat. For a few unsettling moments, she
just stared at her as though trying to read
through her. I could tell she now knew how I
had sustained those injuries.
“Good evening, Mrs. Brown,” Stella said.
“And you are?” my stepmother asked.
Stella walked past me and reached out to
shake my stepmother’s hand. She smiled,
but it didn’t reach her eyes. Two men trailed
after her, their overly strict faces making me
forget how to use my voice.
My gaze lingered on them. The first, a bald
man, clad in a black body hug T-shirt, had a
slightly rounded stomach. Muscled arms
strained to fit into his shirt. His facial hair,
too overgrown to be called stubble, cast a
dark shadow along the corners of his round
face. Something about his physique told me
he had a husky voice and indulged in much
alcohol.
The second, most likely in his early thirties,
stood a few pounds and a few feet behind
his partner’s solid six foot. I perceived his
complexion had once been lighter, but the
Nigerian sun had picked on him, leaving him
with a disgruntling tan. I would tag him as
approachable, save for the stony expression
on his bony, clean-shaved face.
“Stella Adewale,” Stella said.
My stepmother stared at Stella’s
outstretched hand as though it were a snake
ready to strike. She looked away from the
hand and trailed her eyes on the men.
“I don’t believe we have met,” she said.
“Now we have,” Stella said. “My friends and
I would love to talk to you about something
very important.”
My stepmother sized up Stella as though
trying to decipher the nature of their
pending conversation. “I am all ears.”
“Shall we?” Stella gestured toward the
house. Following my stepmother’s tentative
lead, she and the men streaked into the
house. I trailed behind them.
Although I ached to listen in on their
conversation, I knew I did not stand a
chance. My stepmother would not stand my
presence. Hiding behind the wall to listen
seemed like a plan, but the sight of Cynthia
a few steps away sent a wave of frustration
stealing me over. Defeated, I sauntered to
my room and shut the door.
Arms folded, I stood there, thinking of just
what I had gotten myself into. My
stepmother wouldn’t like this one bit. Why
had Stella brought friends along with her? I
had only told her about my abuse because I
trusted her to keep it secret. Had I made a
mistake?
My bed called to me, but it seemed far off. I
didn’t want to stand. I didn’t want to sit
either. I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to
be in the living room, listening to whatever
conversation now ensued.
Suspense taking the best of me, I walked to
and fro. My heart thumped like a beating
drum. Sick of standing, I finally decided to
answer my bed’s call. Just when I lowered
myself toward the bed, the door swung
open. I bolted upright to face Cynthia.
“What do they want?” Her voice had a
heated edge to it with a dash of panic. “Cat
got your tongue?”
Disgust settled in Cynthia’s gaze as she
sized me up. “If you get my mum and I in
trouble, I swear you won’t live to regret it.
Whatever you told those people, better think
of a way to rip it off their minds.”
“What’s wrong, Barbie doll?” I asked.
“Scared?”
Wrinkling her nose, she cast me a glance
that could slice through rock. I paid no heed
to her and disappeared into the bathroom
for a quick shower. I hugged myself as icy
water met my scalding hot skin, hitting
home. Even forever wouldn’t be enough to
acclimatize to the merciless temperature.
At this point I couldn’t tell whether I
shivered from fever or from the cold
enveloping me. Thoughts of the ongoing
conversation in the living room littered my
mind, making me almost oblivious of the
cold.
Done showering, I stepped into my room to
find Cynthia gone. I heaved a sigh of relief
and clad myself in a yellow polo and a pair
of faded blue jeans. A knock too gentle to
be Cynthia’s or her mother’s, brought my
attention to the door.
“Vicky?” Stella’s voice sailed in from behind
the door.
I dashed to the door and yanked it open, too
eager to know the details of their
conversation. Stella’s blank face greeted
me. What news had she come to deliver?
News of hope or news of my death?
“Vicky,” she said, taking my hands in hers.
“What happened?” I squeezed out the words
through a clenched throat.
“Your presence is needed,” she said.
Swallowing a lump in my throat, I nodded,
willing her to go on. “Please, don’t feel
intimidated. This is your chance to break
free from all her evil advances.”
“I don’t understand. What’s this about?”
“Helping you.” She smoothed down my hair.
“Those men are my friends. They will help
you. But you have to do one thing for us.
For me. For yourself.”
This didn’t sound good. “What?”
“We need you to tell the truth. Tell it and
tell it all. Leave out nothing. Can you do this
for me, Vicky?”
I reflected back on one of the lectures I had
received from dad. After telling Cynthia and
I a bedtime story, he had asked us to tell
him the morals we learnt. The girl in the
story had lied to save her family….
“I don’t understand why you chose this
story,” an eight-year-old me said. “Every
story you tell has moral lessons. But in this
story, I don’t see any.”
“You also see none?” Dad asked Cynthia.
She snored in response.
Stifling a yawn, I rubbed my eyes to oppress
sleep and perhaps send it on exile, but it
seemed to be gaining in on me.
Studying me for a moment too long, dad
said, “You shouldn’t fight it. Go to bed.
Tomorrow is only a few hours away.” He
made to stand, but I threw my arms around
him. Work had kept him away all day. Now
that I had him, I wouldn’t let go till sleep
finally stole me over.
“The story, dad,” I said, half-yawning. “She
didn’t speak the truth.”
“What is truth?”
“Truth is…the opposite of lie?” I cowered
inwardly, hating my vague answer.
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“Truth is a word you must define for
yourself,” dad said. “It is much more than
the opposite of lie, my sweet. Much more.
Defining it like that confines the word ‘truth’
to just that context, and it would be unfair,
for truth is a great word, covering a
multitude of sins, just like love.”
I waited for a definition of truth but it never
came. Dad obviously needed me to speak
before he went on.
“What is truth?” I asked.
Dad smiled at me. “You know now. You are
my smartie. Link the story to what I’ve just
told you.”
He stared at me, giving me a moment to
arrange my thoughts. “Now let’s hear your
definition of truth.”
Ijeoma had lied to save her mother from
King Edochie’s wrath. And according to dad,
truth covered a multitude of sins. Truth
covered her mother’s sin. It kept their family
together. I summed up these details. “Truth
is any statement made to build up one’s
family.”
Proud to have a definition that sounded
good in my ears, a smile tugged at the
corners of my lips.
“That, my sweet, is truth,” dad said.
Tightening my arms around him, I said,
“Love you, dad.”
“Love you too, my fairy princess.”
***
Hysterical sobs of a woman greeted me as I
sailed back into reality. Before me laid a
scene I could not fathom. My step mother,
in tears, relaxed in Cynthia’s seemingly
comforting embrace. I stiffened at the
thought that Stella’s friends had hurt her.
Had they?
Sensing my fear, Stella placed her hand on
the small of my back and led me forward.
“What’s going on?” I asked, eyes round as
saucers.
“Do you have no regard for family?” Cynthia
said, the brittleness of her voice melting my
heart into a bloody puddle. Her words sliced
through me like a two edged blade. “What
have we ever done to you that you brought
in these men and lied against us?”
“I have never…” My stepmother’s voice
trembled with emotions. “Never assaulted
her. Why would I? Why would I work against
the family I have worked so hard to build?”
Stella and her friends exchanged befuddled
glances, and then their eyes rested on me.
My mind darted, searching for a word to say,
but words eluded me.
“I am Sergeant Charles Davies,” the bald
man said. Like I had suspected, he had a
husky voice. He tilted his head toward his
partner. “Sergeant Evans Fineface of the
Nigerian Police Force.”
“We need to ask you a few questions,” the
one called Evans said.
I nodded, swallowing a lump in my throat.
Although I pinned my focus on the
policemen, I could see Cynthia and her
mother from the corner of my eye.
“Child abuse is a very serious crime,” Evans
said. “We received word concerning you and
we would like you to tell us the whole
truth.”
My wounded gaze zeroed in on the notepads
in the cops’ hands. They would write down
every word I uttered, or at least every word
they found relevant. They had obviously
interrogated my stepmother till she broke
into tears. I had never seen her cry, save for
when dad died. She never allowed a fellow
human intimidate her. So what had these
men done to her?
“You should sit down,” Stella said. “We want
you to be comfortable.”
“I’m okay,” I said.
“Okay,” Charles said. “Let’s start from the
scratches on your face. The nurse
confirmed that they are new. You’ve had
them for no more than two hours, true?”
I nodded.
“Care to tell us how you got them?”
My mind worked fast, retrieving the lie I had
told Stella at the gate. “I…fell.”
“That’s not the kind of wound someone
sustains from a fall,” Charles observed.
Stella gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze,
wordlessly reassuring me of her support,
and reminding me of my promise to tell the
truth. I opened my mouth to speak, but
Evans advanced to me. He scanned my
wounds with a knowing look in his eyes.
“It sure isn’t,” he reported back to Charles.
To me he said, “It even extends to your
ear.”
“I fell,” I insisted. “And then I…I scratched
my face by accident.”
“With what?” Evans asked, training
experienced eyes on my fingers. His eyes
told me he could see through my little white
lie.
I clenched my fists to hide my nails. But
Evans had already seen them. “Your nails
are so blunt for this accusation,” he said.
A sudden bolt of self-defense hit me.
“What? I can’t cut my nails again or what?”
As though I’d whirled at him brandishing a
gun, he raised his hands in surrender. “Okay.
Okay. Let’s drop the whole scratch thing.”
“Care to tell us how you got those scars all
over your back?” Charles asked. He had just
crossed the room to meet me.
My lips stayed glued together. I could not
tell them my stepmother had done that to
me. I would not see her behind bars for my
sake. Moments passed, and I said nothing.
“Victoria?” Stella called, reminding me of the
unanswered question. “Tell them. Your
statement is important if these people are
to pay for all the things they have done to
you. Please.”
My stepmother stood up. Arms folded, she
said, “Tell them. Don’t be ashamed to tell
them a family member was depraved
enough to do this. Tell them! Go on! Tell
them how your Uncle Ben assaulted you.”
Stella turned to face her. “What are you
saying?”
“Perhaps we should turn around the
question,” Charles suggested to Evans.
Evans nodded. Keeping his eyes trained on
me, he said, “Who is responsible for the
scars on your back?”
‘Tell them how your Uncle Ben assaulted
you,’ My Stepmother’s voice rang in my ears.
‘What happens in this house stays in this
house. Do you understand?’
I recalled dad’s words. ‘Truth is a word you
must define for yourself.’
‘What is truth?’
‘Truth is a great word, covering a multitude
of sins.’ Dad’s voice, loud and clear, seemed
as though he were standing right beside me,
giving me the advice I needed to tread on
the right path.
I reflected back on the words I had told
Stella. ‘My stepmother and her daughter
make the whole world believe they love me,
but they don’t.’
“Speak to us,” Evans pressed on. “Who is
responsible for this abuse?”
“Uncle Ben,” I blurted out.
Stella’s eyes widened. She shook her head.
“No. You…you told me—”
“Uncle Ben did this to me,” I said.
“Why are you covering up the sins of this
woman?” Stella asked, pulling at my arm.
“She does not deserve this act of kindness.
Why won’t you speak the truth?”
“I am speaking the truth,” I said. “My mother
would never do this to me.”
“Stepmother,” Stella corrected. Her hold on
my arm loosened just enough for me to
retrieve my arm. I caught a flicker of
disappointment in her eyes. Unable to hold
her gaze, I turned away.
Charles cleared his throat. The look in his
eyes said he didn’t buy my story. And
neither did Evans. But what could they do?
“So…a certain Uncle Ben did this to you?”
Charles asked.
I nodded.
“Full name?” he asked.
“Ben Brown.”
“Ben Brown.” He scribbled in his note and
looked up at me. “Father’s brother?” Again, I
nodded.
“Care to tell us how it happened?”
“Holiday,” I said. “I went to spend holiday at
his place. Dad had just passed away, so my
Uncle asked me to come spend a few days
with him and his wife.” Uncle Ben had made
physical abuse his new lifestyle, so
fabricating the story came easy.
“Do they have kids?”
“No.”
“So…your uncle did this to you?” Charles
asked. How many times would he try to
verify this information? Squinting, he studied
me as though the truth would leak through
my features.
Again, I nodded. A nod too mechanical. At
least to me. I prayed they found it genuine.
“Where is your uncle now?” Evans asked.
“He’s an alcoholic,” I said. “Committed petty
crimes. Spending seven years of his life in
jail.”
“What’s he jailed for? Abusing you?”
I shrugged. “I’m sure his profile is
somewhere in the police archives. He was
arrested not too long ago. Should not be
hard to find.”
Uncle Ben had a reputation for abusing
people, especially when alcohol held him
hostage. He had beaten his ex-wife to near-
death. At least when Charles and Evans
found such information about him, it would
put their minds at ease.
Staring at his notepad, Charles flipped to
another page. “And your health? What can
you say about it?”
“My health?” I asked. Although I knew the
direction of his question, I needed him to
elaborate on it. Hopefully, it would buy me
time to come up with another story.
“You mentioned that your stepmother
neglected your health,” Stella said. “Since
your father’s death, you have been
struggling with what you know to be malaria.
Your health has been off and on for four
years, and she won’t pay you any attention.
Isn’t that what you told me?”
“Me?” my stepmother asked, pressing a
palm to her chest. She squeezed her eyes
shut and shook her head as she clutched on
to her chest like she’d just been stabbed.
Bursting into another fit of tears, she
advanced to me and stuck out her hands.
Before Stella could react, my stepmother
enclosed her fingers around my arms and
squeezed, shaking me so hard, tears
threatened to scald my cheeks. I sniffed,
trapping the tears in my eyes.
“Tell me!” she cried. “Tell me what I ever
did to you that has made you slander me
like this! Tell me what I ever did to you.”
“Mummy, please.” Cynthia held her from
behind and made to pull her from me.
“Mummy please calm down.”
“No,” my stepmother insisted. “She has to
tell me what I did to her. Why would she lie
against me like this? Why?” She pried her
hands off me and turned away, sobbing.
Cynthia took over as words failed her
mother. “What is our crime? Why go out and
spread hurtful lies against us? Do we not
love you as our own? Does not my mother
give you the same treatment she gives me?
Do you not go to the same school as I do,
eat when we eat and sleep when we sleep?”
My stepmother sobbed, her shoulders
bouncing. My heart broke into a million
pieces to watch her cry, to hear her choke
on her sob.
“This is too much for me to bear,” she said.
“Had it been an outsider throwing stones at
me, I would overlook it. But now, my own
daughter is doing this. This is too much.”
Guilt gnawed at my soul. The tears I
thought I had trapped behind my eyes found
their way out. Streaming out like rivulets,
they tickled my cheeks.
“Mrs. Brown.” Stella paused to make sure
she had my stepmother’s attention. “If you
love Vicky as you claim to, you would do
something about her ill health.”
“Ill health?” my stepmother asked. Her brows
furrowed. “I was not informed.”
Stella folded her arms. “In the presence of
mutual love and understanding, a daughter
would always tell her mother about her
deteriorating health. But in this case, it’s
obvious the love is one-sided. I would use
the school’s facilities to care for her, but
that would be illegal since the school
provides only first aid to day students,
saving intense medical care for those in the
dormitory.”
My stepmother waved a dismissive hand at
Stella and glued the back of her palm to my
forehead. “Are you sick?”
I s—-d in a deep breath, savoring the feel of
her touch. For the first time in many years,
my stepmother had touched me in a non-
violent way. As much as I wanted this to
last forever, I knew it would only be a
moment before things returned to normal.
For now though, I had to concentrate on my
role in the movie we acted, and enjoy it
while it lasted. A movie where my
unapproachable stepmother played the role
of a caring mother.
I nodded in answer to her question. My head
throbbed at the subtle gesture. “I am sick,
mum.”
More stories @ www.chorusman.com
I stared at my stepmother to gauge her
reaction, and as expected, she’d stiffened
when I called her mum. But she tried hard
to mask her indignation with care.
“Now that this has been brought to my
notice, I will see to it that you receive
treatment,” she said, wrapping an arm
around me. “Okay?”
“She has to go to a hospital,” Stella said.
“Don’t you think I am well aware of my
duties as a mother?” my stepmother asked.
“I know she needs a doctor. And I will take
her to see one.”
Pulling me out of my stepmother’s hold,
Stella draped an arm over my shoulder. “We
need not spare one more second. The
sickness has eaten her up for way too long.
I will take her right away. You don’t need to
stress yourself. Just go bring the money for
her treatment.”
My stepmother’s expression had morphed
from care to an anger she fruitlessly tried to
contain. Seeing through her facade, Stella
went on, “If you still insist on taking her,
very well. But I’ll come along, just to ensure
that things run smoothly.”
Stella nodded at Evans and he produced an
A4 containing a typed message. Taking it
from him, she presented it to my
stepmother. “Here.”
Disbelief spread across my stepmother’s
features as she scanned the paper. Cynthia
glared at it from beside her.
“This is too much,” my stepmother said. She
pointed a finger at Stella. “I can’t have you
come into my house, accuse of not being a
good mother, and then try to teach me how
to run my own family. You do not even have
a family of your own to start with.”
My stepmother locked eyes with Stella, just
to rub in her last words. She no doubt
expected it to hit home, but her attempt at
provoking Stella yielded no result. Even if it
had, Stella knew better than to express such
feelings.
Paying no heed to my stepmother’s game,
Stella held a black pen a few inches from
her face. “Take it.”
“I will not sign this.” My stepmother threw
the paper to the floor and folded her hands
in defiance.
“Leave us,” Stella said to the policemen.
Once they were gone, she turned to face my
stepmother. “Sign that document and free
yourself from the penalties that will push
through if you don’t sign it. You think I buy
that little show you just performed? That
can only buy you a space in Nollywood. So
are you signing the document or nah?”
Tentatively, my stepmother reached out and
grabbed the pen. I noticed she had dropped
her good-stepmother act, replacing it with
pure venom. If looks could kill, Stella would
drop dead. But her courage never wavered.
My stepmother’s fury crumbled before
Stella. Instead of getting to Stella, it
bounced off the armor of esteem she clad
herself in; an armor too expensive for my
possession. I would give anything to show
off a measure of her courage; to stand tall
in the face of my stepmother’s fiery wrath
without being consumed.
My stepmother signaled Cynthia to retrieve
the document. Once Cynthia returned the
document to her, she signed it and handed
it over to Stella.
Stella smiled. “For a start, we need twenty
five thousand Naira.”
“Let me bring you the money,” my
stepmother said, defeated. She made her
exit, with Cynthia trailing behind her.
“What is wrong with you?” Stella exploded.
The disappointment flashing across her face
could not be mistaken. So intense, it looked
like rage. Or did she feel both rage and
disappointment?
“Do you realize you have just blown your
first real chance of freedom?” she asked.
“Why on earth would you shield her when all
she’s done is cause you harm?”
Settling in a chair to rest my wobbly legs, I
buried my head to shield myself from
Stella’s scorching gaze. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you have any idea how humiliated I felt
when you testified against everything I told
those police men? Do you? Why did you act
like that? You promised me you would speak
the truth. What went wrong?”
“My dad once taught me another dimension
of truth,” I said. Slowly, I raised my face and
held her gaze. “He made me understand
that there is much more to truth than just
the opposite of falsehood. Truth covers a
multitude of sins, just like love. Truth, in this
context, is a function of love. It is any
statement that builds up one’s family. By
telling those men the whole story as it
actually happened, I would be tearing down
this family with my own hands.”
Stella shook her head. Splaying her palms in
the air, she said, “This is a very destructive
way of thinking. This is just…absurd!”
“What will I gain if my stepmother goes to
jail?” I asked.
“Freedom. Uninterrupted freedom. You
would finally receive justice.”
“You assume that is what I’m after?
Justice?”
“We are fighting for your justice,” Stella
said, emphasizing on her last word. “Isn’t
this all you ever wanted? A chance for them
to pay for their wrongs?”
“This is where you’ve got it all wrong,” I
clarified. “You assume I am after justice.
But it’s all wrong. The only thing I’m after is
a happy family. I crave a chance for love.”
Silence fell upon the room. Stella’s eyes
begged me to reconsider. They screamed
out for me to withdraw from this seemingly
unrewarding path I had chosen. Any sane
person would grab the first chance at
justice.
It took a moment for Stella to break the
silence. “Then I’m afraid you don’t know
what you want.”
“This is what I want,” I said. “It’s what I’ve
always wanted. Their love. Can I get this
while my stepmother is locked away in jail?”
“You are fighting a hopeless war,” Stella
said, taken aback by my enthusiasm. Her
voice dropped to a whisper, “These people
will never love you. Don’t you understand?
They will never accept you.”
“Dad told me to keep hoping.” I remembered
him referring to hope as a bridge that leads
us to where we want to be.
“There is nothing to hope for,” Stella said,
her voice flaring like fueled fire. “All these
years the only thing they’ve felt for you is
hate. What makes you think they will ever
change?”
“I don’t know.” Studying her face for a
second too long, I added, “I know you are
not exactly happy with my decision.”
“Unhappy doesn’t cut it. I am disappointed. I
just don’t understand you. No sane person
would toss such a chance into the gutter.”
I nodded. “I need to know if I am alone on
this path I have chosen. Do I still have your
support?
A lone tear glided down my cheek as I
awaited her response. I had been close to
her for no more than twenty-four hours, but
after the little time we had spent together, I
doubted I could survive this on my own.
“Always,” she said. Perching on the arm rest
of my chair, she pulled me into a hug and
smoothed her palm over my hair. “This path
of yours is a crazy one. But my support is
unconditional.”
With her non-dominant hand, she reached
for the document she had placed on the
chair beside mine. “Here. I know you’re
dying to see what it says.”
Grabbing the document, I let my hungry
eyes devour it.
I, Esther N. Brown, hereby swear to serve
the stipulated child abuse sentence if at any
time it is discovered that:
•My stepdaughter reports to school later
than 7:30am.
•My stepdaughter fails to get medical
checkups every four months.
•I fail to pay for my stepdaughter’s medical
expenses.
•My stepdaughter receives unfair treatment
in my household.
•My stepdaughter is not allowed to join my
daughter in the vehicle that takes her to and
from school.
My stepmother’s reluctant signature stood
underneath her name. I looked up at Stella
with a quizzical look. She smiled knowingly.
“Wondering if your stepmother can live by
these conditions?”
I nodded. She had read my mind.
“Quit wondering then,” she said. “When
we’re done with the hospital, I will go have
this document signed by the court, after
which I will make two photocopies. One
copy will be forwarded to your stepmother,
just so she remembers to live according to
code. And if she doesn’t, oh well. We got
her in a pretty tight corner. So your
problems are half-solved. No credit goes to
you since you weren’t exactly cooperative.”
She punctuated her last words with a
transmissible giggle.
I mused over every effort she had made to
help me. She didn’t have to, but she had
taken my problems as hers. “You have been
an angel to me. You’re a fairy godmother
sent from above. How can I ever repay
you?”
Stella smiled. “A simple thank you would be
just fine.”
Walking into view, Cynthia placed a brown
envelope on the armrest of my chair.
“That’s all the money you need for her
treatment. Mum says to get in touch if it
isn’t enough.”
Without waiting for a reply, she walked
away. Stella picked up the envelope and
peeked at its contents. It seemed to satisfy
her. I could tell from the smile that crept to
her face.
“Let’s go get you tested,” she said.
We headed out of the house and met Evans
and Charles standing beside a Range Rover
parked a distance away.
“How did it go?” Evans asked.
“Piece of cake,” Stella said, crushing her
thumb and pointer together in an ‘okay’
gesture.
She held the signed document and the
money-filled envelope in Evan’s line of sight.
Taking a remote control from her front
pocket, she unlocked the doors of the jeep
and ducked behind the steering wheel. While
I sat in the front passenger seat, Evans and
Charles warmed the back seat.
Memories of the last time dad took me
shopping clouded my mind. That had been
the last time I enjoyed the comfort of a
private vehicle, or any other vehicle for that
matter. After his death, no one found me
worthy of any means of transport other than
foot.
***
The drive, quieter than I had expected, gave
me an inner peace I hadn’t experienced for
eons. It felt great to enjoy the company of
people who wished me no harm; people who
sought nothing but my best interests. Stella
and the cops didn’t blast me with tons of
bothersome questions like I’d feared. Once
or twice, they brought up random topics like
the weather and the deteriorating Nigerian
economy.
Every so often, I would cast Stella a side
glance. I had a confession to make. How
would she feel when I told her I let the
whole world see a part of me that didn’t
exist? Would she find me crazy, or would
she understand I did this for my family?
I watched her slow down as we neared a
junction. She glanced at her friends from
the rear-view mirror. “You can take a cab
from here, right?”
“Yes,” Evans said. “Thanks for the ride.”
“No, thanks guys. Really, I’m the one who
should be thankful.” Pulling over, she turned
to face them. “Really, guys, thanks. You’ve
been really helpful today.”
“It’s nothing,” Evans said.
“Can you do one more thing though?” she
asked.
“Yeah, just name it,” Evans said. Charles
shifted in his seat. But I didn’t hear his
voice. I wouldn’t say he fancied the idea of
another assignment.
“Just forward this document to the court
and have them stamp it.” Stella presented
the signed document to Evans. “After that,
you are to make two photocopies. I’ll pick
them up tomorrow evening. Think it can be
ready by then?”
“Yeah, why not?”
Stella beamed. “Thanks. You’re a darling.”
Stepping out of the car, Evans and his
partner waved us goodbye. I waved back
and watched them cross to the other side
of the road. When I looked back at Stella, it
stunned me to see that she made no move
to start the engine. Arms folded, she leaned
back in her seat and stared at me.
“What?” I asked, unable to contain my
curiosity. Did I have something on my face?
I gazed at my reflection in the side mirror.
So far, so good, I looked normal. No horns
or fangs. Nothing out of place.
“Are you ready to talk now?” she asked.
“Talk?” I echoed.
“Yes, talk. Now, don’t act funny. I’ve been
watching you. You’ve been restless. Listen, I
have an idea in psychology, so I know when
a person is dying to say something, okay?
Now that we’re finally alone, let’s hear it.”
I could really use a listening ear. Besides, it
couldn’t be that bad. I had already told her
the bigger things. Why then should I hide
this seemingly trivial one?
“What I’m about to tell you is a secret that
no one else knows,” I said.
Stella nodded. She waited for me to begin,
but I didn’t know where to begin. I stared
out through the window, training my eyes on
every pedestrian. Stella’s undivided attention
told me to take my time, to speak at my
own pace. But we didn’t have all day.
“What do you see when you look at me? Do
you see a strong girl? Or a weak one?” My
question wouldn’t make much sense to her.
Even to me. But at least I’d given our
conversation a head.
“What does this have to do with—?”
“Just answer,” I cut in. “Please.”
“Brutally honest?” she asked.
“Yeah, that would be really appreciated.
Just tell me what you think of me.”
Comforting myself with the knowledge that
whatever she thought of me snaked around
the false image I let the world see, I braced
myself for what she would say.
“I’d be a blatant liar if I called you a strong
girl,” she said. “A strong person would not
drink in all the abuses at school and at
home. No, she would fight for what is hers.
She would always speak up for herself, let
her voice be heard. I wouldn’t tag you as
weak either. A weak girl would not hold on
to her priority the way you do. Through thick
and thin, you make your family your number
one priority.”
“What you see is not what I am. And what
you don’t see is what I am,” I said. “I
mentioned that Cynthia saw everything as a
competition. In a desperation to change her
wrong line of reasoning, I changed me.”
“What do you mean?” Stella asked.
Like water prepares the ground for
cultivation, with a well-thought question I
would prepare Stella’s mind for my
confession. “Would you perceive threats of a
competition if you and your potential rival
stood at extreme ends? If you were superior,
and she inferior?”
Stella thought for a moment. “No, I guess
not.”
“I thought so too,” I said. “I thought by
constantly placing myself as inferior, she
would forget the silliness of a competition
and love would find its way into her heart. I
gave up on everything I ever was.”
“I still don’t get it.” The look on her face
confirmed that I had twisted her brain into
knots.
“Cynthia wanted to be the outspoken one,” I
explained. “The one who would utter just
one word and the world would hail her
smartness, her wisdom. I let her be the
smart one. I transformed myself into the dull
one, the seemingly shy one who could never
say anything impressive. She wanted to be
the brave one. I let her. I became the
coward. The stupid one. She wanted to be
one of the popular girls in school. I let her. I
let myself sink into oblivion. I mastered the
art of invisibility, leaving behind the social
child I once was. My interest in soccer led
me to join our school football club, and I
excelled as a great player. It made me
forget my problems. I could finally be
myself, in a place she was not.”
“I thought I saw her in the game against
Emerald Comprehensive High,” Stella said.
As the school nurse she attended every
game to render her services when injuries
occurred. I remembered her carrying me out
of the field while I writhed on the stretcher
in a pain purposely inflicted by my sister.
“She joined last year,” I said. “She obviously
wanted to show me that whatever I can do,
she can do better. She wanted to be the
best on our team. And I let her. While she
scored beautiful goals, I would create
beautiful goal opportunities, only to ruin
them on purpose.”
The knowing look on Stella’s face told me
she remembered every goal I had missed.
Our game with Emerald Comprehensive High
no doubt remained fresh in her memory. Too
busy pursuing a chance to score, I’d lost
sight of my priority: my relationship with
Cynthia. At the last moment, though, I’d
thought about how she would react to my
goal. She would hate me even more for
being the hero. I didn’t want that. And so I’d
wasted Western High’s final chance at
victory.
“It would be just you and the keeper and
you would let the chance slip,” Stella said.
“It always amazed me how a very brilliant
girl in class could be so miscalculating on
the field. It just didn’t make sense.”
A thought occurred to her. “Talking about
your brilliance in class, you didn’t sacrifice
that, did you? Because if you did, you
wouldn’t have won the scholarship.”
My silence. The pained look in my eyes.
Stella calculated. “Don’t tell me sacrificed
that too!”
Again, I said nothing.
“Okay, fine. Go on with your story.”
“Actually, I had also sacrificed my
educational performance,” I said.
“What?” Stella’s shrill pierced through the
closed windows. Alarmed, passersby stared
at us till they walked past.
“What was I to do?” My voice flared
defensively, matching hers. “She wanted to
be the intelligent one. And I let her. I forced
myself to lag a great distance behind her. I
just couldn’t help it. She would come home,
showing off her straight A grades and few
Bs. And I would go lock myself in my room,
crying over my disgusting end-of-year
evaluations. I mostly had Ds. Only once in a
while did I let myself soar to a C.”
“You would fail exams on purpose?” Stella
asked.
“Not exactly fail,” I corrected. “I would write
just good enough to be promoted to the
next class, but bad enough to make Cynthia
feel secure that there was no competition
because she’s by far superior in all things.
But although I presented myself as lacking
in all departments, father loved me
regardless. He would always tell me to try
hard. He would always tell me the sky is my
limit and if I tried hard enough, I would
rekindle my old flame. It was during the
scholarship exam period I realized that if I
was to keep my education, I had to unleash
the brainiac in me.”
“Why would you hide who you are?” Stella’s
question hit close to home, but I held back
from taking offense. Had I not already told
her everything I did, I did to hold my family
together?
“This makes no sense,” she said. “Your self-
sacrificing spirit is ridiculous. Life isn’t
meant to be this hard for anyone. What were
you thinking, coming up with a plan as
ridiculous as this? And to think that you’ve
been at it all your life. What on earth were
you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking,” I said. “I just wanted to
kill the competitive spirit growing inside her
is all. I wanted us to be family. I still do.”
Stella regarded me with a sorry look as she
watched me dab my teary eyes with my
fingers. “And did it work? Everything you did,
and still do, is all for nothing. They don’t
hate you any less, for God’s sake! Stop this
insanity.”
I had been right to assume she would find
me crazy. “It could have been worse.”
“Victoria, this is far too extreme! You should
never have done this! You paint yourself as
the weak one, when in reality you are not.”
“I have to be the weak one. Don’t you get
it? I’m afraid of letting them see the real
me. They will double their efforts to break
me! This will break our family more than it
already is. I don’t want that.”
She could never understand me. Telling her
had been a terrible move.
“If you plan to spend the rest of your life
under this pretense,” she said. “Then telling
me was a big mistake. I’m sorry, but I can’t
watch you waste away like this. I can’t hold
back from interfering.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but she held
out her hand, silencing me. “I’m sure you
knew I would interfere, but you told me
anyway. You know why? It’s because you
want me to interfere, but you don’t realize it
yet, or you’re too scared to admit it.”
Starting the engine, she joined the main
road, leaving me to weigh the consequences
of my big mouth. She would definitely do
something to bring the real me out of
hiding. And I certainly would not enjoy this
one bit.
.
To be continued