WAITING FOR MADAM

WAITING FOR MADAM

PART 1

Barth had finished packing his little traveling bag. He had put in all his Sunday clothes as well as his little pocket prayer book. He now sat back to wait. Waiting for a sign. Maybe a knock on the door, the impatient hooting of a car horn, the hurried loud knocks made by a lady’s shoe on the pavement. He was filled with excitement and anxiety at the same time. He had never been this nervous. He had never left home for a long period, only for short holidays. He hadn’t gone on any holiday visit since Mama died. Papa hadn’t let him out of his sight since and had even pulled him out from the boarding house and made him a day student instead.

Oh Mama! Remembering his late mother often wearied his young heart. She was a simple woman, loving and kind. He was her only child but you could never tell as their home was always overflowing with other children and adult guests. She regularly shared foodstuff and sundry gifts to the compound women. Her smiling face still adorned most walls in the house.

It still felt like yesterday to Barth. He had been called into the principal’s office. His uncle Ben, was there. Papa’s elder brother. He had mentioned something about him being needed at home to attend some family ceremony. Barth had thought it strange that Papa hadn’t come himself. His uncle also couldn’t meet his eyes. He had seemed like a man in a tug-of-war with himself. Even his hug was more affectionate than usual. Stranger was the principal, Mr. Frank. Rim-rod thin, with a tinier chin. Huge unsmiling eyes that harboured even bigger black pupils that seemed to swallow whoever dared to stare back. Mr. Frank’s lips looked like they had long given up, after once attempting a smile unsuccessfully. That day, he tried again to smile, albeit unsuccessful and even patted him on the back.

Everything dawned on him when they arrived the house. Mama’s posters were all over the outside walls. Just like those of politicians during the last elections. Only that Mama’s posters had crosses printed on them. Then he saw the title atop her picture; Obituary. Mama was dead. The ground caved in. Everything else was a blur. He vaguely remembered falling into his uncle’s arms and being carried into the room, of urgent voices asking for him to be unclothed, for someone to open the windows and air the room. After that, he remembered nothing.

The funeral day was quite eventful. Mama had only recently begun following Papa to his new church. The members had come along with the Overseer to conduct her funeral. However her old church members had also come in their tens. They were driven in a convoy of fifteen buses. They had produced Mama’s tithe card which was up to date, as well as her baptismal certificate. Their leader, a man whose build was betrayed by his tiny voice, stressed that they would not be cheated out of their ‘entitlements’, usually given to the officiating church by the grieving family. There was an argument of epic proportions. Just as Barth worried that there might just be a fight, then Papa’s church members, outnumbered and out-shouted, dropped their claim to the officiating. He later learnt that they had been persuaded by assurances on their own ‘entitlements’ even without their leading the ceremonies.

Then the family of the culprit was announced and all hell was let loose once more. Papa had to be restrained. They had come with various livestock and several wrappers, as demanded by custom to appease Mama’s angry spirit. Her life cut short by their Son, who had been speeding whilst drunk and crashed into Mama who was walking home from the evening meeting of the Women’s Guild in the church. The driver, was still in detention as he was yet to be charged to court and they, his relatives, had come to appease and beg for forgiveness and his freedom. Papa was irate and wouldn’t come out until they retreated to the street. Conspicuous in their number and gifts, they stood uncertain and pondering till the light rain drove them into hiding. This had been all so funny to Barth despite the somber occasion. His mother had been a cheerful woman, it was hard to imagine her spirit angry. She had been too forgiving to carry a grudge.

Barth was happy leaving the boarding house. It had been tough for Barth and no one was aware of the daily struggle he went through whilst in there. Barth had been a late developer. While his classmates nodded in agreement to the Junior Science Teacher’s description of the characteristics of puberty, Barth was at a loss as neither his voice had deepened nor any hair sprouted in any of his hidden parts. It would be almost two years later before a tentative strand of hair would sprout on his chin. It had stood alone and wriggly as if it had lost its way and was meant for another. And so Barth began to dread bath time. For the students generally bathed at the same time, each in a hurry to meet the school breakfast time. Barth had noticed the mass of hair and extensive changes in and around the others’ organs. He began to hide, to wait until others had left before taking his bath. Thus he was often late for breakfast and so began an enforced fasting regime. He knew how others who had been unmasked were taunted and called ‘obele’ derogatorily. The term referred to smallishness in the native language. Only the initiated though, boarding students and ex- boarding students knew it highlighted the miniature size of the individual’s particular part of the anatomy.

Barth became a day student and went to school from home daily subsequently until his Junior exams. His performance had been average and Papa had told him it would be best to go serve someone as an apprentice trader, and be settled after five years by the trader with some amount of money to begin his own life. That night as they sat in the living room, Papa-Barth was silent for a long time after turning off the television.  “Bartholomew, my son”, he began. Papa never called him by his full name unless he had received a complaint about him or the matter was serious. “I have received word from Madam Ofor. She wants you to come with them after the Ofala festival. You will join them in their rice-selling business. If you serve them well for five years, they will settle you with your own shop and a principal amount for trading”, he said. Barth was shocked and happy at the same time. He knew how hard it must have been for Papa to agree to let him go. He wondered how Papa’s heart would take it. He feared Papa would visit the Madam’s house every other day to ensure he was fine. Or come to the shop under the pretext of buying rice daily, just to ensure his wellbeing. That would mean the whole house filling up with rice in no time. Papa continued and reminded him of whose son he was, and how a good name was better than gold. This went on till very late in the night when they slept off.

Barth was more worried about being an apprentice to a madam than by being an apprentice. He had learnt most rich women had very little patience with their apprentices and had been known to drum their cheeks with hot slaps. Hmmn, he sighed and wondered if he would cry when her fingers, laden with rings of varying quality, burdened by nails painted in strange hues, stung his young cheeks. Not all madams made slapping their chief weapon though. Most preferred words. Maligning and dark. Bitter words that were at total variance to their powdered faces. Their neighbor’s wife often roused the whole street from sleep most nights as she abused the husband. “Useless Man”, was her favorite expletive. The man had been so abused that he was anything but the term anymore. Even the children mocked him when he walked in between their drawn up soccer fields in the street. He was the only resident they didn’t pause their games for the one’s passage. Everyone else knew he did all the washing and cleaning at home. Why he remained in the marriage was a mystery. Even at Mama- Barth’s funeral, he turned up carrying the madam’s handbag and scarf after her.

Not all apprentices though had such experiences. Some had totally different madams. Like Thomas his former classmate. He was an apprentice to a major importer of used clothing, Chief Jelem. The last time Barth saw Thomas after exchanging pleasantries, Thomas told him his story. “My brother, I had to run away from that place o. My father keeps insisting i go back, but no way. I don’t want any trouble”, he said. Barth’s interest was piqued and he sought to know more. “The Chief is very good to me, but he travels a lot”, he continued. “So when I return from the shop, I am alone with the madam in that whole house”. Barth was taken aback and wondered what was wrong with that. Thomas then told him the other part. “The madam called me one night when the Chief had travelled, to her room upstairs. I had been washing and was in my shorts. She was stark naked! She grabbed me and pulled me on top of her after tearing off my shorts. She pushed my “pee-pee” inside her and began speaking in tongues like that white garment pastor”.

Barth was shocked but he hadn’t finished. “My brother, I began to enjoy the thing. Then a strange current went through my body and I wanted to piss. I told the madam that I wanted to piss, but she insisted I should piss it right there”, he stated shamefully. This had happened five times already. He had pissed in Chief’s wife five times now. He didn’t want to wait for Chief to ask him why he preferred not pissing in the latrine and was now doing so in his wife, no matter how strangely thrilling the piss was. So he had run back home.

PART TWO

Madam Ofor sat in the inner room of one of her several shops in the market. She was a widow of many years standing and was known as one of the key traders in the commodity section of the market. She had been serving as the Vice President of the commodity market for over four years now and was highly regarded as one of the movers and shakers of the market. The commodity section comprised of items like salt, rice, flour and sugar. Madam Ofor was not only a mover and shaker by role, whenever she made her brief movements to and fro her car or home, her massive body shook with ripples stretching the fabric of the dress. She was what they referred to in the local parlance as a “thick madam”.

She observed the labourers hired to help bring down rice from the warehouse and frowned at their slow pace. She had only four hired sales girls’ currently working with her. The apprentice boys had proved a serious challenge of late. They no longer wanted to work, all were looking for easy money and ran away as they cornered any substantial sales amount.

This drove Madam Ofor to leave the boys and a hire a middle aged apprentice man, who was still a bachelor. The neighbor who introduced the apprentice had told her the man was his first cousin and vouched for his hardwork. He stressed on the man’s religiosity and attention to detail. Unfortunately he hadn’t mentioned that the apprentice in question also possessed a rampaging libido. Barely a week after he resumed, Madam Ofor’s salesgirls’ routinely complained of strange incidences of bumping into Augustine the middle-aged apprentice around the corners. It seemed coincidental except that three of them had observed bulges in his lower clothes after such ‘accidental’ bumps.

Madam Ofor only realized that she had a serious issue on her hands when she retrieved the bank account opening forms from Augustine. Madam Ofor always opened savings accounts for her new apprentices, where she made regular deposits till they completed their agreed tenure, when she handed them the passbook including bank statements. This helped make their graduation to being their own masters easier and not financially tasking. The form retrieved was well filled out until the “Sex” section. Augustine, instead of indicating his gender had written out in block letters “TWICE A DAY, EXCEPT FOR THE SABBATH DAY”. Madam Ofor didn’t allow him return home with her that day. He was returned to the neighbor that same day from the shop. His belongings sent to him the next day.

Madam Ofor was caught in a quandary. The younger ones were lazy, the older ones were already set in their ways of immorality. The neighbor was back in her shop the next morning again. “Madam, I am very sorry. I didn’t know the boy was spoilt”, he had said. He had come with yet another cousin. This one was named Clement. From the gap on the unbuttoned opening on his shirt, she spotted a faded tattoo of a star on his chest. She also noted a tiny crack on his right earlobe. He had no ear-rings on but had definitely been a regular wearer at some point. His hair was styled in a punk style, the top so far from the scalp that even a hair louse could sustain an injury falling from hair to head.

“What is your name?” Madam Ofor asked had Clement. “Clement, Ma’. The moment he spoke, the air changed ever so faintly. There was a tiny whisk of something pungent, something strong. Madam Ofor knew what it was, the remnants of suppressed marijuana smoke. Madam Ofor was an authority on marijuana. She had known all the various spots in town when her son battled a strong addiction for it. These she stormed regularly with the law enforcement agents as she regularly searched for her son. She knew the different variants by smell, where they were sold, who sold the strongest version called “Oshogbo” and how much. All though had come to naught as her son remained in a rehabilitation clinic outside the country. She had thanked the neighbor and promised to reach them when a decision was made. She deleted his contact information from her mobile phone immediately they had left. Madam Ofor was aghast. It was hard to believe that the youth were now so difficult to manage. And with such a neighbor, who needed enemies.

 The day was quiet. Market had been slow. It had drizzled all morning. Quiet mornings though could always explode into hot afternoons. One could never tell a bad market day from the morning. Today was the day she was to pick up Papa-Barth’s son. She had asked them to prepare the room for him earlier. Madam Ofor had learnt her lesson though. Her lawyer had drawn up an agreement that the boy’s father would sign, the boy still being a minor. Then her doctor would run series of tests; toxicology, HIV, genotype. Every base had to be covered. She had to know everything from day one. There was no need to hurry or rush.

At home, it was getting to dusk. Barth was still at the window. Waiting. Waiting for Madam. The first tears had begun to form. He hoped she would come and get him. He further hoped that she would let him return now and then to visit with Papa.

Nnamdi Wabara, 2016.