GREEN GRASS
‘Uda aki-ilu, abughi
uto ya’. (The sound of the bitter-kola as it’s being munched, is not a
measure of it’s sweetness) - Igbo Proverb.
Lily Nze opened the door to her two bedroom apartment and
stumbled in, hands laden with groceries. She had visited the shops from her
office on the Lagos Island, where she headed their audit section. Lily had
barely dropped the grocery bags in the kitchen when her mobile phone began
ringing.
It was Aunty Nneka. It was always Aunty Nneka these days.
Aunty Nneka was a much junior sister to Lily’s Dad. His only sister as a matter
of fact. Since Lily turned 36 years old last Friday, Aunty Nneka hadn’t given
her a minute’s peace. She was so determined to match-make her, in her own words
‘before it is too late’.
Lily picked the call. ‘Hello, Aunty Nneka, how was your day?
Aunty Nneka ran a big-scale boutique, a street across from Lily’s office on the
Island. She wasn’t so much older than Lily as well, as she was just 45 years
old. Aunty Nneka however was determined that her niece wouldn’t miss out on
eligible husband-materials, like she had in her heyday. Aunty Nneka was still a
spinster and belonged to the school of thought that believed Marriage was meant
to be a woman’s crowning glory.
‘My day was great, Lily’. ‘Are you back from work?’ ‘Yes
Ma’, Lily replied. ‘Good. Now have you given a thought to my suggestion?’ Aunty
Nneka asked. Lily was lost for words. She had been through this severally with
Aunty Nneka. They had nearly had a fallout that she now acquiesced and asked
for some time to think about it.
It had to do with the latest suitor Aunty Nneka had found
for Lily. He was a migrant businessman, resident in Italy and brother to Aunty
Nneka’s friend. Her friend too was new, a recent acquaintance she had made in
the most recent church she just began attending; “The Believers’ People
Assembly”’
Aunty Nneka had been born a catholic but had virtually gone
round most of the churches in Lagos and some. She was in constant search of not
only salvation, but also of ‘strong’ pastors and ministers, who could assure
her that her future was secure and her present in tandem with the traits of
heaven-bound folk.
‘No I haven’t, Aunty’, Lily replied. ‘I promise I will give
you an answer before this weekend’, she finished. They said their goodbyes and
Lily hung up. Talking with Aunty Nneka was becoming more uncomfortable by the
day. She was asking for far too much. Firstly to accept the migrant suitor,
then to join her in attending the new church!
Lily termed herself a ‘non-committal’ Christian. She didn’t
go every Sunday, but when she really felt like it or to attend weddings in
church. Aunty Nneka had set about changing all that. She bombarded Lily with
daily devotional messages on social media. She had already on her own
registered Lily into the female ushers’ group in the Believers’ People
Assembly, even though Lily had only been there twice as an invitee to attend as
Aunty Nneka gave testimonies on both occasions before the whole congregation.
Aunty Nneka also kept Lily updated on declared fasting days and forwarded
recorded sermons to her email address. Lily was under a siege!
A sharp scream followed by a torrent of abuse. Lily knew who
they were. The Jafars’ barely 8 months married, yet the union oscillated
between two extremes all the time. They were one of the reasons Lily was
mightily skeptical over the topic of marriage. When they loved, they loved.
They had woken Lily up that day in the early morning as per course, with their
loud moans as they pleasured each other. They also kept her up most nights when
they fought each other. Today’s fight had kicked off early as it wasn’t even
8pm yet.
‘Go and google me o, useless man’! That was definitely Mrs.
Jafar. Lily could recognize that shrill voice bordering on a cat’s squealing
and a dog’s whelping even in her sleep. She had been asking to be googled for a
few months now. A top manager in a financial institution with branches
nationwide, it was a wonder how she changed during matrimonial bouts. A Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde state of affairs. Their last quarrel spilled over into the
complex’s staircase. Lily had been involved in getting Mrs. Jafar to relinquish
the machete, which she held while threatening to lunge at anyone who came too
close. Lily wondered if Mrs. Jafar’s records with Google might show that she
was proficient with machetes, or that she may have been deranged at some point
in history.
From the maid that reported fortnightly in her rooms, Lily
finally learned some facts about the Jafars’. Mrs. Jafar had caved in to
societal pressure and allowed herself to be swept off her feet by Mr. Jafar.
Mr. Jafar was as evasive as they came but the sex was great. In the cold
reality of post wedding life, Mr. Jafar’s lack of tertiary education began to
stick out like a sore thumb. Mrs. Jafar wouldn’t allow him escort her to
financial lunches and meetings that went on all the time. Mr. Jafar began to
resent her late returns home. Fear quickly changed to hate. Now all they had in
between arguments and massive fights was great sex.
Lily said her night prayers and decided to give Aunty Nneka
her response the next day. She would agree to see this Italy based suitor
despite her misgivings about the marriage institution and relationships
generally. Lord, give me strength, she prayed.
“Mbuari- mbuari, ka
eji ere mbe”. (It is only by carrying a tortoise around different venues,
that it gets sold) - Igbo Proverb.
Lily was sat at the back of the church, next to Aunty Nneka.
Her Aunt’s eyes were closed as she waved her hands in the air, like most others
in the church that evening. It was a special programme targeted at the ‘single
and ready to mingle’, scheduled on a working day. On the flyer advertising the
event, there had been a rider, proclaiming that no single would depart the
venue empty handed. Thus far, in the four hours they had been there, none had
approached either the Aunt or herself despite the great lengths they had gone
to look humble and non-descript, so as not to scare them off. This had been the
Aunt’s latest idea. In the last two months she had toured all the churches in
the city, with Lily in tow. She said they wouldn’t stand still as husbands
weren’t standing still either. No program venue was too far for Aunty Nneka,
she had even taken Lily to Cameroun to attend a similar programme organized by
an African prophet based in Paris, France.
Lily had long tuned off once the officiating minister began
speaking in many tongues. To Lily, that was a tell-tale sign of improvisation
and therefore always raised her ‘red flags’ over claims of genuine close
audience with the Almighty. The staccato verbal outpourings always seemed to
her a little contrived and manufactured. “Me-ka-ta-la chi-ma-se-ke-ke”. “Du-kpa
te-le-la chi- ma- se-ke-ke”. Lily rather imagined this as a call to prayer, to
kindred lost and disillusioned spirits than communication with celestial
beings. After 5 rounds of an “offering basket” going through the attendees, the
programme was ended much later that night. Aunt drove Lily home with her as it
was quite late to return to Lily’s own side of the town. While Lily felt it had
been another failed venture, Aunty Nneka reprimanded her for not knowing the
ways of the ‘spirit’!
As Lily lay in bed reminiscing, her mobile phone rang. It
was Peter, her migrant suitor. He had arrived impromptu on the Alitalia flight that
morning from Milan. They had been chatting for some days now over social media.
He had gotten a little break from the office and had returned to Nigeria to see
his ‘Lily’!
It was a whirlwind week with peter. He was a gentleman and
an even gentler speaker. He was keen to meet her people, to get to know
everybody. He even tried to initiate ‘unprotected’ sex with her. That was a red
flag. Lily paid a lot of heed to red flags, they had saved her thus far. She
had learnt to trust her instincts, her gut feelings.
So she delayed the plans. She gave excuses. Her parents were
not available for now. Maybe in December when he next returned. He only met up
with Aunty Nneka of the whole extended family. Aunty Nneka as she was wont,
couldn’t be contained. Excited was an understatement. She urged Lily to hasten
things up, that marrying Peter would be great. She insisted that Lily obtain
his address in Italy, that she go visit, the grass being much greener over
there than back here in Lagos.
Peter returned to Italy the next week. Lily missed his
European accented Igbo dialect. Lily had her lingering doubts though. Why would
Peter want unprotected intercourse when he didn’t even know her HIV status? Or
did he need her to get pregnant? Why? To tie her down? Hmmmn.
A month later, Lily got an email from her Travel Agency. It
advertised some holiday packages. There was a modest one to visit the Vatican
City in Rome, amongst other packages for exotic locations. Lily made the
necessary arrangements to fall into her planned vacation for the year. She
wouldn’t tell Peter though, she would surprise him and lay her doubts to rest.
The days passed in a blur. Her travel date soon arrived. Lily was excited as
she had only been to the United Kingdom in the whole of Europe before now. If it
went well, they’ll conclude the marriage plans before she returned back.
After four wonderful days touring the Vatican City, Lily was
sat in the Eurostar travelling to Milan from Rome. She had learnt some Italian
words to pass her through the shops, an Italian language crash course in 3 days
from the elderly tour guide. She hoped Peter would be pleased at her smattering
Italian. ‘Buongiorno’, for good
morning. ‘Ciao, mi chiamo Lily’, (Hello my name is lily). ‘Grazie’, thank you. ‘A presto’, see you later. ‘Come vanno le cosse’, (how are things)?
Piazza Del Duomo, 22423, Milan, Italy. Navigli district.
Lily arrived at the door. It was answered by a woman, an Italian blonde. She
squinted her eyes at Lily. They were used to immigrants knocking at odd hours. ‘Cosa vuoi?’ What do you want, she asked
Lily. Lily was going to ask after Peter. She thought there must be some
mistake. Then a little girl and her brother disembarked from the School Bus
that had just pulled up in front of the street. ‘Mummia’, they screamed as they ran into her embrace. ‘Mia cara, benvenuto a casa’, their mother replied.
The children were both mulattos. They were a cross of
Italian and Nigerian parentage. The boy especially had Peter’s eyes and ears.
It was so uncanny, it felt like seeing Peter in his earlier years, though in a
lighter skin. ‘Sbaglio’ (mistake),
Lily replied her. ‘Perdonami’ (forgive
me), Lily finished, then turned and ran, dragging her luggage behind her.
Luckily there was a passing taxi. She hailed it and hopped in urgently, needing
to get distance between herself and Peter’s home. ‘Aeroporto’ (airport), Lily told the driver, before the sobs came
pouring out. Her shoulders shook as all that feeling threatened to explode her
tear ducts.
EPILOGUE
Aunty Nneka was still on Lily’s case. Lily wouldn’t say why
she had blocked Peter on all her social media platforms. Lily wouldn’t say much
since she returned from Italy. Lily wouldn’t even agree to share her testimony
in church, after all the prophesy of the Minister about the ‘Green Grass’ had
come true for her. Lily wouldn’t budge but only uttered a word as they sat
eating Italian chocolates, Lily had purchased in Rome; ‘deluso’ (disappointed)! She wouldn’t even look at pictures sent by
Peter on Aunty Nneka’s mobile, of sundry wedding dresses and shoes to select
from. She merely shook her head several times and whispered “Mea Culpa”!
Nnamdi Wabara, 2016.
