Taiye

Cover art for Taiye by Aima Alakhume

Kehinde sat with one leg over the other, opposite her parents who were perched on the black leather chair she picked out for them in their newly refurbished parlour. Kehinde’s mother, Khadijah Asiwaju, had both her hands tucked comfortably between her husband Temilade’s. The side of her body relaxed against him too, placing her weight on his. Her feet were crossed at her ankles while his were placed far apart.

Even in the way the sat, they showed their affection for one another. Kehinde witnessed it live and direct. She grew up with them, she had no choice seeing that they were all she had. They loved her strongly almost with the same intensity they felt towards themselves. She wanted that for herself, she wanted to feel that strongly too. 

However, as of right now, any tenderness she felt toward them melted and was engulfed in waves of anger. She didn't want to talk about this.

The large parlour felt a little too small for the three of them, Kehinde could almost feel the air’s invisible hands wrapped around her neck. She folded her arms underneath her breasts and wrapped them into fists allowing the blunt of her nails to graze her palms. Her eyes shifted to the painting above her parents. It was a large picture of her, her parents and a possible version of how Taiye would have looked if he were still alive. 

‘He wouldn’t have looked like her.’  Kehinde thought to herself.

She looked away quickly, jaw clenched.

She didn’t want to talk about this.

“I don’t think you should reopen the case.” Kehinde spoke lightly, in an even tone. Her calmness surprised her.

Her father laughed. It was a loud and strong laugh that rocked her mother’s body with each round. Her mother grinned. Kehinde rolled her eyes. Her father continued:

“Ife mi, that’s a decision your mother and I have made long before now,” He said, lighter and softer this time as he rubbed his round stomach gently. His laugh had reduced to a tiny smile, similar to the one his wife wore on her face.

Ife mi. 

My love.

He’d called her that almost every day since Taiye was killed.

In her university days, Kehinde asked him why and he replied: 

“After your brother went missing you, talked to no one and you answered no one. Your mother and I were very scared and worried. The doctor said nothing was clinically wrong with you, and that we may have to be patient and see what happened. You never once answered to ‘Kehinde.’ One day I called you ‘Ife mi’, it was rather random and I didn’t expect anything, but you looked up from your storybook and answered.”

“Ife mi,” His jaw was set and his eyes became glossy, just like that day. “I believe this is the right time to search for him again,” he seemed to have zeroed his focus on Kehinde. She was looking around the room at the metal doorknob, the bar across the window, the electrical fireplace that was only a status symbol. She looked everywhere except at him.

“Why now? After twenty-something years, why does now seem to be the best time to do this? Don’t you want to move on?” Her tone was harsh but quiet.

Her father Temilade looked up. He opened his mouth to say something but he shook his head, closed it then tried again. 

“I never believed he was murdered,” he said in Yoruba, "Around the time, before we moved to Lagos. There was this rampant child kidnapping happening in the surrounding villages, rumours about child labour and selling children to other families. But nothing like that had ever occurred in our community, the king had assured us that it won’t happen. That we, that our children were safe."

Kehinde felt a weight landing on her heart and hot tears line her eyelids. She didn’t like the direction this story was going in. Her father continued, his voice laced with a heaviness he had carried for years in his heart.

“And so imagine a day comes and I hear you screaming 'baba mi! baba mi!' And all the alarms go off in my head. Your mother was not back from the market that day. I ran into the hut and I saw you screaming and crying, blood covering your clothes and the space beside you empty.” He let out a quiet sniff lifted his hands to wipe his face that was now streaked with tears. “You were shouting 'won ti pa egbon mi, won ti pa egbon mi!' Where does a seven-year-old hear things about killings?” He chuckled. “When I did not see your brother, I just knew my worst fear had come to pass. I told your uncles and aunties, your grandparents,” he stopped and laughed again. “They spat in my face saying that my son was dead and that my wife needed to dance and sing and do some foolish rituals keeping a wooden doll in the house as a symbol for Taiye. Ife mi, imagine the disrespect. I told them he was kidnapped but they laughed in my face and said I was foolish for believing that. I don’t blame them, I was the only one that it happened to in the whole village.” He spoke from a place of anguish, his face squeezed up as he continued. His lips downward.

“What makes you now think he wasn’t killed?” 

“There was no body,” he looked up, it was as simple as that.

“There was blood.”

Her father continued in Yoruba. “You’re a lawyer Kehinde, Is it everything you see that you believe?”

Kehinde did not respond.

“Why did you wait this long to do this?” She asked.

Temilade Asiwaju by now had steadied himself, his hands were firmly folded across his chest and his back laid against the seat.

“I don’t know why,” he clicked his tongue, his lips pursed and his wrinkles became even more prominent on his forehead. 

Silence filled the air again and Kehinde felt herself being transported to her time in the village twenty-two years ago.

She could barely remember how each of them dealt with the death of Taiye. She could only remember how lonely life became in the village. She and Taiye’s friends stopped coming to play with them in the compound. Even Akin, Taiye’s best friend, was not allowed to speak to her. Whenever she tried, Akin’s mother would rush him back into the house and send Kehinde away with the flick of her wrists.

Taiye’s death left a stench in Kehinde’s life that she couldn’t for the life of her seem to rub off, it was as though something tagged her a bad omen ever since he was killed. No one wanted to be around anyone that smelt cursed. Even her extended family didn’t show up for Taiye’s burial and they stopped visiting.

Kehinde picked her cup of palm wine, the cloudy liquid sloshing against the mug. She downed it in a single gulp and It slid smoothly down her throat, she was going to need more of this when she got home.

So many thoughts danced through her mind: there was no doubt that this would be a sad, long and lonely night, but when was her birthday ever anything but that? Drowning in a pool of self-loathing and hurt, even the therapist her parents hired after they moved to Lagos couldn't help her move on.

She was thankful her children were witth heir father on this night. They were the only source of light in her life and she didn’t want them seeing her like this. She had never spent a single birthday with them, opting to send them away and have dinner alone with her parents instead.

Her father continued. “I see how this has taken a toll on you, ife mi. We can talk about this more tomorrow or the day after. Not today."

“So you think he’s alive somewhere and that he wasn't really killed, just kidnapped?” 

“It’s a possibility.”

“A possibility?” Kehinde’s lips moved and the words came out before she could even stop them. 

Her father folded his lips.

“I tell you more on the investigation. Later. We’ll see.” 

“If he’s alive, it would be good for you.” Kehinde's mother spoke for the first time since the conversation started. Her voice smooth like butter and light like a single feather. 

“What if he doesn’t want anything to do with us? With me? If he is alive he’s going to wonder why we didn’t search for him. I would wonder that.”  Kehinde questioned again, her throat felt scratchy and dry. She reached for the bottle on the side table beside her, popped the cap open and took a mouthful. Her eyes looked back and forth at her parents.

She waited for an answer. 

“Madam, food is ready.” The throaty sound came from the entrance of the living room. It was Blessing, the househelp. She stood there with a pink patterned flare dress that did nothing for her petite frame. It looked rather large on her like she was swimming in it. Her presence stopped the conversation from going further.

Somehow as the night grew old, the topics switched and they had an enjoyable but mostly uneventful dinner. Kehinde laughed and smiled unconsciously throughout, it was something to distract her from the events earlier in the night. 

•••

When dinner was many hours past over, the three of them walked slowly to Kehinde’s car.

“I’m so proud of you Kehinde, you’re such a blessing to your father and me. We love you more than you could ever understand or know. You’re my biggest accomplishment and by far my most profitable investment,” Khadijah Asiwaju echoed sweetly into her daughter’s ear. 

The quietness at that moment felt intimate and personal but Kehinde expected that her mother’s words would prompt her to tear up. Instead, nothing came. Kehinde struggled to force tears out, to feel the swelling in her chest like most people did when they loved someone but still nothing came. 

Her heart ached.

Temilade Asiwaju began to pray over Kehinde but she was too unfocused to tune in to his words. She could see him smiling dearly at her, tears peaking from the corners of his eyes.

Kehinde whispered a soft “Amin” beneath her breath and hugged him, sinking into his warm embrace. She felt her mother’s small hand slide tenderly up and down her bare arms. All that was missing was Taiye. 

“That was all that was ever missing,” she thought to herself.

Kehinde slid into her car. The cool car seats send chills up her back, her bare legs flattering against the rough but soft material. Her mother insisted she dressed a bit feminine for dinner today, so she shopped for a short sleeve chiffon wrap dress that surprisingly suited her. Her mother was thrilled to see her in it and Kehinde loved making her happy.

Kehinde tugged at her seatbelt, secured it at the latch, turned the engine on and started towards a night of silent pain and wine drinking. The car was deafeningly silent but it contrasted her loud thoughts. Her eyes were trained on the road which was empty of cars. The buildings were sluggishly moving past as she turned onto Admiralty Way.

She felt prompted to speed up. Her hands firm on the wheel and her eyes darting to both side mirrors. Her bare foot pressing ever so lightly against the accelerator. The engine roared with each extra unit of pressure she applied. She felt adrenaline course through her and warmth spread all over her body. She didn’t want to die, she was just following the urge to run. The buildings turned to blurry images flashing past her.

In the blink of an eye, she slammed her hands against the horn.

The sound cut through the air and without a thought she swerved as she saw a car turn left onto her path. The sound of tires grazing against the road combined with car horns replaced the silence of the night. She stomped on the breaks like her life depended on it as the other car smashed into her front bumper. A cocktail of emotions washed over primarily spiked with fear, confusion and shock. 

Fear that she could have left her children motherless and her parents childless. 

Confusion because she didn't understand why she was being so reckless.

Shock because fear and confusion paralysed her.

Her car had come to a halt, jerking a bit before it settled. She didn't realise she was frozen till she heard a knock from her left window.  She didn’t lift her gaze until she had lowered the window all the way down and when she did, her eyes locked with his.

He seemed calm and relaxed like she hadn’t almost ended his life. In fact, he looked concerned. 

His lips parted and he said, “are you okay?”

His voice was deep and rich. It held a certain Yankee accent. His concern made her fear and shock wash away and dissolve like salt in water. She nodded without hesitation but she couldn't speak. Instead, she studied him.

He was dark-skinned with a small afro and a full beard. He had a regular T-shirt on, his broad shoulders spreading it taut against his chest. With the way he was bent down to her car level, she could tell he was tall. 

“Well, I’m hoping we could easily resolve this…” he trailed off looking to his right at the damage. “Little issue,” he concluded. 

He smiled and at that moment she remembered her father's laughter, their smiles were similar. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind.

Kehinde coughed and regained a little composure. She turned off her engine and motioned to the man that she wanted to open the car door. He straightened and backed away from the car. She was right, he is a tall man. She pushed her door open after unlocking it and slid out slowly dreading the outcome of this disaster. 

The dry Lagos wind blew strongly, lifting her wrap dress a little. It gnawed numbly at her skin but she ignored the feeling and proceeded to inspect the damage. She saw the huge dent in his bumper, his front lights completely shattered. Glass laying scattered across the road meanwhile her car looked untouched.

Kehinde swallowed heavily. She lifted her eyes up and caught the gaze of a woman in the passenger seat of the car. The woman looked rather pissed. Her brows were scrunched together and her lips pointing downwards.

“Yes, we can be civilised about this” she did not sound like herself. She sounded scared and weak and it disgusted her. She was never one to stutter or lose guard but something about this situation took her by surprise. 

“I am so sorry about the car and I take full responsibility,” she clasped her hands trying to appear in control of her emotions and of the matter. 

The strange man stood there silently, his hands tucked comfortably in his pockets. He seemed unaffected by the arid weather this night. He stood watching Kehinde. 

When he had realized she stopped talking, he filled the silence with “it’s not my car so I’m not the one you should be apologising to.” His hand went up to his chin scratching below it. It made a small grating sound.

"It’s my wife’s car, but she’s rather upset at the moment,” he chuckled nervously. 

Kehinde instinctively searched for a ring on his finger and she noticed it on the hand that he was using to rub his chin. It was a simple golden band that sat comfortably against his slender fingers.

Kehinde faced the woman again and waved sheepishly mouthing a pathetic sorry, she knew she should've gone to speak to her but it looked like the woman would rather insult her than talk.

“It’s okay, I will get it sorted out as soon as possible tomorrow morning, like I said earlier I take full responsibility and I am truly sorry for the inconvenience,” she turned to look at the damage and winced at the destruction she caused. 

“No problem, here is my number and address, so that we can talk about it later,” he pulled out a pen and blank card from his shorts pocket. He scribbled hurriedly on it and handed Kehinde the card. 

She took it without glancing at it.

“Alright, thank you and have a good night,” he said sincerely with a small smile on his face. His actions reassured her a bit and she gave him a nod.

“I didn’t get your name,” Kehinde stated before he started for his car.  

He stuck out his hand for a handshake. “My bad, my name is Taiye.”