The Child who Beat his Mother
Even if the sun was scorching the ground underneath their feet, they would not have felt it. All the people standing alfresco in front of Chief Ehiagwina's compound were already burning, red-hot, with anger. The compound was unfenced, putting the fullness of Osaze's family’s drama in full-view of every passerby.
The entrance to the house was duly decorated with elegantly-trimmed hedges. The house—an old bungalow—had lost most of its hue. There was a long bench and two plastic chairs in the verandah. A yellow thin-looking dog sat under the bench, staring at the familiar faces. The compound had just been swept by Gladys, Chief Ehiagwina's youngest child, and the long broom specifically used for the task was leaning against the house. The breeze, like the timid children present, was careful to pass the compound quietly.
Only Chief Ehiagwina maintained equanimity. He stood in a manner that implied wisdom, clutching his featherless cap under his arm. The air was stale with angst. Everyone knew that Chief’s grace was now fully spent:
“We are not barbarians! If you want to behave like you do not have elders amongst yourselves, then know that there is a Chief in your presence!”
His voice sent ripples through the already quiet crowd. Mothers held their little children tighter, so that all remained painfully still; from Osato whose anger was visceral, to the ants labouring zealously through the scorching clay ground.
“Let us have it in mind that above all things, peace is most beneficial,” Chief continued. For a moment Chief Ehiagwina felt his legs stagger. He had to try hard to rein in his emotions, and give Osaze a chance to redeem himself. It was said that there was nothing new under the sun, but Chief Ehiagwina had never seen a child do what Osaze had just done. It was, in itself, something new. Regardless, he was the only custodian of peace amongst those that stood in front of him.
Chief Ehiagwina's left hand clutched his walking stick as his other hand fitted his cap onto his head. He spread his legs apart, standing at ease, to the chagrin of his sixty-nine-year-old legs.
“Mama Osaze, doh. Sorry for what has taken place. But I must urge you to explain how it happened.”
Chief Ehiagwina, of course, knew what had just happened. It was nettlesome gossip that, like flies, buzzed about one's ears. He had not seen it all, but surely he had heard it all, or some version of it. It was for the sake of peace and justice, that there had to be such a “hearing”. The issue on ground was serious and needed to be resolved quickly. Chief Ehiagwina particularly took interest because he considered Mama Osaze and her children his family.
Mama Osaze's husband, Papa Osaze, had been Chief Ehiagwina's best friend before he passed away. Their friendship had lasted for over forty years, and people had mistaken them for brothers, although they did not look alike. Their houses were, on intent, built next to each other, but life had since taken Papa Osaze away to the land where their ancestors lived. Mama Osaze was only a woman—one with divine authority as a mother—but with an authority inferior to a man. Chief Ehiagwina was determined to intervene not just as a respectable man of title in the community, but as a father. The thought of what Osaze had done gave Chief Ehiagwina deep chills; the type that made a person drink hot tea on that kind of hot afternoon.
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“Domoh Epa,” Mama Osaze greeted Chief. Tears rolled down her cheeks and her lips quivered.
“Mama Osaze, you need to stop crying. I know that in our custom a child's word cannot be taken against his parents’, but in this case, Osaze is not a child, but a man.”
Mama Osaze pulled the hem of her wrapper up to dry her eyes. Her feet were covered in dust. The strands of her were scattered in a manner that was symbolic of the thoughts flying around her mind.
Peace stood behind her mother crying, unable to really understand the situation. She wondered what exactly had happened, as she stared at her family members: her elder brothers Osaze, Osato and Osariemen, Uwaila her elder sister, and Aunty Vero, her mother’s younger sister. All her nine-year-old mind wanted was for things to go back to the way they were when she had gone out on an errand, just about an hour ago. Thoughts of how she eagerly ran out of the house to fulfil her mother's demands flashed through her mind. She remembered how her mother had caught her by the ear, telling her what to buy. Sticking to her mother's instructions, she had come running back with a sense of accomplishment, only to be welcomed by this fiasco.
“Peace, stop crying o,” Mama Osaze said to her, taking her by the hand. “Do not worry my child, you will grow up to be blessed. I pray that your life will always be free of trouble, that it will live up to the fullness of your name. Now leave my hand and let my mouth speak.”
Mama Osaze looked around and noticed people who she had not taken cognisance of; Mama Elvis, their neighbour, and her son Elvis were standing like two trees that were lost in a forest. Papa Jude, who sold spare parts in a shop opposite their house, and who always wore a newsboy cap, was also standing amongst the crowd. A sense of shame grazed her as she thought of how she was now a spectacle. Swallowing her shame, together with her saliva, she continued to speak.
“I had just sent Peace to buy me spices, palm oil, and dried fish from Mama Joy; ingredients for the Egusi soup I planned on making later in the day. Osaze was inside the house preparing to go to work as usual, Osariemen had just finished filling the drum with water. He and Uwaila were helping with the chores inside, and Vero was preparing to return back to Lagos.”
Mama Osaze dragged her words and sniffed in between her sentences, making “eees” and “ehs” as she spoke. Inasmuch as Chief Ehiagwina wanted her to speak faster and to cut out some unnecessary details, he did not interrupt her. She maintained her tarry pace and spoke verbosely, but she did not mince her words:
“As I came out to sweep the compound, I saw Osaze sitting idly under the mango tree, pressing his big phone. I went to speak to him like a mother. I told him to try to help around, since he doesn't have a job yet since the conclusion of his NYSC, which was eight months ago. That was how the child that I carried inside my womb started insulting me and beating me. Epa, Osaze raised his hands on me. That was what led to the fight between him and his younger brother Osato.”
Mama Osaze burst into tears. Her tears were unfeigned, even more so embarrassing for the people who walked by. They were, in any case, the tears of a mother who had been beaten by her own child. It was a taboo; an abomination that was never to be heard of.
Mama Kingsley, Chief Ehiagwina's wife, held Mama Osaze close to her chest in a bid to console her. She dragged Mama Osaze backwards and sat with her on the bench which was now in front of the house, under the shade of the roof of the house. Mama Osaze pulled the edges of her faded wrapper and tucked them in between her legs as she sat.
“Osaze, tell me what happened.”
All eyes moved to Osaze. Buttons were visibly missing from the shirt which he wore. The newness of the shirt was apparent. His black jeans were ripped just above the knee, and his feet were encased in fashionable pam slippers. His voice was bold.
“Epa, hmmm, I did not beat my mother o,” Osaze said almost in a scream. “What is the meaning of all this fracas my name is being dragged into? Do the people in this community not know who I am? I am an educated person; a graduate for that matter. The prestigious University of Benin is my alma mater. Let anyone who doesn't know take note now. I'm not someone anybody can just talk to.”
Chief Ehiagwina's heart ached with disappointment. Osaze's impertinence made Chief Ehiagwina think of Papa Osaze in a way that resurrected the grief he had felt when Papa Osaze had died eight years ago. If corpses really turned in their graves, then that was exactly what Papa Osaze would be doing. Papa Osaze was the only friend he called his brother, and the only person he knew who was truly honest in business dealings. Chief Ehiagwina remembered how Papa Osaze had been strict, especially with his children. He knew for a fact that Papa Osaze had wanted his children to acquire higher education, but definitely not in exchange for respect or morals. Chief Ehiagwina was convinced that there was no way Osaze would have had the guts to speak the way he did now if Papa Osaze were still alive.
“Epa, that aside,” Osaze continued. “It was my mother who slapped me first. She called me useless. I mean, she started all this. Don't buy all these tears, they are fake. That's the only weapon she can use to her advantage. Epa, please examine the issue here; how can my mother ask me to do chores? What are my younger siblings there for? Ehn? Instead of my mother to realise the kind of pressure I am going through, that as the man of the house, I have no job. I have bigger worries to think about. This is the same family that will expect me to get married in a few years. Tell them to free me o. If they cannot help quell my anxieties, let them not add to the problems.”
There was a brief silence.
“And you Osato,” Osaze continued, “You think you can fight me? You think you have strength now, that you are a man, so you don't have respect for real men, abi?"
“You foolish unfortunate human being!” Osato snapped. “What respect? You will die by my hands. The moment you laid your hands on my mother was the moment you lost my respect and stopped being my brother. That was equally the moment you stopped being a man." Osato's retortive words were filled with fury, which in the space of a few hours, was turning into hate.
A fight almost erupted, again, but Chief Ehiagwina was quick to stop it before it started. Seconds later, Osaze resumed speaking:
“Epa, I did not beat my mother o. What she said I did was only in self defence. She was the one who attacked me first and pushed me to the wall.”
Chief Ehiagwina and the crowd stood, dumbstruck. Chief wanted to believe that Osaze was acting out a script, but Osaze stood there, his hair high and unequal, and his face squeezed tightly into a mean frown.
'”Do you realise this is your biological mother we are talking about?” Chief huffed. “Attack? What do you mean by attack, this boy? Even if she attacked you, does that give you the right to hit her in return? Moreso, to behave disrespectfully because she insulted you?”
Osaze responded very loudly, his voice thin and high-pitched:
“Chief, those insults were indirect curses, generational curses, which by the way will never come to pass because my mother is not God! How can she be raining curses on me knowing full well what I am passing through? Which true mother does that to her son?”
Peace moved closer to her mother who was shaking her head vigorously. She dropped the polythene bag that contained the items she had been sent to purchase on the bench. She now knew what had happened. Mama slowly took Mama Kingsley's hand off her shoulder, and started speaking—not words, but curses.
“Epa, can you hear her? She has started again,” Osaze snapped.
Mama Osaze did not move an inch. She remained seated, chanting the same words. Her eyes were sullen, and had sunk into their sockets.
“You shall not eat the fruits of your labour. You will have children o, so that you will know what it is like to be beaten by your own child. Your children will beat you to stupor. They will disrespect you. They will abuse you and treat you like rags. Your generation will never be successful.”
Osaze eyed her and kissed his teeth.
Mama Osaze added, “You will die young.”
Papa Jude, Mama Elvis and even Elvis gasped.
“It is you that will die young, it is you that will not eat the fruit of your labour, and it is you whose generation will never be successful.”
At this point, Chief Ehiagwina wished so badly to slap Osaze, but he thought better of it. He knew his weak hands would fail to give the kind of slap he wanted—a very hard slap that possessed the potential to cure whatever it is that was making Osaze misbehave. Instead he spoke fast, his voice betraying his anger.
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“Now I know just how stupid you are! Your mother is not God but did you fall down from heaven? Even if she had not cursed you, don't you know that you're cursed already? This is the same woman who has been struggling to take care of you since your father died. It is thanks to her that you are a so-called graduate. You have clearly lost your mind. A child can grow enough teeth that he wants, but what happens if he does not have the lips to cover them? Take time!”
Everyone in the crowd agreed with Chief Ehiagwina; Osaze had lost his mind! What had just happened was a climax like no other, and the crowd was almost relieved that they had seen the height of it. Some, like Peace, were petrified of what might bring the resolution. Osaze would come to his senses, they hoped. He would apologise. But Osaze didn't.
“I thought it is said that wisdom is found in grey hair! I can see grey hair but no wisdom. Are you making matters better or worse? I should take time or what? Epa, you cannot do anything. You are as useless as that thing between your legs. I know my rights and I have top class lawyers as friends. If not for the twenty to thirty thousand naira jobs all these companies have been offering me, will I be here? Well, I don't blame any of you. A first class graduate like me should not be amongst uneducated human beings!”
Osariemen placed his hands akimbo. He was no match for his older brother. Was his brother now a cultist? Where was all this coming from? How on earth could he act the way he was acting and say the things he was saying? Anger was a flimsy excuse, he thought. Aunty Vero was also thinking thoughts of her own. She was determined not to look at the situation with a physical eye. Her family was under a spiritual attack and her nephew was the target. Enemies, either from her sister's end, or from her sister's late husband's end, were at work. They had sent an evil spirit to possess Osaze, she concluded in her mind. It was the only logical explanation. Aunty Vero drew her phone out from her pocket and dialled Prophet Agbamimoshe's number. He was the pastor of the white garment church next to her house in Lagos. Prophet Agbamimoshe was an expert when it came to situations like this. She had heard people say that he was potent.
Osato made a swift move into the house, mostly unnoticed. Everyone stood and watched quietly as Osaze stormed away, his dirty black and white t-shirt blowing in the air of dust raised by his feet.
If Osaze had turned back, he would have seen that his mother had bared her breasts, raining more curses on him; he would have seen Peace kneeling in front of Mama, crying profusely; he would have seen Osariemen and Uwaila, pleading with their mother to cover her breasts; he would have seen Chief Ehiagwina's apoplectic face as he shouted “Abomination!” furiously at the crowd. And he would have seen Osato, running towards him, his face hard and angry, with a knife in his hand.
