The Passage: How I lost my grandmother

By Vanessa Obioha

‘Mama is dying, mama is dying!’

Ulomma pretended not to hear her mother’s frantic cry. She hung on to her subconscious state, counting the numbers and words on the white wall: ‘red, ten, men, sex,’ why were the numbers dancing, she asked, confused as the images danced awkwardly in her dream.

A stinging slap on her exposed lap cleared the mist from her eyes.

‘Awwww!’ she cried out.

‘I think mama is dying. She is behaving funny at the bathroom.’

With sleepy eyes, Ulomma stared at her mother, wondering why she looked so funny. There were suds plastered on her chin, reminding her of a female Santa Claus, her wrapper was almost down to her waist, her sagging but full breasts swinging left to right. Was that a red paste on her eyebrow? Was she crying? Why was she blowing her nose like a little child?

‘Ulomma, biko wake up and come see for yourself, Mama is dying!’

The words finally registered on her consciousness. Mama is dying. Oh no! Hope it wasn’t one of her dramas. She half rose from the bed, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

‘Isi gini?’ she asked

‘Haven’t you been hearing what I have been saying to you? I said mama is dying. Ikenna is with her in the bathroom.’

‘Mummy, she is not dying. She’s just acting film like she usually does.’

With that, she slumped back on the mattress but her mother tugged at her. She grunted inwardly. Why can’t her mother leave her alone? Can’t she see how tired she was? She just came back from work an hour ago and needed to sleep desperately. Staying up all night in that hotel wasn’t easy; their guests could come up with the most outrageous request in the middle of the night, especially the white men. And she had to attend a meeting by 10am. And now this? If mama was going to kick the bucket, she should. She was tired. Taking care of a sick old person was tiresome. If mama wasn’t throwing her tantrums in the middle of the night, she would be puking all over the place. The stress of taking care of her was becoming insufferable every day. They were all tired.

But she doubted if mama was dying. It’s not the first time she is scaring them with her death. But on the other hand, seeing the way her mother was pacing in her room, she feared it must be serious. But why hasn’t she called Nurse Amaka or someone, or go back to the bathroom to see how mama is faring with Ikenna? Why is she doing a circuit show in her room?

‘You are just scared for nothing. Mama is just having a rehearsal. Death is still far away from her.’

She told her mother as she followed her to the bathroom but at the sight of her grandma’s frail body, heavy gasps and dilated pupils, her words sounded so unconvincing. Maybe her mother was right. Mama was finally dying. The scene before her was like a still motion from a movie. Here was her grandmother, a woman who had been battling with stroke for the past two years, fighting for her life. She looked so weak and helpless.

This was mama who roared like a lion when she was healthy; everyone behaved well when she was around. You dared not act silly or show any acts of disobedience if not mama would use her walking stick on you with the speed of a lightning. But they loved having her around; they enjoyed eating her tasty egusi soup with stockfish while she regaled them with stories of the Biafra war. Mama did not go to school but she was highly intelligent. She knew all the historical dates and with her creative mind, she would paint a lucid narrative of the happenings during her youthful days. One of the favourite stories they enjoyed listening to was when the Nigerian army took over Elele in Rivers state during the Biafra war.

Like other city settlers, the Biafra war drove mama and her family back to the village from Lagos. Being the third wife of her husband, mama depended on nobody to train her three children. Her husband was a sailor whose libertine nature was no secret. He hardly took care of her. The first wife was the apple of his eyes so the welfare of others was insignificant to him. Mama had to trade in palm oil business to feed her family. But as the war deepened, she had to be very careful. That very day, she was at the market when the Nigerian army surrounded the market. In a flash, everybody was running helter-skelter. Women screaming, children being toppled over as their tiny innocent legs wasn’t speedy enough, trays of fruits, vegetables, and other items were scattered all over the market place, the men didn’t bother to help the women or the children, everyone ran for their dear life.

Mama carried the two 25-litre gallons of oil and ran like a fat hen to an unknown destination. She kept running until she got to the bush. That was when she realised her wrapper was missing and she was drenched in her urine. She heaved a sigh, turned back but found no one. She had no idea where she was. Resting on the grass, she tried to figure out how she would be able to make it to the village without her wrapper. A movement beside her made her jump out of her skin only to land with a great thud on one of the gallons of oil. The pressure made the gallon to burst and streams of oil spurted on her body. Just then, she heard footsteps in the bush. Sensing that it might be the detractors, she laid on the grass quietly like a dead body. She hoped the red oil would be a perfect disguise to the soldiers to assume she was dead.

Few minutes later, two soldiers stood by her side. She heard one of them say ‘This one don die. Poor woman.’

His counterpart jeered at him, ‘Why the pity? They deserve it. Though I wish she was alive, would have been great to ravish her body.’

Mama at this point nearly gave herself away at the thought of being raped. She had to stifle a cry when a cold hand brushed her left breast.

‘At last, we have conquered this city. Biafra will bow to us. Ojukwu will bow to Gowon.’

In a joyful mood, they urinated on mama before leaving her. For the next twenty minutes, mama remained on that spot, unmoved. She couldn’t believe the miracle. Those soldiers were really dumb not to notice the sticky oil. But she thanked God. She however made it home in one piece. Everyone thought she had died but she had survived. Just like she survived the torturous surgical operation of appendicitis without anesthesia during the war. But she had to survive now. She can’t leave them now. Not now that her wedding was just three weeks away.

She quickly ordered Ikenna to carry mama to her bedroom; there they laid her on the bed. Mama was dying, her mother kept repeating. Mama gasps became fast, she stretched her hands as if she was reaching out to something. She tried to speak but no words came out. Her eyes were getting dimmer.

‘Mama, mama, o gini’ Ulomma shook her, trying to hold on to the little breath of life. But there was no answer. Mama was slowly subliming to the great beyond. Ikenna was crying. He loved mama like a husband would love a wife. These past few days he had been the one that took great care of her. No mama, you can’t die. Ulomma kept telling herself. Mama was her confidant, who would she talk to whenever she was depressed? Who would calm her in that soothing voice ‘ndo oh’ when she falls sick. No, mama has to live.

But in that fleeting second, mama went limp. No more gasps, her mouth slightly open, eyes half-closed. Her mother screamed, Ikenna cried but Ulomma kept staring in disbelief. No mama isn’t dead; she reiterated it as often as possible, hoping her conviction would resurrect her. She refused to believe, not when the neighbours swarmed the living room consoling her mother or when Ikenna groaned like a man. She didn’t believe even when the pastor prayed for her peaceful journey to the great beyond. Denial grasped her with full force, unable to allow the harsh reality to penetrate. She still touched her, kissed her, felt her temperature, hoping it was like before, that she would have a fit but would survive. She was a survivor, she had to cheat death. Not now, the passage was still not ready. It wasn’t until Dede Chike came and cracked her knee muscles, and no sound escaped from mama’s lips, not until he tied a handkerchief from her head to the chin to keep her mouth shut, not until he covered her eyelids, not until the siren of the ambulance started wailing, not until the hospital attendants carried mama’s lifeless body away did she believe that her grandmother was actually dead.