Like a Mirage in the Sun
By Lechi Eke, in memory of Ignatius who died
Ege was on a train travelling from Kafanchan to Makurdi to visit Ignatius.
She had taken a week to think through things in her life. Ignatius was the only man that ever said to her, will you marry me? And she said, yes. That was where it ended. He went to America and returned after three years without a degree. His father said he would go again. Since then, seven years had passed between them, and so did many things. Losing contact had been one of them.
Out of the blue, she had bumped into Sylvester – that must have been the umpteenth time now – he and Ignatius were somehow related. And he had said to her casually, “You know, Ignatius is back. Did you know?”
Almost three years ago, her office sent her to Kafanchan. She, Ignatius and Sylvester had grown up in Makurdi, then Sylvester went to Abuja for the Golden Fleece, Ignatius went to America to study medicine like his father and she? – She struggled through life to earn her HND and got a job in a government establishment that later sent her to Kafanchan. Come to think of it, she had been bumping into Sylvester somehow regularly since her office sent her to Kafanchan. Now, Ignatius is back? Sylvester just threw her a life line! Her heart thudded so loudly against her chest that she feared that he would hear it. She feigned lack of interest but equally as casually said, “Wow! That’s some news! And where’s he?”
“I saw him last week in Abuja. It was on the tarmac, he was coming in, and I was hurrying to board the flight to Jos. But he told me he would be in Makurdi this week to visit his family.”
Sylvester was watching her, intently. He had once said he fancied her. It was in the thick of her loneliness and sorrow. He seemed to have done well for himself and each time she met him, he was always well-turned out and smelt good. Then, she was despondent and something happened between them. No, she did not loathe him for trying to take advantage of her in her lowest moment and from all indications, he didn’t loathe her for withdrawing. They were what the cognoscenti, would call, friends.
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For a whole week, she had placed her life under scrutiny to review it. She was pushing 30 and desperate for a man; not just any man, but from her review of her life, she hungered and thirsted after Ignatius. She had concluded that the two of them connected beyond the physical – they were both bereaved (of people they loved – he, his mother, she – everyone). She was alone in the whole wide world. No, she wasn’t impoverished of attention. She was a head turner. But somehow, other men irritated her.
She took her letter box with her on that journey; it was her most prized possession. It was filled with Ignatius’ love missives. One stood out where he wrote, “I’m dead serious about you.” There were others just as important, but never quite measuring up to this one. There was one he wrote on a pink pad with a single red rose stem on the top left. It contained the important statement – “Today, I made a long distance call. I told my father about you. He approved, even without seeing you.”
Another very important one was found on the lilac-coloured writing pad with a bitten purple apple on the bottom right where he signed his name in his Nelson hand writing. He wrote, “My father has agreed to go to your people for the wine-carrying.”
‘Her people’ brought tears into her eyes. They were distant relations. These people would give her away in marriage and enjoy what they did not labour for!
It was as if Ignatius read her mind, she thought that’s what they called telepathy. He had written again, this time on a yellow pad with red Cana-lilies on the 4 edges. “When we get married, I will be your person and together we will raise a large family, and you will have many people.” It made her smile happily to herself.
They had agreed before he travelled that they would have two children and adopt three in order not to wear her body out.
“I don’t want children tearing and wearing out my personal property,” he had joked. At such words, she could only smile.
They also had rough times, bad times that almost ended their relationship. She had caught him cheating. She had flared up and had wept, but finally she opened the door of her heart and pushed him out and closed it. For weeks, he visited every day pleading. She was adamant. He said, ‘it was guys’ thing’ that it did not mean anything deep. He loved her deeply. She shut her ears. It was Good, her closest friend at the time, who said to her “Accept his pleadings. He would not plead forever. All those girls who are telling you that they will never accept him back will visit him behind you.” She reluctantly accepted him back. Yet, he did it again.
“Now, this time,” she had said, “what do you say?”
“I will throw any woman out of the window because of you. I’m very sorry. Sometimes, guys do stupid things.”
Those who watched him for her bore witness that he was not a ladies’ man. One of them suggested that she should move closer.
Eventually, he had to go away to school, to the USA. The years were had on her, the waiting made her vulnerable. Then Sylvester happened. He was engaged (although he swore that he wasn’t; the girl just assumed they were heading that way. It turned out Sylvester told the truth because eventually, he didn’t marry her). His fiancée reported her to Ignatius’ father. Ege heard that the girl, whom she met twice while Sylvester was happening, was related to Ignatius’ father’s mother.
The last letter she received from Ignatius contained this precious line, “I don’t care what you’ve done, I’ll return to you, and I know you’ll explain it to me. I cannot live without you.”
That was his last letter to her. Since then, two whole years filled with 104 weeks, 731 days with uncountable hours and snail-slow minutes and seconds had dragged by. She didn’t know how she lived through those times and seasons. She remembered one Christmas; someone knocked on her door, shoved into her hand a basket containing a dish of white rice laced with cubed carrots and boiled peas with chicken stew. It was past 6pm, and that was when she remembered that it was Christmas. Her life was that wasted.
The train was stopping too much, at every terminal; she concluded that there was a mystical conspiracy to keep her and Ignatius apart – forever! After a long wait in Kafanchan to load dry and fresh ginger to be freighted to southern Nigeria, it stopped at Kagoro. It stopped again at Gudi and veered off to make another stop at Keffi and moved back on course to make a stop at Lafia; another at Loko, at Bodijah, and finally at Bopo where she disembarked with her hair dishevelled from putting it out of the window and her eyes red from moving dust. She took a moment to tidy up as they offloaded dry camel meat that some unscrupulous traders were going to sell as cow meat. The poor of Makurdi took them as delicacy; even she herself had eaten them in the past for want of better protein. These were camels that fell and died from sickness or old age.
Ege had taken off early in the morning and reached the Kafanchan Train Terminal at a few minutes past 6am. Although the train was to leave at 6:30am, it didn’t leave until ten minutes past 7am. Many passengers grumbled and complained, but her concern was the train stopping at every terminal making her fret. She took a taxi from Bopo terminal to Ignatius house, well, his father’s house, the magnificent mansion on Jos Road, Makurdi. It seemed all roads led to Jos Road that day. Vehicles crawled as they drew close to her destination. Many luxurious vehicles parked on both sides of the road, some trying to make a U-turn causing traffic jam. The driver of her taxi muttered something about how the rich waste money on frivolities, but Ege was in no mood for a conversation missing an opportunity to learn what caused the heavy traffic. She disembarked near the house because security men and traffic wardens allowed not cars to stop or turn in front of the house.
Ege had a small luggage of a handbag, a little travelling bag and a black cellophane bag bearing dry ginger which was what Kafanchan is known for. She intended to gift it to Ignatius’ stepmother who had never hidden her disdain for her. There seemed to be a celebration going on. A feeling of déjà vu enveloped her where she arrived to babysit and the baby was dead. She had never been in such a situation, but she had a strange feeling that she had. People were flamboyantly dressed and she felt self-conscious in her long Ankara print skirt and plain brown top with a shawl of the same colour draped over her shoulders. Being so attired covered her legs which Ignatius loved for their length and smoothness and her slim waist which he always held whenever they stood together. Her face, although thin was still unmistakably pretty, but her total outlook appeared inelegant beside the gaily attired guests. Then it caught her eyes, a huge banner with a couple in different postures of *pda– a quick scrutiny showed the man was Ignatius. A caption screamed: Ignatius and Gloria: Forever Together! Her heart stopped.
She woke up on a bed. Something held her left hand in place so she couldn’t lift it. It was strapped onto something she couldn’t see. Gazing up, she saw a bag of drip hung on a pole with clear liquid trickling down through a transparent line into her vein, slowly. She shut her eyes again. Feeling drowsy, she dozed off, but a familiar voice woke her up. It was Ignatius. Her eyes fluttered open.
“Iveren!” he said loudly. He was the only one who called her by her Tiv name; all others addressed her as Ege for she was proud of her Bayelsa Nembe heritage. “Thank God, you’re awake! O, my God!” he said, “Where have you been?”
She was speechless. The last time she saw him was almost eight years ago. “You’re awake! O, my God!” He sounded agitated. “Where have you been?”
She still could not find her voice. Seven whole years between them, and all he could say was, where have you been? She couldn’t speak. She stared at him. “Iveren, you’re alive? My dad told me you were dead. All the letters I wrote to you returned to me with ‘Not Delivered.’ I asked people they said you disappeared. It was a painful trip. Eventually, I schooled myself to forget you. What happened? Why did you stop writing me?”
On that, she found her voice. “I never stopped writing you. I wrote you every week. Even last week, I posted you a mail, but you never replied.” He stood up and went to the window and folded his arms as he gazed beyond the physical. After a long while, he turned back to her and said, “It must have been my dad. He was angry for something he said you did. I told him that I didn’t care because I had been gone a long time and I wasn’t innocent either. After that I stopped hearing from you. Then, he came to the USA and told me you were gone. I don’t know how I survived it.”
That was the Ignatius she knew, so sensible, so practical. “Why are you here, now?” His explanation encouraged her. “You just got married.”
“No,” he said and her hope rose: it must have been a dream, but it was dashed quickly with his next word, “We married three months ago. My dad just thought we needed to celebrate it today since many of our family members and friends were not there in the USA to celebrate with us.”
Ege flew back to Kafanchan. She spent the back trip also reviewing events of her life, especially the last 72 hours. The hospital had kept her for two days calling in a therapist to quiz her like a psychiatric patient. It was possible she lost her mind. It was so surreal – Ignatius was back – seven years wait ended, but he was as good as not back because he now belonged to another!”
Sylvester was still around when she returned to Kafanchan. He had asked if he could stay in her apartment while she was gone to save hotel expenses and she had given him the go-ahead telling him where he could keep the key if he had to go while she was still away. He knew, he said, but wanted her to go and find out by herself. Her situation had changed, she was no longer expectant, there was no one to expect. Ignatius gave her lots of money, but all she wanted was him! Seven lonely years stretched out behind her, and before her, countless empty years stretched endlessly in front of her like a mirage in the sun.
“Do you need your space, or can I stay two more days? I haven’t finished what I came to do,” Sylvester said.
Ege didn’t know if she needed her space, she didn’t know anything. She felt listless. If death came, she would welcome it with open arms. After all, they told Ignatius she was dead. He had kept all the letters. As she was leaving Makurdi, he photocopied all the Not Delivered letters and placed them in her bag. No one took her ginger; she carried them back to Kafanchan and left the bag at the airport. She had sat at the arrival lounge and read all the letters and found out he was telling the truth.
At the Makurdi airport, she had asked him, “Does… your… wife know that I’m alive?” He had hesitated before replying. He could tell it was very hard for her to call someone else his wife. They had had the understanding that they would be husband and wife since their secondary school days. “That will make her very insecure because I told her everything about you, how much you meant to me…” Then she knew she was the outsider, the other woman. Ignatius said Gloria grew up in an orphanage in America. She knew not her parents. They met in a hospital where she came to do her practicals. She had no one.
Ege’s friends told her that if she hung around long enough, she would reclaim him. She asked, what about Gloria?
Ignatius did not say he was unavailable, Ege saw it. He said his wife had no one else but him, and that she was pregnant! The crux of the matter was in his eyes, the usual fire had gone, replaced by kindness. The kindness was always present even in his voice when he made the long distant call during office hours because she had no telephone at home.
At night, Ege sobbed herself to sleep, and in the morning she drank local gin to keep her alert and happy at work. She refreshed her breath with a lot of peppermint and mouthwash. Struggling to keep afloat, she didn’t know that someone was waiting for her sobs to stop and her tears to dry. Ignatius’ calls were scanty and irregular. She suspected that he was trying to withdraw from her without giving her withdrawal symptoms.
One Saturday morning, Sylvester flew into Kafanchan for a meeting. He brought a tiny red box and placed it on her centre table as the Nigerians call coffee tables. He said, “If you think you can live with me and be my companion for life, I’ll make you happy forever. There’s a ring in that box. I’m going into town for business. When I return and you’re not wearing it, I will go out of your life and will not trouble you again forever. I will stop bothering you because I’ve been visiting Kafanchan because of you and I’m willing to live wherever you want to live.”
The end.
