Photo Credit: Fineartamerica.com
Memories on the Wall
The rickety keke bus came to a halt, and the passengers alighted one after the other. I looked out the window, scanning the whole vicinity as I waited for the bus to clear out. Onitsha, the city of my childhood, the ever-bustling city with its everlasting putrid scent. It has been five years since I have been at this open-air market. Okada riders ran towards me, trying to drag my luggage, and I clutched it to my chest; they never change after all these years. Some of them would run off with your luggage if you let them. I walked away from the ruckus and flagged an Okada down. Okija Mansion, I said. It was the name our compound was known for. The Okada rider gave in after a back-and-forth of bargaining and sped off. Biko, oga jiri nwayọọ, ndu mu di mkpa. I shouted at the driver that drove as if he was a contestant at the Paris Grand Prix.
Amaokwa Lane had changed—new four and five stories sprouted up on all sides, new schools had been built and some of the old schools were dilapidated. The driver stopped opposite the gate that led into my old compound; No, 18 Ikpeama street. I crossed the road and pushed the old gate open. It made the scraping sound it always made. The building was a three-storey building with four flats on each row, totaling at twelve flats plus the ground floor. It was dressed in peeling white paint that had seen better days. I skipped gingerly into the compound and the only car parked was the landlord’s Hummer Jeep that never left the compound. It had been there on that spot, covered with a tarp right from the day I could tell my left from my right.
I walked towards the staircase and took the stairs two at a time, instinctively avoiding the rusty iron rails, they could slice through your palm if you held them. The only person I had witnessed it cut was my cousin, Kosarachi. We were still young then, and he came to visit for the long vacation. Kosara was someone who could be described as a rough child.
That day, while he ran after another child on the stairs, he forgot the rails were bad and held them while flying down the stairs. Blood. There was so much blood, it sliced his palm, and the blood was trickling down back into the rails, congealing with the rust. My first instinct when I saw the blood, was to wake mummy from her usual Saturday siesta. She bolted downstairs and took him to the chemist shop. They came back later after his palm had been bandaged. She gave me and my siblings a round of flogging for not taking care of our cousin, which was led by a long talk-session about negligence. Typical mummy, she never flogged other people’s children for their mistakes. I looked at the staircase, the congealed blood from that incident was still encrusted on the rails.
Our flat was right in my face afterwards. How could I forget the lock? I searched my brain for places where one of the spare keys were always hidden, then I remembered the huge drum-cum-dustbin that was outside the door. I looked at it and it was still on the usual spot, just beside the window. I walked towards it, pushed it out and the single key was there, rusted… I picked it up and after dusting it, I pushed it into the padlock. The lock opened with ease, and I pushed the iron door open and sauntered in. The house was dusty, Mummy and my siblings were not back from the village yet, I took an earlier bus so I could savor the house before we all reunited. I opened the net-door that led into the corridor and a housefly buzzed across my face.
The first place I went into was the kitchen. It was still dimly lit, save for the flicker of light, which came in through the window. The previously white ceiling was now blackened from years and years of cooking with a stove. I stood across the stove, peering out the window, and the memories of the first time I attempted to cook my first meal flooded in.
I was dared to cook noodles by my siblings when I claimed to know how to cook it after paying attention to them while they cooked. I was 8. It was that same long holiday period Kosara got injured by the rails. I took a pack of noodles from the carton and poured a huge bowl of water into a pot, lit the stove after three unsuccessful trials. I waited and waited, the water, unwilling to go down. The noodles were floating in the pot of water. They came to the kitchen after an hour and saw me adding the spices to the huge pot of water. It became a lasting joke in our family. Kaodili ji ite mmiri esi ofu mkpụrụ indomi. I opened the cupboards, hoping the rats that were always hiding there would scurry around, but no sound was forthcoming, so I left the kitchen.
I walked across the corridor, casting quick glances at the bathroom and toilet before walking into the room. It had been doorless for as long as I could remember. The room was the widest in the house—it was the supposed children’s room. However, it was just that in theory; in practice the people who slept there were Mummy’s workers and sometimes, my elder sisters. The children lounged in the room after school because the parlor was always locked. The parlor led to the two remaining rooms. Mummy and Daddy’s rooms. I looked around the walls in the children’s room and it was still encased with different things. On one part you would see different arithmetic solving and multiplication tables and on the other side were short English compositions, dictation, and various definitions. I remember writing them with my brother while growing up. We’d sneak markers and chalks from the teacher’s desk in school and write down the new words we learnt in school. He was my twin brother, Echezona. The golden boy. He was Papa’s favorite child; everyone knew but no one said it out loud. Papa always used him as a standard for me on how to behave and act, like a real man. Anytime he displayed tinges of femininity like me, Papa would whip him with his Koboko, then console him after he had cried till his eyes hurt. I’m doing this for your own good. You will thank me in the future. I don’t want you to turn out like your twin brother.
The other wall on one side of the room was filled with quotes from different philosophers, it was specially reserved for my eldest sister, Chimdi. She was obsessed with motivational quotes; she’d write them all down in her little diary and paste them on the wall. Chimdi was the perfect child to mummy. The only child she flogged the least whenever she was giving a general whipping. Chimdi loved pleasing everyone at home. I sat on the wide, bouncy mattress—the same mattress where my younger brother stood up on his two feet for the first time without any help. It was during the period Iyanya released Kukere. That night, it was playing on the little phone that was just for emergencies, and we were dancing the popular dance steps. My younger brother Ebube who was 14 months old at the time was on the bed watching us and after a while he stood up and tried to imitate us. He fell on the bed after a few seconds of attempting it.
I laid on the bed, facing the ceiling and saw the only thing written on the ceiling: Chiazoka et Chimamkpa. Best friends forever. with a red tinted heart by the side. Chimamkpa was my second elder sister and Chiazoka was her best friend. I don’t remember when it was written but I know it was Chiazoka that wrote it, she was the only one tall enough. We nicknamed her Izaga.
I left the room and tried to open the door that led to the parlour but it was locked. I went to the kitchen and picked up a knife and did the usual thing Chimamkpa did when we wanted to watch our Filipino Telenovela by 8:45pm every day. She would use the knife to twist the lock, the door would creak open, then we would watch the series from 8:45 to 9:30 on the days Nepa decided to bless us with electricity. Whenever it ended, we would wipe the hot television with a damp cloth then twist the lock back with the knife and go back to the children’s room. One night, Daddy came back earlier than usual to get something from his room, and we were all caught red-handed. Chimamkpa in her usual fashion decided to take the fall alone that night. She was already branded as the wayward child by both Daddy and Mummy. He flogged her mercilessly, threatening to use pliers to cut off her fingers. But we did not stop, we were obsessed with those Filipino Telenovelas.
I opened the door, and the living room was still the same. The huge 8-seater dining table that we never used was still there, now merged into the rug. By the side was the little thermocool freezer that never chilled things above a specific level. I looked at the walls and on them, the portraits were still there, some new ones had been added. I was surprised they still left my potraits on the wall. On the dining table side were all our Primary school graduation pictures. Four, because Ebube didn’t get to finish primary school. The next set of pictures beside them were our baby pictures. I traced my fingers on Ebube’s baby pictures, he was such a plump baby. None of us could carry him when they brought him home on that August 2011 morning. I crossed over the chairs that were placed round the parlor, facing the television and there were Daddy and Mummy’s trad-wedding pictures. None from their white wedding because they didn’t get to have one.
I looked at the cloth on the white couch and saw the blood stain that refused to be cleaned and on the wall beside it was the date that was carved into the walls.
19/07/2012
It was on that day that blood stained the couch forever. It was result collection day, Aunty Ebere, Daddy’s nephew went with us to collect the result that day. We came back soon afterwards, and Daddy was seated at the couch waiting for the results, no one was allowed to check their results before Daddy. He called Chimamkpa and Chimdi first and patted them on the back, they took 5th and 3rd respectively. He called me first and gave me a handshake, I took the first position in my class —Primary 5 Gold. Then he called for Echezona and when he opened the result, his countenance changed. He took 4th position in his class Primary 5 Silver. His teacher’s remarks read: Brilliant boy, However he was extremely talkative this term. Echee always took the first position in his class and now he took 4th. Daddy was going to the pissed, and pissed he was. I’ve warned you to stop emulating your brother in speaking too much like a girl, mgbe obula, mànà inaghi anu ihe! He yelled at Echezona, His bass voice reverberating through the whole house. Tawai! He landed a heavy slap on the already kneeling Echezona’s cheek and sent him straight into the wall. A tooth flew out from his mouth, accompanied by the blood that stuck to the couch. He was not angry at the results, rather he was angry at the teacher’s remarks. The bond between Echezona and I was loosening with each remark from Daddy. We never played together in his presence, I was always holed up in the room on the days Daddy was at home.
After taking one last look at the parlor, I stood between the two doors and thought of entering Daddy’s room but there was nothing there to reminisce about in there. It was out of bounds unless on instructions for me. The only time I entered the room and stayed for any longer than 5 minutes was the day I decided to switch my usual Christmas hairstyle from Afro-punk to the popular Galaxy style. When he saw the hair, he got so angry. He dragged me into the room and used his clipper to shave all my hair off. I spent the Christmas holidays with a skin cut that was roughly done. So, I decided to go into Mummy’s room which was our non-official room. Mummy’s things were there but she only slept there when she was not in talking terms with Daddy. I opened the door slowly and the Rosary that was on the door dangled. It has always been there even though she never went to church. The only period she went was when we traveled for the Christmas holidays.
I opened the wardrobe that was just beside the door and ran my fingers over the clothes. These same dresses and shoes I and my siblings wore and walked like fashion models in our long corridor. She had caught us once but she was too shocked to react. But the look on her face said it all, she was disgusted. We knew then that playing dress-up with her clothes, shoes, and makeup was going to be done in secret. I walked to the center of the room and spinned , taking in the room that was cramped up with properties. My mummy had a lot of things. She always never let things go even if they did not serve any value. I looked at one end of the room and saw the baskets that we used to keep our clothes when we were younger. The red one was for Chimdi, The purple one was for Chimamkpa, the blue one was Echezona’s and the green one was mine. The baskets were stacked together now, some of them were broken on some parts. The box TV on the table was not in use, it was brought from the Village house for Ebube to watch his cartoons. The walls were still the same light blue colour as before. I looked at the wall and the dates were still edged into it.
Our parents had a tradition of telling us to mark the dates on the wall after we had misbehaved so it could serve as a reminder for us never to repeat the mistake again. Just like the one in the living room. The first date I recognized was
17/02/2013
My mummy was an easily irritable person, who sometimes decided to deep clean the whole house when she was angry. She would be sweeping, dusting and mopping while cursing everyone. Mgbe agwọ ga abata na this house ka unu ya anu uda ya, Cleanliness is next to godliness mana unu adịghị eji nti unu anụ ihe.These were some of the statements that she made while doing the clean-up. On one of those dreaded clean-ups she cussed Chimamkpa out so much and unknowingly she sighed and hissed in frustration. It took another turn, It morphed into a two hour ted talk where she let out all her pent up anger on everyone while we all stood together in her room, looking at her but not really listening to her rant. After the Ted talk she concluded that the devil has possessed her children so the next day, We started attending the Scripture union Fellowship that was held at the community school nearby. She called Chimdi to write down that date on her wall afterwards.
25/06/2015
I had developed malaria a day prior and was getting treated by the chemist. The sickness was still mild in my system so Mummy decided I would stay home that day again, I did not want to stay home. Daddy was on leave and staying with him was a nightmare. I picked up my books that morning after breakfast and ran into mummy’s room and faced it. I could hear his footsteps roaming around the house as I studied until it stopped. He was probably sleeping then,so I thought. The clock was ticking slowly and I was tired of waiting for my siblings to come back home. I walked towards Mummy’s dressing mirror and saw her Make-up kit. I was bored and Daddy was asleep. It was time to put all I had learned from watching Mummy keenly as she adorned her face with makeup. I smeared the contour on my face and used her brush to spread it to the other parts of my face. I lined my eyelashes like she did and smeared eye shadow all over my eye area. I did all this slowly, just so It could turn out like Mummy’s own. Then for the final touch, I smeared the cherry red lipstick first then lined it with her pink gloss and pursed my lips together like she did. I was in the middle of admiring my talent when Daddy opened the door wide and said Kaodili, come and get something for me down… Before he could finish his statement, He saw my face from the reflection in the mirror and I watched his face contort from shock to rage. He stormed into the room and dragged me from the chair, while slapping me multiple times. He took me to the bathroom and dipped my head into a bucket of water. Wash that thing off your face!ozugbo! he yelled at me before leaving to grab his whip from the room. He whipped me as I washed off the make-up from my face,my whole body was designed with welts. That day, A deep seated disdain grew within me for my father.
10/08/2016.
This was the next remarkable date there. It was the last time Kosara spent the long vacation with us. That afternoon, I was sprawled on the tiles in the living room, writing an assignment. Kosara and Ebube were playing in the Front Veranda where mummy stacked the Coolers she used for outdoor catering jobs. I couldn’t remember where the others were, Their laughter from the playing still rang in my head but the piercing scream of Jesus Christ of Nazareth rang harder. They were playing near the rails and Kosara had mistakenly pushed Ebube off and he fell. He fell hard, hitting his head on the concrete block that was downstairs. At first I didn’t understand what was happening until everyone had rushed down… I walked down the stairs slowly and before I could get there, they had carried his body away. I saw the pool of blood that lay beside the landlord’s unmoving hummer jeep. All hell let loose when Papa came back from the hospital, Kosara had been sent back to his parents home in Abatete. Daddy came into Mommy’s room where we were all cooped up and he was with a bundle of cane. Why would you leave two children to play in a verandah unsupervised!?, Ihe obula mee Ebubechukwu I will kill you people. These were the series of words he said while whipping us with the cane. All of them broke on our bodies leaving us with blisters. He marked the date on the wall himself before he left that night. Ebube died that same night in hospital from internal bleeding.
I tried to remember most of the dates as I traced down:
13/08/2012
The year Kosara got cut by the rails.
24/05/2014
The year Chimamkpa’s fingers almost got chopped off because of our obsession with Filipino Telenovelas.
19/12/2016
The years I decided to follow my peers to barb the latest haircut. Then I saw the one.
8/07/2019
Even without seeing that reminder, the date was etched into a special part of my brain. We all came back from our different universities for the holiday, Mummy spent more time at the shop now and Daddy, He was never around, Traveling from City to City. That fateful night, I got a text from Chima, our neighbor’s son who I had known since childhood. We became close friends the previous year when I discovered he was queer from a dating app. We would make out at his place whenever his parents were out. Sometimes, we would take the risk of kissing under the stairs, I loved the thrill of it. His text came in that night:
How far, u fit comot this night? I dey una step.
What for? it’s late already.
I won’t take long, na 9 still dey nack. Your mama never come back from shop.
I sneaked out of the house quietly and met him at the end of the stairs, he was clad in a small sports short and a black vest. He smiled as he heard my feet shuffling down the stairs. I smiled back at him sheepishly when I got to him. He held my chin and tried to kiss me, and I held him off at first, then I allowed him. He pinned me to the wall and kissed me more, I returned the gesture, and we were so engrossed in it until I felt the stinging light on my face. We didn’t hear the footsteps when it was coming through.
Daddy was standing at the entrance of the stairs. I could not see his face, but I knew his body, He stood there for a few seconds, his torch pointing directly at me as I bent my head in shame. He left afterwards and I ran inside, my heart attempting to jump out of my ribcage. Mummy came back and I knew. She told me to park my things and go to her friend’s place that night. I was going to stay with her sister, Aunty Bridget who lived in a convent in Kaduna. Daddy gi mee mistake meetie gi here, Ọ ga egbụ gị. Jee na udo. These were her last words to me before I left.
A car came to a halt, I rushed to the front verandah and saw their car, Echezona was in the driver’s seat. They had just come back from the village after burying Daddy two weeks ago.
Contributor’s Bio
Chukwuebuka Obiakaeze (He/They) is Queer, Igbo and a Writer. They find time away from studying Economics in the University of Nigeria to read and write. Their works have appeared in Pencilmarks and Scribbles Magazine.
