The Loss

I looked up from my squatting position at our verandah and saw Nnachi, our machine operator coming – alone. I had a feeling something was amiss; dad was not with him and it is almost dark. As a kid, I had come to know Nnachi, our machine operator as someone who never takes the initiative; he always takes it from dad. But then, I had felt he was doing it either out of respect, or because dad was his boss.

Dad ran a concrete block business. On that fateful day, they had gone to make a delivery to a customer. Because neither dad nor Nnachi could drive, Oga Dave, dad’s friend, volunteered to help; the company’s driver, Theo, as usual had failed to come to work. And dad, who has always been compassionate even at the detriment of us, his children, never thought of firing him. Curiously, hours after they had gone, they were yet to return.

So when Nnachi was approaching alone, I felt a need to know why dad was not with him. And typical of him, he just sauntered right into our parlour, drew mum to a corner, and told her everything. He did not even bother to leave out the gory details

Their vehicle had lost control on their way and dad, seated at the outermost at the passenger’s side, jumped out. Oga Dave eventually gained control of the vehicle and by the time they rushed back to where dad had jumped, he had already bled a lot and could barely walk. Because they were on a highway and it was almost nightfall, they had difficulty convincing an oncoming vehicle to stop. After about an hour, they succeeded. And all the while dad’s cry of anguish could be heard calling out to them to help him. At the hospital, they had to face another round of delay at the casualty ward and before anything could be done, dad had lost a lot of blood. He finally gave up the ghost.

“So madam, that’s what I’ve come to tell you. Oga don die,” I’d overheard Nnachi telling mum, tears streaming down his cheek. For an instant I saw, or I thought I saw, mum not certain whether to raise her two hands and scream or lower them to console our operator. But I saw her perform just one act – untie one end of her wrapper and wipe off the tears that had gradually converged around her eyes. She then left our whimpering operator and walked into her room.

I do not need a wrapper or any piece of clothing to wipe my own tears – there were no tears. I just sat there stunned and numbed by the piece of news I’d just overheard. I took another look at Nnachi’s tearful face, where he was leaning against a wall, his body just rubbing his shadow, to make sure everything was real. Dad, dead? Incredible. He just left some hours ago. How could it be he would never come back? I tried to persuade myself everything was alright. And as if to assure me everything was alright, the tears still did not flow.

Exactly one month later, the red, soft, muddy soil of my village hit dad’s coffin with a thud. “From earth we came, thence we shall return,” echoed the priest, clutching a wooden-handle shovel in his left hand and a bible in the other. To the right of the priest were my siblings, the eldest standing closest to him.

I scanned the crowd gathered at the graveside for mum. I saw her. A flowing, black gown, swaying gently under the hot noon breeze, barely covering her feet. Perched on her head was a black head tie cut from the same material as the black gown. Flanked on either side of her were her sisters and other female relatives. I looked at her face and tried to follow her gaze, which was riveted inside the dug grave. I tried to guess what could be going on in her mind. Then suddenly, she looked up and our eyes locked. Her eyes looked bloodshot, tears were continually streaming down her cheeks, snaking through her upper lips and falling, like a gentle rain, onto the upper portion of her gown. For the second time in less than a month I was stunned. I had never seen mum like this. At that split moment, I realized what dad actually meant to her and it dawned on me she’d never see him again. Then my tears came, at first in drops, and then in torrents. The sudden realization that the entire episode of the past one month had been real tore my heart into shreds. Like mum, I would never see dad again. Ever.

I let out a yell.