Ozichi.

Photo by Diogo Nunes on Unsplash

When Ozichi told her mother why she never came out that Christmas morning for the family devotion, she did not expect the response that was soon to follow.

She had debated if it was okay to tell her. But when her mind kept being plagued by how normal his laughter had seemed that day, how calmly he had told her that afternoon to fill his glass of wine and bring more chicken bikonu.

When Ozichi’s mind kept replaying his voice in a tape loop even after they were in Lagos and miles away from him, she knew not speaking was permission to let the demons in her head roam freely.

It all started on Christmas Eve, when Uncle Chiemezie told her that she should bring his bathwater and dinner to his room.

Ozichi found it unusual. It was his wife who normally did such things cause he was known to be a man who loved how his wife performed such tasks.

The family compound was agog with celebrations for Christmas morning and in the distance, sounds of bangers could be heard being fired by excited children.

Ozichi’s parents had gone for one of those family meetings that never seemed to end. Her father’s other siblings were at a wedding. The home and children were left in the care of Uncle Chiemezie.

Uncle Chiemezie upon seeing her with the kettle containing his bathwater, ordered every other child to go to the sitting room.

Ozichi felt out of place in his room and was tongue tied. She knew he was expecting his dinner very soon too.

“Let me go get the firewood ready Uncle,” she said. All the while, her palms were sweaty because she had never been alone in any of her uncle’s rooms.

“Do not worry. I’ll tell Chinonso to do so.”

Uncle Chiemezie was adjusting the towel on his waist.

“Please sit. There are some files containing sermons I want you to arrange.”

He gestured to the bed for Ozichi to seat.

Afraid with all her mother’s warnings about men echoing in her mind, she sat shakily.

Afterall, hadn’t her mother also told her not to disobey her elders? Hadn’t her mother always made it known that should any of her children bring shame into her home, she will punish them?

Wasn’t Uncle Chiemezie an elder and her father’s brother? There could be no harm. So she sat.

There however were no warnings for her, when Uncle Chiemezie reached in and kissed her forcefully, pressing her 14 year old breasts as his stale tongue found their way inside.

She couldn’t scream. Her mind was in numerous places imagining how to flee. And as quickly as it had started, it stopped and he casually told her to forget about arranging the sermon files.

“My congregation will have to manage whatever sermon I give them in January.” He was smiling a wickedly bashful smile. The kind that came with knowing one’s mission was successful.

When her mother told her that of course she must have been enjoying it, it was that successful smile of Uncle Chiemezie that loomed large in Ozichi’s mind.

“But Mummy…” Her mind was confused. How could she have enjoyed what Uncle Chiemezie did? How could she have enjoyed the fear that came with it.

Her mother was insistent.

“If you were not enjoying it, why didnt you scream?”

Her mother was gesturing wildly and for once, Ozichi was glad that the neighbour"‘s voices were louder and noisier than even her mother’s.

“Why are you just talking? What made you wait so long?”

Her mother kept barraging her with questions and she began to feel that maybe she was right afterall. Didn’t the proverbial wisdom say mother knew best?

What the makers of the proverbial wisdom forgot to add about women like Ozichi’s mother was this.

They were women who were aware of their husband’s brothers long history of admiring teenage girls.

They were women for whom a ring in a fourth finger played more importance than the well being of their daughters.

They were women who desired the right to call themselves Mrs in old school reunions that a daughter’s fear was only a footnote in that becoming.

Most of all, what the makers of that proverbial wisdom failed to give was a caveat warning. A warning that sometimes the only best that mother knew, was how well to cover up her daughter’s pain.

As long as it never put her in the bad books of her husband’s inlaws.