I came into the world a broken child. I can't say if it was the weed my mother smoked while she was pregnant with me, or the effect of the beating my father gave my mother, that brought me into this world with one eye, and one ear. All I know is that I am half. Everything about me is a minus one, deformed in every sense of the word, and it made me bitter. It made me angry, until Bimbo waltzed into my life, making me feel things I never knew existed.
My mother was a beautiful woman. She was like me, except that the other half of her body that was missing, was her brain. She lacked common sense, and she didn't try to hide it. 'I will break your head' was her answer to everything.
'Mama, what happened to my ear and eye'
'I will break your head' she would reply.
'Mama, where is my father'
'I will break your head'
'Mama, please I want to eat'
'I will break you head'
'Mama, please can I have my school fees'
'I will break your head'
That was how our conversations ended. I didn't hate mama, I pitied her. She deprived me of love and affection, but I could see that she had no option. Papa killed her spirit, Igbo killed her mind, Cancer killed her body.
She loved me in the way she knew how to love me best, by beating me. At a much younger age, I felt I deserved the beating. I was deformed, I was never going to be of any good. When I enter places, people stare at me surprised, some are even disgusted. A child once called me a monster and I cried all day. So, I deserved every blow mama landed on my body. I believed I was a cursed child.
I found succor in music. When mama would drink to stupor, and vomit all around the house. I would clean her up, lay her in bed and sing to her, while playing my fathers old guitar. When I play for mama, in that moment I become complete. I forget about my face, and feel my heart. With her drunkenness, mama would open her eyes a little, and she would smile from the bottom of her heart, and it would feel like heaven.
Music was food to my dying soul. When I was falling off the edge, the sound of the guitar strings would pull me. It was my medicine.
But, mama broke my guitar, on my head. That was the day, I decided life was not worth living for people of my kind.
I asked her for my food. I was so hungry, that I began to stammer. I had not eaten for two days, and Iya Bisi that used to sneak around, and give me food had traveled. Mama had replied with her infamous 'I will break your head', but you know how they say ' A hungry man is an angry man'. I kicked the table where the only picture of mama which didn't have her grabbing a bottle of Ogogoro, or her lips lazily holding a cigarette stood. And, it fell to the floor. That day, mama carried out her threat. She broke my head, with my guitar. I cried. My heart squeezed in anger. It wasn't anger that usually come with my normal self pity. What I felt then, was anger anger. The kind that dazed you, the kind that made you want to smash things, the kind that gave you invisible chest muscles. For the first time, I raised my hand to hit mama. I just raised it, I couldn't hit her. Even though I had just one eyes, I could see fear in her eyes. By beating me, she could hide from the reality of what I was. One more thing she failed to do right in her life.
Mama died when I turned Eighteen. The ordinariness of her death was galling. I woke up just to find her dead on her bed. Her body smelled of alcohol, cigarette and death. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just took calm and collected steps to Iya Bisi's house. When I told her mama was dead, she cried. A cry of responsibility; the way it was her social responsibility not to leave satchet water nylons around the compound, it was also her social responsibility to cry for a dead neighbor.
Mama was buried at the cemetery in Barracks. The pastor who officiated the ceremony, was a lanky looking man. He was Iya Bisi's pastor. He spoke too rapidly, I barely picked a word of what he said. He would glance at me at intervals, stutter, and continue his rapid speech. His reaction didn't bother me at all. I was used to it already. It was the reaction of the lady standing beside him that bothered me. She didn't flinch, she didn't stare in disgust. Her face was filled with a softness that touched my heart. She stared at me, and she smiled. I couldn't smile back, I was stunned. Nobody smiles at me, except mama when she is drunk.
After the ceremony, she walked to me.
'My name is Bimbo'
I was silent.
'What is your name?' She asked.
'David'.
'I am sorry for your loss'. I nodded, I couldn't believe a girl was talking to me, a fine girl.
She asked if she could come visit me any time she is around to see Iya Bisi. I nodded again. I felt so shy around her. She stared into my one eye, and made my legs wobbly.
The day Bimbo came to visit me, she came with her bible. She told me that if only I would accept, Jesus could take away all the pain I felt. I laughed inwardly. She wouldn't understand. She was complete, even beautiful. Any problem she had would be easy for her Jesus to solve. But, because she was beautiful and kind. Because her voice was gentle and sonorous. I listened to every word she said with seriousness. When she asked for us to pray. I opened my eyes, and I watched her lips part and come together. I watched her tongue lick her lips, and I fell in love with Bimbo, even though I didn't know then.
She left that day, promised to come back the next day, but she didn't. I waited for her the day after, and the day after. She didn't show up. She couldn't stand me. I was a monster. What was I even thinking loving her. She too had left me. I felt a crack in my heart. The pain was suffocating. I had never felt so alone. I fell to the floor. I cried, and sang. I cried for mama. I felt lonely without her. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. 'Stand up' Bimbo said from behind. I stood up, too ashamed to look at her.
'If you would leave me like my father and mother, then please, leave me now'. I blurted out.
'Your problem is that you have decided to wallow in self pity' she said 'Dress up, I want to show you something. I would be waiting outside'.
I changed into my nicest outfit. A black trouser, one of mama's many boyfriend gave to me, and a blue shirt Iya Bisi gave to me.
We stood in front of a big hospital building. 'This is the biggest hospital in lagos' She said to me.
'What are we doing here' I asked.
'You will find out soon' she replied.
I tagged along. She was familiar with the nurses. 'I come here to pray for the patients' She said.
Our first stop, was a jam packed room that smelled like medicine and vomit. It had four bed, and each had a patient on it. We stood at the door.
'You see that man there' She said 'His name is David, he was involved in an accident few weeks ago, he lost his family, and his legs were amputated three days ago'. She paused. 'You see the other woman lying there' She said, pointing to a woman whose face was covered in cotton wool. 'Her husband bathed her with acid. She is dangling between life and death as I speak to you. That man over there was in an accident also, he lost his both arms, and one of his legs'. Tears filled my eye. I was speechless. We moved to another room, and my heart broke into bits. It was filled with little children, with the worst health condition one could think about. 'David, that child you see lying there with a swollen chest, has a heart defect. He doesn't have up to one week to live. The other child, has been in coma for two years, he feeds through a pipe'.
I couldn't stand anymore of it. 'I want to leave' I said to her.
'You will leave, but I want you to understand something. You have a good life. Thousands of people wish to be in your shoes right now. Thousands of people want to be healthy, and walk around with their legs. Some people would give everything in this life to be YOU. That you are different doesn't mean anything. That people look you in the face and squirm shouldn't make you think of yourself as a lesser being. God created you in his own image and likeness. David' She said with my hands in her palm 'You are special, never see yourself as less.'
That was all I needed to live again. Even though Bimbo left too, like mama and papa. She left me with hope, determination, and self confidence. And now as I look at my wife and kids walking towards me, complete and happy. I say a silent prayer for Bimbo, and I hope she is as happy as I am.
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