Love without borders: Two

I was dreaming of laughing clear blue eyes under sunny skies and the sounds of laughter echoing in the mountains. I was running behind, following the sound of the laughter, hypnotised by the blue eyes. I kept running, looking up, and the sunlight in my face and I did not see what tripped me only to find myself on the ground. My hands instinctively shot to my belly, cupping it as a sharp pain cut through. The pain woke me up. It was already morning and light seeped into the room through the cracks in the door. My pain felt like period pain, but it couldn’t be, would it? I was pregnant for Jemu wasn’t I? My period was late, I had had dizzy spells that night I told Jemu about the pregnancy. 

I curled into a fetal position when the second sharp pain shot through from the pelvis and when the pain subsided, I stealthily got out of the room, with a bucket of water and toiletries and eased myself into the latrine. With the panties pulled down to my knees, the raw crimson stain seemed to stare back at me accusatory, signifying my loss, my emptiness.

I mechanically cleaned up and on lead feet, walked back to our sleeping hut. Jemu was still in bed and from his steady breathing, I could tell that he was still sleeping. I took down the leather bag I kept my sanitary wear so I could return the pack of cotton wool I had taken out and that was when I felt him move behind me.

“What is that?” he asked as I tried to stuff the cotton wool away quickly, resulting in the bag falling to the floor, scattering everything.

I stood there like a child caught with their hand in the honey jar whilst my insides felt like someone was pulling a barbed wire in my belly. James pushed back the blankets  and strode to where I stood. He picked the plastic with the cotton wool and turned to me.

“Why do you need these now?”

It felt like my tongue had stuck to the palate and I was being forced to deal with James’ emotions first before dealing with mine.

“Speak!” he roared in the morning stillness, “Are you even pregnant Mara?”

When I did not respond, he roughly took me by hand and pushed me onto the blankets. He pushed my skirts up with one hand whilst the other hand pinned me down and then yanked my panties off. A slap across my face followed, then a punch in my gut. Instinctively my hand went to my belly again to cup it but when I received another slap across my face, I covered my face with my palms. I did not know if it was his sweat or spit that was falling on me as blows rained all over my body whilst he mumbled incoherently. I turned to my survival mode and shut down.

When I came to, James had left the room, leaving the door ajar. Two of the road runner chickens had found their way in and where perking at the sack of maize meal that rested against the walls. I lacked the strength to even shoo them out.

                                                            ****

My neighbor found me on the floor of the sleeping hut, zoning in and out.

“Mai Jemu, you haven’t swept the yard up to this time?” she shouted laughingly, standing outside.

I kept quiet. I wanted her to go away, I was ashamed of having people see me battered and embarrassed. Not that people did not know that James beat me up every now and then, but it felt embarrassing for me to come out in the open and prove it, with my words and my bruises.

“Mai Jemu!” she shouted again and I closed my eyes, willing her to go away.

Then she saw the chickens in my hut and she walked close to the door to get them out. When she poked her head in, she saw me, lying there, clothes askew, numb with pain.

“Mai Jemu!” she gasped and ran in, crouching next to me.

“Again?” she asked, helping me sit up despite my groans.

I shook my head to say no and tried to come up with a lie about walking into a wall or something but I found out that my lips had swelled and I could not speak properly.

“Please do not tell anyone Yeukai,” I begged my neighbor as she left after helping me clean my cuts with warm salty water and she had hugged me and walked out.

                                                                        *****

I could hear James’ voice a distance away. He was singing, loudly. He seemed drunk. And in a good mood. I scrambled to my feet to get his dinner served before he threw another of his tantrums he had been indulging in lately. The fire was dying but the food was still hot and the water to wash his hands was now warm, to his liking.

The singing grew closer and in the next minute he stood in the doorway, bringing with him the strong stench of beer. He scanned the room with unseeing eyes then stumbled inside, hiccupping. When he threw himself in a sitting position on the slab close to the door, I went towards him, on my knees, with a plastic dish and a water pitcher in my hands, to wash his hands. He dismissed me with the wave of his hand, hiccupped and said,

“I am not hungry, let me be.”

I slowly retreated, still on my knees, unsure of what to do.

“I ate the most delicious meal today,” he spoke again, “and received the best news too.”

I placed the pitcher and the dish on the floor and started busying myself with putting away dishes and killing the fire. James grew quiet and I was even convinced that he had fallen asleep. Then he spoke, startling me.

“I am going to be a father. Snodia has made me happy, I should have married her not this broiler who is just here to eat and get fat.”

I froze to my spot, in the dark, a loud ringing in my ears. He rose, shuffled in the dark, fumbled with the door handle then left the hut. I sat in the dark for a long time, stunned, hurt and failing to process all that I had heard. I eventually rose and on lead legs, walked to the bedroom to try and rest. James was fast asleep, snoring loudly and reeking of beer. I stared at the roof for the longest time, my mind too stunned to work and it was only morning when I eventually drifted off to sleep.

The house was quiet when I woke up, shaking remnants of last night’s nightmare off my mind. James’ words kept ringing in my mind, “I should have married her not this broiler who is just here to eat and get fat.”

                                                            *****

I gingerly got out of bed; I had to leave this place. I could stand the verbal and physical abuse but the humiliation of him impregnating someone else cut me to the core. What were people going to say about me when it all came out? I needed to go to my father’s house and breathe.

The sun was directly overhead by the time I walked into my father’s compound, my bag on my head. I found my stepmother taking off dry laundry from her washing line. She looked at me, surprised and asked “I everything okay?” with a peg stuck in her mouth.

I wanted to break down then, run into her arms, tell her my story, show my humiliation and hear her tell me that everything was going to be okay. But I did not. I held everything in and with my head held high, I told her that I needed to talk to my father and I also needed to rest here a few days whilst I worked through my issues. She shrugged and breathed out an “Okay,” then proceeded to her bedroom, carrying her laundry. I proceeded, with my bag still on my head, to the kitchen where I found my step brother, Ishe, eating sadza and fermented milk. He pulled the sadza plate closer to him when I sat next to him and I could not help but laugh.

“I am not here for your sadza Ishe, relax.”

“But you are here to stay right?” he asked nodding towards my bag.

My father walked in before I had responded to Ishe’s question. As usual, he was wearing a suit and his black shoes were polished shiny. He took off his fedora which he placed on his knee when he sat, turning to me. I could smell the beer on his breath before he even talked.

“Mara, your mother just told me that you came here with a huge bag, what is going on?” he begun.

“But baba,” Ishe quipped when I did not respond, “mother says she is not sisi Mara’s mother, hers died a long time ago.”

I looked to the floor, hurt and embarrassed for my father. I knew Ishe was simply repeating what he had been told; he was but just a child. I knew my stepmother despised me and I had made peace with that.

“Isheanesu,” my father hissed and I saw my stepbrother shrink into the corner, terrified that he had angered his father.

My stepmother walked just in time and Ishe ran to her breaking into tears.

“Baba Ishe, what have you done to him?” she demanded, rocking Ishe in her arms.

“Tell her to stop interfering in adults’ issues,” father snapped.

My stepmother opened her mouth to say something but when she saw the look on father’s face, she stopped.

“So Mara,” father turned to me, “what is your story?”

“Father,” I began, a lump in my throat, “Jemu got someone else pregnant.”

“So? Has the lady come to stay in your house? Has Jemu thrown you out?

“No,” I sighed.

“Then what are you doing here with a huge bag?” he asked, sounding annoyed.

“Father, how can I stay when he has openly humiliated me like this?” I asked, my voice thick with tears that I did not want to shed.

“Mara!” he laughed a mirthless laughter, “so you mean to tell me this is the reason why your mother had to send someone to call me back from Ndari?

“But baba,” I heard my stepmother protesting, “she would not tell me what the issue was.”

Father ignored my stepmother and resumed talking to me.

“Mara, I will not be humiliated by having you come back here and stay with me. Your place is in your own house with your husband, whatever he does, it is you duty to keep your home intact. What Jemu is doing is normal, he is just trying to let his family name live on. Respect him Mara, he paid a lot of cows for you.”

I listened to father with a sinking heart and saw Ishe make faces at me. I had no place in my father’s house; my husband’s house had also become unbearable.

“I’m going back to drink with my friends,” he said rising, “so carry you bag and I will walk you to the main road.”

                                                                        ***

I walked on, legs heavy, my bag weighing me down in the stifling heat. My father had gone back to drink with his friends, retired teachers and drivers, who had a lot of time on their hands. I was alone in the wide gravel road and I was free to let my tears flow without a care.

The white Toyota Land Cruiser was by my side before I had time to wipe my tears or straighten my skirt. The blue eyes of Dr. Kleinmann made me feel like I should have been standing anywhere else other than on this dirty road, in blistering heat, weighed down by a battered Monarch traveling bag.

“Please do not run away again,” he said above the roar of the idling engine, “I just need to help you.”

I did not know what it is that made me give in but in a minute, I was in the car, my back straight against the car seat. The car smelled of leather and some delicious scent that might have been his cologne. The scent heightened my senses and his presence made me so self-conscious, especially his eyes, and I avoided them.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he started the car and I nodded, looking out the window in an unseeing gaze.

“You look sad,” I heard him say but I did not respond and he did not pursue the subject.

In no time, we were close to the borehole and I asked him to drop me off where people would not see me or else I would be in trouble with my husband.

“If you ever need anything ma’am, just come to the hospital and I will help you,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, grabbed my bag and left before anyone saw me.

James was not home when I got there, which was a relief because he was not going to know that I had left. I walked into the sleeping hut with a heavy heart and slowly started putting my clothes back then I went into the kitchen to start the fire and begin cooking.

I was falling asleep on the kitchen floor when I heard the noise outside; someone was banging at the bedroom door and calling out my name. I scrambled to my feet, searched for the lamp in the dark then ran outside where I found a couple of men from the village with James, lying in a cart. I could not see much in the dark and had to ask what was going on.

“Jemu is badly hurt, get some money and a book, we need to rush to the hospital,” said one of the men whom I was not sure I had met before or not.

“How did he get hurt?” I asked, getting closer to the cart.

“Damn it woman!” snapped James from the cart, “get some money in my bag, look for a book and let us go.”

I ran into the house, fumbled in James’ bag and got a five dollar note. I failed to get a new book and people outside where screaming at me to hurry, accompanied by James’ groans. I found one book I had used at the hospital when I had suffered migraines and I tore off the written pages and ran out into the dark.

                                                                        *****

Stumbling into the out patients’ room from the pitch black outside, it took my eyes minutes to adjust to the bright light. This was when I also managed to see how hurt James was. He had a gash across his forehead, raw and angry with the blood that had clotted and dried around it having already grown dark. Some of the blood had fallen onto his white shirt, creating rusty stains, and had also caked in his hands, which he had probably used to try and staunch the bleeding. No one would tell me how James got hurt and I stopped asking.

The nurses on duty busied themselves with him whilst the rest of the party that had accompanied us was told to wait in the waiting room. I was about to join the party in the waiting room but I was told to fill in James’ details.

The student nurse was having problems stemming the bleeding and also having a visibly drunk James to co-operate that by the time the doctor was called in, she was exasperated.

I felt him walk in before I even saw him. I smelt that scent familiar with the interior of his car as he got closer, the soles of his shoes tapping the floor. I straightened my skirt and patted my hair, feeling drab. Then I checked myself quickly; why was I preening for this man like my husband was not lying on the bed across the room, hurt? A part of me though relished seeing James in pain. He had inflicted it upon me over and over again, physically and emotionally and now someone or something had got him.

I slinked into the shadows to let the doctor go past me but when he got to where I stood, he hesitated briefly, sought me out in the dark with his blue eyes then walked to the bed where James lay. I exhaled in shudders and watched him talk to James and the nurses then sewing started. I was mesmerised by the calmness he exuded as he went about his work, managing the drunken man well. I was lost in how he moved and talked and even laughed softly once in a while.

“Mara!” James’ voice broke into my thoughts.

Everyone’s eyes turned to where I was hiding in the shadows.

“Mara!” he shouted again sounding agitated and I walked out into the light, slowly towards the bed.

I kept my eyes down but I could feel blue eyes boring into me. Or was I imagining it. I must have been imagining it because when I looked up, the doctor was washing his hands at the small sink and when he was done, he left the room. The room felt like it had lost its warmth, its vibrancy, with his departure.

I felt a sharp slap on my arm and I looked down at James glaring at me.

“What woman, have you never seen a white man before? Why are you following him with your eyes like that?”

I reddened. I had no idea that I had been openly staring after him like that. I mumbled an apology and the nurses looked away, embarrassed for me.

“Get my medicine and tablets for me,” said James roughly, “can’t you see that I am badly hurt and I might even die but you are not even paying attention to me? Women, urgh.”

“No Jemu,” laughed the elderly nurse, “it is not a deep wound. You just got a few stitches; you will be up and about in a day or two.”

He grunted in annoyance and put his big hand in mine so that I could help him up.

                                                                       

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