The Secret Lives of Baba Segi's Wives (22 page)

W
ITH EACH PASSING HOUR
, the silence in the Alao house grew until it was so sharp it stung the eye and drew saltwater from the nose. The wives sat in their armchairs, waiting for Baba Segi to return and determine their fates. Each one thought of words with which to blame the others but their throats were parched with worry. Every so often, their minds would stray to their children, tucked away in their beds, oblivious to the uncertainty of their futures, unaware of the possibility that tonight might be the last time they slept in their own beds.

Bolanle sat on the floor with Segi’s head resting on her shoulders. She had seen Iya Segi return home with red eyes and a snot-stained head scarf but she couldn’t make sense of the grief on the other wives’ faces. There was regret and remorse, but why? Segi too had absorbed this air of dread. She had become perplexed and her temperature had risen briefly.
Bolanle had swathed her all over with a damp cloth and she seemed more rested now. Still, she refused to go to bed. Every time a car revved up their street, she would lift her head and ask, “Is my father back?” at which the older wives looked at one another, unable to respond.

Finally, just before the clock struck eleven, the pickup rolled into the compound. The engine stopped abruptly and the door slammed. Segi straightened her neck.

“He has arrived,” her mother said, plugging her daughter’s mouth.

The stones fled Baba Segi’s unsteady footsteps. He battled with the sliding door and stumbled into the building, carrying the stench of vomit and stale whiskey.

Bolanle rose to greet him but Baba Segi didn’t see her or Segi. “So the witches have gathered for blood!” he slurred, glaring at the other wives, who were seated with their heads bowed. “Go back to tell the evil spirits who sent you and tell them I wasn’t home when you stopped by.” He tore off his soiled shirt and dashed it to the floor.

“Segi has been waiting for you,” Bolanle entreated, hoping that talk of his sick daughter might sober him a little.

“Is she? Tell me why she waits for me. You wives, tell me why!” he yelled, pointing his lips in the direction of his wives.

“Baba Segi, let us not do it this way.” Iya Segi thought she might bring reason, the way she’d always done.

Baba Segi was not having her reason tonight. He lunged at her and raised his arm until it almost touched the ceiling
fan. Then, with one smooth sweep, he brought it down onto her jaw. Everyone jumped, including Segi, who was groaning. Her father hadn’t acknowledged her and she thought she might impress him by lifting her head off the floor.

“May the dogs eat your mouth!” Baba Segi towered over Iya Segi. “What mouth do you have to tell me how to do anything? You, who have brought bastard children into my home! You have used me! Wounded me!” His voice lowered to a growl. “But let me tell you, the lion has roared, the dog has barked, the mouse has squeaked. Enough is enough!”

Iya Segi’s face rested on the arm of her seat where the force of the slap had sent it. The other wives were silent, half-waiting for Baba Segi to turn on them as well.

Then Iya Femi had a brainwave and decided to sing her signature tune. “It was the devil!” she proclaimed, kneeling in supplication on the cold terrazzo floor.

“Yes, it was the devil, and I am tired of doing his job for him. He must come and take his offspring from my house!” Baba Segi straightened as if he dared the devil to disobey him.

“Baba Segi, what has brought all this on?”

Bolanle’s voice made him swing round. Surprisingly, his face softened. “What has caused this? I will tell you. In fact, I should thank you first, because had it not been for you, I would never have discovered the deceit I have been living with for all these years.” He winced. “It was revealed in the hospital today that none of my children are my children. I found out, just today, that the children I have nurtured and called mine were sired by men
my
wives lay on their backs
for.” As he said this, he coughed up phlegm and aimed what he had collected at Iya Femi. He aimed well; it flew through the air and landed on her forehead with a splatter. She dared not raise her sleeve to wipe it.

Baba Segi paced the room and returned to his chair, knocking the head scarf off Iya Tope’s head on the way. Her reflexes served her. Like a child who had spotted a snake on her beddings, she leaped off her chair and pressed herself into the corner of the room. “Harlot!” he said accusingly. He eyed her with disgust. Then, with one nod, he was dead to the world.

Bolanle’s eyes were still traveling from wife to wife when a thudding intruded on her curiosity. The back of Segi’s bald head was rhythmically slapping the bare terrazzo flooring. Her eyes had rolled upward, revealing ripe, yellow eyeballs. Her tongue hung out of the side of her mouth, clasped into place by clenched teeth.

Iya Segi woke from her slap-induced slumber and raced to her daughter’s side. She wrapped her arms around Segi’s belly and hoisted her into a sitting position.

“Segi! Segi!” Iya Tope yelled. It was a beseeching bawl to a child dancing on the rim of a yawning well.

Bolanle ran to the kitchen to fetch a bowl of water and returned with trembling hands. Iya Tope dipped her hands into the bowl and sprinkled droplets on Segi’s face while Iya Femi rubbed the young girl’s left hand, hoping to restore warmth to it. The jittering eased into a rigidity that made Segi’s toes lengthen and spread like a rake’s fingers. Her
arms straightened at the elbows and her neck extended out of her shoulders. Her face held a look of pain so glorious that it brought tears to the eyes of all four women. Then, after a long, deep breath, Segi exhaled all the life within her. All the tension and agony was suddenly gone from her face, leaving her slightly open eyes staring at the stool beyond her bloodless toenails.

Iya Segi immediately withdrew her arm from behind her daughter’s neck. She rose slowly to her feet and stepped backward, her eyes never leaving her daughter’s lifeless body. Even when her back touched the wall, she was not convinced she couldn’t take another step back.

“I have seen what a mother’s eyes must never see,” she gasped, as if someone had asked. She took a determined bow but before Iya Tope could restrain her, she slammed the back of her head into the wall. She didn’t blink. Nor did she flinch. She would have gone for a second slam had Iya Tope’s arms not held her in a headlock. Iya Femi joined in and before long, the three of them were rolling around on the floor in a tangled ball of arms and feet.

Bolanle, who had been staring at Segi’s face, untied the wrapper from her bosom and laid it gently over Segi’s body.

“Cover her face!” Iya Tope yelled. “A mother must not see her child’s eyes after life has left them!”

Bolanle lifted the cloth at the hem and pulled it over Segi’s face, thus unveiling delicate yellow feet. She marveled at the handsomeness of each toe and turned to the sound of Baba Segi’s strident snoring.

Every so often, a grunt escaped Baba Segi’s mouth, but the women of the Alao household could not sleep. When fatigue threatened to take them, grief prodded them awake and tears rolled down their faces in an unending stream. Also, since none of them had the courage to move Segi’s body, their children woke to find her stiffened beneath a tie-dye wrapper in the center of the sitting room. The older children huddled in twos and watched the younger ones defeat the urge to ask why their sister had a cloth over her head. Akin sat by his sister’s feet and stared and sobbed.

At about six
A.M
., Baba Segi blinked and was confronted by ten pairs of probing, bloodshot eyes. He shut his eyes as if to do a private appraisal of the situation but when he opened them again his gaze moved from the veiled mound on the floor to Iya Segi’s face. Without speaking, he hauled himself out of his chair and headed for his bedroom, followed by a stream of warm urine.

He must have believed no one could hear him because he let out consecutive howls so haunting that the neighbors hurried to their gates. By the time Akin had found the keys and let them in, Baba Segi had returned to his seat fully dressed, except his trousers were inside out. No one cared to mention it. Careful to avoid the mound in the center of the room, he fixed his eyes on one of the visibly concerned neighbors and asked where he could buy a coffin. His words were punctuated by hiccups.

“They sell them by the roadside between Sabo and Oritamerin. But please, Baba Segi, my husband will go and buy it.”

As if the directions were all she’d uttered, Baba Segi walked out, leaving his family gaping at the hem of his trousers.

A doctor was called to certify Segi dead and Iya Segi was led away to their neighbor’s house. With fear and great sadness, the other wives prepared to change Segi’s clothes. Halfway through the process, Iya Femi fled to the guest toilet and threatened to kill herself if anyone tried to persuade her to come out.

Akin helped to lift his sister’s weightless body onto the soft cushioning of the small coffin. The neighbor drove carefully but the potholes made the coffin tip and slide against the metal. Akin held the varnished gray box through the entire journey to the cemetery.

Everything was arranged by the time they got there; a favor from another kind neighbor. Akin, Bolanle, Iya Tope and the neighbor lugged the coffin past the cemetery gates and forced it into a shallow grave between two headstones. The inscription on the one on the right had been grated away by the elements. Knowing his sister would be buried in an unmarked grave, Akin cast the words on the small marble slab to memory:

Dola Oladeji

Much loved & greatly missed

It wasn’t much of a burial. It was taboo for parents to attend their children’s funerals so there was no mother to wail for her. Understandably, also, there were no priests, no
prayers, no graveside blessing to set her on her way. There was only a smirking gravedigger leaning against a tree, hoping to receive a sizable tip for a space well found and a grave hastily dug. Akin and Bolanle bowed away from Segi’s gravesite, arm in arm, knock-kneed and dumb with sadness.

When they returned to their street, the words “may she be forgiven” echoed from every window and every door. Segi had defied the course of nature and spat out the milk from her mother’s breast. It was a sin but a forgivable one. A verdict nevertheless left to the gods.

Together, they entered Baba Segi’s bedroom, Bolanle one step behind Akin.

“Is it done?” he asked.

“It is,” Bolanle replied, turning to leave. She didn’t want to be there; she wanted to mourn in private.

Akin blinked back tears. “My father, I want to be a man about this but I fear I am weak.”

Baba Segi looked at the tall, gangly boy sitting hunched on the edge of his bed. The word “father” made every other word echo. It was distinct and comforting to his ears.

“Akin, you are more than a man, for it is only a true man who acknowledges his weakness. Your sister will watch over you from the spirit world. Know this and let it strengthen you.”

“Was there something I could have done, Baba? Was there some way I could have saved her?”

Baba Segi hummed uncomfortably and shook his head.
He felt tears heating the backs of his eyes. “You are not a god, so strike that from your mind. We are mere mortals who must humbly accept our destinies.”

“Baba, I am tired but I am afraid to sleep. I don’t want to wake up and remember she is no longer with me. Where will I find the strength to live on?”

“You will find the strength. We must all find the strength. That is the way it is for men: we wake up to find that things are not the way we imagined them. But what can we do?” Baba Segi’s thoughts claimed him. He covered his mouth with his palm and looked up at the ceiling.

“My father, let me go and ensure that my brothers and sisters are fine. I have been away from the house for a few hours now.”

“Before you go, child, I have some words for you.” Baba Segi started abruptly, his eyes unnaturally eager. “Keep these words in your left hand lest you wash them away after eating with your right. When the time comes for you to marry, take one wife and one wife alone. And when she causes you pain, as all women do, remember it is better that your pain comes from one source alone. Listen to your wife’s words, listen to the words she doesn’t speak so that you will be prepared. A man must always be prepared.”

“I hear you, Baba.” Akin was baffled by his father’s candidness but he suspected it was his grief talking. He was only thirteen and marriage was far from his mind. He saw that Baba Segi’s eyes had closed so he rose from the mattress and
tiptoed toward the door. As he placed his hand on the door handle, Baba Segi called his name and motioned for him to return to the place he had vacated. The older man reached out to place his hand on top of Akin’s head. He pressed his fingers into his hair and stroked his face. “Go to your younger ones.” He withdrew his hand and placed it flat on his chest.

N
O ONE EXPECTED
B
ABA
S
EGI
to call a family meeting so early into the mourning period but he was pursued by his own tragedy. One part of him wanted to weep; the other wanted to scratch the tip of his contempt to release the hardening pus within. In the three weeks his family tiptoed around the house, muffling all the symptoms of healing, his discomfort had throbbed like a boil. When he couldn’t take it any longer, he waited until the children had retired to their beds and instructed Iya Tope to summon the other wives.

Baba Segi sat in his chair, waiting, contemplating the manliest, most honorable way to present his proposal. Iya Segi arrived first, draped in black. She had tasted her first meal just hours before and already the pleasure of nourishment filled her with guilt. She had lost a considerable amount of weight and the folds of skin she dragged around slowed her pace. No one attempted to comfort her because she rejected it outright,
preferring the solitude of her room or the silent reflection she engaged in when in company.

Iya Tope followed, her face creased with tiredness. As the second wife, the well-being of the children had now become her responsibility. A few steps behind her, Iya Femi, her head wrapped in a scarf, joined them. Segi’s death had induced an epiphany. She had lost weight too, but hers was from fervent fasting. On the day of the burial, she had flushed her mobile phone down the toilet and burned all her flamboyant items of clothing. True to her character, she hid Grandma’s gold under her bed and pretended she didn’t remember it was there when she prayed.

Bolanle came in quietly and perched on a stool, her fingers linked to calm her nerves. For the first four nights after Segi passed away, she had jumped at the slightest rattle. This, coupled with the heaviness of Segi’s breath in her bedroom, disturbed her. Every day for the last two weeks, she’d washed the walls down with Dettol, but in spite of the antiseptic, the bitterness remained.

Baba Segi’s head was propped up by his fist. “I have called you today because I am full of words, words that threaten to tear my belly apart if they remain unsaid. This is a time of mourning, but a man must be mindful when weakness threatens to take him over.” He looked at each wife and they stared back wondering if their flesh could endure any more misery. “I will not pretend the words that struck my ears at the hospital have not preyed on my mind the way hunger preys on the mind of a motherless child. I have been deeply wounded. It is
not every day that a man discovers his life is a mere shadow and that there is a gulf between what he believes and reality. Neither is it every day that a man finds his children are not his own.” He raised his eyebrows in resignation and paused as if to regain his composure. The words Teacher had forced into his belly were now stuck in his throat like large orange seeds; they refused to be swallowed but were reluctant to be spat out. He took a deep breath. “I want you to know that you can go. The door is open. I will not stop you.”

“But where? Where? Go where?” Iya Femi was terrified.

“Wherever you please! I do not want to keep you here.”

“But where will we go?”

“Perhaps the father of your children will take you,” Baba Segi mumbled, shrugging his enormous shoulders.

“My lord.” Iya Segi cleared her throat. “I have considered your words and they are wise. More than wise, they are justified.”

Baba Segi nodded, half in appreciation that his words were understood and half in the knowledge that he knew Iya Segi could be trusted to conjure a faultless response to his proposition.

“You talk of the
father
of our children.
Who
is the father of our children? Who was the father of the child who now rots below the ground?” Her voice broke but she continued. “There is no other but
you
.
You
named her.
You
named every child in this house, every one. You have nurtured them so it is your name they will bear. You may say that there are other fathers but you are the only father they know. You alone have
been their father, for it takes more than shedding seed to be a father.”

The other wives puffed their chests out in agreement, all except Bolanle, who was deep in thought about Baba Segi’s words.

Iya Segi continued, her voice cool like balm. “I have sat for many days now, faint with grief, but my sins have been at the very top of my chest, beating over all else.
I
take the sins of these women onto myself. Heap them on me and let me bear them for the rest of my days. If you want to punish us for our misdeeds, let me single-handedly carry the waste bucket. Send me into the marketplace with it and then let the world smell my misfortunes. I say this because it was I who led these women into the darkness that engulfs them now. It was
my
eagerness to bear children that destroyed them.”

Baba Segi nodded in concurrence but he was silent. Arms that were earlier folded over his bosom dropped to his sides.

Iya Segi knew him better than everyone else who sat there silenced by angst, so she dealt her final card. “My lord, I know you want to send me off into the wilderness but I beseech you to have mercy on me. My eyes have already seen what no mother’s eyes should see. Forgive me, for I seek nothing else but to stay by your side, serving you as I have done all these years. Consider that I have lost one child but there is only one remaining. I give that child to you. Take him! Own him! What do I know about bringing up a son? Which words will I use to chastise him? If your heart does not forgive
me,
my lord, take Akin. And if your heart accepts me
to serve you, receive me also.” With this, she lowered herself onto her knees, lay flat on the floor and reached out her hands until they held her husband’s feet. “My lord,” she whispered. “Let us not allow the world to see our shame. Let us keep our secrets from those who may seek to mock us.”

She was good, Bolanle thought as she watched the other wives join her in her supplication. Only then did it all fall into place. Baba Segi’s big testicles were empty and without seed.