Melanin Diaries: Perfectly Imperfect

Mokunfayo Badmus:

It was nearing the end of the day for me;

Perched, with a single butt-cheek on the stiff seat of an old, rickety eighteen-seater bus popularly known as danfo, I hoped to reach home in one piece as the  driver just narrowly escaped the jaws of two heavy-duty trucks.

It was as a result of reckless driving from all three drivers.

In delirium, people screamed and rained curses on the poor driver and his generations to come, but the latter simply shook his head in oblivion and laughed at the fun of it all even though a lot of people didn't find a near-death experience funny.

A woman's twin babies, startled by all the ruckus had started to wail. An evangelist who had earlier busied himself with winning souls for Christ was now shivering in trauma, begging the driver in rushed Yoruba to spare his life.

He was interrupted by an elderly traditionalist who had initially advertised herbs for men who were weak in bed, women who had several miscarriages, STDs and whatnot.

The man mocked his unmanly tears and haughtily asked that if the young man was so confident that his Christ saves, then why was he all jittery over a minor incident?

The ignorant occupants of the bus roared in fresh fits of laughter and began to share experiences of so-called pastors who conducted services whilst on transit and even went as far as bringing out polythene bags to collect offerings.

With all the banter going on, I noticed that the babies' cries had reduced to occasional hiccups but the stench of rotten fish from one of the market women seated beside me was still making my eyes water and the bus conductor was screaming profanities at another conductor that tried to move into 'his' lane.

Curses in local dialects rented the air for a few moments and the bantering crowd switched topics into abusive conductors. From the corner of my eye, I observed the evangelist hastily moving his lips in prayer but not blinking for a millisecond.

Before long, another person, a shabby looking, obese woman this time, stood up to market her product —green tea for sliming down.

Sigh.

My country people will never cease to amaze me.

When I'd had my fill of the typical Nigerian journey, I brought out my phone from my shoulder bag to send words of heartfelt apology to my boss for disappointing him earlier. It wasn't because the man deserved my apology in the least, but because I didn't want to lose my job yet again.

It was my only source of income and even if it drained me physically and emotionally, it paid fairly well.

I switched off my phone immediately the message got delivered. It was way past 9pm already and I didn't want to be tracked by the monitoring lizard that could otherwise be referred to as my sister.

I rested my head on the window of the vehicle, focusing on the scenery speeding by and ignoring the teenage girl that was busy lying to her mother over the phone that she couldn't come home as she was preparing for tests in her hostel room just after calling her boyfriend that she was on her way to his place, in anticipation of how they were going to paint the town red.

I wanted to slap the thing, I wanted yell at her. I wanted to advice her to cherish the fact that she had family loving enough to care about her whereabouts. I wanted to warn her to cherish her home because not everyone had that, but I focused, instead, on not treading down memory lane.

I focused on not remembering the fateful day that those hoodlums had walked into my own home and ruined everything. I focused on alighting the bus without a face full of sorry tears.

I entered into the compound that was now home for me and several other homeless girls -Madam Peju's- tired, battered and emotionally drenched.

Reprimands from people that I barely know nor care about was the least thing I needed, but I knew I would be getting lots of it.

That was why I hoped they were all sleeping in their respective beds as I lazily dragged my feet towards the building with my black work-heels in my left hand and my bag in the other.

It didn't come as a surprise when I walked into a lively, bubbly living room though. It was diary night after all.

All attention was diverted to me the moment I stepped in, Bisi not making the heat of the spotlight any cooler as she ran forward and imprisoned me in a tight embrace like I'd been gone for centuries. Then she started bombarding me with reprimands and questions.

"Sister mi this, sister mi that...did you even eat today?... you're just returning at this hour?...can't you just quit your job?"

Sigh.

Meet my sister, Olabisi.

She kept going on an on without even giving me an opportunity to reply until Madam Peju intervened, "Ahn ahn, sheybi you'll let her enter first na," she chastised in her thick, Yoruba-accented English. I was grateful for her timely intervention though.

Sighing in relief and gratitude, I made my way to greet the mother figure in this house of madness and marched almost immediately towards my room, my fingers crossed that I wouldn't be bothered any further.

But life hadn't ever been fair to me,

"Don't forget to come back down for diary night ooo, we were all waiting for you," Madam Peju called after me, I paused to give a curt nod to acknowledge her order before disappearing up the stairs to freshen up.

I took my time freshening up even though I knew over twenty girls were waiting for my presence before commencing a Friday tradition that I didn't give a fuck about.

It wasn't my fault that they were trying to bring out the good in me, the good that died with my parents and only brother, the good that was snatched away from me together with my virtue.

I knew Bisi had also experienced a similar pain and she was nearly back to normal, but that was her. She was strong enough to let go. I didn't have that strength, my past was to early to let go of, too bitter to forget.

I shoved disturbing thoughts to the back of my mind and slipped into the baggy shorts and oversized T-shirt that were my normal house clothes without much efforts, then I padded my way downstairs to listen to day by day reports of girls I hardly knew.

It wasn't worth looking forward to, I already knew that by experience.

❇❇❇❇❇

I stepped into the spacious living room with a bowl of dinner. As usual I was going to sit there like a mannequin and listen to all their pains and gains in the last seven days without saying a word.

I took a vacant seat in between Madam Peju and Bisi and we all bowed our heads for prayers that always marked the beginning every meeting.

Cordelia, the whore, was the one who said the prayers on this occasion and as I said the final amen with my mouth full of the cereal I was having for dinner, I couldn't help but wonder if God really listened to the prayers of prostitutes. It wasn't like I was going to be surprised if he did though, he was a joker after all.

Madam Peju started the conversation, holding the story pillow as usual;

"The week wasn't really a productive one, rain fell almost all week so we couldn't make reasonable progress, worse was how the client was screaming over the phone as if I was God that sent down the rain to disrupt work..."

I stopped listening and just stared at Madam Peju with an expression, I sure knew was close to awe. The way she gesticulated as she talked, the way she her face lit up when she smiled, it was as if all that'd ever happened to the strong woman seating close to me was nothing short of good.

Madam Peju, who everyone around called big mummy was a very influential Architect, she didn't only design, she also had a team that turns her designs into a reality.

She took work too seriously but it paid off, she was able to single-handedly build an empire, though it came with a heavy price.

She began building 'Peju's constructions and designs' from the very scratch a few years after the death of her first husband who'd died in a tragic accident. Her daughter, Enitan, was still a toddler that needed a lot of attention then, but she was barely there to give that to her.

Even after various successes and her second marriage, she still wouldn't stop working her ass out and paid very little mind to her marriage and family until at twenty-two, the body of Enitan delivered to her doorstep.

After a postmortem was carried out, it was discovered that she had tried to abort a four-month-old pregnancy of twin babies with a mixture of potash, alum and dry gin. Her baby bum was already very obvious on the last picture taken and Madam Peju hadn't noticed even though they both lived under the same roof.

She was near insanity when after three months, she found out her daughter's dairy and discovered that her very own husband was the one who gave her the mixture to drink. Apparently, he was the father to the unborn kids.

What was more? Her Enitan had already aborted twelve previous pregnancies for her own husband. The abortions started at the age of sixteen.

With the assistance of a very good lawyer. Boye was charged to court for multiple murder cases but due to his connections, he was given a measly sentence of seven years imprisonment.

Disappointed and drowning in the oceans of sorrow and guilt, all that was left for Madam Peju was her work, which she did diligently. That was how she was able to afford the luxurious mansion located in one of the urban areas in abuja that housed hopeless girls with a bleak future like me.

She was probably seeking redemption, making up for all the lost times she wasn't there for her daughter, that was why the Friday-diary-night tradition held weekly, without fail.

"...but apart from that all is well," she concluded when I zoned back in and passed the story pillow to Bisi who grabbed it with enthusiasm and went on to share the latest perks and pains of being a successful model with the excitement of a kid showing off his new toy to his friends.

I looked at her wistfully and wished times could rewind to when I used to be as excited as her as I chatted dad about lectures, boys and the future over coffee.

Mum, in all her enchanting beauty, would always appear by the doorway with a ladle and feigned anger, yelling at me to be like Bisi and come help her out in the kitchen. Daddy would then tease her and she would blush furiously before stomping off, forgetting that she'd come for me in the first place. Dad and I would laugh over it and continue our discussion.

Brother Tunji had just got back from the states after his graduation to settle down and run dad's business, Bisi was still in the university, I had just got called to the bar, engaged to the love of my life… we were all happy until fate thought us the perfect victims to play its tricks on...

I hastily blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall and focused on Suliat —the Hausa girl that fought and conquered VVF due to the fact that her parents married her off to a distant, ancient relative when she was ten years young. She was holding the story pillow now and whatever she said made all the girls laugh. Her hijab clad face glowed in a satisfied smiled.

Clearly she had moved on.

Why can't you too?

Madam Peju glanced over at me with a worried expression. I knew I couldn't survive a minute longer with all the suffocating happiness going on here.

"I have had a long day big mummy, I'll like to retire for the night," I announced with fatigue, stress and sniffs.

Bisi was about to say something but madam Peju nodded and wished me a good night's rest quickly, I gratefully hugged her and kissed her cheek before going upstairs to my room.

Without a doubt, I knew tomorrow was going to be another long day.