The Untold Marriage II

“Patience,” my grandmother’s voice admonished, “is the secret to understanding stories.”

                The red cleared. The girl’s belly was big like she swallowed a big stone. She looked older than her age. The girl was sweating. An old woman cleaned her face.  A leg popped out in her vagina. It was red again.

                The now happy-man-formerly-sad-man ran around naked. He cried. He pulled out his hair with his hands. He tore his shirt. Some women walked out. They held their hands as they walked out of the house. This house.

                The cornrow-girl-like-me was travelling. And something came out of the calabash and entered me. A new story entered me. It scared me. I began to see the past. I cried.

                I was born in a place where I was not wanted. You see, it is hard to have two breasts and not have the perfect skill of peeing into a bottle without spilling some liquid on the bottle. The air was quiet. It was said that I was supposed not to be. Someone broke the law. Someone allowed me live.

                ‘Who allowed me live?’

`              From the still air, my grandmother’s voice came out: “find the answers yourself. Travel. Free your thoughts and allow the air fill you in.”

                “Travel?”

                “Seek and ye shall find. However, when ye find, don’t ask the whys, take it as it cometh to thee.”

                I folded my arms and thought about this new revelation from my grandmother.

                “Where shall I travel to?”

                I could see her floating away. Her features shook like the unsettled nature of a stream. She began to dance and loud drums rose to fill the space.

When the spider says he is wiser

The lion roars in anger

the lion sends his wife the serpent

to spit her viper on the spider

Their efforts lead to new anger

Turmoil rings in the land

Only the spider knows why

Because, his is a circular journey

A web.

                “What is this?”

                There was no response from the voice. The song sung was beautiful and bitter in my ears. I stood still. I wanted to drink more of the song. The voice continued:

See her here, see her here

Let her come and aid our conversation

                “Who?”

                “Ina mama ka.”

                “What language have you used to communicate with me? I don’t understand what you are saying.”

                The forgotten language of our fathers is what I use. I meant:  “Your mother.”

                “Where?”

                “Travel.” At the mention of this single word, there was a strange silence. Everything was numb for a while. I found myself swimming in the words hanging in the air. Then later, in the white calabash. I swam till I didn’t know where I was. But i saw a woman, beautiful and sad. She sat in the city where  the formerly happy man and the formerly sad man were. It seems she could not see me. I touched her. She turned and didn’t notice anything.

                “Mother?”

                She heard the voice. I think she heard it because she looked around. I wanted her to see me, touch me and rub my hair and to pamper me and tell me why she couldn’t see me. I wanted hear what happened. I needed to hear her untold story.

                “Mother?”

                She stood up and walked away while I followed her.  Cars wheezed by and a man was riding on a donkey. The man on the donkey said: “Ina ini”. No response.  My mother or the woman walked on with her head counting the sands on the earth. I followed.