CHAPTER ONE: EVERYTHING IS CHANGING

The story of the unfortunate tadpole;

There was once a tadpole, who lived in a little pool of water with the rest of the other tadpoles. The little pool of water was many trees away from a big and enchanted cascading river. The river glittered like a glass mirroring the beauty of the bright blue sky.

For many days, the tadpole had dreamed of swimming in the shimmering clear waters; After all, he was a tadpole with waggling tail filled with excitement and expecting-ness of the unknown. He would be heartbroken every time he had spent looking at the rising and the sinking of the sun in the beautiful river.

"One day I'll swim in those glassy waters!", he promised himself, with silent exclaims, heartily.

One faithful day, there began a heavy rainfall, pouring graciously from the heavens above and filled the river banks close to where he laid. With excitement in his heart, he began hopping, jumping into the river easily as he imagined as he hurriedly went for the glassy waters. From one hop to the other he finally found himself in the glassy waters.

His excitements were cut short unfortunately, when the water current became stronger than imagined. It grew stronger under him and finally carried him all the way through an angry waterfall. He fell harshly into deeper water, it was rockier and rigid, even than his little pool of water. He then realized how he missed his shallow pool of water and regretted how he could never go back to his little pool of water, forever lost at sea.

Aega;

For some reason I couldn't understand why I kept reading the story of the unfortunate tadpole over and over. Maybe it was due to the fact that I felt like the tadpole in the story, or maybe, that my life was about to change that very instant.

I sat quietly on my four hinged little wooden stool holding the storybook tightly to my chest as I was afraid his fate wouldn't be mine in this moment, afraid to let go. I was afraid to let something go. Something dearest. Something that was about to happen. I was about to know, that was why there were strangers in my home that moment.

I will never forget the look in their eyes as they walked all over, starring sparely of fear, disgust and pity as they gawked at me. Was it because of my hair? Though dirty and brown I was at my best, I had just come from the street playing with my friends with a little bit of fighting with the older boys as they would pick on me every time for just being a girl playing a boy's game. I felt quite alright with myself but their strange eyes peering down my forehead was more than that. 

I felt void and confused of what was happening, I would look at them when they weren't looking back; there were three women and a man. I counted. The single man wore a white coat, not too thick like a sweater and not too light like a t-shirt but rumpled like a Sunday morning outfit, still mesmerizingly white for anyone who would live in these parts of the hard and rough neighbourhood. His inner t-shirt was a dim colour tucked properly into his high waist belted brown-like stock pants. He obviously came from a different town as I had concluded. He had scant hairs on his head, visibly grey onto his lighter toned skin. No facial hair, kept his chin and cheeks neat but had a grumpy and tired expressions. His forehead wrinkles would fold and unfold has he spoke slowly and in low tones like as if he was counting his words and was talking to inferior minds. His gestures were one handed, folded the other under his armpit like giving a lecture. Two of the three women stood at the corner of my mother's small kitchen postern discussing quietly and secretly. It was obvious they didn't want anyone to hear, but I needed to know what was happening. My stool was close to the corridor of the kitchen, right through the postern resting on the side and giving way for any of them that was passing through. 

At the other side of the room, where the only chair stayed was the third woman, who was seated while the man in white stood as they were deepened into the conversations as the time went by. He was trying to explain something to her that she wasn't understanding but she listened quietly and sadly, sighing and shaking her head at every moment. It sank my heart further down, the worry of what I didn't know but what I felt was no good.

The woman sitting was the first person I met when entering the house, it felt like they were all arguing until they saw me and then went silent talking only in whispers, like as if it wasn't worse. 

She was old, was what was my first impression of her. I could see some her grey hair strands fall out of her colourful scarf with black lining design, the scarf was made from a native attire, which was tied loosely round her head. From where I was seated, I could only see her aged face and the faded-white blouse she had on. All that was left of her clothes was a native wrapper similar colour as her scarf's, wrapped around her waist and covered down to her legs. She folded her arms. From the expression on her face too I verified that something was really wrong and had to do with the woman in the only other room that I wasn't allowed to enter. My mother.

The apartment in which I lived as long as I could remember was a small one. It comprised of a small parlour that had the only chair the old woman was sitting on, a little side kitchen, a bedroom that was unevenly divide to create a bathroom with plywood. It was a typical Nigerian house in a ghetto neighbourhood and not the worst accommodation in the town area. I knew I lived simple but today I understood how poor and dirty I lived just from their reactions when they looked round the house and I hated them for creating these feelings in me. I didn't want to feel them.

I rubbed my foot on the dry cemented floor and tried not to stare at the old woman when she didn't make eye contact. I tried to discern the colours of her clothes, which was a big issue on my part. My mother say I suffer from colour blindness. The old woman now looked angry. Her wrinkled cheeks folded as she suckled on her lower lips, grunting. She was thinking, it looked like that. The conversation between the old woman and the man had ended when I saw the man touching her folded arms under her bosom like most women do. He walked out of her space, passed me and went into the room I was forbade to enter, where my mother was.

My mother, as long as I could remember had always spent most of her day on the bed. She barely even goes out except when she wanted to buy food, she hardly cooks too we mostly ate already made food and when she was alone in the room she would cry silently, hiding her face but I did always notice. I would always ask her why she cried a lot but she would just smile and at me on my head. I had always made it my mission to make her smile every day; some days were successful than most. And since the moment the strangers came to my home, the white was the first person to enter the room.

I tried to peep through the crack of the door, just as the man entered. But the dimmed light made it hard. I could only see my mother's face lit poorly in the dark room, she looked very tired. Just like I remembered her to be. Our eyes met in a bliss of euphoria, she smiled and gave a little wave twinkling her fingers. I didn't react. I was totally confused, she seemed fine. The grumpy-looking man saw and gave a tired sigh then walked to door cutting our glance and closed the door in front of me. I cursed him with words that I knew as I began to feel a weigh build in my chest. I turned to face the rest of the room. The two women whispering at the corner had already stopped and were looking directly towards me. 

They were looking at the old woman standing above me, I shook when I saw her up close. She had stood up from the chair and was now standing tall in front of me and I didn't hear her walk here. We both exchange looks, I tried stretching my neck upwards just to match her eyes. She was really huge, broad shoulders, fat arms with slack muscle dangling as she moved them – a sign of an aged body. She gripped me with both hands firmly by my arms and stood me up instantly few feet above the ground before she let me down gently on my feet. She couldn't reach down lower than she had already done as she winced slightly when she did. Her thick robust waist wouldn't let her. Her thighs were wider closer than when she was sitting and her calves where thick enough to crush a coconut. I imagined. Her neck disappeared behind her scarf which went all the way to her shoulders. The wrappers were wrapped up close to her chest and her blouse were clearer now; faded. Her face was wider and she looked sad than tired. The wrinkles had eaten more than just her cheeks; it had gone to her forehead. Her hands were soft then, when she griped me.

Looking straight down into my eyes, in those dimmed shot-in colourless eyes, barely visible around the eye sockets; I could see my reflection in them. Almost all her eye brows were gone and the remaining were grey and faded to the colour of her skin. I felt sorry even as I was scared of the way she eyed at me. It took me back to one moment when I scraped off mine few weeks ago, she has made me rethink if that event was regretful then eventful. I gulped half way scared that she would do something frightful as she stood there without speaking. 

Then she spoke, "Do you know who I am?". She sighed then freed my arms and I could feel warmth coming to them again.

I could almost count her teeth when she spoked, they were very distracting than her eyes and I felt sorrier and a little bit scared.

The answer was no! I have never seen such creature before, in my entire life. But, how many of my life could I had remembered? I was thirteen years of old and maybe the time I saw her last I had not been able to create solid memories yet.

I couldn't answer because I didn't know how to answer. I felt like any wrong answer would make her unhappier or worst angry. I just stood there silently. She grinned before muttering under her breath gradually became frustrated, her eye brows arced but then she sighed heavily letting it all out.

"I am your grandmother!", she exclaimed, frustrated like as if I would remember her immediately as she said it. Still, I made no reaction, stilly.

She shifted her gaze on the other women, confused, I did too. They put on worried faces like they were surprised and terrified at the same time. I wasn't he only one she had effects on. My supposed grandmother stood straight again, muttered somethings which became clear as her anger grew. She walked away and I was glad. I turned bac trying to find a way to see the one person badly, the only person that could explain what was happening.

Few minutes later, the door to my mother's room cracked open getting everybody's attention when the grumpy man came out looking more tired and sad. The aura around him screamed something bad and at that moment my heart almost caved and I just wanted to see my mother badly. Thankfully he left the door ajar and I could finally see her perfectly. My heart sank. The three women had already infolded the grumpy man before he could gather his thoughts and speech – almost as he left the room. He was now arcing his backbone, it was understandable that he was doing more than what he could handle and the three women were not making his job easier, as he was about to give bad news. They were all preparing to hear something awful but then the old woman yelled at the other women to step back and give him space. They did, dragging their feet on the cemented floor with mutterings, except that the old woman didn't move back also. Selfish! She moved closer.

They talked in lower voices, so I decided to look at my mother instead. Her eyes were closed, she looked peaceful. I smiled.

I was suddenly drawn back to the room when I heard a sharp scream. The old woman was already in tears. The other women stood there looking blank lie as if struck by lightning. The short commotion had confirmed my fears; something was defiantly bad with my mother. I felt my heart rupture underneath, skipped few beats and came back quickly. I dropped my book. Everywhere was in slow motion, my gasped so slowly. I looked at my mother, she as still asleep gracefully. I turned back to look at the man with the bad news. I could see as the old woman stepped away from him and walked slowly towards me. I searched her eyes again, this time they were different. She looked at me dreadfully. They were watery. I could feel the tension brewing and the atmosphere of the room became hot and heavy. I could feel the rumble build in my stomach as the woman came closer and rested her palm on my head. Her wrapper tucked under her armpit became undone when she bent slightly face drawn against mine, straight in the eyes. She tried rewrapping them exposing fully her faded white blouse then tucked them loosely and indolently and less obligated to tie it properly once and for all. As our faces were few inches from each other, I could see vagueness in her eyes, the pretentious smile capped it as clear as day. Maybe she was about to let me in on what was going on, that everyone seems to know except me. Finally!

Still patting my head before she slipped her heavy hands past my cheek and cupped my chin softly raising my jaw to match her face under her gaze as she spoke in deep calm voice not lie before;

"Omo mi, my child", she started, still finding it hard to form more words as they mixed with her tears. Tears trolling down her cheeks.

"How are you?", was all she could say, her mouth opened and nothing else came out.

I didn't know how to answer that. She nodded and my silence seemed to suffice. I shifted my gaze to the others in the background. Feeling uncomfortable at her presence again, I jerked, swaying away from her grip and shrugged off her fingers from my chin.

The old woman sighed; "Your mother is awake now; I think she is looking for you". She gestured her head towards the door at my back indicating I leave.

I picked up my storybook arms wrapped around its broad-hard cover pressing it against my beating chest, trying to calm myself. As I turned to stare at my mother, her eyes were wide open and she smiled. Smiled widely at me and gestured me to come in. I did. As I walked, I felt like the tadpole in the story - I was jumped from little pool into the river, about to swim into the beautiful glassy water. the arms of my mother. The only one who could make all this go away. 

The more I got closer the more I torn, in shreds as I froze at the entrance just as I saw her face clearly due to the lit up lantern. The only one in the room. She looked more than just tired. Her cheek bones were visible just as her eyes were crouching under the shadow of the rims of her eye sockets. Her brittle lips cracked as she tried to keep smiling. She coughed and my heart skipped. Startled and encompassed with stricken fear.

Even as I could feel the worst, the closer I got to her, the recognizable she became, the steadier my heartbeat became. My eyes searching as I walked slowly. The lantern that lit up the room was made out of an old worn-out tomato-paste tin can, a thick wool string which passed through a punctured lid. Inside the tin can was kerosene soaking the wool. The glow from the burning wool was dull but the smokes protruding little bit of thick sizeable flames, not enough to cloud the room altogether. The tin can lantern stood on a small table box few feet from my mother's bed which laid on the bare floor. The yellowish-blue flame my mother had always mentioned about and the black smoke flickering and trending upwards, fading as it got closer to the ceiling where the light scarcely touched. The only window wasn't big enough to allow the sunlight to pass through, hardly encroaching the small room, across my own little bed few inches from my mother's, but took residence where the light from the lantern couldn't. The crocked cupboard staying opposite where the beds were, blocking the light from reaching the bathroom entrance. The cupboard had almost everything we ever owned, clothes, books, sacks, some baby pictures of me. The rest space on the floor was the leftover clothes, one mat, empty bottles and a blue drum that I had filled with water the day before. It was spacious enough for the both of us. But not that spacious as I had come to think about.

I stopped, a foot closer to her bed and I searched for her eyes and smiled when I found them, though concealed inside her eye sockets still held the warmth and calmness and peace I had always relied on.

My mother was curled up in her favourite floral bed sheet. Her right arm strapped to a tube attached to a plastic bag filled with a wired coloured liquid hung on the wall close by. It was injected into her hand and the liquid passed through the tube into her. It will make her okay, I prayed. Her knuckles were flat on the bed and the tips of her fingers where black, her pale-yellow skin darkened and glowed synchronized with the dancing of the flames from the lantern as it battled effortlessly with the little breeze coming in from the window. Her were gloomy as they became clearer but slightly closed. I could see the little fire flames dancing at the corner of her eyes drenched with tears. Her hair was long enough that the tips touched below her shoulders, brown lie mine. I wanted to tell her how beautiful she was if it would make her feel okay but I could only cry.

She sat up slowly wincing from the pain that came with it but immediately smiled to hide the pain. Rested her back to the wall then sighed. I gasped in disbelief as the floral bed sheet gave way and her neck and shoulder bones appeared. Thick lines bulging from the top of her neck to the base of her collar bones, projected likewise. Her blouse was oversized and slacked, dropping to one side exposing the right side of her biceps – all bones and pale skin. 

I knew my mother to be skinny, but this was something way worse. I could feel it. 

My mother looked up straight into my watery eyes, her lips braking as she smiled. It felt as if they would shatter to pieces if she smiled wider. 

With a little breath intake, I leapt from where I stood and ran into her embrace. She groaned but didn't complain. She laughed when she saw my reaction to her pain, I thought I had made everything worse. Her arms trembled around me. Her hug was all I had wanted that moment. My fears melted away; the warmth froze time, the pain in my heart disappeared, everything fell into places. The built up negativity, anxiousness, the bad aura, the sadness lurking were all gone. Cause that moment an instance of peace had been found and begot clarity of my mind with the person I loved. Again. I felt my heart smile and my lungs gasping with joy. Finally, someone that could explain everything to me. Shed light to the darkness.

My face was buried in her bosom, breathing unsteadily with fear slowly leaking as tears ran down, crying soaking her collar bones as I wrapped my arms around her neck. Abundance of warmth and light as sparkles littered the air around us as she held my hands in hers, clamping our fingers. Intertwined. We both searched for each other's eyes, she brushed her thumb on my cheeks wiping the tears away. She giggled. Her voice resonated through the wells of my ears as she brought her lips closer to them whispered softly into them. 

Of her favourite words; "Aega. My little baby bird". Over and over.

Her voice crackled into cries which prompted me to look up. Tears grazed down her cheeks too, leaving dried scars of tears. I touched them slowly; it made her chuckle into soft laughter as she snuffled her nose. Her face was down; the light I had always seen in her beautiful brown eyes for as long as I could remember was fading out, still, she smiled. 

What is happening to her? The question crept and tortured my thoughts. So, I had to ask in between tears. "What is wrong, mama?"

She tucked my face back onto her chest, tightly hugged me and began subbing. With her weak voice, she began whispering into my ears again;

"Nothing is wrong with me bird. I think I'm changing into something magical and beautiful".

Then she began singing my favourite lullaby,

"My tiny beautiful bird,

All heights are alright,

My tiny adventurous bird,

No road is all right,

My tiny singing bird,

All lights are stage light,

My tiny brave bird,

No depth should give fright,

My tiny happy bird,

Your stars will shine bright" 

We both sang along in blissfulness, in the stillness of the moment. Silence in our hearts and love filling the deep dark space. Over and over. Again.

Our peaceful and beautiful moment was interrupted by the footsteps of someone entering the room. It was the old woman, my grandmother. She looked devastated. She looked like she had been crying too. The repulsion in her eyes when she saw us hugging in tears. She suddenly gripped me by the arm and yanked me away from my mother's.

Anger filled my head briskly. I screamed. Struggled to be free myself from her grip. Tried kicking, but it was futile. She dragged me out of the room into the parlour and held me down with both hands but not enough to restrain me from struggling still. 

She yelled louder than my screams saying, "Do you want to catch her sickness?!"

The whole room went silent instantly, including me. The scare her eyes gave shook my whole body. The man in the white coat jumped in, "you can't contract leukaemia, it is a type of cancer not virus", he tried educating at that moment. He felt he had to do so, he could not bear the assault on a child. But try correcting an elderly woman in Nigeria, it was something that was frowned upon not just by tradition alone, but religion too. They take it as insult and disrespect. In this moment and in these conditions, she is the one in the right. The glance she gave made him freeze, he began stammering and mumbling. She groaned angrily and let go of my arm and stepped back silently.

She took a deep breath and turned to my mother and said calmly, "you can't take care of yourself in your condition, let alone a child", she looked at me then continued, "I didn't complain when you refused my help before when you had her." She wiped her face and looked away, felt disgusted then continued talking, "you raised her in this dump all by yourself. If I had known a long time ago, I wouldn't have let it go on for this long. But this time you will listen to me, she is coming home with me. This is final. There is plenty of space and room and you will have all the care you need there. You have no other option."

I could see my mother nodding in agreement as she tried to hold back the tears. The old woman turned to face me and spoke firmly, "you will stay with me and get to know your family." She then went to close the door to my other's room. "leave her be, he needs her rest and you need to prepare. God knows she needs all the strength in the world." She made the cross symbol with her fingers touching her forehead, chest then her shoulders, closed her eyes and mumbled a prayer.

I just stood there blank.

She came back and held my hand and walked me away from the other peering eyes but I instinctively withdrew my hand from her clutch and stepped back few feet. Stopped and looked straight in her eyes, angry. She was going to change my everything. I hated her, cursed her and gave her bad wishes and hoped they came through.

"Stop acting like a baby!", he yelled. Angrily. The words vibrated my eardrums. No one had ever spoken to me like that. Then I spoke, for the first time to her, "why do you want to take me away from my mother?". I needed to know, it felt more than my mother's condition.

She didn't react like I thought she would, instead, she just stared at me plainly. The scrutinizing eyes of the three people left in the room made her embarrassed. 

"A…ega…", she said confusedly, not able to properly pronounce my name. 

"What kind of name is that? Can't you see that the life your mother had subjected you and herself to isn't a good one. You are old enough to know what unhealthy and suffering is. Only God knows why you are this stubborn." 

She took another breath before continuing, "this is what gave your mother this sickness!", she gestured wildly as she gave a look to the man who tried to give a comment but stopped when she met her eyes. Gulped. 

"Everyone in his dump is sick too. And I can't have that on my conscience, knowing that I could do something to your situation and I didn't. Do you want to get sick?"

I shook my head, I didn't.

From what I heard, it sounded like she actually cared but couldn't show it. Her lips said something and her body and eyes said something else. It felt also like guilt.

To tell if this woman was sincere wasn't easy, after all I'm just meeting her for the first time. She claims to be my grandmother and for the past twelve years of my life, I haven't seen her once. I never knew I had a grandmother nor aunties. Before today, my family tree had only two branches – mine and that of mother. And it felt lie after today, the branches would increase speedily. 

I still didn't want to leave. I was scared of her, most especially I was scared of change.

I thought if I could still protest things might change but it didn't. "You have no say in this matter," was all she could say.