Fire is for silence

The ringing in your head does not stop even as you close your eyes to sleep. When you wake in the morning, it is still there. Actually, you catch yourself halfway through a scream. You turn your head. He is there, sleeping, so close to you, naked. He always sleeps naked, even on cold harmattan nights. You draw the cover over his lower half as if ashamed, of yourself. But even then you do it slowly, intent on not waking him up. If it were in your power, you'd have him sleep forever. You hear that ringing, still, as you take his clothes to the back of the student accommodation where you both share a room, as a couple. Your left swollen eye is not reacting kindly to the rising sun.

You see Bambisola, and you want to disappear.

“Good mor—” She stops to examine your face. “Eyy! Again?”

You wish she were like other poke nosers who pretend not to see [what happens to] you. You would have preferred that she just asked, “What happened to you?” That way, you could think up something respectable. You’d both know you were lying—what 18 year old still fell all over the place like a toddler—but you’d save some face. It’s not like you are a novice to the lying-to-save-face game. Three months ago when he flogged you on your palms with a horsewhip, and you had to miss school for days, no one doubted your hot-oil-when-I-was-frying-plantain story. Lying comes naturally to you now.

But Bambisola does not look the other way; that’s why you hate her. When you try to save face with her, she laughs and calls you mumu. She is like an irritant policeman at a checkpoint.

“Bambi, please mind your business.” You put his dirty clothes in a big black bowl and baptize them with omo. Fuck, you silently curse. You don’t have slippers on. Now you must step on the blue-green algae colonizing that part of the building. It made sense to go back for a pair, but you might disturb him. Who knows what he might do to your other eye then. Better to step on them algae. Algae never gave anyone blue eyes.

“Mumu, don't wise up. I have told you to let me help you deal with him but mbanu.”

“Bambi, mind your business.” You are repeating yourself now because what else can you say? Who are you even defending? Yourself, your boyfriend, your love-hate relationship?

You watch as Bambi packs her dried laundry from the line.

“God did not create me to mind my business, but I can't help those who don't want to be helped. When you finally reach your breaking point,” she points to the hostel, “room16, that's where I will be.” You watch her saunter away, her massive hips swaying with confidence. Irritant policewoman, at a roadblock.

It's 11:00 am. He will be back from his football match any minute now. Your eyes scan the room; all seem to be in order. Everything you need to do is done, so all should be fine, you assure yourself. Outside, you can hear the familiar voices of girls you know:

“Angel na queen abeg. I doubt she will win, but pata-pata say she no win na second place she go carry.”

“Anita rest, you think people will vote for her because of her so-called body positivity nonsense? The thing that made Liqourose remain till final is enough to know who is winning Big Brother Naija this year.”

“Dead am, she is only still in the house because of her large fan base.” The other girls laugh at this. Even you chuckle.

"Is it not fans that will vote before? You no dey hear yourself before you talk?"

They talk, they laugh. They talk, they laugh. You want to join them, but your puffy eye. You can’t save face when you have a puffy eye. You sit still on the bed, resting your back on the used-to-be green wall with dried brown lines that ran from the ceiling to the cemented floor, the legacy of raindrops that make their way through the leaking roof in the rainy season. You think you should leave him, but you are not sure it is the wise thing to do. He has been good to you. You try to remember something, anything not related to sex.

Instead, you remember how he shook as he cried and tore at your skin last night. You curl up on the bed trying hard to shut out the memory. When you close your eyes, you still see him glaring at you with bloodshot eyes; you can even perceive the marijuana stench that he wears like perfume. “What have I gotten myself into?” You ponder until you fall asleep and dream of when he was not like this.

The whoosh of displaced air first wakes you before you register the pain on your lower back, an inch above the waist. Alarmed, you fling yourself out of bed. You hit your swollen eye on the bedpost, and you can't even yell because the pain numbs your brain senseless. You crawl on the floor till you find his legs and grab them.

“Please, Ejimi, please! I won't do it again, please.” You are choking on tears, but you don't know what you are sorry for.

“Is it my own food you left opened for flies to have family meeting on, eh?” He grabs you by your camisole, ripping it in the process. Your wrapper also comes off. And there you are, standing, shaking, sobbing, naked but for your pant and waist beads. You turn around and take off the pant. You want to puke from your own action, but you have seen this work many times.

The first time was when he was beating you for talking so freely with his friend, Kene. He had threatened to make you spend the night stark naked outside the room. “If you say you be olosho, I will treat you like one.” But when he ripped your bra, he stopped, staring at you, long, his look unsure. As abruptly as he had stopped, he pounced on you again, but not to beat you. He turned you around, tore your pant, slid in roughly, and began to cry. He talked about how you how made him want to do bad things to you. Things he wished he didn’t do, but you kept provoking him. You sobbed; he sobbed harder. When he came, he told you it was his best sex ever, and something about that made you happy.

“The whoosh of displaced air first wakes you before you register the pain on your lower back, an inch above the waist.”

The second time was not so different; you were already naked because it was hot. A joke you were sharing had become too much for him. He suddenly stopped beating you and watched you cower under the yellow bulb in the middle of the room. “You are so beautiful when you cry,” he said, and as he did things to you, he moaned and went on and on about how you make him feel like a king.

Since then, instead of fighting back, you open your legs or touch your toes, whichever position hurts the least.

Now, you pushed against the wall, too bruised to bend or curve. His eyes turn darker in the afternoon light as he walks up to you. He goes in violently and the pain almost knocks you out. He hears you whimper, and he does it again, this time harder until you are begging him to stop, but he doesn’t listen. When he finishes, he staggers out of you. He is smiling; you look away. “Next time you maltreat my things, I will show you pepper.” He wags his penis like a dog to get rid of semen dripping from the tip. “I do not cater for you to be clumsy.”

“I am sorry.” You sit beside him on the floor, caressing his legs as he eats the opened food, the same one he claimed flies had a parade on. When he is done, he goes to the bed and sleeps, but you do not move until he is snoring.

Without thinking, you find your way to Bambisola's room. You don't know why you are going there, but you believe you should be there. You knock on the door, shivering and sighing. You lean on the door for support because your legs are threatening to fail. Bambisola yanks the door open, and you almost fall into the room. She steadies your weight on her much larger frame.

“Help me. Please.” You stare at her with your one good eye.

She lays you on the bed. You try to talk, but your words are slow and unintelligible. You have to repeat each sentence thrice before she gets what you mean, but eventually, you say all there needs to be said. “That your sister's boyfriend that is a soldier. The one that came here two weeks ago, please let's tell him.”

“No,” she says.

“OK, but what of Jade's mother, she will know the right herbs to mix so we can subdue him.”

“No.”

You groan in frustration and want to leave, but she stops you. “Do you think they don't know? Anita, Ogechi, Kentata, Bello, Sukomi, Saheed, do you think they don't know what is happening to you? I am not telling them because they can't help you.”

“So why did you tell me to come to you?” You want to slap her.

“Because I can help. It takes just one woman to deal with a man.”

You do not seem satisfied. “I will come back to talk with your sister in the morning.”

“See, people who turn the other way because it is not their business aren't usually of much help. You have never admitted to Ejimi's violence before, yet the whole school knows. How do you think that happened?”

You do not reply.

“They say it is not their business, but they forget all about that when it is time to gossip. It is not their business o, but when you have a black eye, they quickly ask how it happened and shower you with sorrys and awws, all the while not believing your cock and bull stories. After they sympathize with you, they come here, yes this very room, and laugh at your silly stories. Sometimes they mimic your limp.” She lets go of your shoulder. “You can go if you want to and come back tonight to see my sister if you think she can help. You don't have to wait till tomorrow.”

You do not stand from the bed. You just look at each other. You don’t recognise the look on her face, but you know she wants to fight for you.

"How will you help me?”

“I will tell you but first tell me why you haven’t left all this while?”

You feel small as you tell the larger girl that you don’t have many options. How it is Ejimi that pays your school fees and houses you, not your parents. How he was not like this at the beginning. You sit on the bed and loosen your wrapper. You show her many old scars and many fresh ones. “If he does this when I am with him, don’t you think he will kill me if I decide to leave? I am only as powerful as my decisions, and Bambi, I am not very powerful.”

“So why do you want to leave now?”

“I am not leaving. I want him to leave. This is why I need to inflict something big on him. It is why I needed your sister's soldier boyfriend. Wait, why are you asking me this?” You try to hide the frustration in your voice.

“Because there is no going back after we do what we plan to do to him. I need to know your mind is sealed—no cold feet.”

You nod.

She tells you the plan.

It is 11:00 pm, and you are in your room clad in a towel. You hold your bucket of water in one hand and a sponge in the other. You call his name, he snores. You try again; he snorts, turns on his side, and continues to snore.

You take your bucket of water to the bathroom downstairs. As you step out, Bambisola walks into your room but leaves the door wide open to give her room to escape. You stop by Anita's room. “Can I borrow toothpaste? Mine is finished.” This is normal. You all borrow from each other. You stay for a little chitchat after she asks what happened to your eyes. You are talking about the Big Brother Naija season 6 finalé due in two days when you hear the scream you were waiting for.

“Fire! Fire! Fire o!” It is Bambisola's voice.

But the relief doesn't come until you hear the long, hauling anguish of a man. He doesn't shout for help. He just yells and yells. In seconds, the whole lodge is awake, running up and down the stairs, trying to get water and soap and sand. You also join the frenzy, and you are screaming and shouting. You act surprised; the fire and smoke are coming from your room. You feign fright. You act like you will go in to save Ejimi because you know your neighbours will stop you, and they do. A couple of boys break the door with their shoulders, and some girls clumsily pour water into the room. Soon a path is created, and more people go in.

“Thank God the fire didn't burn the whole building,” someone says.

“As in, I was even sleeping, that's how I'd have died,” another says.

“Where is Ejimi?” You say, your voice is hopeless and sad. The crowd shuts up and looks at you; sympathy plaster their faces. You slowly walk in and kneel beside his darkened corpse, lying there like a toppled mannequin. You try to hold him, but he is still hot. You cry, and even you don’t know if this is part of the act or genuine, but you know in your heart that you are happy.

Bambisola holds your hand and leads you outside. “She will sleep in my room tonight,” she announces to no one in particular.

And as you step into her room, you sigh, remembering all the faces and all the looks they had in their eyes. You lie on Bambisola's bed while she lies on the floor, and you sleep wishing you had done this much sooner. For the first time, you sleep, and even your dreams are quiet.

Fire is for silence

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