To Sink into the Deep

The Day That Everything Changed

"Your dad should tell your mom to shut up."

That wasn't new. It began some months ago but by now Ifaka had gotten used to hearing this sort of thing from the boys she played soccer with. Especially Abiola.

"And your mommy should have told your daddy she doesn't want."

This, Ifaka replying them, was new. She said it only because Peace, her nanny, had told her to. Ifaka didn't understand what it meant but Peace had assured her that the boys would understand. Judging by their reactions, they understood.

Abiola rolled his eyes. "No matter what you say, it is still true. My dad said the things your mom writes makes the government and the army look stupid and corrupt but your dad doesn't stop her even though he's in the army."

He looked around to make sure the other guys were listening.

"My dad says the army will fire your dad. Today. You can't come here and disturb us boys anymore because," he smiled as if what he would say next was good, "you will be poor."

"Shut up! I reject that in Jesus' name!" Ifaka yelled before spitting on Abiola.

He smirked. So Ifaka did what her parents had taught her to do in a fight: go for the legs.

She bent, raced the short distance to Abiola, grabbed him by his hips and kept running until they both fell. Ifaka pinned Abiola on his back, took a look at his shocked face and stuffed his mouth with sand and grass.

She kept going and going, hearing nothing but the ringing in her eyes, feeling nothing except that unnamed thing that made her shake and shake, seeing nothing but Abiola's eyes, tearful, shocked, and pained. It pleased her greatly.

Something hit her from the right and she was on her side on the ground but the grass made the fall not so hard. She pushed off the thing on her side and stood up. Her ears and eyes had cleared somewhat.

Abiola was throwing up. Good.

Her friend, KD, was in her face, looking angry. Not good.

"It's now you want to be crazy? Gini ne medi gi?."

How dare he? When he never helped?

Ifaka took a few steps back and then kicked sand at KD before running as fast as her legs could carry her home.

She ran and ran, weaving through the familiar marks; trying to keep herself from crying and thinking over all that just happened. It was a miracle a car or motorcycle didn't hit her.

She got to the gate of her house and tried to clean off her face and body but it was hard since her clothes were dirty and she had left her bag at the field. Maybe she should beg Peace to drive to the field and get her bag back.

Opening the gate, she saw cameras and reporters. Normal stuff. The news people were always asking her mom about her latest investigation or ask her opinion on something the government had done. This time though, she wasn't answering questions. It looked like she was trying to get them to leave her alone. Ifaka hoped her dad would come out soon, he always made them leave.

So as not to draw attention, Ifaka went in through the backdoor, begged Peace (Peace wiped Ifaka's face then agreed) and was turning to go upstairs to clean up when her mom came in the house with her dad.

"Nwam? Gini mere gi?" Her father's thick Igbo confused her for a while as he and her mom rushed to her and looked at her. Ifaka told them what happened.

Her parents looked at her with such sadness, Ifaka's breath caught. She had always told them what the others said and they had always admonished her to stand her ground, be the bigger person and told her how proud they were of her.

Maybe this sadness was because Abiola told her her dad would get fired. Was it true?

Her parents said nothing as they hugged her. Strange. They never hugged her when she was very dirty and this was next level dirtiness.

But she didn't comment on it. She just leaned into their hug and enjoyed the feelings of love and warmth and safety.

When they let her go, it felt as if something had been snatched from her.

"Ezinwam, ga sahun. Bathe and clean up, okay?" her mom said, rubbing Ifaka's face lovingly.

She then kissed Ifaka's cheeks and whispered "I love you too much," drawing out the 'too' the way Ifaka used to do when she was younger.

Her father hugged her too and told her to hurry and bathe.

"Take a long shower o! And wash your hair!" he called after her as she ran upstairs.

Ifaka got to her room, closed the door, peeled off her clothing, checked if the heater had heated the water and then realised that the shampoo was in her mom's bathroom. She tied a towel round her body and went to her parents' room to get it.

The windows in their bedroom were large and overlooked the backyard. As Ifaka passed one of them, she saw something that caught her eye. She moved closer and then saw what it was; her mom, dark green dashiki waving in the wind, climbing over the back wall.

Ifaka froze. Some time passed, she didn't know how long, before she left their bedroom and rushed to the stairs. Then she stopped at the sound of angry voices, crept to the point on the staircase where the house had been built in such a way that you could see what was going on there but as long as someone wasn't actively looking, they couldn't see you. She crouched down to see a bunch of men in soldier's uniforms yelling at her father.

These weren't his friends; never would they speak to him or about his wife in such a manner. He wouldn't have been standing so ramrod straight either. And his friends would never, ever, not even in jest, slap him.

It wasn't the slap that upset Ifaka. She'd seen her father get slapped before by some civilian who took out her anger at the government on the nearest soldier. Her father had held her hands up high when she raised them to hit him again, said something to her, threw her hands down and walked away, dodging the slipper she threw on him as he left.

Her father would never allow someone to disrespect him, no matter who it was. Ifaka kept expecting him to do, say something, anything. He did nothing.

And that was when Ifaka knew nothing would ever be the same again.

===

This story is based on an interview of the son of one of Nigeria's political activists during the military regime. His description of his father's escape over the back wall stuck with me and gave rise to this. 

What do you think of it?

Have any moments in your country's history struck you?

- KC Oparaugo