ÀṢÀKẸ́

CHAPTER ELEVEN

          Gradually, I regained consciousness. I  opened my eyes to find myself soaked with water, probably an attempt by màámi to get me up. I sat up, and for a moment, I'd forgotten why I fainted initially.

“Àṣàkẹ́! Áà, o ṣé olódùmarè! Ìwọ ọmọ yìí, ṣo fẹ́ pamí ni? (Asake! Aah, thank you God! You this girl, do you want to kill me?), màámi said, sweating profusely. It was then I remembered what happened. I tried so hard to withhold the tears that struggled for freedom, I blinked repeatedly but they won't stop forcing their way out.

“Àṣàkẹ́, kílódé? Kílóṣẹlẹ̀? (Asake, why? What happened?), she drew closer to me, almost entering into me. A battle went on in my mind, a war of decision. I contemplated whether to tell her or not. I stared at her teary eyes, then I took a tour down the two little tribal marks on her face, one on each cheek. The contemplation was still ongoing when someone struck my mind.

“Fọlákẹ́!”, I said as I softly gasped. I jumped up, ran straight to the calabash in my father's bag, and took the substance tied in a red cloth; just as he described. I dashed out of the house, with màámi calling my name behind. “Mo ó nbọ̀ màámi!” (I'm coming mummy), I hurriedly replied as I took to my heels. My consciousness was lost in my thoughts, even as I ran. Other thoughts didn't matter, all I desired was that Folake would not die, because if she did, it would be my fault.

The front of the house was covered with white curtains, with two ladies dressed in white apparel standing in front. I rushed in, and laid on the mat with eyes shut, was Folake. The midwife held her leg, and pressed it, while my father and hers sat by her side, opposite each other. I took a good look at her chest, and watched closely to see if she was still breathing. The little motion from her chest gladdened my heart.

“Kílóṣẹlẹ̀? Kílódé tí o fi pé?” (What happened? Why did it take you so long), my father asked, as he reached out to collect the substance in my hand.

“Kòsí bàámi” (Nothing daddy).

“Kòsí kẹ̀? Lo fi pẹ́ tó yìí?” (Nothing? Yet you were this late?), he persisted.

Bẹ́ẹ̀ni bàámi. Báwo wá lara Fọlákẹ́? (Yes daddy. How is Folake's body now?), I tried changing the topic.

“A ṣì wà lórí ẹ̀ o” (We're still on it o). Her dad immediately gave an irritating look and hissed loudly, at my father's response.

“Mo dẹ̀ sọ fún àwọn ọmọ yìí oo” (And I warned these children o), he faced upward, and murmured to himself. This led to another exchange of words, a less aggressive and insulting one. He had more respect for my father, probably because they were both farmers.

Getting tired of the whole situation, I took excuse to leave. Folake was lying helpless on the floor, I didn't want to spend an extra minute in there; it was like each second spent there took every hope in me with it. I also wanted to see how the other girls were fairing, and to let them know I was no longer interested in the school matters, and if possible, convince them to forget about it.

Walking alone, weary and tired, my soul was grieved, what did I do wrong to have deserved such brutality from life? My heart bled, and my eyes wept uncontrollably. I felt defeated. In the wandering of my mind was an assurance of a solace in death. What if I died? Would life still hurl its oppressions at me? A part of me knew I was thinking to the extreme, but I couldn't help it.

“Àṣàkẹ́, ṣé òótọ́ ni?” (Asake, is it true?), one of the girls asked. I was baptized in my thoughts that I didn't realize they had approached me. They were on their way to the midwife's house, when we met. Morenikeji had explained to them what happened. They had their baskets filled with yam, on their heads.

“Bẹ́ẹ̀ni” (yes), I said, facing the ground, and wiping the tears off my eyes with my hand. They exclaimed, the way I expected them to.

“Ẹ wòó, èmi ò lọ ilé ẹ̀kọ́ mọ́ o” (see, I'm not going to school anymore), I gathered enough courage to look at their faces and tell them. They exclaimed even more than they did initially.

“Mo dẹ̀ fẹ́ gbàyín ní ìmọràn pé kí ẹ̀yin náà jáwọ́” (and I also want to advice you to quit too), I continued.

“Ahahh, kíni kó wá ṣẹlẹ̀ síṣu wa? (Ahahh, what will now happen to our yams?), one of them asked. Lots of questions followed, accompanied by hissing and frustrations. Amidst the murmurings, one of them said something which motivated me, which I'll quote in english.

“Is it because of Folake you're no longer interested? Even in her state, do you think she'll like to hear that we quit because of her? She is the bravest among us. And it's you who's supposed to encourage us, we chose to believe in your dream, and followed you blindly. Well you can choose not to go again, but as for me, I'll persist even if it will cost my life”. This caused an uproar, a bold affirmation from the other girls who also agreed to continue, and do anything it took to be different. I had goosebumps immediately! Something had been stirred in me, something was revived, though it had not yet been expressed outwardly. They turned their backs to leave. “Ẹ dúró” (Wait), I said. They halted and turn back. “Iṣu tèmi ńkọ́?” (Where's my yam?). They gave loud cheers, and morenikeji ran to hug me. My sense of purpose was restored, iron truly sharpens iron.

I suggested we helped Folake sell her yams too, so we distributed hers among ourselves, leaving each of us with eleven pieces. This was the tasking aspect. We were all tired from the stress of harvest and walking up and down, but we knew we had to endure. We chose different places to sell. Some, like myself, decided to hawk the yams on trays, others decided to move their sales to the market where other market women sold. I didn't like the idea of sitting in a spot to sell, even though I had spent hours with màámi in the market. And so we separated, to avoid unnecessary rivalry.

With a large tray on my head, seated on my òṣùká (a piece of cloth placed on the head to support weights), I went round the village hawking. My feet were hurt from the long walks and my neck ached me. The sales were initially encouraging. It was about two hours already, but I still had six tubers on my tray. I sat under a mango tree, out of frustration, and fatigue. I knew I couldn't give up, but I needed to hasten my sales; other girls I ran into along the way had three left, some had one left. Giving it a long thought, an idea crept into my head. What if I sang and danced as I sold? It would buy me the attention I needed, and would hasten my sales.

I rose up, with a broad smile on my face. When it came to public displays, I was very shy, but I had to overcome that if I would get what I desired. I tightened my wrapper, carried my tray, and began singing, “Àṣàkẹ́ oníṣu yín dé o, bí ẹẹ̀ bá ràá, tani ó ràá? Ẹní bá ràá yó ṣoríire” (Asake the yam seller is around, if you don't buy, who will? Anyone who buys will succeed). I wasn't a great composer, but I needed to come up with something.

I danced really well. The plan was working, people were watching, some laughed at me, some watched in amusement. After about fifteen minutes of singing and dancing, someone approached and bought three tubers. My heart leaped for joy, and so did my body. Staring at the rough paper ₦20 (twenty naira) notes she gave me, with the image of general Muritala Muhammed, I was nostalgic. I recalled, tho faintly, when our currency changed from cowries to paper notes. It was a new dawn for our economy.

After several minutes of consistent display, I successfully sold all. This earned me the alias 'Àṣàkẹ́ oníṣu' (Asake the yam seller), which died after a while. I was more glad to hear that every one of us had sold all our yams. We agreed to report to the school together to pay our fees, right after we paid Folake a visit.

On getting to the midwife's house, Folake had regained consciousness, and was no longer groaning in pains, though she seemed tired. Engaging bàámi, we realized according to the midwife, during Folake's reaction to her foot being caught in a trap, she sustained dislocation and a serious fracture. There was nothing she could do about it, which meant Folake might not be able to walk with her right foot anymore...

Please pardon any observed errors, I had to rush through it, no time to edit it. I hope you enjoy! Don't forget to vote and share. Thank you!