Chapter 2 OSARO'S TEETH, LIKE BROKEN CHINA IN THE SUN

Growing up, we had thought Nna and Nne had come from the same Nsukka town by the way she cited it in her examples when advising either of Ndidi or myself, but most often, I was the one always at the receiving end of her protective counsel. Maybe because she thought I was too lazy for a man, and her first child at that. Most times, by the way she spoke, it sounded like she wanted me to prove a point to someone or people whom she had disappointed or the other way around.

Barely did we ever hear her talk about her family, not that Nna on his side ever did. Having been born in Uriegha Benin City, it's no same as it might have been growing up in the east where our families were. We grew up not knowing our grandparents, neither were there stories of them. The only thing we knew about family was the basic knowledge we had in our elementary social studies.

Standing beside my bed and staring out the window, I could see Ndidi and Igbane playing around the compound, Osaro just sat by smiling. Actually, it was hard to tell if she was smiling, for her teeth were always open and scattered. Igbane would tease Ndidi, say something to offend her and she would chase him laughingly, then she'd stop chasing and take turns to say something to offend him in return and chase. We played the game a lot in the village, with other children and mud ourselves in the viscid red sands of the Benin kingdom.

"Ndidi!" Would you stop that nonsense play and get over here," Nne shouted from the kitchen. "You don't know you are a girl enh!"

The shout was loud enough for her to hear and she immediately started for the kitchen but stepped on herself and fell as she hurried. Nne rushed out. Her hands curled round her daughters' leg, Igbane stood still watching. My legs were beginning to wobble from having stood too long, but as much as I wanted to lie on my bed, I was tempted to keep watching.

Ndidi stood to her feet, and without looking walked away as if nothing happened. Nne stared her until her shadows disappeared into the kitchen. Nne said nothing. Not because she couldn't, rather because she saw her stubbornness in her own daughter. "It flows through the blood" Nna would always say though in our absence, when she would refuse to do his bidding. I was good at eaves dropping.

I must have heard more than I should the day I overhead her yell back at him for his discourteous remarks about her family. Her voice seemed to have wobbled with regret as she warned him. Maybe at one point in time she had regretted, when he had nothing to show, years after running from home with her against both their parents will. They were young and in love, two people from different side of the East, different tradition and culture that were not in support of their union, but Nna for love defiled his parents, Nne on the other hand had only her mother to defile because her Nna was late. Nna was a typical Igbo, born of the soil, Nne was an Osu. In Igbo, their union was an abomination, but in Benin-well, nobody cared.

Igbane stole quietly to his room so as not to be at the receiving end of Nne's anger for Ndidi's action. He is too young to know that Nne at that point was feeling more nostalgic than an impulse to strike whoever was standing close by. She is as strict a disciplinary as should a mother, but deep down, she had a soft spot, mostly for family. She has a family now but wished she didn't cut ties with her consanguinity. Anambra was no longer a home she could return to, she had come to settle here, and maybe now that Nna's fate had changed, she could finally find some sort of comfort in knowing it wasn't all for nothing.

"Good afternoon Ma," Osaro's greeted in her usual native civility.

Nne thoughts faded quickly as she turned to stare her tenants daughter, then nodded with a grin. I would guess because she didn't want to laugh out at the sight of Osaro's teeth. Even if it wasn't that, I wanted to believe it is that.

"Please Ma I want to ask if Ikenna is home?"

My jaw fell on hearing her ask after me. I felt to go out and slap her for calling my name without respect; at least 'brother Ikenna' would have sounded better. I didn't know her age or class, but I suspected I was older than her. You know the feeling you have when you see someone you think you're better than and expect they respect you.

Nne looked to my window as if she knew I had been watching, then to Osaro and replied "he's home, where else can he be. I will go get him for you." She started for the house.

I came out reluctantly, dragging my feet on the ground, something I do but Nne frowns at, and today was no difference. Though I approached her grudgingly, Nne's fierce gaze had stopped my dragging feet. I stood in front of Osaro like a boss, wanting her to speak first and I would reply with my baritone voice, but she didn't, and wasn't hiding it either. I was forced to speak first, and my supposed baritone vanished.

"You sent for me," I said ambivalently.

"Have you applied to the university of Ibadan?" She asked rather direct than restrained. I wondered why she didn't sound respectful as usual; probably she had come to sense that I mocked her jungle teeth, and has lost any form of respect for me. I cared less.

"Yes I have, why?"

"How did you apply?"

O my! I thought. The girl at the post office! How could I see her again? She did something to me, whatever it was, I do not know but I like it. I hadn't stopped sketching images of her in my head, not when I didn't know who she was, not when I wasn't sure of seeing her again. I had to. At least there, in my head, I would see her face constantly, but the problem was her picture was beginning to blur, I hadn't seen enough of her to preserve in my memory.

"Through the post office," I said. "It will get to the school sooner."

She exclaimed silently her eyes shifting both ways as she kept her gaze towards me. It was hard to tell who she was looking at.

"Probably later," I continued, "especially when you consider the Nigerian factor of course."

She didn't understand I meant that since the company had been totally owned and managed by Nigerians, there has been lots of delay and setbacks. It was obvious we missed the whites, we hadn't learned enough before seeking total control of everything. So I elucidated and she simply nodded with an "Oh!" Though I wasn't so sure she understood.

"Please how do I get there from here?" she asked politely and I smiled. I beamed, not because of the invigorated reverence in her tone; rather, it was the idea that just hijacked my thought.

"I could take you there tomorrow morning." Seeing the look on her face, I quickly added "that's if you want." It took her a minute before she could process what I just said.

"Ok thank you," she finally said. "Tomorrow morning it is." She left.

I sensed she was addled, but I was more stunned at myself. What did I just say?

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The journey to the post office was quiet, but we had it to be thankful for. We managed to say one or two things on our way back about the depreciating building, the unkempt environs, and the widening pot holes inside its compound, things I hadn't noticed the first time. What provoked her was the public holiday sign that hanged in front of their gate and read "public holiday, so no work". I guess now she understood what I meant yesterday by the Nigerian factor.

We highlighted from the bus, both of us unhappy for different reasons. She wanted to post her documents to university of Ibadan, I hoped to have seen the mystery girl, which was the only reason I followed her to the post office. Igbane and Ndidi wouldn't take that as an excuse though. The walk home from the bus stop was accompanied with growing silence. We had nothing in common to talk about, we actually never talked, and the only time we said something was when we saw something funny and she'd crack a joke over it. She had a sense of humor, the Benin kind of humor. I think I was the problem, at least Nne thinks so too. As good a listener I was, I wasn't the person to bank on starting a conversation. I was too careful to talk to people, trusting people with my thoughts and feelings was an expensive action for me especially in a peril developing world where enemies disguise as friends and are in wait for opportunities to bring you down through your own words. I had learnt early in life that words that leave the mouth never returns and learning from people's experience had taught me.

Osaro stopped attentively her eyes static at the gate of our compound. "Do you hear that?" she asked.

"No I don't," my eyes swaying left to right wondering what she was referring to. Then it dawned on me she expected me to listen. I did. All I could hear were faint whispers from the distance, until I heard Nne's voice. I took to my hill.

I pushed open the gate. I was right. First person that caught my eye was Nne at the middle of it all. It was erratic to see her in her boxing gloves, but whenever she was equipped with them, she meant to use it. I hurriedly got in between her and Iya Rotimi, who was in uproar, and took advantage of me at the middle to lose her head scarf and tie it round her waist. That was the first time I had seen such, who does that?

Nna stood at the corner of the house, staring at them; it seemed like women's affair he must have told himself. Igbane was quick to narrate to me what had happened, he too stood not too far from the quarrel, too little to do anything, but was confident that my chest would.

Nne had taken it upon herself to tell Baba Rotimi his refusal to dispose his dirt's were causing hazard in the compound. Ever since they rented the second flat it had been so. Since he wasn't around, she delivered the message to his wife and that caused the whole disagreement. Nne wasn't annoyed when Iya Rotimi used words on her saying her husband paid for the house and she had no right to tell them what to do. Her rage was unbridled when Nna was insulted.

"Don't you dear insult my husband; he is not your mate." Igbane said Nne had warned.

"Is that one a man? Why can't he come himself to complain," she hissed. "I wonder how he built this house self." She whispered the rest. "This entire Igbo people," shur! She gestured.

It was noble of Nne to defend her husband; it was honorable of any woman to. That was a trait Nna loved about his wife, defending her family in public. Family is all that matters they both used to say, yet he never for once praised her for defending the family's name in public. At first I thought he was too proud to, I later understood him when I heard him say to his friend "Never praise a woman especially to her hearing."

"Iya Rotimi please calm down and let's settle this amicably," I said.

"Not yet o," she shouted bouncing on her feet. "Let me show your mother pepper so she will know that I am a woman like her."

Did she actually think I'd let her touch a hair on my mother's head? She probably said that just to make Nne feel some kind of fear, but she was forgetting something. Nne was a typical Igbo woman brought up eating fufu, and she just another Yoruba woman with Amala in her veins. The winner if a fight should ensue was already known.

"Iya Rotimi please," I begged again, beginning to lose my cool. It was true what they say; where two or more women are gathered there is potential trouble.

She looked at my face for the first time since I was there and said "It's because of you o, if not."

I think it was the contrary, she had just noticed how outsized I was, and must have dawned on her I could be dangerous.

"Thank you Ma," I told her. She reduced her panting and sluggishly stopped her bouncing.

"Oya talk, I'm listening."

For the first time in a long time I felt proud of myself, I had made Nne smile. She didn't show it, it was the meaning in the look she flashed me, one only I could read.

"Even though he's lazy, I like the decisions he make."

"That's why he's my big brother, always wisdom in what he decides. If only you and Nna had named him Solomon."

That was the conversation I eavesdropped on Ndidi and Nne the day I had advised her on what to do concerning the man asking her hand. Nne never praised me to my front, not then, not any other time, but I knew that was one of the few things she loved about me.

Iya Rotimi's drama was becoming a theater show. I almost did laugh out over her attitude. She began bouncing and opened her mouth to say something, but cast a nippy glance at my chest and pause. It seemed to me like it was controlling her.

"Oya now, or are you not talking again?" she asked.

The scorching sun had gained full strength in the noon hour and was whipping us with its yellow ray. Nna beckoned unto Igbane and they started for inside, I shifted my gaze to Iya Rotimi and said politely, "I think its best we hide behind that shade," pointing to the empty gateman's building, "or the sun might mistake us for ducks."

Osaro sneered at my supposed humor and walked with us, wanting to know the last of the matter.

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Later that evening, I had double portion of meat on my plate. All through the evening until dinner was ready, we waited to hear if Baba Rotimi would knock on our door to start another trouble on hearing the incident with his wife earlier. He didn't, he came back from his journey and quietly went into his flat, and we didn't hear anything. It was either his wife told him nothing, or he heard and was waiting for the perfect time to attack. Either ways, the evening was serene as we ate our dinner quietly.

Up until recently, we didn't eat together. The only time we ate as a family was when there was a good nourished meal to eat, like the new yam festival, when yam was generously given to anybody. We would eat the pounded yam gently and unhurriedly as if the yam would never empty.

Now, we had a dinning, where we were meant to gather and eat as a family. Eating together was one of the habit of the rich, it was said that big conversation between father and son occurred on the table. But our house was different. Nna had nothing to teach us about being rich, maybe because poverty had eaten deep into us that even now that we could boast of a little wealth; richness had no voice in our mouth.

Tonight was one of those nights we didn't eat together. We weren't allowed to eat in our rooms, but we didn't eat on the table. Ndidi was by the window, eating and day dreaming. I was beginning to think she was too young to always be near yet far away at the same time. That man must be the reason. I sighed. Women and their idea of marriage, they could never be understood. My meal was still hot and the stew was probably thicker than my blood and I loved it. The two meats sat stable and immovable on the plate of rice, a reminder that wisdom was a principle thing.

Nne called on Igbane to come get his food, but he was busy with Nna. He was the only one, and occasionally Nne, who listened to Nna's tale anymore. I was too old for fictions, not at my age. Igbane didn't answer; he was obviously rapt in his narratives. I wondered what Nna was telling that he refused to go get his food. Igbane never played with his food though he ate slowly. I was his close opposite, I didn't joke with my foods either and I was a fast eater. No one at Urhiega was a match for me.

Nne placed the tray of food on Nna's table, he didn't see her but I saw the reaction on her face, it was uncertain. She said nothing but went in to bring hers and Igbane's.

"Thank you ma,"

Igbane collected his food without looking at her. That got me curious as to what Nna's lie he was being told, but Nne was hearing it and I could tell from her face she wasn't pleased.

"Di! Di! What have I told you about telling this boy war stories?" turning her gaze to Igbane "Oya go and join your brother over there and eat your food."

Igbane didn't argue he silently took his food from on the table and creped to me like he had done something wrong. If he hadn't left innocently, Nne's shout would have been the death of him for the night. Everybody avoided Nne's yelling, even Nna himself. Nna washed his hand in the wash hand basin thoroughly, looked at his palm and soaked it inside the water again, before flapping it in the air then began to eat. I watched him swallow the first round he had cut after rolling it in between his palm. Nna over the years has come to like pounded yam, love actually. It used to be a sacred food in our house, not anymore; we ate it at least once in three months, Nna eats it every night.

"So you have nothing to say ehn!" Nne shouted. "You have nothing to say?" Nna didn't reply. "Ok, spoil his ears at his young age." She continued eating.

"He is of the same age as when I started telling his elder brother stories of war," he looked at me as if for me to confirm what he just said. I said nothing, and Nna continued almost disappointed. "It didn't destroy his ears nor impede his thoughts."

"Igbane is a little boy, my little boy. Don't infect him as you have Ikenna."

I instantaneously focused on my food at the sound of my name. I knew they were going to look my direction, Nne did seamlessly. It was obvious what she meant, but Nna didn't care, he kept on swallowing his rounds of pounded yam, rose up his glass of water, and checked it painstakingly before drinking, old habits never die hard.

"You just want me to talk but I won't, I don't have the strength for that."

"How would you ehn? Tell me, how would you?" Nne retorted.

"Just let me eat in peace, we can discuss this later."

"I won't talk to you later, what I'm telling you now is what I will tell you any time. Free Igbane's ear from war stories.

Nna gazed at her then back to his food. It was the face he gave when being reserved with his thoughts.

"I've heard you."