As I gazed at the street where I grew up, a sense of nostalgia washed over me. This very street shaped me, teaching me resilience and the ability to stand up for myself. The tall trees at the boulevard corners, acting as natural dividers between buildings, and the tall fences guarding each house’s privacy, all brought back memories. I missed home, especially those evenings when my friends and I would gather for block rosary. Our routine involved stopping by Pa’ Emeka’s yard to pluck mangoes, and he would feebly chase us while cursing as we laughed, the thrill of the chase pumping adrenaline through our veins. Because of my smaller stature, I was often the one to climb the trees. This skill, honed from my interactions with my brothers, ensured that I was always part of every escapade.
As the car I was in drove through the street, I rolled down the window to feel the refreshing July air on my face. It was a different kind of air, free and peaceful, unlike the hustle of Lagos. My mother might be furious with me after her pleas, but a smirk formed on my lips at the thought of Mike’s reaction when he discovered what I had done to his designer clothes, particularly his car tires. I had deflated his tires right before Adamu drove me to the airport this morning.
As the driver navigated the street that led to the building I grew up in, I decided on a last-minute visit to Amara.
“Driver, drop me off here.” I stepped out of the cab and paid the fare. Balancing the one piece of luggage I had brought from Lagos and my bag in one hand, I walked along the familiar path that led to the front porch. The sand was still damp from the recent rain, reminding me of the farming season and the tiny creatures that used to frighten me.
I knocked on the door with a resounding sound. As the door swung open, I found myself face to face with Amara’s mother. I lowered my dark shades, allowing her to recognize me. She let out a high-pitched exclamation of surprise, pulling me into a tight embrace that shook us side to side. Her arms pressed around my ears, and I worried that my earrings might tear through my earlobe. She had the scent of akpu and smoke clinging to her.
Finally releasing me, she inspected me from head to toe. I wanted to shield myself from her gaze, feeling self-conscious as she looked for any signs of pregnancy. I was certain disappointment flashed in her eyes when she found no changes in my body. Since my marriage to Mike, I haven’t returned home. I felt as though everyone knew about my childlessness, especially considering my mother hadn’t yet gone for the traditional omugo ceremony.
“Nno, welcome,” she said warmly, ushering me inside. Her arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders as she led me into her two-bedroom apartment, where she had raised Amara and her five other siblings. I chose a seat next to the television, even though the power was out. This particular seat was the only one that hadn’t worn out and started shedding foam. It looked comfortable and conveniently located near the door. The wooden centre table was outdated, a piece of furniture that had seen better days. I remembered how Amara and I used to play card games on that table, and how she would slyly hide some cards under her skirt.
“How is Amara?” I asked her in Igbo.
“She’s inside. Let me go get her. How’s your husband?” She beamed at me. I knew she saw Mike as the man who had transformed my family’s situation.
“He’s fine and doing very well.” It was so easy to hide my disappointments and failures behind a simple smile.
“Thank God. Daalu, let me go fetch her. Nno Nwa m.” She disappeared through a door that separated the living area from the other parts of the apartment.
I wasn’t quite sure why I was here. I should have gone home first before visiting Amara. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted Amara to know what was happening to me. I glanced at the altar in the centre of the living room. It was mounted on the wall like a bookshelf, adorned with a white cloth. Pictures of Jesus and Mary were slanted on the wall, accompanied by a small crucifix, flowers, and candles on either side. Amara would bow in front of this altar whenever she returned home from somewhere. She had once told me that the living room was the holiest part of the house, a fact I had jokingly denied, but she had tricked me here numerous times when we played card games.
“Who do I see with my own eyes?” Amara’s voice squeaked with excitement as she threw herself into my arms. I laughed as I held my childhood friend close.
“Why didn’t you let me know you were coming back, huh? I would have prepared some delicious food for you to enjoy, Nsukka’s finest.” She pecked my cheek just like old times.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” I laughed. Amara stepped back from the embrace, and my eyes fell on her. She was truly beautiful. Back in school, I had often felt like her sidekick, the one boys approached to get closer to her. She possessed a perfectly shaped nose on her oval face. Her eyelashes were thick and sturdy, framing her eyes in a captivating way. Her skin was flawless; she had never followed a skincare routine, yet her complexion remained impeccable. I asked her to turn around slowly so I could admire her figure. She complied, and I scanned her firm buttocks, knowing that’s what those boys would look at first. When she turned back to face me, my gaze landed on her stomach. There was a slight swell there that couldn’t be normal. I hadn’t felt it when she hugged me due to my seated position. Taking her left hand in mine, I noticed a sparkling engagement ring on her fourth finger.
“You’re getting married?” I exclaimed in disbelief, a mixture of emotions bubbling within me. I was happy for her, yet I wondered if she would have told me had I not come back.
“Yes,” she replied with delight, flashing her ring around like a beauty queen on a runway.
“When were you planning to tell me?” I tried to hide my disappointment behind a chuckle.
“I was, but there’s more to it.”
What more could there be? She had been my chief bridesmaid at my wedding. I had shared almost everything with her about my life, except for our struggles with having a child.
“And you’re pregnant?” The words slipped out before I could control them. My voice sounded tinged with jealousy and disappointment. I realized I was indeed envious; she hadn’t even had to try.
“Yes,” she responded, her tone a mix of anger and defensiveness. “I’m pregnant.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound that way.”
“Oh, so you meant that’s why I’m getting married?” She eyed me with a hint of scepticism.
“I think I should leave. Maybe another time.” The room was growing uncomfortably warm, possibly due to the lack of electricity. I could feel sweat trickling down my back.
“Why don’t you stay and wait for Chinedu?”
“Why?” My throat felt dry as Chinedu’s name escaped her lips.
“My fiancé,” she sneered.
Read Part 6 Here: My Pride 6
