Found and born where two rivers meet, where birds leap in joy caused
by sunlight’s yellow tickles, where the bright colours of flora and
fauna collage her features, life was breathed into her.
Fifty-two river years after, she is wretched, weather beaten,
disease- ridden but her beauty remains. Fifty-two river years after
incessant, reckless and shameful rapes, her vagina is intact. Abused and
embarrassed through out her years of existence, her gait remains
enviable. Old yet her bosom is as sweet as sherry mango. Every customer
leaves her with tall satisfaction.
Once upon a time, a customer asked ‘what makes you remain in this
business and why don’t you ever get old?” Before she replied, she walked
around for some seconds and watched as the fat man, her customer, put
on his gold coloured trousers. With lips carved like crescent moon these
words flowed out: ‘ I do it for my children. My children. They keep me
going.’ The customer rubbed his head and his round belly then left.
It was rumoured across town that she never wanted to be a prostitute.
She wanted to be a good mother and wife. Her parents, they said, raised
her right. Things changed. Things fell apart when she met one man. The
man came from the other side of the river. He fell in love immediately
and they made love that same day. It was easy.
The man returned to his home. After two days, news danced in the air
that he became rich from his mysterious copulation. His friends
pondered. The king of his village summoned him to return to the woman.
He did. He found her at the river waiting. This time they made long
love. Again, he returned and his riches doubled. Word spread around the
man’s fifty villages that there lived a prostitute across shores blessed
with the power to increase a man’s fortune. The fifty villages selected
fifty men and they all came to have sex with this golden prostitute.
They too became rich. When measles, boils, whooping cough struck her,
these customers carried on. None cared.
She gave birth to numerous children. The customers stole some of the
children and some found their way back. These children became many
things—thugs, doctors, professors, footballers and killers. The children
quarrelled every day. The quarrels led to many deaths. It led to
jealousy, envy and hatred. Fifteen out of the children, dared to look at
their mother’s buttocks and seven, at night, raped her.
She forgave them.
When the children became too hungry, they brought more customers to
their mother and watched as she was penetrated. They laughed and teased
her. The neighbours watched, gossiped and whispered but could not help.
They feared that her children would kill them.
At the moment, the children have invited customers from another part
of the world. These new customers are grotesque. Their stare is like
someone peeping through a door hole. Their mouths move in a million ways
before a word comes out. The taste of the bosom made them stay. They
have sent word to their king that they would not return. ‘ This is where
we intend to live.’ Everyday, they dug her.
As the sun played in the cloud and as night crept into daylight
nothing seemed to change. The plight of the prostitute remained the
same. She made them rich and she stayed poor. She was always by the
river communicating her pains to nature. The fishes, birds, insects know
her and they told her to talk to her children. ‘ I love them but they
will never listen to me. What can I do?’ The goddess of the river told
her to curse her children. On hearing that, she ran and never returned.
She turned to her neighbours. They welcomed her. Confused, they
rushed to get a seat for her. ‘ I will stand.’ She insisted. One of the
older neighbours offered her some water and kolanut, which she accepted.
They could see her sunken eyes and her visible bones. ‘These children
will kill you. Look at you. They sell you, abuse you, and even sleep
with you. When will this stop?’ the old neighbour asked. She chewed the
kolanut and took five sips of water. No reply.
‘I love them. If they cannot see that I love them, it is destiny. When I am gone, they will understand.’
The neighbours shook their head and left. She walked further and decided
to rest under a branchless Iroko tree. It was while she was standing
there that an owl landed on her head and plucked out her right eye. She
did not feel the pain.
Blind, worried, and depressed she walked back to her house. The house
remained dark. As she walked into the room, three out of her children
pounced on her, removed her clothes and made love to her. They did not
stop till the morning sun.
That morning, she walked out of the house naked and confessed her
love for these children. ‘I love them just the way they are. I will
never walk away from them. I gave birth to them and I am responsible for
their irresponsibility.’ One of the sons, Luck, laughed loudly at her
declaration.
We are in love with this prostitute. We will kill her. One day, she
will walk away. She will never return. Her river will run dry and we
will remain thirsty. We will sing songs to her but she will mock us.
What can you do to save this prostitute? Tell us.
By Micheal Irene
No comments:
Post a Comment