"Oluchi, tomorrow I'll head out to sell the things. Bring Mama's clothes and yours; I'll handle the rest of the valuables. I've saved up eighteen thousand naira over the last two months. We can add that," Emezie said, rocking in his late father's chair, a thoughtful look on his face.
"Emezie, thank you. I truly appreciate everything you're doing for us. God bless you," I replied, warmth swelling in my chest.
"No, no! Mama is a mother to me too," he chuckled, waving off my gratitude.
We fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket, until he broke it with, "You know, you're really beautiful."
"Emezie, you've started again!" I teased, rolling my eyes.
"No, seriously! Just imagine—if you smelled real money, you'd outshine even Miss America!"
We both burst into laughter, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
"Emezie, you know my dad isn't Nigerian, but I don't even know what country he's from. Mama told me my surname is Amuneke, and that's the name I bear, even though he didn't pay for my mother's bride price."
"Yeah, you mentioned that," Emezie replied, his brow furrowing. "But if your dad isn't Nigerian, how is his name Amuneke? That doesn't make sense if he's not Igbo."
"I really don't know," I admitted, feeling a pang of curiosity.
Emezie studied me closely. "Your hair doesn't look Nigerian, your eyes aren't as dark as ours, and your skin is fair. There's got to be more to the story."
"Have you asked your mother?" he pressed gently.
I pretended not to hear, avoiding his gaze. He looked at me as if searching for answers in my silence.
"Oluchi, it's okay if you don't want to talk about it."
"No, it's fine. Mama told me my mother met my dad in a club. He had just returned from the States and was throwing money around like confetti. He asked the manager for my mother. She was a devout Pentecostal and refused to sleep with any man. But the manager insisted—either she complied, or she'd lose her job. The club provided her accommodation, which would be taken away if she left. She had no choice but to agree, or she'd end up back in the village. Yet, amidst that chaos, she found love with my father, and they began dating. He even opened a shop for her, and Mama said my mother, Beatrice, traveled to Dubai to stock it with goods. Life was bright; Mama was thriving.
But then, my mother got pregnant with me, and complications arose. My father fell ill and returned to America, though he kept in touch. Mama said my mother's pastor claimed my grandmother had cast an evil spell on her because good fortune was about to find her. That news sent my mother into shock, and she gave birth to me prematurely. Mama brought food, but my mother wouldn't touch it. She resisted Mama's care and eventually fled the hospital once she was well again. Mama took care of me until I was old enough to leave. My mother never came to check on me.
Months later, Mama said my mother's friend had given her a new number and mentioned that my mother had lost contact with my father. Her shop had burned down, and she was back working in a club. Mama tried reaching out, but my mother warned her never to call that number again," I recounted, my voice steady.
"Hmmm, Nne, it's not easy, oh. But just remember, I'm always by your side," Emezie said, pulling me into a tight embrace and kissing my forehead.
We slipped into his room, settling into the same bed. He pulled me close, I felt so warm, the world outside fading as he drifted off to sleep, cocooned in our shared warmth. I stayed awake wondering what Mama would be doing now or if the Nurse remembered to feed her again. But I soon slept off.
When I woke up, Emezie had already left. I guessed he went to sell the things. I decided to clean the house—sweeping the rooms, mopping the floors, and finishing the remaining soup with the last of the akpu. After washing all the dishes, I felt a sense of accomplishment.
I wandered back to Emezie's room and noticed a photo album lying on a blue plastic table. Curiosity got the better of me, and I opened it, flipping through pictures of Emezie and his older sister, Anulika. There were also snapshots of Emezie with a beautiful woman, captured in sweet, romantic poses.
"That must be his girlfriend," I thought, a twinge of disappointment fluttering in my chest. I had harbored a crush on Emezie since we were kids, always dreaming that we might one day be more than friends. But he kept calling me his sister.
I sighed and muttered to myself, "If not for my good upbringing, I'd have seduced him." I quickly laughed at the thought, shaking my head.
Suddenly, warm arms wrapped around me, blindfolding my eyes.
"Emezie! You're back?" I yelled, surprise flooding my voice.
"Yes, and I brought your clothes since you're too lazy to go pick them up," he teased.
"Me? Lazy? No way! I was waiting for you!" I protested.
"Lazy, lazy girl," he chuckled, his laughter light and playful. "Anyway, I have good news! I sold the long chair and Mama's six Hollandais wrappers. The money is complete! That's after i added the eighteen thousand naira I've been saving.
I stood there, a whirlwind of emotions churning within me. Emezie had the money—he truly had it. For a moment, the thought of Mama's wrappers faded into the background, overshadowed by this unexpected miracle that felt almost surreal.
"Oluchi, are you okay?" Emezie's voice cut through my reverie, gentle yet probing, pulling me back to reality.
"Emmy, thank you!" I exclaimed, my heart swelling with gratitude as I wrapped my arms around him in a brief but heartfelt embrace. "How on earth did you manage this? Who bought the wrapper?"
"Seventeen thousand naira, Emezie" I burst out, the numbers echoing in my mind.
He met my gaze, a mix of pride and determination shining in his eyes. "How I raised it… well, that's not important right now. Shh… Just remember, you're my sister."
His words enveloped me, wrapping me in a warmth that felt almost sacred. "You're my sister," he repeated, his voice steady, echoing a promise that resonated deep within my soul. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Maka Chukwu, don't worry."
Emezie turned, scanning the room as if searching for some hidden truth among the familiar chaos.
"What are you up to?" he asked, glancing at me with curiosity, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
"Oh, just sifting through your pictures," I replied, amused. "You really enjoyed Uni, didn't you? But you looked so slim here. Who's this girl?" I pointed to a striking ebony beauty nestled beside him, her radiant smile lighting up the photograph.
His expression shifted, a flicker of nostalgia crossing his face as he studied the image. "That's Winifred. She was my girlfriend back in school."
"Back in school?" I echoed, intrigued, my curiosity piqued.
"Yes," he said, a wistful tone creeping into his voice. "She left me for someone with deeper pockets. You know how life can be, Oluchi." There was a hint of bitterness lacing his words, a shadow of past heartache that lingered in the air.
"Chai, people can be heartless," I murmured, shaking my head in disbelief. It was a truth I'd seen too often, a cruel reality people could go through.
"I bought ukpa and bread. It's on the bench outside. Have something to eat, then let's head to the hospital," he said, his tone shifting back to practicality as he stepped out of the room.
I watched him go, my heart a mixture of gratitude and lingering questions. What more had he sacrificed for this? What struggles lay beneath that brave facade? I stood silently for some minutes.
After Emmy and I finished our bath, I slipped into my clothes, tied my scarf neatly, and we began the walk to the general hospital. I carried a small raffia basket filled with ukpa and stir-fried greens—just a little I could gather from around the house. I'd packed a generous portion of the ukpa. It's rich in protein, and I didn't want Mama to tire from eating nothing but vegetables.
Emezie walked beside me, tapping on his small zeal Android phone, his thumbs moving in quiet rhythm. I glanced at him, my heart tugged in silence. How could someone love another person so effortlessly, so completely?
When his mother had come into town, she pressed two thousand naira into my palm. "Hold this," she said. "Use it till Mama gets better." None of us knew then how far things would go, how bad Mama's condition could become. Emezie's family had supported us in more ways than one. He even sacrificed his savings—his hard-earned money—all for Mama's health.
I was deep in thought when we arrived at the hospital ward. Mama had already been bed-bathed; her wound had been cleaned and dressed. She looked fresher—calmer. Hopeful, even.
"Mama!" I called out, rushing to her side. I embraced her, feeling her frail body melt into mine.
"Mama, Emezie gathered money. Plenty money! We'll use it for your surgery. You'll be fine. You'll finally leave this place."
"Surgery?" she asked, her voice already shifting.
"Nna, dalu," she said to Emezie, acknowledging his greeting with a nod.
"Yes Mama," I continued, "they said they'll cut your leg—and after that, you'll be well."
"Cut kwa?" Her face twisted. "No o! Mbanu. Never! It can never be me! Cut?! Cut?! Cut?!" she cried.
Then the screaming started.
Nurses came rushing in, holding her gently but firmly, whispering to calm her, their white uniforms rustling like dry leaves.
I stood frozen. Tears ran down my face, hot and steady. Emezie reached for my hand and squeezed it. His grip was strong, grounding.
"Nurse, what's going on?" I asked, turning to Nurse Popoke as she helped Mama settle back down.
She sighed, her eyes heavy with apology. "Mama isn't prepared for surgery, not emotionally. But her management team is here. Let me take you to Dr. Auta. You need to speak with him directly."
Emezie sat quietly by Mama's side as I followed Nurse Popoke through the long corridor, past the hum of machines and murmurs of caregivers, until we reached a small room where a circle of health professionals stood.
"Good day, sir," I said, stepping forward.
"Good day, Annabelle," they chorused in unison.
A tall, slender man with a kind face rose. His name tag read Dr. Auta.
"We can't proceed with the surgery," he said gently. "Your mother is aged. I don't know why anyone informed you it was finalized—it wasn't. We were still considering it. But after her reaction just now, it's clear."
He paused, looked around at his team, then back at me.
"She could go into shock during or after surgery. Her healing might be poor. In fact, she could even suffer a stroke. It's too risky. At her age, we've decided it's best to keep managing her condition conservatively."
He continued, "Her sugar levels have stabilized. Her blood pressure is now within normal range. She's responding well to treatment. With the right diet, which you've been following diligently, I believe she'll be out of here soon."
I nodded. "Alright, doctor."
The pharmacist stood up next, explaining the new medications, the dosages, the possible side effects. Nurse Popoke and the resident doctor offered sincere apologies for the earlier misinformation.
I stood there, words lodged deep in my throat. I didn't know what to say. The ache of betrayal settled in my chest like a stone.
Dr. Auta motioned for the team to move. "Let's go check on her," he said, and they all filed out.
I followed quietly, behind white coats and rubber soles, unsure of how to feel—grateful Mama would be okay, yet torn that hope had once again slipped through my fingers.