"...some secrets can't stay secret forever no matter how you hide them."
At first it was hard to tell why. My landlady and her husband hand in hand hovering over their five year old grandson who is with them on holiday as tears walked down a narrow pathways on the wrinkles on their faces.
They cried.
I had just moved in about a week ago and I'd say and you'll agree with me that it really is weird seeing two grownups crying over a child. Maybe something was wrong. I swung into action, went closer and asked what was wrong. They both looked lost. In that moment it occurred to me that neither knew the other was in tears. Then they smiled. Then laughed, and hushed at each other as an unspoken agreement in a bid not to wake the sleeping boy.
Come over here the old woman beckoned. And then she told me the story; her story. Then I understood why they cried.
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The Story.
A young lucky lady is given out in marriage. Lucky because the man in question is someone she loves. But young notwithstanding. Seventeen. But it's not unheard of in those times. She will want to bear a child or so is expected of her but months run into years and years into decades: First decade. Second. Nothing to show for the toils behind closed doors. Worry has left her.
She mourns and grieves for what could have been. She doesn't look forward to going into the house because therein the desire is strongest; the desire to make a house into a home. Silence becomes deafening. She forgot how to cry. She longed for noise, rattling and tears; tears from a child, the kind of tears she would come to realize is soothing and comforting. In all these, she remained lucky; a husband who had her back is hers.
On her fortieth birthday, she would later discover that she was pregnant. Twenty three years after marriage. It seems so surreal she couldn't muster any emotion. Every time she tried, she came up blank. Wanting something for so long does that to some people. She told her husband and his joy sparked the first emotions in a long time; she wept. "I'm a lucky man; and in this lifetime too", he kept saying. But luck wasn't on her side. She lost the baby.
After that, her body forgot how to stop conceiving. So many miscarriages all within the first trimesters she lost count. But she was no longer a barren woman because she couldn't conceive but rather because she couldn't keep it. Shortly after her thirtieth anniversary, the forty seven years old woman will find herself pregnant once again and would pay no attention to it. She wouldn't even tell her husband, having concluded that she's being punished for something she did when she was younger. Two months passed and then three, but some secrets can't stay secret forever no matter how you hide them.
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Neighbors gathered in twos and threes to discuss the barren woman's pregnancy. Of course, no one would say anything to her face but she'd hear. They became nice, too nice. They would offer a seat as the tiniest bead of perspiration appeared and offer to run errands on her behalf. At first, she accepted the helps wearily but she came to enjoy it.
The baby was however in a rush. She arrived at exactly eight months with no complications. She however didn't cry. She screamed. Her screams, music to the ears of the barren woman. Her husband who it seems was unfortunate by association would be over the moon with happiness and love.
Years later I would have them as my landlords and would watch them cry as they hovered over their grandson: The grandson of a barren woman; the evidence of hope, the pillar of dried tears, the possibility in impossibility.
Written by Christiana Osun.
Christiana is a writer dedicated to voicing out thoughts we’d rather not complete: Presenting our realities and sharing relatable experiences and thoughts provoking subjects. She’s sarcastic, fun loving and an enigma of possibilities.
Instagram: @_themillenniallady_ Facebook: OSUN Christiana Oluwadamilola Email: krwistee@gmail.com