Despite all these, no mother let her daughter go near Aunty Amaka. It wasn’t a secret that she was a woman of the night and some of them secretly believed she was from the river, a maami water
Each time I think of the word trouble, I do not picture a raging monster. Rather, I picture Mama Bashira who lived two rooms away in our face me-I face you house some years back.
Mama Bashira.
She was a pure market woman with tribal marks all over her "I use bleaching cream” light complexion. Fighting was in her blood. She was also the first person to call me a bastard even though I had explained to her a thousand times that my father was dead. She got jealous over the smallest things. Like, for instance, when my mother got permission from our always drunk landlord to open a small shop right in front of the house.
Mama Bashira would walk in front of our shop, pretending to be waiting for someone, and she would mutter words intended to incite my mother.
“ Ordinary biscuit, a o le ri. Somebody cannot owe them small money. Bashira, ma gba oju e!"
I always wondered why my mother never replied her. She would pretend not to hear her and don on a faraway look. Sometimes though, I think Mama Bashira got to her.
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Tyrant.
Unfortunately for me, the aggression would be transferred and I was a recipient of several dirty slaps or knocks depending on how angry she was. Mama Bashira was also a beggar. She never had maggi and she always forgot to buy tomato paste. On a few occasions, I would lie and say we had also run out of maggi. We weren’t the only ones who disliked Mama Bashira. Everybody in the house did. She made Mama Bolu cry at least once a week, she accused Kunle the corper of trying to seduce Bashira and she always said Aunty Amaka was the one who kept stealing meat from her pot.
Aunty Amaka.
Aunty Amaka was the only person Mama Bashira’s mouth had no influence over. With a beautiful smile and light skin that shone glamorously unlike Mama Bashira's fake light skin, Aunty Amaka was beautiful. She also had a rich laughter which would spill over to our own room in the night. Despite all these, no mother let her daughter go near Aunty Amaka. It wasn’t a secret that she was a woman of the night and some of them secretly believed she was from the river, a maami water.
Aunty Amaka was the one who showed us, my friend Titi and I, how to apply lipstick since our mothers were SU to the core using only Vaseline during the harmattan. She would smile mischievously each time she passed by Mama Bashira as if to tell her that she knew all she said about her and she didn’t care. One day, Aunty Amaka found Mama Bolu trying to commit suicide in the backyard. Mama Bolu was a meek and quiet woman who took things very personal. Aunty Amaka then promised her that she would take action and managed to convince her not to commit suicide.
Missing Pot of Stew!
One Friday evening, Mama Bashira came back from the market. Two minutes later, her loud voice pierced the still air.
“Olosho buruku yi! She has done it again!”
My mother and I were sleeping when Mama Bashira’s voice woke us up. It was her “I will beat up this witch” cry. Quickly, my mother tied her wrapper as I rolled off the bed and we went out quickly. All our neighbors were already outside, watching the scenario. Aunty Amaka’s room was at the end of the corridor.
“Come out o! You will produce my pot of stew today! Bo sita!”
Mama Bashira was already retying her wrapper as Aunty Amaka opened the door and closed it immediately. She was in one of her short silk nighties which was sheer. I saw Baba Iyabo ogling her and licking his lips.
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“What is it again, Mama Bashira?”
“Where is my pot of stew?! You think I don’t know you took it abi?”
Aunty Amaka didn’t look surprised. She gave Mama Bashira a dark stare.
“Which rubbish stew? Please I’m busy jare.”
As she turned to go, Mama Bashira pulled her back. The strap of silky nightie fell off one arm, putting Aunty Amaka’s breasts on display but Aunty Amaka liked to put her body on display so she didn’t fight to cover up. Kunle the corper looked like he wanted to run off with Aunty Amaka and Baba Iyabo had probably lost the will to speak. Kunle got in between them and tried to push Mama Bashira off but she held on to the flimsy dress, shouting.
“We must search her room o! Mi o gba se!”
Spilled Beans
It all happened so fast. Mama Bashira pushed Kunle and Aunty Amaka out of the way and barged into her room. Kunle held Aunty Amaka using the excuse of helping her up to clutch her behind firmly with one hand and her waist with the other. We watched as the two of them pretended to balance the other while grabbing various body parts.
As if on cue, we all gravitated towards Aunty Amaka’s room and we found her standing, her mouth open in shock. On Aunty Amaka’s bed lay Baba Bashira who was frantically trying to use the bed sheet to cover his body. I looked at Aunty Amaka and found a smug expression on her face. Several voices exclaimed in shock and my mother muttered a solemn “God!”.
“That’s your stew pot on the floor.”
Aunty Amaka sat on a chair and spread her legs suggestively. Mama Bashira looked like she was about to cry. Her husband was her weak spot.
“She seduced me. Ise esu ni.” Baba Bashira said very quietly.
Up till now, we do not know where Mama Bashira is.
Written by Oyeleye Ooreofeoluwa.
Oyeleye Ooreofeoluwa is an avid reader, a music lover and a Lawyer in the making. Born in the 90s , she hopes to leave footprints in the sands of time. Wordpress theblackwordsmith.wordpress.com Email articulture99@gmail.com