The Women who Ate Python and Other Stories

6. Tears Are Not Forever

87 6 Tears Are Not Forever kpata Ajongi lives in one of the houses crawling at the foot of Meyonga hill. His is easily the best house in the area. Its mud walls have a coating of cement from floor level to the rafters. The frontage, which forever seems to beckon on the hill, easily catches the eye of every person passing by. The attraction is the blue and white colours that adorn it. The house has a big yard. Big enough to allow for a deep well and space enough for children to play. The well makes up for the rampant water cuts by the Mboka Town Water Corporation. Mboka is a fast growing town and like most such towns, it is riddled with a lot of social problems. These problems sometimes put people under such pressure that family life becomes a nightmare. In the meantime, the last drizzles of the persistent July rain had just ceased on a Saturday evening and some cool air had taken over. It breezed down from the hill and intruded unobtrusively into the houses downhill. Akpata was briskly concentrating on the pages of a journal, when the pendulum of his old grandfather’s clock struck seven times. He glanced at it and resumed his reading. He had just finished his dinner, when he transformed his dinning table into a reading one. His beautiful wife, Arrah, was playing with their children in another corner of the room. A 88 “Arrah dear” Akpata called out pleadingly, “you and the kids are making much noise. It is disturbing my concentration.” “So what do you want us to do?” asked Arrah mockingly. “Stop playing and start mourning?” She pursued. “Don’t misunderstand me, Arrah. I just want you to be considerate. Now then, may I suggest that you take the children to the Abang’s to watch television. Saturday programmes are usually fantastic.” “Aren’t you ashamed to suggest something like that, A.A?” retorted Arrah. “Ashamed Arrah, why should I be ashamed of making a simple suggestion,” Akpata wondered aloud. “Simple suggestion indeed. Why would I have to leave my own house to some other person’s only because I must watch television? Are you waiting for heaven to come down before you buy a TV set for this home? And you complain about the noise made by your own children. You wish them dumb then? Akpata, I tell you it’s over my dead body that my children will become dumb in order that their father might read journals. I’ll encourage them to be as noisy as their late grandmother used to be. If what I am saying hurts you, go and rent a big apartment in which you would have a comfortable study, far removed from your madding wife and children.” “You have started being provocative but remember Arrah, there’s time for everything.” Akpata reminded her. 89 “Ne-e-y-i-sh tchaym for eve-ery-tch-ing. I have for ever heard that expression but I’m yet to be sure when that blessed time will come,” Arrah said even more provocatively. “Easy dear, easy. I don’t need to remind you that God’s time is the best,” said Akpata clamly. “E-e-e-z-t-e-e-z-y my gnash – nobi we go weit daso. How man yi pikin go du?“ At this point Akpata thought it better to remain quiet. He simply covered his face on the top of the table as if he was reflecting on what his wife had just said. Although Arrah had been putting up a stiff opposition against going to the Abang’s she had earlier in the day promised Mrs Abang that she would be at her’s to watch that evening’s episode of “Kabeyene.” She really liked watching TV programmes but doing so on a screen that did not belong to her was rather disappointing – it took away some of the pleasure. She had persuaded her husband, in vain, to buy one. He had always complained about the lack of money. He could not afford the luxury of a TV set and still keep the family going for three months. Such explanations did not impress Arrah and she refused to understand. Later that evening, she wore pullovers on the children and carried Promise, the younger one on her left side just above her hips and held Hope...