THE STEPMOTHER

By Dare Lasisi

The agony of mother’s death at a tender age of eight was too traumatic for me to bear.My Sister, Hadiza was only five at this period, yet to really understand the reality of life picture. My mother was a prominent community leader during her historic lifetime and a poultry farmer. Hadiza and I really missed our late mother who kicked the bucket at the age of forty.

My sweet mother died during the birth of her third born.She had a stillbirth and a few minutes later, she kissed the dust. It was a gory scene seeing my caring mother bleeding to death at an alarming and unimaginable rate.
The doctors and nurses could not save the sacred life of my sweet mother as she was lying lifelessly with her dead baby in the pool of her innocent blood. How could anybody console somebody whose mother was devoured by the hungry lion with bones and flesh settling down in the beast belly? Unthinkable! Where would such victim point to in the future to be his mother’s grave: either marked or unmarked?

I was emotionally stressed and psychologically traumatized during my childhood period due to the sudden death of my beloved mother. who is to pet me if I’m seriously in a bad mood or crying for food? Who is to give me a pat on the back or a warm kiss at the time of joy? Who is to care for me when the chips are down? If not my mother, then my Creator who is divine in nature.
My father who was a retired railway staff and yet to be paid his age long pensions and other benefits by the public authority could not hide his grieved state of mind. He could neither drink nor eat for days; his best way of mourning a beloved wife. We were too young to join our father in this dramatic hunger strike protest against death.

Scores of sympathizers and relatives flooded and invaded our home, consoling the entire bereaved family and praying for the repose of her soul and for God to give us the fortitude to bear the irreparable loss. After all, to die and to still remain relevant in the mind of your beloved ones is not to die at all.
Death is only a transition into eternal bliss based on our deeds on earth. Few days after her death, she was lowered into the mother earth six – feet deep in a traditional funeral arrangement. My father now a widower, I and Hadiza plus other relatives were present at the graveside to pay our last respect to my beloved mother. Tears trickled down my cheeks as the gravediggers cover her grave. All of us were crying like hungry babies desperately looking for mother’s breast.
A couple of days after the burial ceremony; I went back to school. I was in the elementary class then of the government primary school. My class teacher and classmates comforted and sympathized with me again thereby making me remember the sudden death of my sweet mother. My Classteacher called me one afternoon and said:

“Wipe away your tears and weep not, Shettima,
For the creator will permit the Soul
Of your beloved mother to rest in Peace,
You are now the master of your life and the captain of your ship
Therefore work hard to be somebody in life”

She concluded with a pat on my back. I could no longer cry at this moment but was in a pensive mood and searching for a warm embrace from my late mother but she was not around to give me one but my Classteacher gave me one at last.

When I returned home from school, my sister was playing with sands and stones along with her playmates in our neighborhood. Father was fast asleep then…

What could I do now? I went straight to the backyard to pray at my mother’s graveside for God to forgive her of her earthly sins and protect our father, Hadiza and myself. While playing at her graveside, I was able to recollect some vital parts of the advice given to me by my class teacher which ran thus:” … you are now the master of your life and the captain of your ship”.

These words stunned me to the marrow; because how could a small boy of eight like myself determine his fortunes in life? How could a tender boy like me interprets and understand the philosophy of life? I was neither a born –genius nor brilliant but just only above average in the class of thirty –five pupils; trying to keep my head above water in the time of examinations. Without my mother, the journey to the future would be lonely, boring and uninteresting but I need to grab the bull by the horns and plan ahead. My sister had left her playmates in annoyance because of a slight misunderstanding on whom should strap the doll they fondly referred to as baby to her back! It was a dramatic episode.
“Shettima! Where are you?” my father called me with a louder voice.
“Yes Daddy, I was at the backyard doing something…” I submitted innocently. But he queried angrily: “Doing what?”
“At mummy’s graveside… praying for everybody” My father wore a sober look gazing at me steadily. Hadiza sat very close to him while I was directly opposite him.
“Be attentive my dear children,” adjusting his frame on the chair. “Since the sudden death of your mother few months ago; I have been thinking so much for a replacement to fill the great vacuum created by your mother but I could not see a replacement around; who would be cooking for the family; taking good care of you; keeping the house clean and other necessities of life? I have vowed not to marry again in life but I need a companion to attend to all these needs.” He confided solemnly, staring at me for a response. I could not translate the word ”Companion” to be equal to a wife that my father was talking about based on my tender level of reasoning and understanding. I managed to break the silence at last.
“Companion… can the person be as kind to us compared to our late mother? If yes, there should be no problem after all, but I doubt it.”
“Hmm… the person will try her best, although the blood is thicker than water and there is no way you can be more Catholic than the pope.”
“May God lead us aright to the promised land,” I chipped in politely. Hadiza was absent-minded during this dialogue with our father. She asked him about our mother but my father lied to her that our mother had traveled to the next city. He winked several times to me not to tell her the naked truth. But for how long shall we hide this naked truth from my sister?
“Therefore, Shettima and Hadiza, expect a stepmother any moment from now. That is the “Companion” I’ve been telling you since.”

“Stepmother or Step companion!” I snapped. “You mean we shall be taking various steps before we could talk to this special mother? Can’t we talk to her directly just like our mother instead of taking steps?” I concluded ignorantly for the word “Stepmother” was still very strange to me then.
“Stop kidding, please… expect a young lady that would that would take up all the responsibilities of your late mother in this house. Period.’” He said with a frowned look. I left him to retire to a corner of my room to have a rethink about this stepmother issue. What could be the nature of this father’s companion: friendliness, hostility or indifference? Could she be coming with her children to our house? How do we relate to these stepchildren?
I was meditating on all these problems when the god of sleep finally gripped me and snatched me away to the dreamland beyond the clouds. We woke up the next day to greet our father when he told us of his plan to enroll Hadiza in the same government school that I am attending. I am very pleased with this fatherly gesture. So, Hadiza would go to school like me after months of idleness and playing in the neighbourhood.
Education is a great weapon against poverty, ignorance and disease in our society and the future belongs to the educated people.
We returned from school on one sunny day with empty stomach because we trekked from school and to our surprise, the “expected” father’s companion had arrived from nowhere and eagerly awaiting the arrival of her stepchildren.

“Good afternoon Madam; we both greeted her in a chorus as if pre-programmed.
“How is your school; hope no problem? The stepmother replied us with a dry smile. My father heard our conversation with this “unknown” stepmother inside his bedroom.

“Meet your stepmother, her name is Zainab; cooperate with her like your mother for peace, understanding, and unity to reign in this house;” this was his finest moment to introduce this innocently – looking lady to us as our stepmother. I listened with rapt attention to my father’s introduction of aunty Zainab.

Our hunger had reached a devastating stage at this point; like a planned coincidence, the stepmother broke our silence of hunger between Hadiza and myself.
“Hello, Shettima and Hadiza. your food is ready” pointing to our dining table. We both rushed towards the table; eating the prepared food with relish. What a delicacy! Aunty Zainab had already prepared fried rice mixed with beans along with fresh fish stew for my father but she also reserved the remaining portion for us. Could this special dish be regarded as a Greek gift? We finished the food with great satisfaction flowing in our blood veins and yearned for mo like the proverbial Oliver Twist.
A couple of years that followed, I finished my primary school education with amazing good grades but no parental financial muscle to proceed further. I was in a state of confusion!

It was during this trying period of my life that I vividly realized that poverty is only good in sermon but not pleasant in practical life; abject poverty assaults human integrity and reduces mankind to the status of pawns on life’s chessboard.

My former schoolmate introduced me to a funny part-time job: dishwashing in a public restaurant! So humiliating for me to be washing dirty plates in a restaurant; all in the name of making ends meet and go back to school as soon as possible.

Though I was frustrated but very hopeful unlike some people in life who are frustrated and hopeless at the same time because of the myriad of problems confronting them. The stepmother that I initially thought could persuade my father to scout around for money from his friends and relatives.

It was a bitter experience for me in the absence of my beloved mother. Waking up as early as 6.00a.m in the morning and coming back home very late in the evening as a dishwasher….
“Shettima! What hell of work are you doing there? Come over here and pack all these dirty plates,” the restaurant operator spoke to me furiously on one particular day. I nearly regretted the day I was born on this planet! Struggling to eat the Crumbs from the table along with my fellow – dishwashers was a mastered feat.

The stepmother was my local “bank” assisting me in saving the token amount paid to me from this dishwashing job but sadly I had no access to the meager that I laboured for. Too bad for her!
I was washing glass cups at the restaurant on one fateful day and my former school headmaster saw me with a tattered shirt while passing – by. He was shocked to the marrow that how could a brilliant chap like me be washing plates instead of schooling.

He then promised to help me to secure a scholarship into a reputable secondary school in the city which he did a few weeks later.
The annual scholarship award was sponsored by one of the Oil Companies that believed in the educational promotion of the gifted children from a poor family background. I was in my teens at this period and a golden pride to my father and Hadiza, for I didn’t really understand the innermost feelings of aunty Zainab, my stepmother.
The other day my father called on me to sweep his filthy bedroom; as I was sweeping the room and bending down to sweep under his reading table; I saw a white cardboard of photograph – size facing downward and carpeted floor. I grabbed it with utmost eagerness. It was a coloured picture of my late sweet mother during her historic fortieth birthday, about to cut her last cake on this planet and still carrying the third born pregnancy that parceled her untimely, and tragically to the great beyond so painful!
At this moment, I remembered my mother in recent times and her sweet memories filtered through my brain and broke down into tears.
“My beloved mother! Why did you depart from us very early like that “. I childishly kissed the photograph many times and held it very close to my chest as if it could disappear.
My secondary school days were memorable enough for I was appointed by the strict school principal as the Library prefect; perhaps due to my noticeable addicted love for both local books and foreign magazines. Even I developed my literary skills and talents right from my secondary school days. Hoping that one day, I would be a prolific writer or a journalist in the society.
There was a dramatic turning – point in my life as a schoolboy due to the influence of this stepmother on my dear father. My late mother was inevitably unable to control or influence views in the house as much as aunty Zainab.
I eventually finished my secondary school education at the age of 18 with good results, distinctions in six subjects and upper credits in the other two subjects. I was highly pleased with this great performance in my final college examinations. My age long ambition was to study law at the University after my secondary education. How could I achieve this goal?
“Congratulations… What is your next plan now?” my father shook my hand.
“Hm!, I wish to be a prominent Lawyer in the society; the voice of the oppressed voiceless and a mouthpiece of the masses for justice peace and equality to dwell with us in the society,” smartly defining my love for the legal profession before him.
The stepmother entered the sitting –room from outside to join us in this discussion. On sighting her; the cold shiver went down my spine for I was of the opinion that aunty Zainab might influence my father’s decision about my legal career.
“Why planning to read the law? I prefer either accounting or public administration because lawyers are liars: Lawyers and magicians have something in common: ability to cunningly paint black white before the gullible society. Very crafty people indeed:” He openly displayed his avowed hatred for lawyers.
“Daddy, I would like to read law in the University; please pray for my success. “ I pleaded.
“How would he get money to pay for your school fees with his irregular meager pension benefits? Can’t you look for a temporary job; save some money and pay your school fees by yourself? You’re now a man of yourself,” she chipped in a rude manner that I was not pleased with at all.
“Shettima, you’ve heard your stepmother, relax and meditate on her advice and give me your reply before the end of this week,” Surprisingly my father concluded as if being remotely-controlled by this stepmother.
A few days later, uncle Akindele, my mother’s elder brother recently returned from Saudi Arabia with his family. He had spent over fifteen years in this oil-rich Arab kingdom and he came back home to settle down finally in the country; planning to establish a private business. He visited us at home on one fateful evening with his pretty Arabian wife and two children.
His coming was a good omen in my troubled life; seriously thirsty for higher education to read the law. He made his enviable fortune during his years in Saudi Arabia.
Uncle Akindele was annoyed with my father who did not keep him duly informed about my mother’s death. My father apologized to him profusely with the refrain that out of sight is not out of mind.
My father discussed with him at length with regard to my ambition to read Law in the University among other things.
“If his age-long dream is to become a lawyer in life – let it be! I would sponsor Shettima to attain this lofty height, he persuaded my father while aunty Zainab looked with horror-filled eyes. The message on her face indicates her sheer prejudice against Uncle Akindele’s kind gesture to sponsor me further.
“I have no choice than to release him to you as my only son,” he stated with tears of joy.
“I am very grateful sir; I would never disappoint you in training him to be a lawyer …” Uncle Akindele submitted curtly. “Be of good conduct! Bad stepmother admonished and stared at me for a while. Her emotions changed at once apparently displaying nonexistent delight at leaving my father’s house to search for the Golden Fleece embedded in the ivory tower.
I found it hard to relate cordially with my cousins who were mixed race. They could not speak fluent English because of their Arabic accent except French but unfortunately, I could not pronounce any word in French!
Uncle Akindele was my only interpreter then, until they were able to speak lit English in the months that follow.
I was eventually admitted to read Law in the University on merit, my name ranked fourth in the admission list of over one hundred candidates.

I started my legal studies on a good note, and Uncle Akindele paid all the necessary bills required in the Varsity as earlier promised. It was a dream fulfilled despite the tragic death of my sweet mother.
My father, the stepmother and my pretty sister, Hadiza paid me an unscheduled visit while on campus and they were highly impressed as per my welfare conditions. They all met me in the palatial Law students common room while reading some legal reports and journals.
A few months later, I received a rather shocking message from home that Hadiza had recently dropped out of secondary school due to financial instability and the prevalent societal apathy towards the girl’s education then.

“Educating a female child is like fetching water in a basket; the water leaks away. No matter the amount of money spent on her education, she will leave his father’s house one day and get married! So, why training a girl that would not be beneficial to her family except her ”adopted” husband’s family. Spend your little money on something worthwhile and productive” She misadvised my father on the future of Hadiza. My father duly agreed to this unimaginable blunder of not education her only daughter as if under a spell without much hesitation. It ached my mind when I heard that news.
Hadiza was later introduced to a tailoring trade by our stepmother against her personal wish to remain in school…
Who could dare try such nonsense; if my mother were to be around? Even our father can never attempt it either!
Two weeks interval after receiving such a sad news about my sister, An express letter was posted to me by my father telling me the tragic incident concerning my stepmother; she narrowly escaped an auto – crash while returning from her village.

I visited her with my girlfriend, Halimat on her sickbed at the public hospital but what struck me most, however, was the fact that she appeared to have injured her spine for the slightest movement racked her with most excruciating pain and maximum discomfort. Could she now be regretting her past shortcomings in our household during this terrible condition?

Her unreasonable sentiment against my higher education, if not for the humanitarian assistance of Uncle Akindele; and the abrupt stoppage of my sister’s education among some other devilish deeds perpetrated by her.

The doctor was quite frank with us in his final statement: “she had injured her spinal column, I’m afraid, and there is little we can do for her,” he said. The sudden shock of the car – crash and injuries sustained has unbalanced her mind. She ‘ll be put under further medication, but gradually she will become more and more paralyzed, and then she will drop dead. We don’t really know how long. A few weeks, a couple of months or even few days” he sadly concluded with beads of sweat on his forehead. A few days later, the woman died on her sickbed while groaning in an unbearable pain. So unfortunate for aunty Zainab.

What would she tell our mother in the great beyond if she comes across her; on how she maltreated Shettima and Hadiza? I was a bit confused whether to pray for or curse her ”unmotherly” soul in her lonely journey to the great beyond. But my dear father mourned and wept for the sudden death of a life companion.