Through her eyes

31 Dec 2011 18 Comments

by creamandcoffee in Uncategorized Tags: #shortstory

Hi You guys remember Tari from one of my older stories? She was the one with the White husband she brought to the village… I decided to completely re-write her character. Enjoy x

Any extra comments: tweet me @koromonayy or e-mail me kkoroye@gmail.com

I read and reply everything

I tiptoed carefully around the pile of dirt and garbage that had been swept up to the edge of the river bank. It was late afternoon but the sun was still hanging over my parent’s village with its intense rays beating down on my naked eyes. I walked a little further down the road and stood next to a group of naked children building mud houses with quiet determination. They paused to wipe their running noses occasionally before returning their attention back to their poorly crafted homes. I tore my eyes away from them and looked out into the river. The waves were always calm and although the water was murky, the villagers never failed to to carry out their daily activities in the vast and unending river. I watched young men gather around the stairs leading to the water, they were almost naked as well save for the boxers that sagged beneath their bony waist lines. Their voices traveled upwards and I tried without success to understand their rapid conversations in our ever elusive native language. Soon their voices dimmed and I could hear the loud splashes that signaled they had each dived into the water fearlessly. Their arms cut through the dirty brown water with ease and I envied their precision. I had started taking swimming lessons 2 months before my schedule year long stay in the village but my swimming coach did not possess their confidence and dexterity.

My eyes followed another group heading towards the river in a slow funeral like procession. The older women, who only left the comfort of their thin mats in the afternoons, trudged barefoot into the river and set down their buckets and baskets next to their feet. Some of them had their wrappers tied around their tanned chests and they loosened them as soon as they slipped into the water. The first time I discovered a majority of the villagers bathed in the same river they defecated in, I wrinkled my nose in disgust and immediately appreciated the clean water my aunt fetched for me every morning. I soon noticed that the younger women had arrived with buckets filled with clothes probably belonging to their families. They set up a few steps away from the old women and washed with practiced skills as they talked rapidly, punctuating their words with laughter every 5 minutes. I longed to join them everyday but I knew I would never fit in with my perfectly combed hair and fabric softened clothes. I watched them for a little while and when they finally caught me staring, I allowed my eyes to focus on the large oil rig sitting in the middle of the river like a crowned king. It was starting to rust and its roped drills looked like lifeless tentacles. I knew about the big oil companies exploiting the small oil rich villages in the Niger Delta but I never knew how bad it was until my aunt walked in with a net filled with dead fish two days ago. An early memory of my first summer in the village sprang into my mind- my mother’s eyes bright with fear when we entered the canoe, my aunt’s arm flexing with strength when she tossed her fishing net into the water and my curious smile when I watched the countless fish squirming in the bowl we brought back from our trip. But that was before the oil companies arrived with their promises and never ending oil spills. I heard a loud cough and turned to find my cousin, Tamara, watching me intently. He had on the dark blue pants I bought him after my first semester at NYU and a shirt that bore the President’s face with a large red X across it. He held a gun in his left hand and a cigarette in his right. I knew he was heading to the neighboring village for the daily meetings he had with his fellow rebels. He beckoned for me with a tilt of us head and I pulled myself away from the river. The first time I had seen his gun, I had clasped my hand over my mouth with muted shock and he warned me to never touch it without his permission. I was now used to the menacing weapon and sometimes even wondered how it would feel to hold it and threaten to pull the trigger.

‘Have you eaten?’ His voice was low and raspy.

‘Uh hmm. An hour ago I think.’

‘I’m going to my meeting now. Will you be okay by yourself?’

‘Yeah Tam, I’ll be fine.’ He smiled at the nick name and headed towards his motorcycle. He climbed on, turned on the engine and gave me a slight wave before he drove away.

After the smoke from Tamara’s motorcycle had finally cleared, I ducked low and slipped into my aunt’s house. It was a little dark and I reached for the Kerosine lamp that has sat in the corner of the room for as long as I could remember. I struck the match and a bright light erupted before it settled into a shy three colored flame. I carried the lit lamp into the room I shared with my aunt and plopped myself on my unmade bed. I thought about the nightmare that had been plaguing me every night since I had been in the village. Once again, I dreamed I had been standing at the edge of a cliff and I fell into the river without warning. I found myself drowning not in water but in dark, unrefined oil. I woke up with an accelerated heart beat and a fresh wave of confusion about the meaning behind my dream. I never shared my nightmares with my aunt even though she rubbed my back until I fell back into a restless sleep.

I gazed at the flickering flame in deep thought until it started to blur and all I could see was a lone orange shape sitting in the center of the lamp.

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