It was raining, as it had always threatened to do in Ikoyi when you were not using an umbrella. It was raining like the skies were not happy and the skies wanted to clean Lagos. The sound of my slippers smacking the wet pavement, louder and louder, irked at me every step I took causing my skirt to get soaked up to half of my knees. I really did not object to the rain. What I cared about was the letter in my bag.
I had two hours to be in court. It is my very first case as I completed law school. I would have even been excited. I should have felt so very strong. But rather I was a balloon out of which someone forgot to tie the thread!rubbish in it, but it was going to shape less and less.
Mama had telephoned. She spoke in a low voice again, as she usually did. Your name is Nne right? How are you doing?
I replied that I was all right. Plain lied.
I was not okay.
Reaching the firm, I gave the security a push and ran up the stairs two steps at a time because Mr. Ajayi had his office on the upper level. Senior Partner. The man who had had faith in me when I did not even have faith in myself. Two weeks ago he had given me the file ace with the name of the client with a small smile. You can go, ada.
Now I was not so certain.
I looked at my face in the mirror in the ladies room. My eyes were red as though I had not slept which was the case. I took the letter out of my bag. I did not care to read it. I had it all by heart.
It is unfortunate to tell you that your mother has reached stage four diagnosis. Additional treatment could extend life, however, but the cancer cannot be cured anymore...
I creased the piece of paper slowly. look up
I had not been informed by her. Not so much as a whisper. I happened to see the letter lying in her wardrobe and stuffed last weekend when I went to visit. But now everything has changed. Every moment. Every breath.
You are trembling." A voice at the back.
I turned. The other junior associate was called Amaka. She had her phone as usual, with her tapping on it.
I said, "I am all right."
She fixed a beady eye on me. Then she came nearer, and spoke more softly. You are going to be facing a judge. You cannot walk in there with the look on your face saying the ghost has seen you."
The judge does not scare me.
Her brow went up. So what?"
And right I looked around at this. ... It is personal."
Amaka gave a tilt of her head, and nodded as though she would have comprehended more than was stated. She may have done so. Her mother succumbed to death two years ago. Cancer too.
She put her hand on my arm. Sweat it not, Ada. You just have to go in there and do what you have worked to do. You are familiar with the case by heart. Go and do this, and home. Stay with her."
What will happen when I screw up?
Then you screw up. And you make it."
Said I did nothing. and she wheeled and went stamping.
Let go down deep of a breath. Then another. I dressed up in a skirt. Like they were guarding our thoughts in ice. And he left.
It was cold in the court room. Too cold. I was sweating in the palms. The judge was an elderly lady with hard eyes. Our client, a down on her lucky looking woman in her mid-forties, sat beside me. She was being sued by her ex-boss for breaching a non-disclosure agreement. She said she had to be silenced no more. That they were in line of occulting child workers at factories. She couldn’t sleep at night knowing the truth.
I had a lot of respect for her.
They were in good form opposing counsel. Someone who talked as if they were already gonna win. He grinned at me as if I were a little gymnast trying to ride a bike for the very first time.
But there is a voice of Amaka in my mind.
And so I never did. Don't worry about it.
I was confident we were going to get the opportunity.
I got my questions. I listened. I focused. I forgot the letter, for a little while. We saw the jurors’ eyes. Saw others bob their head when our client was speaking. I thought we would get RELEASE.
When it concluded, the judge said the order of the court would come out next week. As I gathered up my notes, the opposing counsel smiled and nodded and said, "Not bad for a rookie."
I made no answer.
And I was the last train that night to Enugu. I did not write and tell Mama I was going. In town I came and just appeared. She was sitting on the couch and wearing her favorite shawl. There was an old Nollywood movie playing on TV. She smiled, and looked up.
Oh-oh, what is up here?
I should have liked to come down to see you.
She flapped the seat next to her. "Come. Sit down. Talk to me."
He had his head on hers. I had never guessed that it was so thin.
The letter I got whispered.
She made no movement.
Why, did you not tell me?"
It is since you have a life. A future. I had no inclination to be the thing that drags you down."
You are not a matter of thing. Thou art my mother."
We did not speak.
And then after a time she asked, "Did you win the case?"
"Not yet. But I believe we shall, however."
She so-so nodded. "Good. I am proud of thee."
I am scared."
She turned away from me. Slow the eyes, sad at the same time.
Ada, it is nothing to worry about. You will be all right."
Her words had weight to them. By way of a benediction. And like a forest.
The following week, the judge gave a decision that went our way. The company was forced to compensate with damages and to give a public apology. It made the news. My name was referred to. Mr. Ajayi smiled at me that I should have thought that I saw a proud papa staring with relish at his baby. Amaka high fived me.
Last weekend I needed to come back to Enugu.
Mama became worse in a very short time. According to doctors, she had months, perhaps less. However, day by day, she inquired concerning work. She asked me to swear not to give up fighting cases such as the one by our client. Powerless people. Individuals that required another person to put faith in them.
She died in November. Quietly. She is sleeping.
I had her funeral shawl on in those days. Humans expressed pleasant words. Some cried. I didn’t. It was not until they were all gone. and then I gave myself the feeling.
Two years have gone by.
I have an office of my own. My team. Whenever a younger boy approaches me, trembling with fear, I can recall the sensation of what it feels like that morning in the bathroom. And I tell them what Amaka is to me.
It does not matter."
There are times when you don?t need any person to sort out everything.
All it takes is a person who believes that you are going to be fine.
And somehow, you are.