All the plates in the kitchen basket were dirty and taking out an already clean plate from one of Mum's plastic cooler would still have required some soap, sponge and water to get rid of the dust. So I prepared garri in a steel drinking cup and dipped it directly in the okro soup pot.
Don't make a face or even assume I'm lazy. Long story cut short is that, I used to do the dishes through out my secondary school days. My immediate younger brother was never assigned plate washing. Probably because doing the dishes was considered a girl's job by both my parents. Instead, my Mum instructed my second sister to take over when I was due for the higher institution. And did so too in all her secondary school days, though sparingly and sometimes had to be screamed on or chased out of the house with a belt to wash dirty plates. In due time, she too got done with secondary school and Mum ordained my last sister to do the dishes. But no. Little last born would wash plates only once in one or two weeks. With each member of the family occasionally helping within those one or two weeks. And that morning was not one I would have liked to wash a bowl and out of guilt, be lured into washing all of the others in fulfilling my first-child-responsibility. No it wasn't. Because I was travelling to another state. Not with Dad or Mum or all of the family. But I was travelling alone! Like lots of kids had bragged about since my days in nursery school "I travelled to my Aunty's last Easter, I went to see my Uncle last weekend, I travelled to my Aunty's last Christmas" I, I, I, I...Huh!
I had spent a greater part of the night picturing my journey and arrival at my Aunty's. My eyes were rock heavy. So after my breakfast, I tried taking a quick nap so I could get ready afterwards and wait for Dad who had promised to come pick me to the park at 11:30 a.m. Unfortunately, I could not even keep my eyes closed for more than five seconds talkless of actually sleeping. Because, a milder issue was been pictured in my mind. The fact that it was still too strange to address Stella as Aunty after she had stayed with us for nearly half of all her life. I kept saying her name "Stella, Good morning", "Stella, do you know what?" rather inaudibly as I felt it might connote disrespect since she was now a married woman with a one year old son.
I had been completely dressed by 11 a.m and had to suppress my spiraling thoughts by busying myself with adding more sentences to the already long letters I had written on pink Cardboard for my two little sisters who were away at school until it was 11:30 on the dot when I called to remind Dad but to my exhaustion, he arrived at 1:30; never keeping to time. I brought out my travelling box all pretentiously smiling to mask my anxiety with excitement so Daddy would not see through my wrecking hyper anxious thoughts. Once in the car, I struck up a captivating chit-chat to convince Dad and maybe myself that I was confident enough about travelling all on my own.
On reaching the park, I got into the bus and in faint recollection of the times Mum, my siblings and I had travelled together for Christmas in her village, I was given an old book to write my name , adress, destination, phone number and one or two more things I can not now remember. I respected and admired my Dad more for standing behind the bus to ensure that my box was surely stuck in the boot. He even payed, after the plenty money he had given me at home, for the charge of my luggage inside the boot and for my transport fare, then pointed to the conductor to hand me the ticket.
I coaxingly asked Daddy to buy me a perfume but when he refused, I called a hawker and bought one. Ofcourse, that was after Dad and I had waved for an oddly long time as he drove away. I immediately sprayed myself and the dark old lady by my left, dressed in pure white Olumba gown, commented on how nice the perfume smelt and I thanked her with a smile. But, the fair complexioned younger woman by my right continuously glanced with a slight frown, at my face and away like a frightened kid whose Mum had hurried off to get her ice-cream.
I got out of the bus to quickly get myself a drink and my phone rang yet again. It was not my Aunty who had already called thrice to know if I was on my way. It was not my Mum who had called twice from her workplace to be sure I was safe in the bus. It was my coursemate in the Higher Institution! My coursemate who had been on my neck for the past two months about wanting us to date and was prepared to proove how different he was from other guys with lie-coated-mouthings. My coursemate who I thought was only a year older than me but it turned out he was my exact age? Same department and had witnessed all of my most embarrasing moments in class? My coursemate whom I was taller than, despite being annoyingly noted to be the least tall in my family? Naaaaaah...He was only in the category of people that one never gets rude at or mean to, in appreciation and payback for remaining nice in times like when I was unelected from the position of Class representative just because, according to some of my course mates' reason, "I was too childish to Lord over them biggies". Yes, I purposely ignored the sixth called because he had planned to come and meet me at the park which I would sincerely rather climb thorny trees than conscend to. Sorry to sound morose. But blame that on my mouth. It was me who blabbed the previous day that I was travelling anyway. But I'll like you to also know I only did that because there was this awkward silence with nothing else left to talk about and he just wouldn't end his call!
The journey finally begun and I sat back comfortably with my chilled drink, looking outside to enjoy the ride. But hell no! The driver had other plans. Just about fifteen minutes after we had left the park, he drove into a gas station and fixed a dark guy in my row, which was directly behind the drivers seat. Within seconds, my little butt was aching with muscle contractions due to the two hefty-assed women whom I was squeezed off in between. I stayed that way for more than three complete hours and felt dizzy as I stepped out when I finally got to my destination.
I called Aunty Stella but it rang to the end and was not answered. My heart beat trippled irritably. I called the second time and she took it, ordering me to wait for her where I had alighted from the bus. I fixed an ear piece into my ear, willing the song to soothe my nerves. She finally came and we greeted with smiles on our faces. I thought of hugging but that was something we had never done and it would be totally awkward for me to initiate one. I soon met her husband that I had never seen before and her little son who spurted around naked and all dusty, in a child's absentmindedness and looked a wizened old man! But I still picked him up. Atleast it's what Curtesy demanded of me.
First, I called my immediate younger brother who was away from home at school. Also spoke to everyone in my family on phone about arriving safely. Then I could not eat to my fill although I was hungry. Aunty Stella and I talked some little; with this slight withdrawness I concluded was her little way of making me understand that she was now my married Aunty and not just Stella. I couldn't join her and her husband in watching movies. I faced the wall and blocked out the movie sounds. It was minutes past two a.m and I still couldn't sleep. I had never until that moment wished to be sent on my Mum's countless errands. I had always longed to travel by myself and now I wondered why. I guess that's the universal law on craving and wanting that which you can not have. God! I simply wanted to be back home.
The above is an extract from my diary in 2017. I only changed the names to protect identities of the persons involved.
Please leave comments about anything you feel I should know. Thank you.
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