It was Aunty Bamike who came into the room and broke the news to her. She had been staying in big daddy’s house since her mum was dropped off at the hospital for her caesarean section the day before. When she appeared in Lolade’s room, she knew by her facial expression that something was wrong. She ran her palms down her face and breathed heavily before coming to sit by Tomini on Lolade’s bed. Holding her right hand, she said in a low tone,

“Tomini, your mum didn’t make it.”

There were tears in her eyes. Tomini did not understand her. What did she mean by her mum didn’t make it? Make it to where? The baby should have been delivered by now. The only news she had been expecting was that of her baby sister’s arrival.

“Aunty Bamike, what do you mean she didn’t make it? I know they won’t discharge her until a few days. They’d be home soon enough.”

“Tomini, your mum and sister didn’t make it. They are gone,” she was shaking her head and tears poured out of her eyes.

She attempted to speak again but a cry came out instead. She turned away from her niece and wept loudly. Big daddy came in and embraced Aunty Bamike, rubbing her back. He whispered something in her ears and she left the room, a hand over her mouth. The sound of her muffled tears shook Tomini. She didn’t mean they were dead, right?

“Big daddy,” Tomini said, her voice shaking slightly. “Where did mummy go to? I don’t understand why Aunty Bamike is crying? What is happening?”

She feared what he would say but she needed clarity. Her heart was racing fast.

“Your mum died immediately after the operation. The baby was brought out dead.”

Her whole body shook and she let out a deafening scream. Her uncle rushed to her and drew her into his arms. He simply rubbed her back as she had seen him do for Aunty Bamike. He let her cry and did not leave her until her sobs subsided.

Her cousin made her take a warm shower and brought in a plate of rice. At the sight of the food, she burst into uncontrollable tears and her cousin held her.

Later that evening, Big daddy brought in a cup of ice-cream for her. He placed it by her bedside. She only stared at the cup.

***

They were buried the next day at Atan cemetery, Yaba. It was a short and quiet ceremony with only close family and friends present.

“How are you?” her dad asked after the burial was over. It was the softest she had ever heard him speak. She opened her mouth to speak but a sob broke out instead. Her dad hugged her tightly. She shut her eyes, letting the tears fall unto his shoulder. They held each other for a while. When she opened her eyes, she saw her uncle and his family watching from a distance.

Aunty Bamike followed them home and cooked lunch. She sat at the table with her dad but did not eat. She mixed some rice with stew but couldn’t put the spoon into her mouth. She couldn’t stop thinking of her mum and the sister she never met.

“Jeun Tomini,” Aunty Bamike rubbed her back. She played around with some rice, blinking rapidly to stop tears from falling from her eyes.

“Tomi, eat,” she heard her dad’s voice. She looked at him sitting at the head of the table, chewing. He could eat. His wife and child had died and his appetite was existent. Did he even feel sad?

Aunty Bamike collected her spoon and began feeding her. She ate a few spoons before excusing herself. She took the sleepover bag she had carried to her uncle’s and went up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, her eyes darted to a pair of sandals at a corner. It was her mum’s. Her eyes stung with tears and she hurriedly entered her room.

She sat on the bed and cried her eyes out. She knew people died. People died, it happened. But it wasn’t supposed to happen to her mum…and her sister. Of all the people in the world, it had to be her mother. Why had this happened? Why had God let this happen? She did not hear the door open. She only felt Aunty Bamike’s arms around her. As she whispered soothing words to her, her tears did not subside, instead they flowed more. It was as though there was a river in her eyes.

Aunty Bamike made her shower. She left in the evening, after cooking dinner for them. She promised to be back the next day. Immediately her aunty left, she puked the little rice she had eaten and washed her face in the basin.
She had her chemistry exam the next day. She opened her textbook but the words only stared back at her. They didn’t sink in. How was she going to write this exam? Tear drops fell on the textbook page.

***

She was a few minutes late for her chemistry exam but it was the last thing on her mind at the time. Her mother was dead and so was her baby sister. It was as though she had no life in her, like she was a walking dead. She wanted to cry but was too exhausted to do so.

She forgot many details in the exam, even the simplest, tiniest things. She attempted questions partly and was still the last person to submit. When she exited the exam hall, she found Zainab and Esther waiting a few meters from the door.

“Tomi, hi,” Zainab said, grinning.

“How was your exam?” Esther asked.
Tomini was standing rooted at the entrance, looking at the wall opposite her, her eyes pricking with tears.

“Tomi!”

She turned to Esther. Her friend walked to where she stood and looped her arm with hers.

“What’s up? You’re just staring at nothing.”

Esther began leading her away from the hall entrance towards the exit. Zainab fell into step beside them.
She shook her head and stopped walking.

“What’s wrong?” Zainab asked.

“Tomi?”

She began crying. Esther detangled their arms and embraced her.  There were in the hallway, anyone could see her crying her eyes out but that was not on her mind. She couldn’t control her tears; it was like they had a mind of their own.

She tried to speak but couldn’t. Esther led her to a small classroom that was no longer in use. Thankfully it was empty. She sat her down.

“Tomi, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

Zainab was standing by the side, a hand on her waist.

She took in a breath. “Esther, my mum died two days ago…during labour.” Her voice cracked at the end and she burst into tears. Esther said nothing but embraced her again.

“Wow,” she heard her whisper.

They followed her home and stayed till it began getting dark. Zainab suggested they go out the following day. They were convinced it would make her feel better but Tomini was not feeling up to it.

***

Aunty Bamike came to the house with bowls of stew and soups on a Saturday evening. It had been a few weeks since her mum’s death.

“There’s egusi, okro and efo,” she explained as she arranged them in the freezer. “I know you like egusi,” she smiled and Tomini returned a smile of hers.

“Mide and I were thinking you should come spend some time with us. Maybe a week or two. I’m taking my annual leave next week, so I’ll be around and we’ll have a lot of fun together.”

She shook her head. “’Aunty Bam, I just want to be here. I want to be at home.”

“You’re always alone here; your daddy is almost never around. I don’t want you to be bored. It’s not good for you to be alone at this time.”

She took a deep breath, leaning against the counter.

“Tomi, I just want you to be happy. I haven’t heard that beautiful, annoying laugh of yours for a long time,” she laughed and paused, staring at her.

She closed the freezer and sat at the island facing Tomini. “Your exams are over now. Just see it as a holiday.”

“Please,” Aunty Bamike said when she didn’t respond.

“Okay, maybe not for a week though. Just a few days.”

“Whatever. I’ll talk to your dad about it.”

She stood from her seat and hugged Tomini.

“I need to leave,” she said softly. “Take care, dear. Make sure you eat so gbó?”

Tomini nodded against her shoulder. Aunty Bamike looked so much like her mum; she hadn’t realized until now, being with her made her feel like she was with her mum, like she wasn’t completely gone. But she was. And nothing could be done to change that. A part of her loved seeing her aunty because it made her feel like she was with her mother but the other part hated her presence; she always made memories of her mum fresher and that brought her pain.

She ended up spending a week at her aunt’s. She made sure they had a place or two to go too every day. She enjoyed her short vacation. It occupied her mind so she had little time to wallow in her thoughts.

Back at home, she rarely saw her dad. In the mornings, he was out before she woke up. She would serve him dinner and he would ask her how she was doing. That was the only interaction they had. She felt alone. She used to have her mom; she used to be her companion. It was always just the two of them. Now she was gone. She was alone.

***

She woke up with a pang in her stomach. She groaned as she tossed and turned on her bed. She hadn’t eaten throughout the previous day, now the worms in her stomach were protesting. She sat up and reached for her phone on the bedside table. Her eyes caught the framed photo from the maternity shoot that sat on the table. She took it and traced her mum’s face with a finger. It was as if she was dreaming a bad dream that she was yet to wake up from. She returned it and ran both hands down her face.

It was past seven am. She had a warm shower before heading to the kitchen. She was going to cook something for herself whether or not she had an appetite. She fried eggs and put two slices of bread on a plate. She sat on a stool by the island and took a bite of the bread. She forced the food down her throat and gulped down a bottle of water.

She went back to her room and began fondling with her phone. She read her messages.

Hi

How are you doing?

My condolences

She ignored them all. She suddenly felt nauseous. She went into the bathroom, bent over the toilet bowl and vomited. She rinsed her face at the bathroom sink and stared at her reflection. She began crying but stopped few moments later. She felt weak so she lay on her stomach and closed her eyes. She thought of her mum; her beautiful smile, flawless skin, long straight hair, incredible fashion sense, delicious meals.

What would her sister have looked like? Would she have had full, thick, long hair, too? Would she have been dark skinned like her? Would she have been annoying like most little sisters were? She couldn’t stop thinking, wondering. And because she couldn’t stop the thoughts from filtering in, she couldn’t stop the ache in her chest.

She heard the doorbell ring. She remained on her bed. She didn’t want to see or talk to anyone, except her mother, but she was dead. She heard the doorbell again and groaned. Who the hell visited people by eight in the morning? Her phone began ringing. The caller ID read Michael. She accepted the call and put the phone to her ear.

“Hello,” she said weakly.

“Hi Tomi, How are you? I’m downstairs right now.”

“Downstairs? Where?” She sat up, holding the right side of her head with her right hand. Her head ached.

“I’m at your house. I’ve rung the doorbell severally but nobody opened the door.”

“Oh,” she said. “I’ll be down in a bit.”

Downstairs, she opened the door to a smiling Michael. She couldn’t help but smile back despite her pounding head.

“Michael,”

“Tomini,” he grinned. “Let me enter now.”

She smiled and made way for him.

“Lucky you, my dad is not around.”

He laughed, sitting down on a sofa. “I know. I saw his car leave the close earlier this morning when I came back from jogging.”

She chuckled sitting beside him. “Why are you jogging? Are you trying to have packs or what?”

He gave her a mock glare.

“You’re not eating,” he said seriously.

She sighed and looked away from him.

“The last time I saw you was” he paused. “Two or three weeks ago. And you were looking healthier. You look so thin now. I actually feel like a terrible friend. I’ve not been checking up on you and I live just down this street.”

She shrugged, playing with her fingernails. “It’s not your responsibility to do so.”

“Actually it is. It is.“

There was silence for a long while.

“How are you?” He said, breaking the silence. “Really, how are you?”

She forced a smile. Her gaze fell on the framed picture of her mother and her smile broadened. Her eyes brimmed with tears. She blinked rapidly.

She shook her head. “I’m not fine. It’s hard.”

He nodded, looking at her sympathetically. “You’ll get better with time…hopefully.”

“Hopefully.” She paused before speaking again. “That’s what many people have said. I’ll feel better with time.” She laughed bitterly. “After the burial, how many have called, visited? They just show up for the burial, give their condolences and disappear afterwards. Who gives a damn about condolences? Who has condolences ever helped?”

She shook her head and swallowed hard. “I just want my mum back but she’ll never come back. Their condolences will not bring her back. I’m all alone, all alone. My dad, I rarely see him. Aunty Bamike, Big mummy and big daddy have been supportive, very supportive but I still feel the same way I felt when she died, maybe even worse.”

Michael took her left hand in his and stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. Tears escaped her eyes but she cleaned them quickly. She closed her eyes breathing in and out.

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