Mama Efuna took one step, then another.
She walked away from the house she had once entered as a mother, and into the street like a homeless stranger.
Halfway down the road, she stopped.
Her chest tightened.
The world began to spin.
Her vision blurred.
The noise of Lagos suddenly felt far away, as if she were sinking underwater.
She heard a woman shouting, “Mama! Mama!”
Then her legs gave out.
Mama collapsed.
Her bag fell from her hand. Her Bible slid out and landed open in the dust.
The last thing she saw before darkness swallowed her was the blurry image of Chinedu standing by the gate while Vanessa pulled him inside as if nothing had happened.
Then everything went black.
Earlier that same week, Mama Efuna still believed her life was simple. Not easy, but simple.
She was a widow in Lagos. Her husband had died when Chinedu was still very small. She had not cried for long, because hunger does not allow a woman to cry for long. She became a washerwoman. She washed clothes for people in better houses.
Her fingers were always rough.
Her back always hurt.
But she never complained.
Because she had a dream.
Chinedu will not suffer like me.
Chinedu was smart. He read books under streetlights. He fetched water and still did his homework. Sometimes Mama Efuna would find him asleep on the floor with a pen still in his hand.
She would smile and whisper, “God, please help my son.”
And God did.
Chinedu finished school. He got a decent job at a small company. When he started bringing home a little money, Mama Efuna felt like she could finally breathe.
Then one day, Chinedu brought a woman home.
Vanessa.
Vanessa was beautiful, yes. She walked like music followed her feet. Her nails were always done. Her perfume filled a room before she spoke. Mama Efuna did her best to welcome her. She cooked jollof rice and fried chicken. She gave Vanessa the only plastic chair in the room and sat on the floor herself.
Vanessa looked around the one-room apartment as if she were in a poor market.
“This is where you live?” she asked.
Chinedu laughed too quickly.
“It’s temporary,” he said. “Just until we move.”
Mama Efuna noticed the way Vanessa’s eyes narrowed.
That was the first sign.
After the wedding, things changed faster than Mama Efuna could understand. Chinedu moved into a better apartment with Vanessa. At first, he still visited his mother. He still called her Mama.
But Vanessa did not like it.
“She is too involved,” Vanessa would say whenever Mama Efuna called. “Why is she always calling you? Are you still a child?”
Soon Chinedu started answering with irritation.
“Mama, I’m busy.”
“Mama, I’ll call you back.”
“Mama, stop worrying me.”
Then the day came when Mama Efuna’s landlord increased the rent again.
She had no money.
Her hands shook as she walked to Chinedu’s new place carrying her small nylon bag. She kept telling herself:
He is my son. He will help me.
When she arrived, she saw a different world. Clean tiles. A large TV. New curtains. A small dining table.
Vanessa opened the door.
The look she gave Mama Efuna was the kind of look people give when they smell something unpleasant.
“Mama, welcome,” Mama Efuna said politely, forcing a smile.
Vanessa did not answer. She simply turned and walked inside as if Mama Efuna were air.
Mama stepped in slowly.
Chinedu came out from the room and froze when he saw her.
“Mama?” he asked, voice low. “What are you doing here?”
Mama Efuna swallowed.
“My son, I came because the rent… the landlord—”
Before she could finish, Vanessa’s voice cut through the room.
“She came again,” Vanessa said loudly. “Always coming with problems.”
Mama Efuna felt her cheeks burn.
Chinedu looked around as if the walls themselves could hear him.
“Not here,” he hissed. “Not in my house.”
Mama Efuna’s eyes widened.
Leave a Comment