Chidimma Ada Unachukwu

Your Ring or Your Life

Chigo's oiled hand would not lift from her right arm. A mix of almond oil and essential myrrh made her senses numb. Each night she left the oil on her skin, she woke up rejuvenated, alive. The last scar she acquired was as stubborn as the cause of it. It would not leave her no matter the treatment and pamper she showered on it. Ngozi, her childhood friend, had asked her to use Okuma—shea butter.

''Shea butter heals any wound. It healed my childhood scars.'' Ngozi had said, confident, certain.

Chigo and Ngozi had grown up together in Momah street in Awka. They had met in Saint Ifedinamba memorial school. Ngozi’s father, Onyeze, was a disciplinarian and a respected titled village chief. He flogged and applied red pepper on his children eyes and buttocks each time they went astray; when they came home late from an errand, broke something, made too much noise, stole his money or came last in school. He had a different cane for them. There was Koboko—made from animal skin. Anya—a flexible stick that never broke even if you hit it on the wall several times. Wires from socket extensions. Osisi onugbu—stick of bitter leaf. Chigo knew the faint scar on Ngozi's back that she barely saw now except when she took a closer look, was imprinted by osisi onugbu, the demonic green stick which caused the victims to bleed with just one lash.

She too had tasted it, most African parents and teachers from South Eastern Nigeria made sure of it. There was a popular joke that it made the dumb speak. Ngozi had grown to forget and love her father—the small statured Chief Onyeze, who, in recent time, has grown old and wrinkled. He now looked like a fragile, aged mouse. Ngozi was the only person who escaped his pointed mouth, and she has not stopped thanking God for it. Probably that is the only reason she is the only married one amongst her three sisters. The rest have to work a lot harder in other areas to make up for their scary tooth. The last time Chigo saw Chief Onyeze in his sitting room, she almost missed him and regretted her teen years when she used to drink lime and lukewarm water to become one of those portable ladies, those skinny models with long legs and sharp jutting neckbones.

Mama Ify was her neighbour. A woman whose courage she admired. Just like many women who became bread winners when their husbands married bottles and engaged commercial sex workers.

Chigo was not as quick as Ngozi to forgive her childhood. She could not forget. When she met Emeka, the emptiness and the hollow in her heart vanished but just like most of her dream, it was another illusion. She was thirty-two, yet she could not forget. Maturity was supposed to make her overlook, make her forgive, but no, the demon went to bed and woke up with her. A knock at the door. She jumped from the six inches orthopedic bed, picked up her clothes and ran to the door.

"Onye? Who is it? I'm coming."

She turned the key to the left, twice.

"Ha, Mama Ify it's you, come in." She stepped aside for her caller to walk inside.

"Good afternoon, my sister." Mama Ify said.

Mama Ify was her neighbour. A woman whose courage she admired. Just like many women who became bread winners when their husbands married bottles and engaged commercial sex workers. Chigo loved that Mama Ify never wore her burdens on her shoulders. Chigo waited for Mama Ify to take the seat close to the dining room, then she looked around the sitting room and out the window to make sure other neighbors were not loitering around; then, she looked at the slightly open bedroom door as if to make sure no one was coming. She did not feel safe in her own home anymore.

"Are you alright?" Mama Ify asked. Her eyes softened and worried.

Chigo wanted to cry. She hated and loved it when she was shown care, a gesture that eluded her since she left the orphanage home where she grew up.

"Am okay." Chigo waved airily, fighting back the tears.

"Chigo, Chigo, you're like a sister to me. I remember the day my son was sick and you used the last money you had saved up for your children's school fees to pay his hospital bill. You’re not fine and must seek help."

"Oh please, stop it!" Chigo tried to laugh.

"At least go to sister Rose, she's like a mother to you. She said you've refused to speak to her or see a counsellor."

Sister Rose was a reverend sister, the woman who had accepted Chigo from her mother when she was born. Her mother had been raped by a group of hot blooded experimental teenage boys, one of them her mother's boyfriend . After Chigo was born she was still hurt and angry, so she gave her up to the orphanage. Chigo never stopped to ask or try to trace her. She gave up when she was about to get married. If her mother wanted her or was still alive, she would find her.

"I'll see her," Chigo resigned.

"What's that scar on your hand?"

Chigo looked at her left hand, her eyes stared at nothing, searching for the scar.

"I mean the one at your right hand. The one you're trying to hide." Mama Ify said, her eyes in deep wonder, she got up, moved over to take a closer look.

"Oh, okay, I scratched my arm on the wall."

"Chigo, that looks like a teeth bite."

“I said it's a scratch!"

"Stop defending him. I know what he does to you."

There was silence. Chigo wanted to forget her problems at the moment and worry about it later. She did most nights when Emeka returned home from work. He was a family medicine doctor.

"Have you spoken to your sister about the job?" Chigo said.

Mama Ify sighed and leaned slightly on the cushion.

"Nne, you know there is no job in this country."

"I need to start something. Do you know some times he doesn't care if I and the children eat? It was my friend Ngozi that gave me the money for their school fee this term."

"Stupid man. After they will say our woman go abroad to open eyes and start misbehaving. They sometime forget they are not in Africa where they maltreat us."

"I was about to go and make eba for Diokpala and Ada, we still have that sweet ora soup. Okwi ihe eli? Will you eat?" Chigo asked.

"Biko be fast before he comes and see me eating the ora soup and tell the whole world I come to his house to finish his food when he's not around. Are you sure you won't cook rice and leave his ora soup alone?"

"Mtcheew, The worst thing he will do is what he's been doing to me." Chigo rolled her eyes and turned to leave for the kitchen.

"Don't ever get used to a man's beating." Mama Ify said behind her as she followed Chigo to the kitchen.

Chigo’s back stiffened at her Mama Ify's words. This time, the silence was longer. Mama Ify went to her and tried to turn Chigo's face to her's, but she stood there, her feet glued to the ground, unmoved. Mama Ify forced her chubby body to stand in the small space, between the sink and Chigo. She was crying, her mouth pressing together, trying not to scream.

"Chigo." Mama Ify called her name but she was lost in some distant world, she couldn't hear her.

"Chigo." She undid Chigo's folded hands and pressed her body to hers, willing her to share.

It was then Chigo broke down and violently whimpered. Hiccups came when her body jerked as she struggled to breath. Each time she tried to say a word, she would break down again. Mama Ify had never seen such pain welled up in one person.

"It's okay, don't say anything. I'll get some of your things, we'll go to sister Rose and we'll pick the kids from school.”

There was rumour of an impending strike. The federal government has for over twenty years promised to make salary increments. Every year the hospital would go on a strike, and innocent citizens would die unattended-to and everyone would blame the government and continue with their business as if the deaths did not happen. It made Emeka sick to her stomach, just as his marriage made him feel old and restrained. When he married Chigo she was beautiful and naïve but after their Diokpala and Ada, she changed. Her sagged breasts and fat laps irritated him. He liked his women slim and flawless. Or maybe he never loved her. There were days he would sit down in his room and try to remember how they met and why he married her. He had finished his ward round and any minute the doctors on night duty would arrive. He picked up his android phone from his desk. 5:34pm. He dialed a contact, beautiful Onyinye, five times, but there was no answer. The door to his office opened, and Dr. Usoro walked in.

Or maybe he never loved her. There were days he would sit down in his room and try to remember how they met and why he married her. "Oh boy, you still here?" Dr Usoro said as he sat opposite Emeka.

"My babe is not picking her call."

"Ahan! I told you when you get married you'll get tired of eating Egusi soup everyday. This your babe, is she Ogbono or Ofe nsala?" Mr Usoro teased.

"Hahaha, you're crazy, man."

"Likewise. Sha take it easy before madam catch you."

"Sometimes I feel sorry for Chigo, and then sometimes I don't care. How did we get here?" Emeka asked Usoro.

"You've got to let the steam out, and most time we men don't want to do it at home."

"If I were her, I won't take it. I won't tolerate the cheating." Emeka said, as if in deep thoughts.

"A man got to be a man. Our forefathers married many wives. It's just in us to need more than one woman and the women are created to be with one man. I don't know how they don't go mad living with one man."

"True, man. Men are not wired for marriage. We can't cheat nature."

A beep came through Dr. Usoro's phone. It was from his local news apps.

"Stupid country! Who are they deceiving? The president has been cloned? Ridiculous!"

"I wouldn’t be surprised if he died in London, and his cabals in Aso Rock wants it hidden." Emeka said.

"That one is small-ish, did you hear about the woman in Amawbia that bit off her husband’s penis and he bled to death?"

"Tufiakwa! God forbid!" He shifted in his seat. "Why?" Emeka asked, repulsed. God! What a horrible way to die, he thought.

"Why would a woman eat her husband’s penis? We just have to be careful, these, our women, are watching too much TV and internet this days," Dr. Usoro said, his eyes scouting for more news on his phone.

"The woman must be some low life village girl he married, That's a horrid way to avenge a cheating husband. She overreacted!" Emeka cried. He stretched out his hand, picked the air conditioner remote control and increased it. His temperature had suddenly shot up and he felt sharp shooting pain in his underpants. God! What a horrible woman! Chigo would never do that to him. She does not have the guts.

"She's not some low life but a UK trained lawyer. In fact, she knew he was cheating on her but got furious when she found out the husband's mistress was pregnant and he had booked tickets to fly the mistress abroad to have the child. And she, being unable to conceive could not bear it."

Emeka's phone rang. He gestured at Dr Usoro to hold on with his left hand.

"My one and only. My tomato Jos. The only cockroach in my cupboard…" Emeka said to his girlfriend Amaka, who giggled in soft crack at the other end. Dr Usoro shook his head when Emeka flinched like teenager to something Amaka said to him over the phone. For the rest of the conversation, Emeka was restless and could not wait to end it and go to her. Dr Usoro smiled and pondered at the complicated life men chose to live.

Chigo wanted to smack the driver on his head and tell him to stop. He kept looking at her from the rearview mirror. Mama Ify had gone through the trouble and hired a taxi driver. The man, Mr Olushola was an acquaintance. He used to help Mama Ify carry out her loads to Nightmile where she boarded another bus to the University of Nsukka campus where she sold Ofe Aku - palm kernel stew, rice, fried plantain, Vio Vio and chilled soft drinks but stopped when rumours started to go around that she was having an affair with a ugly, poor Ibadan man.

Mama Ify did not mind the rumours but her husband had insisted she find another means to convey her goods. Chigo could not disagree on his look. The three marks on both side of his cheek which extended to the back of his neck was no pleasant sight especially when he applied too much vaseline on it, it shone so much that she could almost see her face on it. He had asked Mama Ify "hope all is well with your friend" countless times. He was itching for information. Chigo knew Yoruba women were legends in gossip and minding other people's business but the men she was not sure. But this man's inquisitiveness meant it was not gender biased but genetic.

There was always traffic on the road in Oji river and the bad potholes did not help. The drivers spent most time trying to maneuver the road to save trips to mechanic shop. In less than forty minutes they were in Awka, at the express close to Unizik. Mama Ify asked the driver to stop. She wound down the glass and called a woman selling roasted yam.

"Nwanyi oma, Kediki isi ele — Beautiful woman, how do you sell?"

The woman who sat under the umbrella was breastfeeding a child. She tucked her breast in, gave the crying child to her a five year old boy who was blowing air with a plastic hand fan into the burning charcoal to hold and rushed to the taxi before other women lined up beside her chances her.

Chigo knew Yoruba women were legends in gossip and minding other people's business but the men she was not sure. But this man's inquisitiveness meant it was not gender biased but genetic.

"Nno, o dependi kwa — welcome, it depends." The beans seller said.

"Okay give us beans, plantain and yam hundred naira each for three plate."

Chigo munched five spoons of the tasty combo she favoured when she was a student in Unizik with her friends. They always had it for lunch. The school environment has changed much. The fashion of the women more western, the roads expanded and more busy with new infrastructures on construction. The only thing that did not change were the women selling roasted yam and okpa di oku.

Sister Rose was glad to see Chigo. She hugged and held on to her. Chigo noticed how old she was. In five years she will be sixty five. Diokpala and Ada who had been quiet and had sulked throughout the short trip, was ecstatic to see Sister Rose who was the grandma they never had. Emeka's mother had died shortly before they got married.

Chigo listened to Mama Ify narrate her story to sister Rose. As she listened, it was if it had happened to someone else. Mama Ify left for Enugu and promised to check on her in a week.

It was in the evening, after the children in the orphanage had returned to the large compound and had left for evening mass that Sister Rose invited Chigo into her room. They sat like they did once, face to face, their knees almost touching. It was the day Sister Rose found out that Chigo had stolen a party gown from a boutique. The owner had caught her and would have locked her up in jail if Sister Rose had not intervened and if she had not used the orphan tag to get the boutique owner’s sympathy.

"Talk to me. Was Mama Ify right? What's going on?"

"I don't know." There was a pause. "I don't know."

"Is there another woman?"

"I don't know."

"Then why does he treat you this way?" It surprised Sister Rose. No woman should be disrespected or treated this way. Chigo was a good wife. She had over the years as a reverend sister who counselled couples seen terrible women, the kind she would never marry or live with if she were a man.

People often asked her that, as if there has to be a reason for Emeka to cheat on her and do the things he did to her. Chigo told her of the countless times she caught him on a live camera with women having sex on his phone and laptop. Those nights he would shut her out and she had to sleep in the sitting room or the children's room. If she asked to speak to him or tell him the children's needs, he would slap her hard on the cheek and called her lazy. Some days he came home by one in the morning, oozing of beer, stuttering, his pants wet. He would wake her and tell her to dispose of the pounded yam or fufu she had made and kept on the dining table, that it was cold and she should go to the kitchen and cook something fresh and hot. There were days he would come into the sitting room, take the remote control of the DSTV from her and change the channel she was watching. She would swallow the lump of pain cropping from her chest, smile and pretend it was okay. Whatever he wanted was good as long as he did not beat her or call her names before the children. There were days he would drag her to his room. The children by now knew what that meant. Chigo broke down again. She could say no more.

Chigo's eyes downcast, fixed on her painted nails. Her tears betraying her like they always did whenever she thought about the concoction she had taken to get rid of four recent pregnancy.

"What is that mark on your hand?" Sister Rose reached out to touch her arm and examined the wound.

"He bit me."

"Good heavens! Why?" Sister Rose was mad. She held tight to the rosary on her hands. Her lips muttered silent prayers for grace not to run to Emeka and inflict on him equal pain he had caused Chigo.

"Why did he bite you?" It was a dumb question but she needed to know.

Chigo's eyes downcast, fixed on her painted nails. Her tears betraying her like they always did whenever she thought about the concoction she had taken to get rid of four recent pregnancies. She could not bear to have kids with him anymore. They were not born of love. She would hate them if she had them, just as her mother hated her.

"He raped me." Chigo hand covered her eyes, saliva dripping from her trembling lips. "He bit me when I pushed him away."

Sister Rose got up and paced the room. She did that for fifteen minutes. She had seen women like Chigo who faced worse situations and yet refused to leave the man. But Chigo was her’s, the twinge in her heart was excruciating. This was personal but she would ask her the same question she had asked other women.

"Your ring or your life?"

Chigo's eyes were on Sister Rose, searching for answers, wondering what would become of her. Whatever decision she made, Sister Rose hoped she kept the saying, "you only get to live once" in mind.