ON THE RUN (EPISODE 11)

Dusk, just after the Thursday mass, she sat in the vestry, waiting for the Reverend. She sniffled, wiping her tear-stained cheeks with the hem of her wrapper. She mumbled some prayers, staring at Mary’s statue situated at a corner of the room. The door opened and the Reverend walked in. She quickly adjusted her scarf as the Reverend, with his right hand, touched his forehead, his chest and his shoulders in turn.

He smiled. “Good evening ma. I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting. I was busy with the catechists.”

“Good evening Father. I’m not in a hurry. I have more pressing issues to be in a hurry.” She said, on her knees.

“Please get up. Get up ma. Everything will be fine. Stand up.” He reached for her shoulders, helping her up to sit.

“Thank you Father. God will continually strengthen you.”

“Amen.” He pulled a white plastic chair closer, swiped his index finger on it, confirming if it was dust-free.

His silver robe was safe, he sat.

“What’s the problem ma?”

“My children.” Her eyes got saturated with tears. “Ever since their father left me alone in this cruel world, we haven’t lived under the same roof.”

The Reverend cleared his throat, then drew his seat closer. “You said children. Or didn't I hear you right? Cos I only know you with a child, your son, Dike.”

“Dike is a twin.”

“Twins?”

“Yes Father. He has a twin brother, Dede. He resides in the city.”

“With who?”

She paused, gazing forlornly at Mary’s statue and softly replied, “He was with my husband’s sister before she died, but he’s all by himself now.”

“Since when has he been in the city?”

“When he was ten.”

“Ten! A boy that would be in his twenties now? So you mean you haven’t seen him for more than ten years now?”

She nodded. She couldn't hold back her tears, they rolled down her sagged cheeks.

“Why is that so? Why don’t you send for him?”

“I want to, but I can’t. That’s where the problem lies.”

The Reverend’s thought ran wide, but failed to return with an answer. “Can you please get me out of the dark? Explain in details so that Jesus may come in.”

She buried her head to avoid eye contact. The rug below them kept her attention. How would she explain that she got her children from Ogrikpakpa, the gods of the land?

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Eyes closed, puckered brow, tongue resting on her lower lip and her hand covering her nose and mouth. The door clipped into its frame and Ireti involuntarily let out the air that stuck up her nostril. If Dede went to church, the following Sunday had be separated solely for thanksgiving. Despite, he still danced, moon-walking to the door, gave a 360 degree spin, on his heels, then bolted the door.

Ireti rolled out.

She quickly reached for her phone while Dede hit the bulb-switch on. Ireti dusted her cloth, walking to the window to peek on Salewa. She smiled at Dede, who stood by the switch, speechless, watching her perambulate about.

“Dede!” Salewa raised from the kitchen-window that faced the BQ.

“I have to go now ma.” Dede inched towards Ireti. “Oga madam is calling me.”

Ireti closed the gap between them. She yanked him closer, sunk her dry lips into mouth. Hugged him more tightly to feel his chest on her well-rounded bosom.

“Dede!!” Salewa cried again, installing her eyes on his door.

Dede reflexly ejected his mouth from the romantic rumble their mouths engaged. Ireti’s interlocked hands behind him wouldn't let him go.

He met Ireti’s gaze. “You owe me.” She whispered in his ear, then walked on to get her bag.

That sounded more like the title of a poem in his ear as he grabbed a shirt from his wardrobe and raced to the main house. Dede opened the door to a basket full of cloths. Are these cloths waiting for my attention? He wondered, picking them one after the other. He counted thirty pieces and he still counted on.

“Dede, hurry and return with those cloths o.” Salewa said, getting some foodstuffs from the fridge.

Dede grumbled.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes madam. The cloths plenty small o.”

“Ehn ehn, why am I paying you?” Salewa walked out of the kitchen to meet him standing in front of the door, with her favorite blouse in his hands.

“Sorry ma.”

“No! Tell me, why am I paying you? Twenty thousand every month isn't enough?” She raised her shoulders in question, with a bottle of ketchup in her hand.

Dede thought in split second and realized it was far better than the twelve thousand naira he collected when he worked with Ireti, which she wasn't even faithful in paying. “Madam, I’m sorry ma. I will do justice to them quickly.”

The door opened. Dede shifted aside, and Ireti entered.

“What’s happening here?”

“Ore mi, see me see this boy o. I told him to iron those cloths.” Salewa pointed to the filled blue basket. “And he was like, the cloths are too much. Am I not paying him abeg? Help me ask am o.”

Ireti looked at Dede, then the basket.

“I’m sorry ma. I will go and iron them now.” Dede said. He turned around to go, carrying the basket in his hands.

“Hey hey, see, be careful with that blouse o. The very one you’re holding. You can feel the silk texture shey? That’s your salary if anything happens to it.”

“Ok ma.”

“No be the blouse wey we buy for Dubai be that?”

Salewa nodded in affirmation.

“I haven’t worn mine sef.”

“Mr man, what are you waiting for?” Salewa rolled her eyes at Dede.

“Nothing ma.” He left.