Unspoken Burden: The Call

Rita:

“I know I wrote it down somewhere,” Rita mumbled to herself as she lifted each occupant of her well-worn bedside stool for the umpteeth time. Then the thought struck her. She lifted the makeshift pillow (a bundle of her old clothes tied up with a wrapper) on her bed to remove her NIV Bible. Inside the pages, she found what she has been searching for — a piece of paper that has the phone number of a woman she follows on Facebook. “Hmmm,” she sighed in relief.

She would call the number tomorrow when she is in her shop. She doesn’t want her husband to know what is happening, not yet. She would be discrete at the shop too, knowing her neighbour, Njide, and her busy bodiness.

With the number carefully keyed into her phone, she went off to make dinner with the information she gathered that afternoon weighing heavily on her mind.

How long until tomorrow? She mused.

___________________________

Rita didn’t sleep much that night. It took a lot of constraint for her not to steal away to make that call as soon as she woke up. She had hidden her distress so well from her husband, and she was not about to let the cat out of the bag until she had a solution or a semblance of it. She knew what Offor’s reaction would be. At some point she would have to tell him and face him, but until then, she would bear this cross alone or with the woman from Facebook.

Mumai, her friend, had introduced her to this Facebook page where this woman shares real-life stories of people who reached out to her for advice on often dicey situations. She shares them with the consent of those involved, keeping their identities anonymous, and usually after the matter has been resolved to teach a lesson or two.

Rita became a convert after Mumai herself reached out and heeded the advice she received, and things became less salty with her in-laws. That was when Rita wrote down the phone number, not in the hopes of needing to use it, but alas…

“Hello ma,” “Hello,” “Good morning, ma, my name is Rita. I got your number from Facebook …” 

The call had ended. Was she relieved? A bit. Now, she has another call to make.

__________________________

Peace was in the bathroom when her phone rang. She has been staring at the mirror for a while now. Her protruding belly was sitting well on her. She remembered her many visits to this bathroom when she was in her first trimester. She was grateful that stage had passed. The phone jolted her to the present.

For some months now, she had dreaded phone calls, but after yesterday’s ambush, she feels a little bit relieved. The kind of relief that comes from knowing that someone from your own camp was in on the secret. Aunty doesn’t know everything yet. No. Not the full weight of her unspoken burden.

“Hello.” “Good morning, Ma.” Silence. “Yes Ma.” Silence. “Okay Ma.”

The conversation instruction was brief. She was to meet Aunty at their rendezvous. She would use her tailoring apprenticeship as the perfect alibi. The couple she lives with were out, but Gateman has instructions to monitor her movement. 

Aunty Mo and her husband (the couple) have been nothing short of good to her. They don’t treat her like a live-in maid. They have been particularly strict about her movement since she became pregnant. 

___________________________

Rita:

I went over to my neighbour’s to ask her to mind my shop while I ran some errands. I had to start off early to make it in time for the scheduled phone call. 

The rendezvous is a canteen some streets away from where the Dikes live. 

Peace was already seated at a corner when I arrived. Her slender frame in an oversized polo and denim trouser. I admit she looks beautiful even in the circumstances surrounding us. Yes, US.

I brought Peace, a 17-year-old girl, to live with the Dikes. I vouched for them to her parents.

I approached her, and we exchanged greetings. She looked apprehensive, but not as much as yesterday.

Yesterday was an ambush. It was necessary.

Since she began living with the Dikes, I call her twice every month to check up on her. I do the same for the two other teenagers I brought to town to live with families that will support their education.

Offor had always voiced his disapproval, though mildly, but I couldn’t bear to let these children waste in the village when there are people who are willing to train them in exchange for domestic help.

About a month ago, I felt disturbed about her. My instincts told me all was not well. I needed to see her, not just hear her over the phone. I felt moved to see her alone, not in the presence of the Dikes, so she could speak freely if she was being maltreated. When I reached out, she began to avoid our appointment and even stopped answering my calls. That was when I decided to visit her unannounced. 

I knew about her apprenticeship and what time she closed, so I came some minutes earlier. I didn’t approach the house; from what I knew, nobody was home except for the Gateman. Time was not a luxury for me; I needed information, and I needed it fast. So I went into a shop nearby and got talking with the shop owner. That was where I learned Peace was pregnant.

Oh my world! 😒

To be continued…

Read the second and third parts here:

Unspoken Burden: Connecting the Dots

Unspoken Burden: Of Trust and Betrayal