In The Land of Milk, Honey and Harry
Silence. it's the voice of many souls at rest.
In reflection. In transit.
Work.
Bacon and cheese.
Nourishment to the body.
I linger and watch the many faces.
Tired bones but living souls
The wages of hard work is the American dollars,
the pound sterling and Euro compete
But none conquers
I am tired. Bone tired.
But the Children must feed
Work.
Cassava and Casserole.
Nourishment to the body
In the Land of Milk, Honey, and harry.
I am tired. Bone tired.
Sleep. oh! Sweet rest.
Everywhere is a sea of snow.
In this land of milk, honey, and harry
It is the dawn of another day. Outside the sun peeks out shyly like a young maiden peeps at her groom from behind a veil in an arranged marriage.
The usually golden orb is hesitant to begin another arduous day.
There is fog. It leaves mist and moisture on the red dust-covered withering grass. The leaves of the trees are kissed too. it is a Harmattan morning in my village.
In the distance, a cock crows impatient to start the day.
The loud cheerful chirping of an early bird can be heard.
I know I ought to stir and rise too, but I huddle farther into my blanket and keep my eyes closed. Hoping it would lure me back to sleep, to my dreams, to my alternate world. Because I see her in my dreams.
My happiest times are in my sleep. In my dreams and these days, the dreams sometimes make an unannounced appearance during the day. When the sun is standing stark naked. Baring all. Inviting everyone into its sunny secrets. Her heat baked the skin and caused my thighs to perspire. it is sometimes more than perspiration, it is profuse sweating, so I clamp them together, lest drops of salty sweat trickle down my legs for curious eyes to see.
I saw Anyanwu peering curiously at me the other day as I washed the cassava slices, a lurking leer in his eyes. Then I remembered to keep my knees together. My grandmother's voice in my head "Sit like a woman" I forced my thighs to kiss themselves, licking the salty sweat off each other.
Dibugwu says it's because am fat, I sweat more because of the fat. She says I must lose some weight and be more like my cousin Isioma. I would be more attractive and many suitors will line like ants on a hill to ask for my hand in marriage. I would find a good husband. A rich man.
Nnenne, my grandmother says it is good for a woman to be fat. with broad hips, I would be able to bear many children. And everyone would know, that I am well taken care of by my rich husband. All the thoughts go into grooming me for marriage, yet am still twelve. I am just a child.
Nne Nduka. Nduka's mother has twelve children and she is the toast of the village, last year, Her family celebrated her ewu ukwu ceremony. A goat was slaughtered in sacrifice to celebrate her fertility.
Nnenne is full of wisdom she says many wise things, like the time she told Dibugwu not to marry that man, Augustine from Umuegbe village, although he was tall and handsome and drove a Mercedes-Benz C300 with air-conditioning and dark tinted windows. She said he had shifty eyes and could not be trusted, I had not quite understood what she meant but a week later, we heard Augustine had been arrested at the airport in Lagos. Several kilos of cocaine were found in his possession.
I smacked my lips and licked them, they tasted awful, and my morning breath stank. It is also a fact. I must listen to Dibugwu this time, not Nnenne. if I lose weight and look like Isioma, am sure I will attract better-looking men than Anyanwu with his yellowing broken front teeth, and squinted eyes, that always seemed to be looking elsewhere when he was looking at you. The villagers call him half-past 4 eyes.
Nnenne says being fat runs in our family. She says my mother is fat and beautiful. And Nnenne is really fat too, her buttocks always spilled out of the chair no matter what type she was sitting. On the green plastic chair or the short wooden kitchen stool, even in the love seat, her buttocks take legal residence.
I have overheard Anyanwu and his friends refer to her as Ukwu signboard, they tease that, her buttocks were as large as a billboard. I was hurt when I heard them because Nnenne was always kind to Anyanwu and his friends. She often gave them a home-cooked meal when they were around the compound. They were Beke's friends. Beke is renting a room in Nnenne's house. And works at the bakery in the village.
I close my eyes tight, hoping she will appear again, holding my hands, putting plaits in my hair, hugging me, and dressing me in all the pretty dresses, she often sends, whenever someone was coming from America. Then I heard Nnenne's loud voice calling my name.
The dream was over, time to start the day, another arduous day of unfulfilled dreams.
I stretched out my hands towards the ceiling and yawned, making a mental note to always brush my teeth at night.
Nnenne does not like me using the toothpaste at night, she says it was a waste because it would not last us for as long. But my mommy sends so many of that minty Colgate toothpaste from America. Nnenne makes me use the chewing stick if I must clean my teeth before bed. I hate the chewing stick. I hated the taste in my mouth and that I had to chew it for so long to clean my teeth like I wanted. And it did not leave a fresh minty breath. But Nnenne insists it is also medicinal and was not only cleaning my teeth but my body as well.
Sometimes I wish I lived in the city with my cousin Isioma and her sisters and not in the village with my old grandmother, who was partially blind and sometimes erratic.
Yet I have no choice, my mother has been in America for 10 years and keeps promising she will send for me.
I scrambled out of bed and ran to the living room to do Nnenne's bidding.
"Good morning Nnenne"
"Ibolachi?- Did you sleep well? she asked with a scowl on her face, which has become a permanent feature, on her aging, once beautiful face. I guess she must be at least 60 years, but I am not sure, Nnenne does not celebrate her birthdays, she says she does not remember when she was born. She has no birth certificate. But she remembers her mother, saying it was the day the darkness fell in the skies at noon. My geography books referred to it, as an eclipse of the sun that happened in 1947.
The scowl gets deeper and uglier with each passing year that my mother does not come home to visit.
'Eyo! Nne' I answered trying to make my voice cheerful. She was sitting on the loveseat, and on a wooden coffee table are three small bottles. They contain her eye medications. My Nnenne has an eye disease and the doctor says, if she does not use the eye drops, she would go blind. She has Glaucoma and has lost most of the vision in the right eye. She barely sees it when her left eye is closed.
That is Nnenne's worst nightmare, she says she would rather die than not be able to see her daughter with her own eyes when she finally returns from America.
The wait.
It is endless.
It slowly eats away at our hearts
The quest for bread and butter.
To feed the children.
to share the love around to poor relatives
Expectant of the magic wand that is the American dollars
The Pound Sterling and Euro compete.
But none conquers
I am tired. Bone tired.
Garri and Guacamole
Nourishment to the body.
Everywhere is a sea of snow
In this land of Milk, Honey, and Harry.
Did I tell you my name? before I forget, my name is Adanma.
Nnenne my grandmother says my father died when I was born.
There are no pictures of him. And I have no idea what he looks like.
There is shrouded secrecy on who he is, but I no longer care.
My mother. The source of my dreams is a registered nurse, an RN, who lives in America.
She went in search of the golden fleece
It's been ten years and I wait for her to return. I wait endlessly for her, to take me to America.
I will turn 13 next month. And I wait.
I kneel beside the wooden coffee table and gently remove each bottle from its paper box like it was an egg. These medications cost so much, Nnenne groans each time she has to send Beke to the Pharmacy in town to buy a new bottle.
And she needs a new bottle every month. I read the label, and I memorized the dosage and the names. But the doctor says to read the label three times. The one with a yellow cap is Timolol, In this one, I place a drop in each of Nnenne's eyes in the morning and at night.
The second one has a purple cap, Alphagan. I place one drop three times a day. The third bottle has a green cap. I read the label, it is Travatan, the one that is used only at night. I gently push it to the side.
"I guchala? Have you finished reading? Nnenne asked impatiently. I nodded and rise to my feet gently pulling her lower lid down and put in the drops. Then I remembered, I forgot to wash my hands. I waited for the hurtful words and questions from Nnenne. No sound, her eyes are closed and she looks so peaceful. I gather the eye drops to return them to her bedroom.
As I turned to leave the room. The question came.
" Isakwala aka gi? Did you wash your hands? I turned swiftly and became apologetic, mumbling over my words, like the time she caught me taking a piece of fish from the pot without her permission.
"Echefurum, I forgot" I apologized.
She sucked her teeth making a loud irritating sound. Then all hell broke loose. As She launched into a conspiracy theory of how I wanted her to go blind. How I did not want her to see her daughter with her eyes when she returned from America.
I ran out of the room, warm tears streaming down my cheeks. Nnenne was not always this way. But as the years went by and my mother did not return from America, she had become bitter and disillusioned. Sometimes almost certain, she would never see her again. But I was optimistic my mother would return and take me away with her.
Ekeoma worked the night shift yesterday, she would do it again tomorrow. She pulled double shifts last week. she was desperately saving to bring her daughter and her mother to America. Besides, working long hours meant she did not have to see him often.
They were constantly fighting, about money. accusations and counter-accusations of infidelity. They fought about everything. In the end, it was all about money, who was bringing in more, and who was spending more.
She had come to America on a visitor's visa. When it expired, she was required to go back to her country. But she did not want to return home. At least not without the certainty of permanent residency. Who left the land of milk and honey empty-handed? With nothing to show for the sojourn. As a nurse, she could easily get a work visa and could fast-track becoming a legal resident if she married an American.
That was when a colleague introduced her to Olisa. And he promised to help. She was not in love with him and had initially balked at his suggestion of a fake marriage to get the Green card.
But he assured her everybody was doing it and all they needed to do was pretend.
Olisa was a foreign-born American. He had arrived in Baltimore, Maryland after secondary school, at the invitation of his older brother. Did senior year at Spring-brook high School and was accepted into the University of Maryland. Now he was building a career in engineering.
In reflection. In transit.
Work.
Bacon and cheese.
Nourishment to the body.
I linger and watch the many faces.
Tired bones but living souls
The wages of hard work is the American dollars,
the pound sterling and Euro compete
But none conquers
I am tired. Bone tired.
But the Children must feed
Work.
Cassava and Casserole.
Nourishment to the body
In the Land of Milk, Honey, and harry.
I am tired. Bone tired.
Sleep. oh! Sweet rest.
Everywhere is a sea of snow.
In this land of milk, honey, and harry
It is the dawn of another day. Outside the sun peeks out shyly like a young maiden peeps at her groom from behind a veil in an arranged marriage.
The usually golden orb is hesitant to begin another arduous day.
There is fog. It leaves mist and moisture on the red dust-covered withering grass. The leaves of the trees are kissed too. it is a Harmattan morning in my village.
In the distance, a cock crows impatient to start the day.
The loud cheerful chirping of an early bird can be heard.
I know I ought to stir and rise too, but I huddle farther into my blanket and keep my eyes closed. Hoping it would lure me back to sleep, to my dreams, to my alternate world. Because I see her in my dreams.
My happiest times are in my sleep. In my dreams and these days, the dreams sometimes make an unannounced appearance during the day. When the sun is standing stark naked. Baring all. Inviting everyone into its sunny secrets. Her heat baked the skin and caused my thighs to perspire. it is sometimes more than perspiration, it is profuse sweating, so I clamp them together, lest drops of salty sweat trickle down my legs for curious eyes to see.
I saw Anyanwu peering curiously at me the other day as I washed the cassava slices, a lurking leer in his eyes. Then I remembered to keep my knees together. My grandmother's voice in my head "Sit like a woman" I forced my thighs to kiss themselves, licking the salty sweat off each other.
Dibugwu says it's because am fat, I sweat more because of the fat. She says I must lose some weight and be more like my cousin Isioma. I would be more attractive and many suitors will line like ants on a hill to ask for my hand in marriage. I would find a good husband. A rich man.
Nnenne, my grandmother says it is good for a woman to be fat. with broad hips, I would be able to bear many children. And everyone would know, that I am well taken care of by my rich husband. All the thoughts go into grooming me for marriage, yet am still twelve. I am just a child.
Nne Nduka. Nduka's mother has twelve children and she is the toast of the village, last year, Her family celebrated her ewu ukwu ceremony. A goat was slaughtered in sacrifice to celebrate her fertility.
Nnenne is full of wisdom she says many wise things, like the time she told Dibugwu not to marry that man, Augustine from Umuegbe village, although he was tall and handsome and drove a Mercedes-Benz C300 with air-conditioning and dark tinted windows. She said he had shifty eyes and could not be trusted, I had not quite understood what she meant but a week later, we heard Augustine had been arrested at the airport in Lagos. Several kilos of cocaine were found in his possession.
I smacked my lips and licked them, they tasted awful, and my morning breath stank. It is also a fact. I must listen to Dibugwu this time, not Nnenne. if I lose weight and look like Isioma, am sure I will attract better-looking men than Anyanwu with his yellowing broken front teeth, and squinted eyes, that always seemed to be looking elsewhere when he was looking at you. The villagers call him half-past 4 eyes.
Nnenne says being fat runs in our family. She says my mother is fat and beautiful. And Nnenne is really fat too, her buttocks always spilled out of the chair no matter what type she was sitting. On the green plastic chair or the short wooden kitchen stool, even in the love seat, her buttocks take legal residence.
I have overheard Anyanwu and his friends refer to her as Ukwu signboard, they tease that, her buttocks were as large as a billboard. I was hurt when I heard them because Nnenne was always kind to Anyanwu and his friends. She often gave them a home-cooked meal when they were around the compound. They were Beke's friends. Beke is renting a room in Nnenne's house. And works at the bakery in the village.
I close my eyes tight, hoping she will appear again, holding my hands, putting plaits in my hair, hugging me, and dressing me in all the pretty dresses, she often sends, whenever someone was coming from America. Then I heard Nnenne's loud voice calling my name.
The dream was over, time to start the day, another arduous day of unfulfilled dreams.
I stretched out my hands towards the ceiling and yawned, making a mental note to always brush my teeth at night.
Nnenne does not like me using the toothpaste at night, she says it was a waste because it would not last us for as long. But my mommy sends so many of that minty Colgate toothpaste from America. Nnenne makes me use the chewing stick if I must clean my teeth before bed. I hate the chewing stick. I hated the taste in my mouth and that I had to chew it for so long to clean my teeth like I wanted. And it did not leave a fresh minty breath. But Nnenne insists it is also medicinal and was not only cleaning my teeth but my body as well.
Sometimes I wish I lived in the city with my cousin Isioma and her sisters and not in the village with my old grandmother, who was partially blind and sometimes erratic.
Yet I have no choice, my mother has been in America for 10 years and keeps promising she will send for me.
I scrambled out of bed and ran to the living room to do Nnenne's bidding.
"Good morning Nnenne"
"Ibolachi?- Did you sleep well? she asked with a scowl on her face, which has become a permanent feature, on her aging, once beautiful face. I guess she must be at least 60 years, but I am not sure, Nnenne does not celebrate her birthdays, she says she does not remember when she was born. She has no birth certificate. But she remembers her mother, saying it was the day the darkness fell in the skies at noon. My geography books referred to it, as an eclipse of the sun that happened in 1947.
The scowl gets deeper and uglier with each passing year that my mother does not come home to visit.
'Eyo! Nne' I answered trying to make my voice cheerful. She was sitting on the loveseat, and on a wooden coffee table are three small bottles. They contain her eye medications. My Nnenne has an eye disease and the doctor says, if she does not use the eye drops, she would go blind. She has Glaucoma and has lost most of the vision in the right eye. She barely sees it when her left eye is closed.
That is Nnenne's worst nightmare, she says she would rather die than not be able to see her daughter with her own eyes when she finally returns from America.
The wait.
It is endless.
It slowly eats away at our hearts
The quest for bread and butter.
To feed the children.
to share the love around to poor relatives
Expectant of the magic wand that is the American dollars
The Pound Sterling and Euro compete.
But none conquers
I am tired. Bone tired.
Garri and Guacamole
Nourishment to the body.
Everywhere is a sea of snow
In this land of Milk, Honey, and Harry.
Did I tell you my name? before I forget, my name is Adanma.
Nnenne my grandmother says my father died when I was born.
There are no pictures of him. And I have no idea what he looks like.
There is shrouded secrecy on who he is, but I no longer care.
My mother. The source of my dreams is a registered nurse, an RN, who lives in America.
She went in search of the golden fleece
It's been ten years and I wait for her to return. I wait endlessly for her, to take me to America.
I will turn 13 next month. And I wait.
I kneel beside the wooden coffee table and gently remove each bottle from its paper box like it was an egg. These medications cost so much, Nnenne groans each time she has to send Beke to the Pharmacy in town to buy a new bottle.
And she needs a new bottle every month. I read the label, and I memorized the dosage and the names. But the doctor says to read the label three times. The one with a yellow cap is Timolol, In this one, I place a drop in each of Nnenne's eyes in the morning and at night.
The second one has a purple cap, Alphagan. I place one drop three times a day. The third bottle has a green cap. I read the label, it is Travatan, the one that is used only at night. I gently push it to the side.
"I guchala? Have you finished reading? Nnenne asked impatiently. I nodded and rise to my feet gently pulling her lower lid down and put in the drops. Then I remembered, I forgot to wash my hands. I waited for the hurtful words and questions from Nnenne. No sound, her eyes are closed and she looks so peaceful. I gather the eye drops to return them to her bedroom.
As I turned to leave the room. The question came.
" Isakwala aka gi? Did you wash your hands? I turned swiftly and became apologetic, mumbling over my words, like the time she caught me taking a piece of fish from the pot without her permission.
"Echefurum, I forgot" I apologized.
She sucked her teeth making a loud irritating sound. Then all hell broke loose. As She launched into a conspiracy theory of how I wanted her to go blind. How I did not want her to see her daughter with her eyes when she returned from America.
I ran out of the room, warm tears streaming down my cheeks. Nnenne was not always this way. But as the years went by and my mother did not return from America, she had become bitter and disillusioned. Sometimes almost certain, she would never see her again. But I was optimistic my mother would return and take me away with her.
Ekeoma worked the night shift yesterday, she would do it again tomorrow. She pulled double shifts last week. she was desperately saving to bring her daughter and her mother to America. Besides, working long hours meant she did not have to see him often.
They were constantly fighting, about money. accusations and counter-accusations of infidelity. They fought about everything. In the end, it was all about money, who was bringing in more, and who was spending more.
She had come to America on a visitor's visa. When it expired, she was required to go back to her country. But she did not want to return home. At least not without the certainty of permanent residency. Who left the land of milk and honey empty-handed? With nothing to show for the sojourn. As a nurse, she could easily get a work visa and could fast-track becoming a legal resident if she married an American.
That was when a colleague introduced her to Olisa. And he promised to help. She was not in love with him and had initially balked at his suggestion of a fake marriage to get the Green card.
But he assured her everybody was doing it and all they needed to do was pretend.
Olisa was a foreign-born American. He had arrived in Baltimore, Maryland after secondary school, at the invitation of his older brother. Did senior year at Spring-brook high School and was accepted into the University of Maryland. Now he was building a career in engineering.
They were only supposed to be married on paper but one thing led to another and he convinced her to move into his house. And before she knew it, she was pregnant. He wanted them to go home and do the traditional marriage rites. But she hesitated. She was no longer certain. She was not sure when it started, it was never physical. It was verbal. The abuse. He would curse her and her unborn child at the least excuse.
The handwriting was clearly on the wall. She had made the biggest mistake of her life. She kept praying the years would go faster so she could get her green card and divorce him.
The handwriting was clearly on the wall. She had made the biggest mistake of her life. She kept praying the years would go faster so she could get her green card and divorce him.
They had a prenup before the fake marriage which became a real marriage, which became her worst nightmare.
But she had also not been entirely honest with Olisa, never mentioning she had a child back home or who the father was. When Olisa found out, he was livid. But then their marriage was never supposed to be real.
Then Olisa lost his job and became bitter with the world and her success. He said she brought him bad luck. He started drinking heavily. The more he drank the more abusive he became. She wanted to leave so badly. But the Green card. Her ticket to becoming an American kept her from leaving the relationship. So she lingered, Waited patiently. She had a few more months and it would over. A few more months and she can draw a new blueprint on the course her life would take. Finally, visit her home and see her aged mother and daughter.
But she did not know what Olisa was planning. He had never been physically abusive.
She was tired. Bone tired.
When she came home, there was no sign of Olisa. He had taken their son Eloka to school. Or had gone someplace to drink. That was all he did these days, and frankly, she did not care.
She had a quick bite and crawled into bed. And drifted to sleep
The wait was over.
Ekeoma was home again
Home to where you can see the stars in the clear sky at night
And the roads are covered in red dust
Home to where you can see the stars in the clear sky at night
And the roads are covered in red dust
Her mother looked tired, and sad, but still fat
She ran into her arms and gave her a bear hug.
Adanma hugged her so tight that and would not let go.
Her little girl was only two when she sojourned
to the Land of Milk, Honey, and Harry.
to the Land of Milk, Honey, and Harry.
Then she felt the shaking. It rudely roused her from her dreams
She opened her eyes and stared into Olisa's dark brooding face
A fit of smoldering anger glazed his eyes. A smug, leer.
He reeked of alcohol, he had been drinking.
Then she felt the cold steel brush her arm. A gun.
A cold chill slithered down her spine
She did not know Olisa possessed one.
A cold chill slithered down her spine
She did not know Olisa possessed one.
All sleep cleared from her eyes.
"Oly" she cooed "Ogini? what is it?
He raised the gun and pointed it at her face
"Shut up! Ashawo! prostitute! Slut! It is going to end today" he sneered
"Whatever it is, let us talk" she pleaded. But she knew it was too late, there was no reason in his gaze. His eyes looked glassy. He was high on something.
They had become two strangers that shared a house. They stopped sharing a bed over a year ago.
But this was supposed to be a fake marriage. She never thought he was in love with her. He had never expressed love. It had been a marriage of convenience from the start.
But for him now, it was all about his male pride, his ego. But Olisa would not be stupid. If he killed her, he would lose everything he had worked for in this land of milk and harry.
He moved the gun closer. And time stood still. She opened her mouth to plead, to scream but he shoved the gun into it.
"Oya! ashawo shout now, thunder fire you" He taunted and cussed
Her eyes pleaded with him, begging.
Her life flashed before her. Adanma, her little girl, had waited 10 years to see her again. Her son was at school. Both will be without a mother. She was so afraid, to breathe, fearing any sudden movement will push him to pull the trigger.
She closed her eyes and said her prayers. if only she had another chance at life, she would do so many things differently. She resigned herself to her fate. Imagine how her mother will receive the news. it will send her mother to an early grave.
Silence. It's the voice of many souls at rest. In reflection. In transit.
Olisa pulled the trigger and fired a single bullet. And Ekeoma died a thousand deaths.
But fate had played a cruel joke. It was blank.
He burst into laughter, laughing hysterically like a madman. Staggered into the den and poured himself a neat whisky. Then waited.
The wages of hard work are the American dollars.
The pound sterling and Euro compete
But none can conquer
in this land of milk, honey, and harry
The pound sterling and Euro compete
But none can conquer
in this land of milk, honey, and harry
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