Rush Hour
Head bowed in deep thought, I counted my steps without registering the numbers as I walked down Marble Street, a block away from the bus station. The time was 5pm and I had been walking for nearly forty minutes.
I pried my eyes off my shoes in answer to the persistent buzzing in my ears from the hive of activity all around me. The press was majorly made up of people who had left their work places early to escape the usually insane rush hour. Pity too many of them had had the same ‘brilliant’ idea.
The uproarious honking from impatient drivers annoyed me terribly. My brows knitted in a frown. Drivers in this city are always in a hurry. An elderly beggar seated in a corner withdrew her outstretched hand just before I reached her. I could see the uncertainty in her wavering gaze.
Reaching into my pockets, I dropped some change in her bowl and sauntered off, nodding slightly in acknowledgement to her too loud ‘thank you’. I ambled along; returning to my thoughts, having decided the rush could go on without me.
An Inch Forward, Four Feet Backwards
About an hour ago, I had walked out of yet another company, disappointed, jobless and without a means of livelihood. It wasn’t that I wasn’t good enough. No, there were many like me; all victims of a failed society, suffering the weight of defeat and dying inch by inch.
We had graduated top of our classes, had the requisite skills but there just weren’t enough jobs for the ever increasing number of unemployed graduates. Some had grown weary of the white-collar merry-go-round and moved on to entrepreneurship.
For me, every road seemed blocked, like there were insurmountable obstacles in my path, placed there by invisible forces. Seemingly impenetrable and highly saturated market is a major challenge I face for the skills I could afford to learn.
They barely fetch me enough to feed myself, let alone my ill mother and two younger siblings. I was sick of it all; sick of the burden of responsibility heaped on my young shoulders by my recently deceased father.
Pitch-Darkness
In the past one year, I had come to understand ‘the pull of the pool’ I had been warned about. In this time, I had fought hard in resistance, each time I felt the pull into that deep dark hole as foretold.
A few times, I had acquiesced long enough to sit on the edge, tasting the imminent pitch-darkness with my feet, before consciously dragging myself off again, into dim light. My light had dimmed; the hope for a secure world and even now, I could feel depression closing in slowly on me again. The battle to keep afloat very difficult.
I massaged my stiff shoulders, my musing ended. A teeming crowd was struggling to enter a bus at the station now just a few feet away. As another empty bus pulled up, the crowd surged towards it in harmony, scampering for its limited spaces. I would soon join in this struggle. What was one more added to the truckload I already had?
Ada
I winced in pain when someone pulled my shoulder back forcibly.
“I have been calling you for ages, Nkasi. Have you grown deaf?” the intruder queried.
Ada. It had been years since I last saw her.
“Ada! Pardon me dear, I didn’t hear you call. It’s been so long. Good to see you. You look wonderful.” I answered.
The aura she radiated was in sharp contrast to mine. She looked deliriously happy, as though her delight could not only be attributed to running into me. She had had a different aura last I had seen her which had had close resemblance to my present one. Something had changed.
My unspoken question called my attention to her visible baby bump. Ada was heavily pregnant and literally glowing. Her beaming face told its own story; her coal black eyes lit up by her unfaltering smile. Of their own volition, my eyes strayed to her fingers and true to thought, a gorgeous ring sat on her fourth finger.
Ada was different; married, expecting and deliriously happy.
The Ada I used to know was single to stupor, somewhere between sad and disappointed, and seemingly hopeless.
Pressures
Ada is my cousin. Not a biological one but a cousin none-the-less. Where I come from, anyone becomes your cousin when you lack the appropriate word to qualify your relationship to them. So, I am not related to Ada by blood but via my dad’s cousin’s marriage to a man who is Ada’s uncle. Complicated, right?
Getting married became immensely important to Ada last we saw. Perhaps, it was because she was older than the rest of us by a few years or due to societal and familial pressures that expect a woman to be married before a certain age.
A part of me suspects she had begun exerting pressure on herself after a series of failed relationships.There had also been a failed engagement where her bride price was returned to the family by her proposed husband, thereby putting a stop to any marital relations. If you had an idea where I come from, you’d know that such a thing becomes a stigma to your reputation. To put it mildly, you are stained goods. This was Ada’s plight which had nearly driven her within an inch of her sanity.
Missing
I was delighted at the news that Ada was getting married traditionally, again. My exact thought then was, ‘thank God her man had finally shown up, despite the stigma’. Little did I know how complicated the relationship was.
Ada had only met the man she had promised to marry once. He was based outside the country and as she had told us, they had kicked off their relationship via the internet. It had remained thus, progressing to his asking her to marry him. Ada’s answer had been positive and as is customary, her family was informed.
When the time came for the two families to be introduced, her husband-to-be, Kenneth, was conspicuously absent, represented by a male kin. While uncommon, such isn’t unheard of at an introduction ceremony. Some families let it go especially if they have known the suitor who is absent for circumstances beyond his control, before the ceremony. Ada’s suitor could not make it but promised to be back in time for their traditional marriage.
Few days to the scheduled date, Kenneth informed his bride-to-be that he unfortunately could not make it to the traditional. He was to be represented by a family member again. It was at this point that everything went south. This time, no one bought the idea of having an absentia groom at his own traditional marriage.
Following the family’s decision, Ada’s actions portrayed her hurt and anger. She transferred the aggression to anyone she could; picking fights here and there, even struck her brother’s face once.
In the end, Ada had abandoned the rest of us in the village where we had gone to celebrate the festive season, returning to the city, alone. Needless to say, she wanted time away from everyone who had presumably cost her a chance at happiness. That was the last time I had seen Ada before today.
Marriage to the Dead
Months later, Ada's brother, Steve, had given me an abridged update on what had gone on after we had all returned to our respective lives at the end of the season.
In his own words; “Ada was lucky we refused carrying on with the marriage in Kenneth’s absence else, she would have wed a dead man”, he had said, shrugging his shoulders in incredulity before folding his long arms.
Understanding eluded me.
“What exactly do you mean by ‘wed a dead man’ Steve?” I enquired curiously.
“Kenneth had been dead for a long time, even before Ada supposedly met him online. That family had been playing a cat and mouse game with Ada. They planned to marry her for their dead son so she could birth children to continue their lineage. ” Steve supplied.
The truth had been discovered on a stroke of luck. This is not a resurrection or reincarnation story; Kenneth was and is dead, very dead.
It is a story about trickery and deception. A tale of how a family had connived to lure an unsuspecting woman into marriage with their dead son. They had found a total stranger who courted Ada from a safe distance, well enough for her to be convinced of his love for her and accept his proposal, even fight for their love as best as she could.
I was momentarily shocked by Steve’s revelation. Had the entire family not been against it, Ada would have found out how it feels to be literally married to the dead. Several questions had raced through my mind. How had Kenneth’s family hoped to bring their plans to fruition without discovery? How had they hoped to ensure that Ada would fall in line after the marriage and upon realization? Who would have sired the children Ada birthed in such wedlock?
My searches revealed Ada’s case was not the first of its kind. Such barbaric practice does exist. Ada was lucky to have escaped by the whiskers, but there are many who aren’t as lucky. While some are content to do so, others have resigned to their fate and few are challenging it. Truly barbaric, but it is what it is.
Rejuvenation
Ada’s hearty laughter snatched me from my wandering thoughts, bringing me back to the present. We were now at the bus station, a safe distance from those waiting for the next bus. Ada had always been a chatter-box, relieving me of having to say much in our almost one-sided conversation. Before we had to go our different ways, I had been well updated on what her life was like now.
Now, she was saying, “I’m so glad I ran into you Nkasi. It’s been like forever. We should catch up sometime soon.”
“Yeah, we should babe. I’ve really missed you too.” I replied giving her a brief hug.
“Here, take my card”, she said offering me the complimentary card she fished out from her bag. She went on, “I should get back to my husband. I’ve kept him waiting, coming after you like that and having to follow you down a few blocks before I got your attention.”
“Oh dear, I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry about that. Everyone is just so loud in this city, you can barely hear yourself think, much less hear someone calling out to you...”
Ada cut in, “I totally understand. Just don’t forget to give me a call okay? I left my phone in the car in my hurry else I would have taken your digits too, just to be certain.”
It was my turn to laugh heartily.
“Trust me; you can be certain I’ll give you a call. In fact, I’ll buzz your right now.” I finished as I input her digits into my mobile phone.
I declined the ride she offered courteously. We both knew it would be a great inconvenience to them since I was not going their way. Traffic at this time is always crazy, it would be hours before we each got to our respective homes.
“It’s alright then. Have a good evening and be safe, okay?” Ada instructed, making for a hug.
“Sure, I will. Give my regards to your husband and take good care of you.” I answered going into her embrace.
Running into Ada had lifted my spirits, like a ray of sunshine dispersing darkness. The delicious turn her life had taken reignited my hope for better days ahead, perhaps not tomorrow but sometime in the future. As different as our stories were, I had found a glimpse of hope in her happy ending.
A bus pulled up as soon as Ada left. Reenergized, I joined the struggle clutching my bag tight. Before long, I was in the bus headed home. Staring out the window at those who would have to take the next bus, I smiled to myself in victory.
This is life. We can’t all get on at the same time. Some would go before others into different phases, even achieve unimaginable feats, but more buses would pull up to convey others to their destinations too. You just have to join the hustle and not quit.
THE END
Images were obtained from pixabay
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