The Agony of a Young Widow

This afternoon, I was eating in the dining room when I noticed my elder sister, Nneka, sitting in the sitting room. We call her Auntie Nneka at home, even though she's my sister. Her husband was buried three days ago. The accident happened three weeks ago. After that, there were calls, visits to the hospital, burial preparations and people who kept coming to mourn with us. The house was hardly ever quiet. There was always someone at the gate, someone in the sitting room or someone asking what needed to be done. Her husband's sisters stayed with us through the burial and for a few days afterwards. They helped Mama with the visitors and made sure there was food for everyone. But they had left, and most of the other visitors had returned to their homes. For the first time in weeks, the house was quiet. I had passed through the sitting room twice since coming downstairs. Both times, Auntie Nneka was in the same place, looking at her husband's picture on the shelf. She had hardly said a word all afternoon. Before the accident, she was hardly ever still. She was always moving around the house, talking to someone or looking for something to do. Sometimes, she and Mama would sit together for hours, talking about everything and nothing. Their laughter could be heard from one end of the house to the other. Now, even when Mama tried to get her to talk, she gave short answers and returned to whatever she was looking at. I continued eating, but my eyes kept going back to her. A glass of water sat beside her, untouched. Mama had brought her food earlier, but it was still on the table. I wondered when she had last eaten properly. On the shelf, Uncle's picture stood among a few other family photographs. He was smiling, with Auntie Nneka beside him and one hand resting on her shoulder. Looking at them reminded me of how he used to treat her. He wasn't a rich man, but he took care of his wife. If he bought something for himself, he remembered her. If he made plans, he included her. Sometimes, he would come home with something for her and pretend it was nothing special. I used to watch them and wonder how I would find a man who cared for me that way. I wanted a husband like Uncle. He also liked to advise me about my future, especially whenever he heard me talking about school. One afternoon, he had asked me what I planned to do after graduation. “Chiamaka, you better know what you want to do in school. Don't just go there and come back. You need to have something you can call your own. You can be going to school and running a business. Money is good when a woman has it. It gives her confidence.” I laughed at the way he spoke, as if everything in life had to involve business. “Uncle, must everything be business?” “Yes, o. When you finish school, you will understand.” He laughed too, and I left him to his advice. He was always saying things like that. Sometimes, I thought he worried too much about my future. But he practised what he preached. He was the one who helped Mama start her business at Agbara market. He got her a shop because he thought she was getting too old for the stress of waking up early and travelling from Agbara to catch the bus to Iyanaba market. Mama had been happy about it. Uncle didn't just tell people what they should do. When he could help, he did. I carried my plate to the kitchen and washed it. When I returned to the sitting room, Auntie Nneka was still looking at the photographs. “Aunty, have you eaten?” I asked. She turned towards me. “Yes, my dear.” “What about the food Mama brought for you?” “I'll eat later.” I glanced at the plate on the table. “Okay, Aunty.” I went to sit beside her. I wanted to ask how she was coping, but the question sounded useless in my head. What answer could she possibly give me? For a while, we sat quietly. Then I nodded towards the picture on the shelf. “You people really enjoyed yourselves. See how you were both smiling at the camera.” She smiled. “He didn't even want to take pictures. I had to beg him.” “Really?” “Yes, o. He said I wouldn't allow him to rest. See him now. He was even enjoying the pictures and teaching me how to pose.” I laughed a little. I remembered that day. When they came home, Auntie Nneka told me how many pictures Uncle had taken, but he kept denying it. We teased him about it for weeks. “He liked that picture, though,” she added. “He told me I always make our pictures beautiful.” She kept looking at it for a moment before turning to me. “Chiamaka, your uncle said we would travel this December.” I waited. “He wants to take me somewhere I have never been before. He said I have stayed in Lagos too long.” She gave a small laugh. “He didn't tell me where we were going. He only said I should start thinking about the clothes I wanted to buy and the other things we needed.” I looked down at my hands. “When he comes, I'll remind him about the money he promised me. I won't let him forget.” She was smiling as she spoke. I looked at her, unsure of what to say. The man she was talking about had been buried three days ago, yet she spoke as though he had only stepped out and would soon walk through the door. “I'm thinking of buying something simple,” she continued. “Your uncle doesn't like it when I spend too much money on clothes. He always tells me to eat well. That's why I look this fresh. Ask him when he comes back.” “Anything you wear will look good on you, Aunty,” I said. She nodded. “That's what he always says too.” She picked up her phone and checked the time. “It's getting late. Your uncle said he wouldn't stay long today.” I turned to look at her. “He went out this morning. I hope he remembers to buy what I asked him to buy. That man can forget things when he's busy.” She shook her head, smiling to herself. “Chiamaka, if he comes back without it, remind me to ask him about it.” “Okay, Aunty.” She put down her phone and glanced towards the door. “Let me rest small before he comes. If he meets me sleeping, he will start disturbing me.” She adjusted her wrapper, leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes. I sat beside her, thinking about the trip they had planned. Just a few weeks ago, December had been something for them to look forward to. They had been talking about where they would go and the clothes she would buy. Uncle had wanted to surprise her, so he hadn't told her where they were going. Now, December was still coming, and Auntie Nneka was still making plans for it. After a while, she opened her eyes and looked towards the door. “Chiamaka, what time is it?” I checked my phone and told her. “He should be back soon,” she said, settling back into the couch. “I hope he didn't forget what I asked him to buy.” I looked at her, but she had already closed her eyes again. I wanted to tell her that he wasn't coming home. That there was no trip to prepare for and no money to collect. But I remembered the way she had smiled when she talked about him, and I couldn't bring myself to say it. So I sat there beside her, listening to the sounds coming from outside, while my sister waited for a man we had buried three days ago.

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