As promised the tale of the village girl continues...
“Riddle me this, what do you think is going to happen to you?” Hope asked after what seemed like an eternity in her elegant car. The sparse afternoon clouds were gathering quickly and began to shroud the light of the sun. The once-blue skies were slowly turning grey, like a calm sea transforming into raging waters. The scent of an incoming storm, a harsh earthy smell, entered the car and warned its passengers of the changing weather.
“Collins, roll up the window. I don’t want my leather chairs ruined. So Adana tell me, what happens next?”
Adana continued her prolonged silence. She had forgotten all her words. She had never been away from Asemota and it seemed as though she had left her voice in the village. Adana felt alone, lonelier than when her mother died after she was inflicted by a curse placed no doubt by her father’s family. Her mother, Amala, had been caught with a lover following Adana’s birth. Her father left the young woman and his child, to whom he denied paternity, and sent them away from his home. He was never the same. After finding his third wife in the arms of yet another man and sending both her and her bastard child packing, he never had the heart to remarry – convinced that his inability to satisfy a woman would drive all future brides away. He remained wifeless and childless. He died shortly after, some say of a broken heart, and the Okoro name died with him. His mother could never forgive Amala for her hand in her son’s death. She consulted the village dibia, the witch doctor, and asked for his most potent fetish to end Amala’s life. She continued this practice for ten years until she finally died from her harboured hate. Exactly a week after her death Amala died from a mysterious fever, the dibia later revealed that Adana’s grandmother had sacrificed her life to end Amala’s.
Adana had to grow up independent from a very young age and belonged entirely to the village. She had neither father nor mother and Asemota became her guardian. She knew of comforting people who could ease her of her lonely silence but now she was far from the familiarity of the village’s warmth.
Adana was about to open her mouth when she felt a swift hot slap hit her face. Sharp waves of pain rippled through her right cheek. A heavy downpour cascaded on the land at that moment. The sky fell and became welded with the ground, as if joined by thick sheets of water. It was an angry storm which washed everything with it. Its sheets beat the roof of the car and swallowed the fragile silence which previously engulfed its inhabitants.
“Adana or whatever they call you. The next time I speak to you and you don’t reply is the day that I will break your nose. Once you are under my roof, you are to reply to my ever word. This nonsense that you masquerade as manners must stop here.” She paused to collect her thoughts. “How dare you! Do you know how many girls would kill to be in your place?”
She waited for the words to enter Adana. Hope looked at the girl hissing and then sunk deep into her the seat of her car.
“When I talk I expect an answer. Is that understood?”
“Yes ma.” Adana sobbed as she held back tears. She answered even before Hope finished, in order to drive away Hope’s hard hand from her face.
“First of all, this is what is going to happen. I will train you to become just like me. No woman has ever left that god-forsaken village and amounted to anything other than selling fried yams and akara at the Festac Market. I have risen from poverty to become the most respected woman in Lagos with nothing but my strong spirit. Can you repeat what I said?” She turned her head to face Adana. Her wig looked even faker with the menacing look on her face. The blonde hair perched on her head barely concealed tufts of black poking out. Adana shied away from her eyes to escape Hope’s icy glance.
“Nothing but strong spirit Ma,” Adana said with a defeated tone.
“Good. Now we are talking. But before we continue, I am not your Ma, I am Auntie Hope,” a small smiled spread across her face with the mention of her name. “I am looking at you and you don’t have character talk less about spirit. Do you know what builds character?”
“No Auntie Hope.” Cold fear replaced the pain in Adana’s eyes as she looked out the window
at the endless rain.
“Hard work. When we get to Lagos I will show you hard work. You can’t get to where I am without hard work. You don’t have any character. None at all. What does your name even mean?”
“Adana means Father’s daughter, Auntie,” the girl mumbled forcing herself to speak.
“Father’s Daughter!” Auntie Hope laughed. “Fada ko, Fada ni. Do you even know who your father is, you love child? Your supposed father left you at birth. Father’s Daughter! That is why you have nothing, no spirit at all. It all starts at home. Your mother was a wild animal; she slept with anything that brought her food. That’s where it starts. I can already see it in you,” Hope spat her voice laden with jealousy. “You think I didn’t see you walking like a cheap prostitute in that village square. Don’t worry. I will beat that stupid attitude right out of you,” Hope continued as her fat hand delivered another blow to Adana’s face. Tears rolled down Adana’s eyes, not from the sting of the blow but from the snarl of Hope’s words.
“But, first things first Father’s Daughter. That name is a lie and so is your life. Before we can clean up your mess your name must go. Look at me, my name was Nneka; her mother is prominent, RUBBISH! Where is this prominent mother now? I changed that rubbish to Hope. And look at who I am now, I am hope for your people." She paused to admire her own wisdom. "Eh-hehn. I know what I will call you. Grace. Maybe this would teach you to carry yourself you stupid ashawo! I will remove your useless mother from you,” Hope exclaimed in between intermittent claps of thunder. The storm continued and seemed to follow them all the way to Lagos.
Naked
