CHAPTER 35
Fact: Child marriage was made illegal in 2003 by the Nigerian government. Yet an estimated 17% of girls in the country, particularly in the northern region of Nigeria, are married before the age of 15.
After that night, I am not sleeping very well.
Sometimes, I will sit on the bed, holding Rebecca’s waist beads, as I am reading Mama’s Bible, or learning English with the book Ms. Tia give me. Other times, I will keep my eyes on the ceiling lightbulb, trying to be listening over the generator humming outside, checking it sure that Big Daddy is staying in his house. But it seem like Big Daddy is behaving hisself. He didn’t come back to find me yesternight, or the one before that, but I know he is thinking of how he will come back when Kofi is not there. Before then, I must think of what I can be doing to be keep him afar from me. After much thinking with no solutions, I make the decisions to tell Ms. Tia about it.
This evening, as we are sitting behind the kitchen, me on the short wooden chair and she standing in front of blackboard (Ms. Tia buyed a blackboard and bring it home yesterday. It is square, the size of the tee-vee in our parlor in Ikati), she set it on top the tall kitchen stool and is writing on it with pink color chalk.
“Big Daddy come to me three nights back,” I say as she is wiping the blackboard with a cloth. “He enter into my room.”
She turn around, wipe her hand on a tissue in her back pocket. “What happened? Why did he come to your room?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I know it was not to greet me good night. He was finding something, and I am fearing it is a bad something.”
“Did he say anything to you?” she ask, look over her shoulder. “Is he home?”
“He have go out,” I say. “He is not coming back till very late.”
“He has gone out,” she say. “What did he say to you?”
“He was talking nonsense,” I say. “But I was fearing that he wants to rough me.”
She look up, like the words I am speaking is appearing in the air, shake her head. “‘Rough’? Like you mean, touch you inappropriately? In a wrong way?”
“Yes,” I say, make my voice whisper. “Kofi come in and stop the man.” I feel a quick colding as I am thinking it. “I am afraid, Ms. Tia, and that is why I want to leave this place. To enter the school.”
“Listen, Adunni,” she say, take two steps close, bend herself so that she is sitting on her feets and looking me eyeball to eyeball. “You must be very careful. Does your room have a lock?”
I shake my head no. “It don’t have a lock.”
“It doesn’t have a lock,” she say, smiling because of how I twist my eye. “It is confusing, I know. We’ll get there. Your madam is back in two days, right?”
“On Saturday,” I say. “Tomorrow after tomorrow.”
“The day after tomorrow,” she say.
“We won’t be able to see each other that often anymore,” she say, with a voice that seem full with sadness. “Florence won’t approve.”
“No,” I say, feeling sad too.
“Unless we can think of something that’d get her to let us hang out together.”
“Like what?”
“If I can find a way to maybe . . . I don’t know . . . tell her something, a reason why we need to see each other? I could maybe get Ken to speak to her. She respects Ken, and he can tell her that we need you to come with me to the market a few times, or something? We definitely need more time to work on your essay.”
“You think she will agree?”
“We can only ask,” Ms. Tia say, “but do you want me to speak to her about what happened with her husband?”
I wide my eyes, shake my head no. “Tell her, ke? She will beat me stupid, and she may send me away. I don’t want her to send me away, not yet.”
“Fine. I won’t say anything just yet, but you must ask her for a lock. Tell her you want her to fix a lock in your room. Can you do that, Adunni? She won’t beat you if you ask her to do that, will she?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I can try it.”
“You have to,” she say. She stand up, shake her leg like it have dead and she want to give it life. “Be very careful around your madam’s husband. You must tell me if he ever comes back to your room, okay?”
I feel all sorts of feelings that she is keeping her eyes on me, watching for me. “What are you teaching me today?” I ask.
“The present continuous tense,” she say. Her voice is strange. Tight in her mouth. She walk to the blackboard, write, VERB: BE (ING form). She face me. “I know that makes no sense at first glance, but I will explain it.”
I bite on the buttocks of my pencil, keep my eyes on the blackboard.
“Basically, we use the present continuous tense to talk about the present. For something that is happening now. So, for instance: I am standing in front of you. ‘Standing’ is present continuous tense. These words are usually identified by adding ‘-ing’ to the verb. You know what a verb is?”
“Action word. Doing word,” I say. Teacher was teaching me that one in Ikati. I didn’t ever forget it.
“Good. Can you think of an example of the present continuous tense?”
“I am sitting on top the chair,” I say.
“Brilliant!” she say, clapping her hand. “‘I am sitting on the chair’ is correct. You don’t need to add ‘top’ to the sentence.” She face the blackboard, start to write: SITTIN . . . and stop before she can write the letter G.
Her hand is shaking. She turn around, say, “I think I need to sit.” She stagger herself, sit on the floor near me, pull her knees up, and rest her head between the two of them.
“You feeling fine?” I ask, looking the twists of her hair resting on the top of her knees. “Want to drink ice-cold water?”
She raise her head, give me weak smile. “I am tired. I am hoping that, you know, I might be pregnant . . .”
“You think?” I wide my eyes, cover my mouth. “How you know?”
She laugh, pick a twist away from her nose. “I am just kidding. It’s a bit too soon.”
“When last you see your monthly visitor?” I ask.
“It’s due in a few days,” she say.
“It won’t come,” I say, nod. “It won’t ever come.”