HALIMA'S PLACE

I fought the rush of tears that was now accumulating in my eyes. I had to be strong for myself and for Kamsi who was just 4 years old. She had very little idea of what was happening. She wasn’t sure what the occasional screams she heard from mama, who was in the next room meant or if it was unusual that there was an increase in the number of neighbors who were now sitting at various positions in our parlor, some of them saying ‘ozugo, ebezina, it’s well’ while some cried and screamed even more than my mum as though it was a screaming competition and the higher the pitch of your scream, the closer you were to winning. I knew it was unusual, I was 20 years old. Old enough to know that the bomb that had detonated in the terminus marketplace yesterday had claimed the life of my younger sister who had just turned 18 the previous week. My mother had sent me to terminus market on the day of the bombing to buy food stuffs and provisions. I was reluctant to go so I asked her if I could leave it until tomorrow. She looked at me without saying a word and I knew I had just been warned. I had just been told that it was more of an order than it was a request. It was typical of mama and of most Igbo mothers, to talk with their eyes rather than their mouth. In such a way that you need not be told that the next statement was probably going to be with a cane. Ebele opted to go instead. A decision that felt good at the time but was presently tearing me apart. I was racked with guilt. My mind could not stop telling me how I was the cause of her death. I could not get myself to blame the terrorists or throw curse words at the suicide bombers or occasionally scream ‘Boko Haram!’ like most of the neighbors did. I held Kamsi as close as possible to myself as I thought about Ebele’s face. How she had made herself up so wonderfully and wore a black chiffon top with a blue jean trouser which I got for her as a birthday gift. I held Kamsi as if trying to protect her from an impending danger as my last conversation with Ebele reverberated in my head.
“Are you sure it’s just terminus you plan on going to? I teased her
She laughed. Her laugh made you want to laugh. The sound of her laugh sent drops of tears down my face. I was glad Kamsi wasn’t looking at me. I had got her to stop asking about sister Ebele. I had managed to answer some of her questions the best I could. With answers like ‘Sister Ebele is with God, Sister Ebele loves you but sister Ebele won’t be coming back’. The ignorance kids had was a luxury in this situation. I remembered her face and how beautiful she looked as I thought of what papa had said. How he barely identified her body. How most people were burned to ashes and how he was lucky to have reclaimed Ebele’s body because she was a bit farther from the impact, but close enough to get her killed. Over the week, tears moved from one corner to the next, questions upon question were asked about the circumstances of her death. Neighbors who barely knew Ebele talked about how she was a wonderful girl and how many times they had spoken to her. Friends talked about how she wanted to be a doctor, a nurse, a TV personality. Different TV and Radio stations covered the news of the bombings and the President sympathized with the citizens of Plateau State and the families that had lost their loved ones in the ‘Jos bombings’. It was over. She had gone. I never knew that the moment she shut the door of our flat on that Tuesday morning as she said to me “Ifeoma, of course I’m just going to the market. Then to Halima’s place” leaving me with a smile on my face with the knowledge of her true destination; “Halima’s place” was going to be our last. The whole noise had gone down and I was left with nothing but unspoken pain, guilt, and blame.