DEAR MAMA, ITS SAFER IN THE PRISON

It sounded like the bellows of many a wounded bull. That was dad’s angry voice directed at mum as usual. I knew what would come next, what always came next. At once, I sped from my room, across the luxuriously furnished parlor and into dad’s bedroom, throwing the door ajar. “Stop it, dad”! I screamed. Dad’s hand froze in the air. I am a heroine, mama would be so proud of me now, I thought. I felt pride wash over me. I let it sweep me away in a merry swirl. I was so busy sailing in the sea of pride at having saved the day that I didn’t notice the warning look in mama’s eyes. Dad’s frozen hand unfroze and landed on my face, ending my smooth swirl in turbulence. Mama made to stop him, but his fists kept landing on me again and again, until I lost consciousness and fell into an ocean of darkness which was oddly welcoming. * * * * * * * * * * * The next day was Sunday, and although mama was in almost all the women associations in church, she did not go to church neither did I. Dad went to church of course, he never misses Sunday service. When friends came to inquire of us as to why we didn’t come to church, the story was the same; we fell from the staircase. We dared not soil dad’s reputation. The consequences would be too grave. The good lawyer must be seen as perfect always. Or must he? Why couldn’t mama report him to her family or even leave him before he beats her to death? Why would mama allow herself to be transformed from an intelligent accountant into a housewife and a punching bag? I had many questions. “Martha Chinenye Eze, some questions should never be asked.” Mama said when I confronted her. “But mama, I don’t understand it, you could easily leave if you wanted. See what dad is doing to you. How many more miscarriages will you have as a result of dad’s beatings? How many more, mama?” “Martha, you have said enough already, go to your room and sleep”, mama said calmly. “Mama, how can you hide so much pain? Do you not feel like a hypocrite when you hide your pains behind those smiles of yours? Don’t you? Don’t you, mama?” “You talk way older than your age, now go on and sleep, child”, mama said smiling. That’s the part I hated, that smile. That calm even with the entire whirlwind around her. That straight elegant sitting posture even after dad breaks her back bone. And the way she calls me child as if all was well. “I am not a child! I’m fifteen, mama! Fifteen!” I screamed and marched into my room banging the door shut behind me. No sooner had I lain on the bed than I heard the poundings across the hallway. The sound of dad’s fists like a skilled drummer hitting a stone, for like the stone, mama never made a sound. It went on and on. Mama would never shout, lest she put dad’s reputation at stake. In the morning, before 7am, mama had already prepared breakfast for dad. Her fingers trembled as she served him the tea. Was it from physical pain or emotional trauma? Was it from the psychological torture she had to endure every day? I’ll never know, for mama would never tell. It was then, I knew I had to save her; she was way too fragile to save herself. ************* It was easy. I set mama up and she was taken away for attempted murder of dad. Of course she was innocent, for mama would never hurt a fly, but I testified against her in court. Dad pleaded passionately on her behalf, but my testimony was too strong and hence, she was sentenced to twenty years imprisonment with no option of fine. That was the best day of my life, for mama was at last free from dad. I know mama, when I explain why I had to do what I did, she would understand. I think she even suspected my reasons already, judging from the knowing smile she gave me as she was being taken into the heavily guarded black maria. Mama is a smart woman. She was fragile but smart. I still had some explaining to do to mama, so I picked up my pen, and started the letter. As I wrote, I wondered how many more women needed redemption. I’m sure they will be more than we imagine, for you will never tell from their smiles; take mama for instance. “Dear mama, It’s safer in the prison…” THE END. ILOANUSI SOROCHI