Valentine

Mama

When Bolanle thought of her early days in Brittleton, London, the vivid memories happened to be when she and mama mixed oils in Papa's library c*m laboratory. It was usually in the winter, when the snow storm would keep them in.

Bolanle was very young then; about seven or so when mama started mixing oils during Christmas and Thanksgiving for families, friends, old people's homes and orphanages.It became a hobby for the both and then it rose into something more business like.. Mama soon got a certificate from the co-operation and kicked off quite legit.

Mama worked at Almond Dat, a printing factory. Bolanle really had no idea, how exactly Mama's work place looked like, or what it was she did exactly. But she knew that sometimes, mama worked night shifts, and she would end up having a stale, cold dinner of thick berry marmalades and asparagus without mama. All there was was her kid sister Olabisi nibbling at oats or maybe carrots, her nose running in the dim dining room light. After such nauseating dinners, they would watch TV for as long as an hour, guarded closely by their employed nanny-Naomi. Naomi was seventeen, five feet four and had a black skin with very elaborate fascia.

Mama had brown hair, Bolanle remembered, a round beautiful face and an attractive build. She appeared very young in every aspect except for the bulging folds of skin under her arms and the and the streaks of white hair forming randomly on her head.

They had a few neighbors of which the closest were the Nigerian neighbours-the Rogers. Bolanle had preferred to term them Nigerians despite the fact that Mr. Roger was a white and he had their family kick started in London. Mrs. Rogers happened to be the outlaw; she was a Nigerian and more interestingly, a Yoruba like the Tokunbo's Bolanle's family.

So at least, that could attest to their son, Joan's shady skin and black eyes. Bolanle remembered he had long black hair that ran in thick black curls. She remembered his also thick and dark lashes and brows curled intricately like herring bones.

Joan was a quiet boy, for all she could recall. But she couldn't really dig up all the times she built sand dunes with him in their backyard during the summer. Or the times they studied with flash cards in the Rogers' library room. Or when they made play tents on the Campbell's lawns. But she did remember there was a cat. Of some sort. It had golden brown fur.

Mama died on a Sunday evening-or probably, papa broke the sad news to them on a Sunday evening. He appeared suddenly like a man of horror and despair, the living room entrance door flying open to let in the smooth evening gales and his silhouette.

Bolanle and Ola has just walked into the living room, from the library upstairs were they had spent half the afternoon, wondering when their mother would return. All Bolanle knew was that her mother left a month ago, leaving a folded piece of paper with a note on it on the library work table.

Dear Bola and Ola,

I'll be back with a new

baby brother for you two.

Turn the tablet mixer for

the red phial and maroon

aphids.♥️

love, mom.

She has shown to her younger sister and they shrugged. Bolanle was twelve so she explained it to her sister.

"Mama is expecting a baby", she had told Ola, giving her a soft sisterly punch.

That evening, they had played checkers and solved a few jigsaw puzzles before they retired to the library to find the red phial and maroon aphid in the hundreds of phials jumbled up there.

The day that followed were poignant; they spent them in the library, waiting for Mama while listening to the classical music spewing from the speakers and inhaling the tangled fragrances of perfumes and oils.

They wouldn't leave until Naomi would have to literally drag them to bed.

Four dreary weeks gone, the baby came home. A boy, feeble, wrapped in thermal folds and blankets. Bolanle watched from the room's window as a man in casual work clothes alighted from a black, official looking limousine, a baby in hand and escorted by more men in uniform.

She was quick to run downstairs, hoping to find Mama amongst the crew. Her shoulders slacked down in both disappointment and confusion as she stared at Naomi standing before the now closed door, the baby in her arms, no mama.

"Where's Mama?", she asked, oblivious of the baby's presence.

Naomi was moping at her with this strange numbness. "She is still in the hospital". She stroked the baby's sweat blankets.

Bolanle was simply gazing, not at the baby but at Naomi's unusual broad black face with with contrasting two tiny eyes. Then slowly, she turned and went back upstairs not bothering to welcome the new brother she had initially been crazy about.

Bola missed her mother so much, and almost all the time, she wondered who would begin to answer Mama's calls when they started cior who was going to pick the fresh drops in the Juxtamore departmental cosmetics store or Roland Pefyumm Supermarket.

And now, papa was showing up at the door to tell her that Mama was dead. Dead?

"Papa!", Ola said, running to hug her father at the door.

"Baby", papa gasped, hunkering down to catch Ola. He grabbed her, into a deep emotional cuddle, his eyes shut. Tears ran down slowly along his cheek. Bolanle 's heart froze.

Papa carried Ola up and held her close to his chest, stifling her sniffles. He went to a sofa and sat, Olabisi on his laps.

"I am so sorry baby", Bolanle heard him whisper to Ola. He ran his hand over her sister's stunted hair that was in two ponytails. Soon he clamped his chin on Ola's head, his eyes closed.

Naomi was gutted almost soon too, a sullen mask over once smiley dark face. She stared emptily, heaving the new baby up to her breast and down as if to sooth him from crying but he was simply asleep.

Bolanle watched all the drama with sheer surprise. She had never seen her father so loose before. She was too bewildered to even start with blinking.

All these people are joking? right?

She stood, distances from the doorway, gaping. Her heart slammed one hard against her chest, leaving a twitching pain there.

Oh her God.

Cold shivers didn't even have the compassion to run down her spine. They took their sweet time walking, making her count every step, every drip of fear.

She took a step back and broke into a run. She didn't know where she was headed or what she hit because she eventually hit something; she really had no idea what it was. It had to be a loose door latch or a broken portrait board or something that just wasn't in place.

Then it all went black. Everything.

She could feel her hands on the cold crimson tiles of the passage floor. Someone was calling her name. She wanted to answer. Hee fingers seemed to slide slightly. Liquid. Thick mucky liquid tingling around her finger.

* * *

Chiming of a radio clock. Reeking smells of injection fluids. Bolanle crinkled her nose. She wanted to open her eyes but it felt like liquid gum was spilled over them. She forced them to open as if tearing off from claws of hungry vampires. Vampires?

Gosh, who was talking about vampires now?

Her eyes were now open. She blinked severally and scanned her environment. Everything seemed too bright, and everything else appeared normal except for the faces that seemed to surround her.

Ok, it was fine if a bunch of people stood by her bed in a hospital presumably looking after her or watching her wake up. But she wouldn't understand why they were staring queerly into her face as if her nose and her mouth had switched places.

The first thing she tried to recognize were the faces moping at her talking in low voices. One of the faces was quite worn and eyes heavy.

"Sugar", the person called.

Bolanle squinted, her eyes narrowed at him."Papa?"

Her father smiled."Yes, yes it's papaa"

She would forget anything but she wouldn't forget that papa called her his Sugar.

"...Listen, I'm here for you, ok?"

There were other people in the room too, mostly nurses and then one young girl in two ponytails. The girl was just as skinny and had bulging eyes glaring u distractedly at her.

Bolanle felt a bang in her head. The girl looked familiar. No more faces hovering around her.

It was more of people in nose masks and corporate blue. Everybody seemed to be walking too fast with a speed that made her eyes twitch. She blinked hard.

The girl in ponytails was gone

And papa... she saw a nurse lead him to the door. The two left, and the door creaked after their departure. She shifted uncomfortably as if trying to call him back but for some reason, She couldn't speak and her body felt numb. She tried to raise her head but it felt like lead block was used in place of her brain.

A wave of dizziness swept through her eyes.

She was alone again.

***

She opened her eyes. It was dark. Am alarm clock was ringing softly above her head. She looked upwards to see the clock. She didn't miss the clock's turquoise colour in the dimness of the room. She knew this place. She wasn't in the hospital anymore. She was home now. But she was still not sure. A blanket was over her up to her chin. Someone was tapping her. Her eyes groped in the darkness to find out who it was.

"Bola. Wake up now Bola".

She shifted, propping up her head. Carrot smell. She gripped the edge of the blanket and pulled slowly up to her nose. The person was beside her bed, squatting, looking up at her, still nudging at her to wake up.

I am up, Bolanle thought, since her vocals seemed missing.

Even in the darkness, , she could decipher the face of her waker, round, bony, bulgy eyes, two scrawny ponytails...

Ola.

She remembered now. She was the girl at the hospital. Olabisi -her sister.

"Bolaaaa.....", Ola was calling, softly.

Bolanle turned to face her, to show her that she heard, that she was listening.

"Wake up now...they say Mama is dead. And she isn't coming back"

Bolanle felt something like a loop in her head loosen, and something dropped. Heat.

Heat swam through her body like imposed lightening. She was fluttering uncontrollably. Her hand reached for the alarm clock just above her head. Before Olabisi could duck completely, Bolanle had it crashing down her head.

Ola fell back, writhing on pain.

Bolanle reclined her head to her pillow with a thud, breathing fast, her body still vibrating and eyes shooting horrifyingly at the ceiling.

It did not take long, the light to the room flickered on.

Bolanle sat up slowly, watching as Naomi hurried in from the door to pick Ola up from the floor, grabbing a tissue after that, and dabbing at the various cuts on her face, anxiety written allover.

"What in Gawd's name Bolaa??" Naomi was screaming.

While Naomi raved on, papa came in and after being told what happened, asked Naomi to take Ola to the pharmacy while he handled Bolanle.

Bolanle just crouched nervously on her mattress, her knees closing to her chin and watching papa make a call while pacing at the other end of the room.