Folakemi had always hated the guts of most women in Ajanlekoko Street but particularly that of Iya Saliu's, the hairdresser. It was already bad enough that most of the housewives and elderly women that lived on the same street as Folakemi were here. Folakemi had always wished to never entertain these women as visitors — especially for a terrible cause.

"Wòn o ni bò bata òfò l'ènu òna wa" was a prayer that Yoruba people commonly said. But now, that prayer sounded like complete poppycock as visitors had put off their shoes and footwear at the doorstep of her house for a sorrowful cause.

Now, as the air in the small living room was morbid with grief, Folakemi sat at the far end of the room, her back ramrod-straight and her expression too cold, emotionless, and unmoving for a mother who'd just lost her precious daughter. As the women gathered, squatting and squashing their bodies to fit in with the small armchairs, they shared their condolences in exaggerated and wailing tones that Folakemi felt weren't coming from a place of concern.

"I'm so sorry, Mummy Yemisi! Sindara was such a pretty girl. She didn't deserve this, " a sallow-faced woman cried.

"Take heart, Folakemi. I know Sindara is in a better place, " another woman of a plump shape sympathized.

A better place? Who was she to tell Folakemi that her daughter was in a better place? And how could she be so sure? If Sindara was indeed in a better place, wouldn't Folakemi have been the first person to know?

Folakemi knew that they were just curious and thirsty for information — information that once she gave to them would become malleable in their tongues once they began to fuel it with their wicked theories and atoms of lies. That was the purpose of gossip, after all —  to make words audibly enticing to the listeners.

But Folakemi was determined not to give them that pleasure. So as the women multiplied by each hour, trooping in with morose expressions and hawk-like mien (seeking to capture every bit of detail about Folakemi's family, including their financial conditions), Folakemi told and retold her story to every person that asked:

"She died from a food problem."

Folakemi's answer was as terse and cold as her facial expression. Soon, even she began to worry that she was too rude. Maybe these women had come to visit because they actually cared. She tried to study the atmosphere, gazing keenly at every woman as they only seemed like a blurry mirage to her several minutes ago. Now she took her time to scan.

The jollof rice vendor from the farthest point of the street was crying profusely as though she were the one who'd lost her kid. The woman had a petite physique and pale skin. Even if Folakemi wasn't sure about the intentions of every other woman in the room, she was convinced of the jollof rice vendor. Folakemi had always known the woman to be a genuine person. Still, how would it sound if she divulged the real reason why Sindara had died of food poisoning?

The jollof rice vendor, in particular, would be very shocked. Folakemi could imagine her saying something like, "Ehn?! How could Sindara have eaten jollof rice from someone else when I sell jollof rice? You could have just told your son to buy from me! I wouldn't even bother to ask for money!"

Others would probably label Folakemi as a witch, mainly because she wasn't even shedding what everyone expected of her to shed: tears. It would then be worse if they learned that Folakemi had been careless about the state of her daughter and had caused her to eat poisoned jollof rice from an unreliable source.

Moreso and more importantly, Folakemi wanted to protect her son, David, from the loose and inconsiderate mouths of the community women. The thought of her son made her heart ache and an image appeared in the fore-walls of her mind: The picture of Kelvin beating him to a pulp a few days ago. Folakemi felt even more guilty for watching her son suffer like that without doing anything to stop it.

Folakemi wished she could make her son stop feeling so guilty. She couldn't forget that dejected look he had in the hospital on the day he confessed what had happened to Sindara. The words "I killed my sister" showed blatantly in his forlorn eyes like a waving flag of flashy colors. Folakemi yearned to wipe the guilt away from his heart, but even she hadn't had the strength to be there for her son.

Even if David had barely stepped out of his room ever since Kelvin beat the living daylight out of him, Even if Folakemi had paled from the reality that her son was slowly starting to withdraw himself from the world, Even if her heart ached from time to time whenever she passed by the door David's room, she had hope that he would be much better. Time, as they said, healed wounds. And Folakemi wanted to help her son heal.

Even if she couldn't talk to her son directly now to help him feel better, she could at least protect him from the danger of effective gossip which could quickly become widespread news.

So she decided to stick with her answer regardless of whoever it was that asked— until Iya Saliu, the hairdresser knocked at the door. Folakemi rushed to open the door for whoever it was because the movements of the person's fists against the door were frantic.

"Who's at—"

Folakemi knew she'd made a mistake once she realized that she should have asked who was knocking at the door before opening it because once she inserted the correct key into the keyhole and opened the door, her question immediately vanished in the wind, interrupted by Iya Saliu's dramatic display of sorrow.

"Ikunle Abiamò ooo!" Iya Saliu wailed as she fell on Folakemi's bosom, wrapping her arms around Folakemi's swollen belly as though she were the bereaved.

Folakemi's heart pounded with fear and surprise. Why was the woman so theatrical? Now, Folakemi had no choice but to wrap her arms around Iya Saliu's back to help her to her feet. Iya Saliu was such an untidy woman. The head tie that shielded her hair from view reeked of a strongly disgusting odor.

That was more than enough to anger Folakemi — because she was already dealing with a lot, and she was heavily pregnant. Now this insane display of drama? When she brought Iya Saliu to stand, their eyes meeting each other, Folakemi couldn't help the irritation that rose in her voice as she asked the hairdresser a question.

"What is this, Iya Saliu?"

It was a surprise that Iya Saliu hadn't noticed the disgust and coldness in Folakemi's question. It was even more surprising that Iya Saliu wasn't already piercing Folakemi with suspicious gazes as to why Folakemi's eyes weren't already so swollen from incessant sobbing. Instead, with an all-too-feigned tone of compassion, she lamented:

"And I saw David that afternoon ooo. He was begging and running around the neighborhood, asking for jollof rice. He even came to ask me. I wished I could have helped! Ah! Oluwa ooo!" she bit her index finger in a way to show regret.

Folakemi's eyes widened, and her heart began to beat madly in surprise. Behind her, she heard soft gasps from the women who were sitting in the living room. She'd even heard faintly of one of them saying, "so her son was begging everyone in the street...How come I didn't see him?"

That was new information to them. And it was a juicy one. This was precisely what Folakemi had been trying to avoid. If she didn't get Iya Saliu out of her house immediately, the hairdresser would spill more information that it was apparent she knew, and the community women would begin to build on it.

So Folakemi pushed Iya Saliu roughly to the passage and closed the door behind her. With a force that surprised a hellishly tired Folakemi herself, she gripped Iya Saliu roughly by her forearm and forced the teary-eyed hairdresser to look at her. The mascara that had been carefully laid around Iya Saliu's eyes were now smeared with her tears, giving her discolored face a ghastly look.

"Are you here to share your condolences or spread lies?" Folakemi pinned Iya Saliu down with a gaze that could freeze a volcano.

"I... I wasn't lying, F-folakemi. David really..."

"Answer my question properly, Iya Saliu, or you will get out of my house immediately!" Folakemi insisted as tersely as ever.

Folakemi owed Iya Saliu no explanation, and no matter what it was that the hairdresser had to say, it was a blatant lie as far as Folakemi was concerned. Iya Saliu didn't see David running around the street, begging for jollof rice, and that was that. If Iya Saliu wasn't going to keep quiet and share her simple condolences, then she was going to have to leave her premises.

Her dear son, David, was innocent. There was no way she would let that selfless boy become an object of scrutiny in the eyes of the neighbors. Human beings were wicked, and they always had the meanest words to say.

If word got out about her son's actions, People would look for ways to blame David even upon how genuine his intentions were. They would call David a dolt for not looking for a better option. They would start to blame Folakemi and Kelvin for not being financially stable enough to provide basic needs for their children.

Iya Saliu managed to free her arm from Folakemi's grasp. Then, she sniffed, wiped out the smeared mascara from her face, adjusted her wrapper, and retied her head-tie. Iya Saliu had genuinely cared for the welfare of Folakemi's family. Her seemingly exaggerated lamentation had been her way of expressing her concern for the death of Sindara, but Folakemi had humiliated her, and Iya Saliu wasn't going to condone that.

"Alright then. I will get out of your house." Iya Saliu said with a subtle tone that promised thunder and hailstorm.

"Goodbye. Also, wash that smelly head-tie of yours — at least for the sake of your reputation as a hairdresser."

***

Kelvin sat on a wooden bench in the house's backyard alongside his two friends and Yemisi and Alexander. The children had wanted to remain in their rooms. Deep down, they all wanted to spend some time with David to make him feel better and to make him understand that the death of Sindara had not been his fault.

David had refused to step out of his room for any reason whatsoever. Even when Kelvin had beat him mercilessly, David retreated to his room afterward when he'd gained little strength to walk. If it weren't for the little first aid treatment that Folakemi and Yemisi had given him before he walked into his room, they would have been sick with worry as to how David was faring with those injuries.

David only stepped out when he needed to use the toilet. He didn't even come out for meals. Often, Yemisi or Alex had to shove the wrapped plate from under the door. Alexander felt he would have a better chance to speak with his brother since they shared the same room, but David never said a word to anyone. He only sat still on the bare foam of the mattress and stared aimlessly into the cold walls of the room.

Hence, Yemisi and Alexander had a subtle worry for David and wanted to be with him, but Kelvin had forced them to stay and attend to the visitors.

"Make sure you greet my friends well when they come. You can't stay in your rooms while your mum and I attend to the visitors. YOU ALL have to be there too." Kelvin had warned them sternly earlier that morning, fixing his gaze keenly on Yemisi and Alexander.

There was a way he'd said the "you all" that clearly excluded David. Kelvin couldn't care less if David chose to come out of his room or not.

Yemisi was irritated, and she balled her fists, trying to manage the anger that boiled from within her. Does he even care about how we feel? He doesn't even care about how we wish to mourn our sister. All he wants is for us to be of proper conduct to the visitors as if their presence will bring Sindara back to life!

So as Yemisi sat solemnly and grudgingly on the bench, She stared into the ground as she used a scarf to shield her skin from the burning sun.

"I'm sorry about your daughter, Kelvin, " Mr. Ndubuisi, Kelvin's long-time friend, said then he gave Kelvin a friendly pat on the back. "You have to be a real man. You can't be shedding tears because you have to be strong for your family — for your wife especially."

"I agree with Ndubuisi, " Mr. Cornelius, Kelvin's second friend, nodded solemnly. The ray of the bright sun reflected on his bald head. "She's carrying your unborn child in her womb, so it must be tough for her."

"Anyway, take this, " Mr. Ndubuisi dug his hand into his pocket and brought out a thick, brown envelope. "I know it's small, but please, manage it and accept it as my condolence to your family."

Kelvin accepted the envelope with shaky hands. He'd been a bit too eager to receive the cash gift, and Yemisi hadn't failed to notice it. Wetting his lips anxiously, Kelvin wiped out a tear from his cheek and pressed the envelope with his left thumb to feel the weight of the envelope.

"Ndubuisi..." Kelvin let the word trail off.

Fortunately, Mr. Ndubuisi was skilled in clairvoyance, so he understood what Kelvin meant simply from how he'd called his name.

"Accept my token. Please, don't thank me, " he said and rose from the bench, adjusting his red cap against his overly large head.

Mr. Cornelius also brought out a few currency notes from the shirt's breast pocket and squeezed them in Kelvin's hands.

"We will be off now, " Mr. Cornelius gave Kelvin a slight slap on the back. "Take care and take heart, please." he consoled.

Mr. Ndubuisi and Mr. Cornelius turned towards Yemisi and Alexander. They gave the children sad smiles, which only got polite nods from Yemisi and Alex in return.

When the two were out of sight, Kelvin sniffed what was left of his non-existent tears — as though the previous sobbing was all an act to extort cash gifts from his friends instead of expressing his pain. He tore the envelope like a hungry lion and brought out the thick bundle of cash that lay beneath. Shakily, Kelvin began to count each currency note. As he reached a cent, his eyes bulged an inch out of its socket, glistening heavily with greed that irked Yemisi as she watched.

Yemisi turned towards Alexander. Alexander shook his head, seemingly sharing the same opinion with his elder sister. I can't believe Dad's behavior right now. Yemisi turned back to her father, who was still counting the notes. Finally, he stopped, and then he gasped:

"Seventy thousand naira!"

His eyes were shimmering with naira signs now as he gazed at the stack of cash before him. Then he turned towards his children and said with a tone firmer and assured than they had ever heard from him:

"We should conduct a family meeting as soon as possible."

***

The sun had set below its horizon, casting an iridescent ray of reddish-orange flames into the living room. All of the visitors from Ajanlekoko Street and beyond had retreated to their homes. Now, the William's family could have their living room to themselves.

Hence everyone, except David, of course, had gathered in the living room, expectant to know why Kelvin had summoned a family meeting all of a sudden. Folakemi's face was still as emotionless as ever, but even her jaw had tensed in anticipation for what Kelvin had to say. Yemisi and Alexander, who had been a bit sunburnt, looked stressed and much irritated. Demilade, on the other hand, was sleeping. She'd been slumbering since the morning, not wanting to come to terms with her reality — the demise of her sister.

Kelvin, who sat on the center armchair of the living room, cleared his throat finally after several minutes. Then, he spoke:

"I received seventy thousand naira from my friends today, and I must say I'm pleased that we wouldn't have to worry about where to bury Sindara. Sindara will be laid to rest at a befitting location. All of the money that I have received today will be invested in the burial preparations of Sindara, " Kelvin said.

Yemisi stared at her father in disbelief. Was that all? But the way he'd counted the money greedily at the backyard...There was nothing more to it? Wasn't he going to use the money for some other selfish purposes? Suddenly, Yemisi felt a tinge of shame for having thought poorly about her father. How could she have thought that he was going to be insensitive to Sindara's death? Kelvin loved his children with all his soul. His only flaw was the excessive anger he usually had which was why he was still unforgiving towards David.

"David isn't here to hear this, though. He deserves to know how his sister is going to be buried — like we all do, " Folakemi said sharply.

Then she rose, heading towards David's room to call him out.

"He doesn't have to be here if he doesn't want to be, " Kelvin said with a steely expression on his face.

He's a murderer, after all. Folakemi could read the unsaid words in his eyes, and anger surged up from the depths of her belly at that moment. He'd forced all of them to gather in the living room for a discussion but didn't think it necessary for David to be a part of it? How could he believe this of his son? Clenching her fists firmly, she snapped in a peachy, loud tone.

"Right now, To be candid with you, none of us care very much about Sindara's burial. We just want to mourn her demise. We are not in a hurry to send her off six feet under the ground. And do you know what mourning entails? Togetherness. Togetherness, Kelvin and you are not willing to have that. When we have each other as a family, when we console one another, it's easier to heal from a grievous wound.

Do you even have an idea of how much David is hurting in that room right now? Aren't you scared that you've not seen David eye-to-eye in nearly five days? Doesn't the fear of the unknown kill you? How can you think of your son as a murderer? Did you ever love that boy like you always claimed to love him? Do you even cherish your children, as you often proclaim? Do you know how much of an awful father you are right now?"

Tears finally slipped through Folakemi's eyes now as she poured out the words that laid heavily in her heart. And the room was suspended in a hovering air of silence — a kind of silence that depicted representation. Folakemi was saying everything that Yemisi and Alexander wished they had the boldness to speak to their father.

All Folakemi cared about was her son. While she maintained a stern look in the presence of those visitors, all she was concerned about was protecting David. However, as David sat still in his room, overhearing the heated conversation going on in the living room, he didn't seem to share the same sentiments as his mother.

David wasn't in the least bit concerned about his mother's concern for him.

—••—

Glossary

* Wòn o ni bò bata ofo s'énu òna wa - the literal meaning of this statement doesn't make much sense but it is a prayer that insinuates that, people won't visit our homes for a sorrowful reason. (So you'd better say an Amen) ;)

* Ikunle Abiamo - the literal meaning of this statement also doesn't make sense. The literal meaning is, "the kneeling of motherhood," so it's sure nonsense, but that's the dynamics of language. This exclamation is used for lamenting and it comes from a place of compassion especially when you hear sad news of perhaps, the death of a child, and you exclaim these words in a way to sympathize with the mother of the child.

Now, rate Folakemi's savagery in this chapter from 1-10 ;)