CHANGE, a mystery

Waako Daniel was speechless within. He found himself stumbling over prayer. He had been praying smoothly, seriously and steadily when her voice all of a sudden cut in. He needn't open his eyes to tell that it was her—that choir singer, Ruth, now leading in worship. Yet against his own will, the eyes opened and there she was. Always in red; the dress all red and flaring out at the ankles, and her clogs also red. His heart pounded a little faster and he was alarmed. Pray! I should get back to praying! His eyes closed, tighter than he had intended and when he had relaxed them a bit, he tried to pick up from where he had stopped. He tried, tried and tried; then at last—please, God, dear LORD, give me her! A fervent but divergent prayer.

At the end of the service, Ruth did not go home thereupon, so neither did Daniel. She was pacing—not fast, not slow—but pacing close to the choir seats. When she looked his way, he flashed her a smile, one she didn't reciprocate. But seeing her lips moving, he understood, she was praying. And Daniel was suddenly aware of his shame. But now as he avoided looking at her face, he noticed a bright orange patch at the hem of her dress. Maybe she had accidentally bleached it while washing.

Ruth had a job interview the following morning at Wise Baby Pre-primary School. No wonder she was still here even when the service had long ended. She was anxious yet at the same time excited—her first-ever job opportunity thus the first interview in her life. She prayed. Merciful Father, please give me success. Oh dear Jesus, grant me payment in advance also that I might be able to secure all I would need as a teacher. Thank you, Father, thank you, Jesus, thank you Holy Spirit; thank you, my God. Amen.

When she went home, Daniel followed her with the strange assurance that she could not be going far. She stopped once only to buy two buns and drinking water, the latter in a transparent polythene bag.

Where she dwelt was a building partitioned into five. The landlord being a distant relative had let her occupy one of the rooms. Upon getting a job(which was expected of her soon), she would either have to leave or pay the rent. The other rooms were all occupied—Nakandi and her man were next to her, next to these was Tracy and next to her was yet another woman, Tilna; these last two were in their late thirties. The farthest occupant from her being one Sam.

She had walked all this far without caring to look back, thus he had followed her all this long without being noticed. When she turned into the open ground, towards that one building and towards that door on the extreme right, Daniel stopped and watched from behind a tree as she rattled that door open. It was after some while that she had gone in after she had opened the window, that he decided to draw a little close. The other doors were all open, the curtains swaying, but neither did this stay him. I will just pretend to be walking by. And then what? Will you knock on her door, call out her name, say may I come in? Waaa, you can't do that, Daniel, you coward. But at least—

They were lopsided! The shoes, those red clogs. But how badly!

His heart twisted, but then beat wildly—those clogs would serve him well, indeed better than the owner. Thus with a weird smile, he cast about, grabbed the clogs and turned to leave.

Ruth saw him running off with her clogs. She screamed, shouted and alerted the neighbours of this thief. Sam her farthest neighbour reacted quickly: he picked up his shoes left in the doorway and disappeared with them inside. Tilna sniggered with Tracy.

"Humph, you say you're a Christian. My Junju would have worked his magic and in seconds that thief would be on his knees returning those shoes, the shoes stuck to a swollen tongue." Tilna said out aloud, her lips curled up in a sneer. Nakandi at twenty-eight and only three years older than Ruth, sympathized with her, an odd expression on her face; she was trying hard not to laugh.

With a pained face, Ruth dragged herself inside and could only sit on her mat. My only shoes. Yet tomorrow is my interview, oh God! What am I to do? "Humph, you say you're a Christian. My Junju would have worked his magic and in seconds that thief would be on his knees returning those shoes, the shoes stuck to a swollen tongue." No, please forgive me, God. What am I to do? What I have is too little, I can't forego food, please help me, Jesus.

Monday morning came with a phone call for her; the interview was postponed to the coming Monday. She was half relieved, she was half grieved—it meant more time, more time and maybe she would be having shoes at the end. I will have them; maybe I'll borrow from Nakandi—No! God will provide. But more time means more spending yet without earning. And what if they are postponing because they're not willing to take me? O please, Father!

On this Sunday, Daniel was not settled, he hardly prayed, he hardly listened. Had she failed to come? Was it because of him? God forbid, but I didn't intend, God forbid!

But he was mollified at the end of the service, for there she was, in one of the choir's back seats. When she arose, his eyes flew to her feet; she had on some blue bathroom slippers. His throat began hurting. Yet before guilt could full overwhelm him, he noticed the orange patch at the hem of her dress. He was struck at heart—she didn't enjoy putting on red, she had only that!

He followed her again and saw her by buns again. He hoped that the buns were just a liking and not a thriving.

Just as before, she didn't look back, she didn't notice him. He waited behind the same tree, waiting but not knowing what to do. And concluding that he better go his way, he turned to leave.

He whirled his head back as he caught sight of a movement. She had wrapped herself in a white towel and she had her dripping dress in her hands. He was stunned seeing her hang the dress on the line and seeing her go back. Only the grumbling of the tree as the wind seized it pulled him back. No, the dress, I can't wait.

He didn't wait, but took off, his heart hammering excitement and anxiety. He reached the dress and yanked. The wet dress came, part of it wrapping itself around his head. The line danced so vigorously in the air. Ruth saw it and for fear of her dress lying in the dirt, rushed to the door.

Thief! Oh, my dress! please help! Oh my only dress!

By her cry, the neighbours were alerted. Sam was coming from the back of the house. In his hand was a stick not so thin, and when he heard Ruth's cry, he hastened forward. He nearly collided with Daniel who was on indeed a terrific speed. Wasting no opportunity, Sam swung, getting Daniel on the shoulder. Daniel groaned, but bent his head the more as he put more distance between him and Sam.

"Oh my God! my God!" Ruth wailed. Tilna and Tracy chortled.

"You're still crying. Had it to be Junju's magic, it would be the thieves and not you crying."

"But they say God answers prayer, perhaps it's her who asks for thieves, huh? Pleading to Him to send you those greatly skilled, huh?" Tracy put in and the two women guffawed the more.

Ruth could not stop dubbing her eyes, placing her hands on her head and slapping her thighs. Her being in a towel, it was no wonder that Nakandi's man noticed the wonderful sorrow etched in her body curves—he was touched!

"Why don't you do your crying in decent clothes? What are you trying to show off?" Nakandi barked and Ruth ran in, her sobs more violent and more louder.

Daniel went about the city but with him was her cry, Oh my only dress! He was too unsettled to think proper no wonder he went about from door to door on hasty feet. He returned at night, the pressure of his backpack on his throbbing shoulder forgotten as his heart throbbed. Nevertheless, out there on her door, he took in a deep breath and knocked. He knocked once and twice more, yet still, there was no answer. On the fourth attempt, he paused: had he come late and that she was already asleep? But it was only eight. Could it be that she was not in? That she'd gathered the few she had and gone back to the village? Oh, how terrible, to think—

The door opened, revealing her in some worn blouse and skirt. So worn and proud that you could not fail to notice the shabby state even under her yellow bulb light.

"Yes?" she said in a voice so weak and broken that he was shocked wondering whether this was the woman whose sweet voice always cut through him in church.

"Sorry . . . may I . . . may I come in?"

"Please, I know it looks strange but this is urgent, I won't take long."

She let him in in that nearly empty house, for there was but a single stool, a mat next to this; opposite to these were a charcoal burner and a plastic ramekin, containing two cups and some plates, on top of the stove; close to these was a wooden vegetable rack on which he could see some cutlery below and a white polythene bag above. The curtain was obviously separating her bedroom from this—her sitting room.

On turning, he found her watching him, the door a little open.

"You're not happy, I can see it, but please forgive me. I will even kneel if that will make you believe me."

"Sir?" And he took this as a silent plea not to act too strange, a kind of pardon not to kneel.

"It's me . . ." he looked at her as if in doubt of whether he should go on, as if in fear of how she would react. Curiosity urged her to look on, gave her the courage even to cock her head to one side.

"It's me who took your shoes and your dress but trust me I'm not a thief. I didn't steal them, I only wanted . . . to, to surprise you."

A smile had begun to play at her lips, she had thought she was witnessing one of those miracles of God where a thief was forced to return what he had stolen and asked for a pardon. She had been imagining how she was going to glorify and testify to God—but to surprise her! To surprise her!

"To surprise me?"

"Yes, they are here, completely unmarred." He opened his backpack and set the folded dress and the shoes far apart on the mat.

"And here is my surprise."

Next to the clogs, he set two pairs of wedges and a pair of flats, all new. Next to that dress, he set six dresses: one yellow, two blue, one white and two pinks; all folded and new.

When he turned, the door was closed. She was leaning on it for support, but still her legs gave way—she knelt there, her hands concealing her unruly mouth. O, how blissful it was overwhelming her! He felt energy coursing through him, energy to boost her up, boost and balance her light weight in his hands, boost but with a touch so light.

"Mine?"

"Yes, yours."

"But I don't even know you. I can't—"

"Please take them, at least as a gift from a fellow Christian who attends the same church as you."

"Sir, this is too great to bear, it's . . ."

"Call me Daniel please, Ruth."

"You know me?" she asked, marvelling at him.

"From Church."

"Sir—Daniel, but—"

"Please! Please, Ruth!"

"Thank you, thank you please Daniel. May God bless you."

He sighed, but soon yawned and words tumbled out of his mouth before he could bite them back: "Yes, I'm hungry."

"Oh!" She said, pushing herself off the floor, "I'm sorry, I have less to meet your hunger demands, but—"

"No please, don't bother. I was only joking."

"Ruth I'm okay." But she went on fumbling with the white polythene bag and a plate in the ramekin. She offered him two buns and on his part, the bun mystery was solved. He refused the buns, not even one, but looking over the room again, and at her disturbed face, he bid her farewell.

Disappointment wished her a good morning the following day. She had never imagined of it being there and awaiting her all this long. She now sat on her mat, fully in her yellow dress with her left arm propped on the stool and her palm pressed close to her ear, utterly heedless of passing time. Heedless of even the gathering tears, of one or two which streaked down her calm face, one or two, now or then. Her interviewer had looked less at her papers but more at her clothing. It was then that she had sensed how more expensive, how more impressing and smartly dressed she was than the woman interviewing her. Shame had gripped her, she had hated herself, she was still hating herself for ruining herself: "I'm sorry, but you're overqualified." Hadn't she protested that such limits were not specified, hadn't she begged; she had, despite the awareness that it was her and only her who had ruined herself. How am I to manage rent? What of feeding? I'm almost out of money.

She sniffed upon the congestion of her nose, otherwise, she remained heedless. Heedless to the sound of a motorcycle's engine.

The neighbours were not that heedless. They were mindful of this new noise in their dwelling, and thus each appeared at his or her doorway for a closer inspection. The curtains were put to use, except for Tilna who stood in the doorway hands on her hips and boldly glared. The motorcycle was indeed heavily loaded and upon seeing that the rider was now offloading and putting those commodities on Ruth's door, she snarled and sneered. Though she didn't go back but instead went on to identify that which she could: Humph! Who doesn't have saucepans, only that bun-eater, does she even know how to use them? Charcoal, humph, if she has ever lit a stove. Matoke, who can't buy? Now she'll begin boasting. Oh, let her; I will show her. she will know Tilna, ayi, if even she remains here. But who is this?

"Ssebo who are you?"

Finding her disagreeable, Daniel answered, “Good day madam," and went on to knock on Ruth's door, leaving her to chew on her lip.

Ruth was pulled out of her trance and she quickly passed a hanky across her face, dabbing at the tears as she called out a weak Yes.

"Oh!" She said on seeing his smiling face.

"Were you crying?"

"No. sleeping, just sleeping—and this for me? All this?"

"Yes, all this."

"Oh, Daniel. Thank you."

But not being able to stand her glistening smile, he bent over the saucepans, "you're welcome, only stand there and I pass to you everything."

The sadness had just ebbed away altogether. Ruth now sat at the veranda humming a tune, thanking the Mighty Provider. She was roasting chicken, Daniel had brought two dressed ones along with everything, she could hardly believe it. He was gone, he had to return the motorcycle to his friend and then see to his work. I wonder what kind of work he could be doing though; could it be some office type, some important person, and yet . . . O, you sick girl, what are you thinking? God grant that he returns, he does not think I can eat all this. But perhaps he expects me to preserve it. Yes, I—

"My, you will kill us with your chicken!" Tilna bellowed, banging her door as she went in.

Ruth turned only to find Sam and Nakandi staring her way. The former smiled and waved, the latter smiled, but she also had a small inquiry, "was that your man, Ruth?"

"No, a friend!" A tone not harsh but not so friendly.

"Hmm, lucky you." And Nakandi went back in.

But a better idea struck Ruth, she thanked God for her willingness and went to hacking one of the chickens to pieces. She gave to Sam first who thanked her with a bigger smile. Tilna's door was next, and when she called:

"WHAT?"

"I have something small for you here,"

Just a crack of the door and then, "let me find it with Tracy.

With an okay Ruth went on to Tracy and she overjoyed by the number of pieces she was receiving, only blinked, blinked and blinked; you could have thought the blinking was counting. But when told that Tilna's pieces were also part of what she had received, she groaned, whined and moaned—all behind her curtain. Nakandi was last and before Ruth could knock, the plate was being emptied and she was being thanked.

No sooner had Ruth stepped in her door than Tilna dived through Tracy's.

"Bring it here!"

"Bring what?"

But that woman only answered with such a dark look that the other terrified that the room was growing darker quickly pushed a plate with two pieces of chicken across the table.

"That's all."

"Should I turn to Junju, do you think he won't tell me everything, do you think you'll just go off?"

A piece, a thigh, flew in the air and luckily rested on the plate: "I swear Tili, that's all."

With hasty feet, Tilna headed to Junju's place, a place indeed removed from society that she had to partly go through the forest. Nevertheless, she made it to that hideous hut as always. He was there that medicine-man Junju surrounded by skulls, calabashes and ashes. On his head was a leopard skin and above each ear, a goat's tail and around every eye was a white ring.

"Great Junju, I have come," she said with such shocking mildness.

"Is it you beloved of the winds?" Junju croaked.

"Yes, me Junju."

"What do you want of the winds, they can see you're so troubled."

"O, thank the great winds! Junju it's this arrogant and sarcastic woman scorning me. She is always after humiliating and despising me."

"Just as the winds revealed. I presume you have the point of contact with you."

"Yes, Junju. She touched this before I touched it." Out of her purse, she removed the chicken thigh wrapped in a piece of paper.

Junju, or rather, the winds caught the scent of the wrapped and with untold swiftness, they assessed: the wrapped was torn out of her hands, those black nails tearing skin and paper, "Umm, the best point of contact ever." The stained teeth sank and the tongue flew to wash the bone. The teeth sank—this time to crush bone—but just then the right white-ringed eye caught sight of a trembling woman. That he was not alone was instantly recalled to him, and that he had now a task to reassure was equally registered. The bone locked between teeth, that eye blinked twice as though he was beckoning to her, but by his next words she deduced that it was a moment of super insight.

"You live on the same rentals?"

"Yes, great Junju." A crack of the bone

"She's some number of rooms away from you?"

"Indeed, great Junju." A good sucking at the marrow.

"There's a tree somewhere close."

"Oh, yes.” Crack

"She's tall and slim."

"Not that slim, great Junju." Two successive cracking.

"All the same. Aren't you bigger than her?"

"Yes, Junju, I had not thought of it that way." A good sucking.

"She's younger than you?"

"Great Junju?"

"As if that's how I see here," he said, staring at the splinters in his hand.

"Yes, yes, great Junju."

"Aha. You want to teach her a lesson, don't you?"

"Indeed, great one."

"Get a roasted Ugachick and come back here."

"Junju?"

"Ugachick! Aren't you aware of those already killed chicken they sell, the fat ones without feathers?"

"Yes, I now understand Junju."

"Good. And don't you look puzzled, it's for your own good, the chicken's brownness represents fire while it being a whole chicken, her entire room will burn."

She wasted no time but soon procured one Ugachick, had it roasted and returned to Junju.

"Cheer beloved of winds. The winds will roar their fury on your enemy, they will fan the flame, not a brick will remain."

"Chew on this while you go, walk backwards upon reaching your trading Centre and when you reach the tree closest to the house swerve around. You will witness the fury of Junju's winds."

He picked up what she thought were lemon seeds from the ashes and gave them to her. Though she gasped and grimaced at the bitterness, she went on to chew the ten seeds as she headed home.

The bright orange light in the growing darkness as she made her backward progress was proof enough that Junju's magic had worked. Yet if she still had some lingering doubts, Ruth's relentless cries for water cleared those doubts. She giggled but prepared to explode later. She was going to explode, she was sure, she only had to reach the tree and turn around. She turned. She exploded, an explosion that froze those who were labouring with buckets and basins of water. The wind howled, the flames roared, the two rooms moaned, sizzled and sputtered. They were all aflame, her and Tracy, the whole of them aflame.

"You witch! You witch! It should have been you, it should have been you, what have you done to me, Junju?" she cried, now heaving and rocking in front of Ruth. And while the rest were puzzled trying to understand what the unlucky woman was saying, Tracy who now made a full connection of events charged at Tilna. The two went down crashing, Tracy clawing frantically. They rolled, pulling at each other's hair, clawing and shrieking. The buckets and basins were abandoned—a fire far vigorous was here to quell.

"She has been bewitching us, now it has backfired, on my house too, let me pull those eyes out." Tracy cried. She was struggling against those retaining her. This revelation was indeed startling that for a moment she did break away from them. Nevertheless, they got her before she could get to Tilna's eyes. The two were handed to the authorities. With the two rooms devoured, the fire died. Ruth was still shocked.

Daniel was physically agitated throughout the entire narration. He cast such concerned looks at Ruth that she was unable to look his way.

"You need a better house, a safer house Ruth. A safer house is pos—possible . . . I could . . ." And it was as though he was out of words. He could feel his helplessness, but how? He let his eyes speak, to plead.

She looked up, she was startled, her heart skipped, seeking assurance. The message was shocking, unbelievable and yet . . . and yet . . .

Nakandi turned up later. She greeted, she sat, she smiled, but then—she twisted and twisted. The hands twitched and even the smiles seemed forced.

"What is it Nakandi?” she asked, the voice mild but not without alarm.

A sigh, " I don't know Ruth, oh, but you're hard to speak to?"

"Me?"

"I know, it's not your fault, it has nothing to do with you, I guess—could I come with you to your church?"

"Sure, you needn't ask of me, God welcomes us all. I will be delighted, and most of all Heaven will be overjoyed because of you."

"Thanks, oh thanks," she rose hastily giving Ruth a hug.

Ruth barely acknowledged the hug. Is the problem with me? Am I that hard to speak to? Does he need help?

She recalled the message in his eyes and her mind was instantly made up—she was going to help.

When Daniel came, she borrowed some money from him. He refused. He would not here of it, he instead gave, gave her more than she had asked.

They next met at church. She came to him this time, and with a beam of a smile. He was electrified, he could not leave that seat. But she sat close, and though her heart beat, she was helping. When she greeted, she lay her hand on his wrist, her warm hand. He loved that warmth, was so keen of that warmth, so keen of the soft palm and soft small warm fingers; soft, small and warm that one particular cold, solid and hard region drew his attention. He collapsed. She had been helping.