Where is your Placenta?
Adesanya Debo@deboadesanya188377
1 month ago
About the story:
This is a story of Amaka who society has written off from having a blissful union and a child. When the opportunity to change her story shows up, she damns all the consequences to grab it. But is fortune for the bold or for the wise? Amaka finds out the answer, but her life never remains the same thereafter. Please enjoy the emotional story and be ready to shed your catharsis.
WHERE IS
YOUR
PLACENTA?
DEBO ADESANYA
Table of content
1. Flashenta
2. The Blooming Jason
3. The Dying Jason
4. Where is my placenta?
Chapter 1 Flashenta
Amaka checked the clock on her paper-littered table for the third time. It was 9:03 p.m. She buried herself in the bulky Nigeria Law Report spread on her table. Blowing a big balloon from the gum she had been masticating like a pregnant ruminant, she released a generous sigh.
She had earlier asked her receptionist-cum-secretary to close for the day so that she could have time to study, having just landed the biggest case of her career life—a case of two women fighting over a child. What made the case intriguing was that the so-called child was a 27-year-old banker! He had assured her that money was not a problem if she could guarantee that one of the women whom he had sued for libel rotted in jail.
A sound from the front door made her freeze. Had she imagined it? She checked the time and gasped. It was 10:48 p.m. She heard the sound again distinctly. It was coming from the entrance door as if someone was crawling through. Fearfully, Amaka remembered she did not lock the main door. She remembered her office was in one of the deadliest Lagos Island slums. She remembered she had no weapon to defend herself. Again, she heard a groaning sound and a familiar pitched ‘meow’ sound- the one her front door always made because it had not been oiled.
‘Who is there? She asked in a shaky voice.
Silence!
Amaka stood transfixed, gaping with trepidation at the daringly ajar door connecting her office to the reception.
‘Who is there?’ She found her voice this time.
Again. Silence!
But she was sure someone was there. She could hear the groaning as if someone was trying to extricate a log of faeces out of his anus. The groaning was accompanied by suppressed sobs. Could this be a trap? She braced herself and looked around the office for any weapon; anything she could break bones or skull with. Fortunately, her gaze fell on a ceramic bust on a dusty wooden bookshelf behind her chair. The bust was an old ‘thank-you’ gift from an artist client. She grabbed it and took a ginger step forward. She peered at the faintly-lit reception but saw nothing. She stood rooted on a spot holding the bust belligerently like a sentry and straining her ears like a hunting wolf. She switched on the light.
Then she saw it- a grotesque figure slouching beside the biggest sofa just by the main door. Panicky, she took a bold step forward, and …darkness! She was enveloped in thick darkness. Power failure again! She fussed. Out of fear, she dropped the bust and ducked as she imagined the figure clawing at her face. She released a loud whimper as she tripped over a computer cord and brought the C.P.U crashing on herself. She laid flat on her face and passed out.
Amaka came to after a while. She didn’t know how long she had passed out. The office was fully lit as power had been restored. Lying on her belly beside the big reception table, she felt a weight on her back and shook her body as the C.P.U rolled down with a shattering sound. She felt so weak. The bust stood upright in her front like a chess queen proclaiming a checkmate.
The groaning sound jerked her back to life. She could hear it audibly now. It was coming from the entrance. She stood up and carefully disentangled her legs from the web of cords. Then she saw it. A scene that would remain indelible in her memory. A scene that had become a screensaver on her inner screen. She stood gawking for minutes.
In her front sat a gaunt Fulani girl of about 13 or 14 years of age. The girl sat in a pool of viscous blood. A dotted red line ran behind her and out of the front door like a street liner. In her hand was a still bloody flesh with a long blood-dripping rope in one hand while the other hand clutched tightly onto a reddish rope jutting out of her private part. She was almost naked. The ash-coloured maternity gown which made a feeble effort to cover her was torn and bloodily soaked at the hem, revealing her protruding stomach gleaming like a polished calabash. Looking disheveled with matted hairs and a face smeared with tears and mucous, she writhed in pain.
The girl motioned Amaka to relieve her of the burden in her hand. Speechlessly, she took it from her.
‘Oh my God, it’s a baby!’ Amaka exclaimed.
The baby, covered in dried blood, was still. The dangling bloody rope from its navel extended and disappeared under the young girl’s gown. Looking at the poor girl, Amaka was overwhelmed with compassion and she wept. The girl seemed to be pointing at the red rope she tightly held on to as if it would escape if she let go of it.
‘Flashenta’ she whispered weakly.
It took Amaka some seconds before she could comprehend her. She initially thought she had asked her to flash a light or something.
‘Flashenta’ the girl said again, pointing at the red rope.
Then Amaka understood her.
‘You mean placenta?’ she asked bewilderingly. The girl nodded weakly.
‘The placenta has not come out?’ Amaka asked alarmingly.
Although Amaka knew nothing about childbearing, she was not that dumb to realize the implication of a delayed placenta in the womb. Swiftly, she swung into action. She gently drew a couch nearer and put the still baby on it. Like a maniac, she dashed inside for her phone to make a call. Putting the phone in her pocket, she swaggered back to the scene praying for the survival of her dying guest. Her mind was in a whirlwind. The girl’s groaning was no more sporadic. She lay on her back. Her overblown stomach was moving rhythmically as if something was trapped there. Out of instinct, Amaka picked up the baby and realized that it couldn’t be separated from the mother. She dabbed it with a wet towel which instantly turned red.
As the cold water touched the baby, it shrilled alive breaking the eerie silence that enveloped the office. The cry was so soul-piercing that Amaka almost dropped it. She had never cleaned a baby before. Somehow she managed to do it and wrapped it in a long face towel, creating a hole for the rope. She heard a faint knock on the main door as a young lady in a nurse uniform snuck in.
‘Welcome, Jummy. Sorry for this late summon. Just help me with this mess.’ She signaled to the still figure on the floor, wondering if she was dead.
Jummy was shocked. She gaped at the figure and pool of congealing blood as if it were a serpent.
‘I’ll explain to you later. Save life first’ Amaka cut in before Jummy could bombard her with questions.
‘The placenta is still in her, but the baby is out’, she summed. Immediately Jummy severed the umbilical cord, Amaka took the baby and dashed into her office. She deliberately stayed back in her office to avoid the second travail of the poor girl.
The baby was fully awake. Amaka looked at the pretty baby and a pang of envy gripped her heart. She longed for it. This was what had kept her out of three expensive and traumatic marriages. Her eyes sprung tears. As the baby crackled, she cupped her two big firm breasts in her hands. She wondered if she would ever feel that thing mothers feel when they breastfeed their babies. Unconsciously, she brought out her left breast and thrust the hard nipple into the baby’s expectant mouth.
The baby gripped the big nipple with its toothless gum like a vice and took a hungry suck. Amaka closed her eyes to savour the tingling feeling.
‘Anty, this is not right’ Jummy’s voice threw her back to life. As if pierced by a needle, she jerked the breast out of the baby’s mouth and deposited it into her clothes. The baby coughed a cry.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. The baby was hungry and I thought I…’
‘It’s not healthy. You are not lactating and that could hurt the baby’ she cut her short. She snatched the bundle from Amaka and went to the reception. Heavy with shame, Amaka followed her.
Jummy tried to rock the crying baby to sleep, but it was futile. She spotted a bag of sachet water by a file cabinet. Quickly, she carefully opened one and put the tip of the sachet in the baby’s mouth. Intuitively, the baby sucked at the tip of the nylon as though it was a nipple. And the cry stopped.
‘Maybe we should ask the mother to feed him’ Amaka suggested
‘The mother has packed up’ Jummy replied coldly without turning
Her message didn’t sink at first.
‘She has packed up?’ Amaka repeated ignorantly
‘She is dead’ Jummy simplified
‘Dead! I’m in deep shit’ she wailed
‘Don’t you think you need to tell me the whole story’ Jummy said with an air of suspicion
‘Yes’
‘And nothing but the truth’ Jummy added scornfully
‘Meaning?’ Amaka asked in a low confident voice. The lawyer sense in her took over and she smelled a foul play budding.
‘If you want the whole truth, I’ll tell you, but don’t form any unfounded insinuation.’ And she narrated the story to her.
By the time Amaka finished the narration, it was 12:25 a.m.
‘You know it will be very difficult to believe that you don’t know her’ Jummy said mildly
‘Yes, I know. But that’s the truth Amaka replied defiantly
‘Not with your marital history and…’ she paused to look away as if avoiding a confrontation.
‘And what?’ Amaka asked
‘What I caught you doing with the baby’
Right there, Amaka’s mind openly read Jummy’s mission-BLACKMAIL!
Amaka remained silent. Her brain foraged for an ‘iron-cast’ defence. Although she was innocent, the Nigeria Judiciary could make anything happen.
‘I’ll help you with the body’ Jummy’s voice jammed into her thought.
‘You will?’ Amaka asked. She almost asked her to name her price.
‘Yes, I will. Just give me some minutes’ she picked up the sleeping baby and made for the door.
‘No. wait’ Amaka stopped her. ‘You can’t go with the baby’ she protested.
Jummy raised eyebrows in an exaggerated ‘why’.
‘If I must suffer, let it be for a price’, Amaka sniffed. ‘Worthy price’ she whispered with a globe of tears hanging in her eyes.
‘Okay’. Jummy gave up with a reluctant shrug and handed the sleeping baby to her. ‘Can I have the placenta?’ She asked.
Amaka handed her a soiled polythene bag and, like a ghost, Jummy snuck out of the office.
Amaka cuddled the baby to her bosom and cried. Her being desired this baby.
Chapter 2
The Blooming Jason
Dr. Wale gently tickled the six-month-old infant on a cot to extricate his stethoscope which the baby tightly held on to. The baby laughed happily, showing reddish toothless gum. The baby was chubbily rounded. Its curled hair, fair skin, and pointed nose gave it a ‘half-caste’ look.
‘Jason, do you want to be a doctor?’ Dr. Wale joked as he retrieved his stethoscope. He gently parted the boy’s mouth and dropped two droplets of some fluid.
‘Mummy Jason, your handsome boy is very strong and healthy.’ Dr. Wale declared as he folded his gadget into his trouser pocket. He scrawled some illegible writings on a pad and gave it to her.
‘This will suppress the teething pain and further supplement his diet since he has not been on natural milk.’
‘Oh my God, he is already teething?’ she beamed with surprise, ignoring the latter information.
‘Yes. See those budding gums. They started early these days
‘Yes’, she concurred. ‘I didn’t start mine until I was one.’
‘So long, mummy Jay and please don’t forget the immunization.’
‘Thank you so much, doctor’, she blurted as she saw the young doctor to the door, casting a careful look at the sleeping baby as if afraid that he would disappear. She liked her new title. It had sprouted out the hitherto dead motherly instinct in her. Being called a mother provided her a good reason to be provident and responsible. Now she could boastfully add the cliché: ‘I have a family to cater for’ to her dialogues.
She sat on a crane chair on her balcony overlooking the almost deserted Mellor Street, downtown Sagamu. Like a summer flower, her life was just budding. Although she always feared something would truncate her joy, she was ready to fight on till the end. Life as a single mother was more dignified than life as an old spinster. Every old spinster in Nigeria was a whore!
She had relocated to Sagamu after winning her last legal case in Lagos-two women fighting over a young man. In the face of daunting shreds of evidence that finally unraveled the real mother, the young man, her client who incidentally was a banker, preferred the woman who had nurtured him to greatness. And that was what she pleaded for, and that was what the court granted. The victory had surged her income.
She had hung her wig and gone into business mainly to conceal her past. The thriving of JASON SUPERMART in the bustling Sabo Park within two months of the establishment had shrouded her mind from the past and provided a perfect guise for her. Her life was carving a respectful image.
She had changed her phone, bought a new SIM card, and flushed the old one- her old life, down the toilet.
‘The grass is greener on the other side…’ She sang along with her phone ring tone to the song of Davido before she picked up the phone and checked the caller’s ID. It was Remi, her store supervisor.
‘Hello, yes, Remi what’s it? She inquired
‘Good day, ma. You asked me not to allow Aminat to work without taking orders from you, 'Remi stammered into the phone.
‘Yes’
‘She just resumed work now, ma’
‘And you could not tell her my order?’
‘I did ma’, Remi replied apologetically. ‘But she didn’t believe me’
‘Okay, give the phone to her’
‘One more thing, ma’ Remi whispered. ‘I think she is pregnant’
‘Pregnant?’ Amaka exclaimed. She was about to say something, but she changed her mind. ‘Okay, let her continue with her work, I’ll talk to her personally.’
She had employed Aminat about three months before, mainly to help offload supplies from vans and help customers convey their purchases. Amaka had seen this as a charitable gesture. Why allow a pretty young Fulani girl to roam the city begging for alms if she could be decently engaged? Amaka had called the gaunt-looking Fulani girl out of a belligerent sun, and after dropping a five hundred naira bill in her battered aluminum plate, offered her a job. The girl was happy and in her guttural English, she had voiced her appreciation.
‘Taaku mah ’
Aminat never missed work until last month.
It could be the stress of the pregnancy. Amaka could not remember what they called it. Shame surged into her veins. The young girl had experienced motherhood! She blinked frantically to fight off the gathering envious tears. Right there, she made up her mind to support Aminat. That was the last thing on her mind as she went in to dress up.
Amaka’s mind was in deep retrospect as she drove her Honda Pilot along the traffic-free highway to her store. Her three failed marriages, the attendant pains they unleashed on her, and the shameful repulsive stigma they painted out of her. Doyin, her first love, was doting at the beginning. He had promised to make it up for her, having disobeyed her parents to marry a Yoruba man.
One day, Doyin, who was also a lawyer, came home earlier and started begging her for forgiveness.
‘My parents and my families persuaded me’, he begged on his knees.
‘Persuaded you to do what?’ She had asked with a restrained apprehension
‘They said since you’re unable to produce a child after three years of our marriage, I should get a new wife’
‘Doyin, you won’t try such! This marriage is for life, child or no child!’ She had fumed disappointedly. ‘We have seen couples that waited for ten years after marriage before their first child. Mine is just three years and you are already impatient’, she sobbed.
Like hanging gunpowder, Doyin dropped the bomb. ‘She is already pregnant’, he said, looking away to avoid eye contact.
‘Pregnant? And you waited till now to tell me? How could you?’ she sobbed weakly.
‘I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t know how to tell you.’
‘I’m out of this relationship and your deceitful life’, she said and staggered in to pack.
That was the end of her first marriage.
Like a flip, her attention was yanked to the present and caught a young lady in a nurse uniform buying watermelon from one of the Hausas under the traffic-congested city bridge. Like a springboard, recognition sprung to her senses. It was Jummy! She cast a look at Jason who was sleeping on a baby couch in the back seat and swerved her car to a kerb. What was Jummy doing in Sagamu? The past she thought she had flushed away had partly resurfaced. Fear gripped her like a vice.
Jummy, oblivion of any observer, held a heavy fruit-filled carrier bag and waved down a bike. The bike man put the bag on the tank and balanced the bike while Jummy mounted and gesticulated her destination to him. Amaka timidly followed, struggling to keep in touch as the bike man snaked his way through the gathering late-morning traffic.
She was in time to see the lady carrying the bag and sauntered toward an old building with a wooden veranda and plank windows. Inscribed on the house in illegible charcoal letterings was: MUGODE ORPHANAGE. She wondered what Jummy was doing there. Quietly, she reversed and made her way to her store. She promised to stay in-door to avoid this chance of meeting.
Chapter 3
The Dying Jason
Amaka ‘s heart was pounding so violently that she felt it would leap out. She clutched her tight-fitting shirt over her bulging chest as if to reduce the pounding. This was the fifth time she would be in Dr. Wale’s clinic, sitting on the same chair, with the same emotion and for the same reason. She was more scared of hearing the same cliché. Amaka prayed.
Jason was dying. He had become a shadow of himself. Dr. Wale had carried out various diagnoses of malaria, worms, food poisoning, cholera, and others she could not remember, but none was positive, yet Jason kept deflating every second. This fifth time, she prayed for a medical name for her son’s ailment.
She had rushed Jason to the clinic during a sleepless night with ceaseless crying out of pain and bouts of cough. After about an hour of emotional waiting, the doctor’s door slowly opened. And like a scene in suspense, Amaka’s heart hung like a faulty pendulum.
Dr. Wale, holding a printed sheet of paper in his right hand, wiped his forehead with the back of his left hand. He released a deep sigh before talking.
Amaka just gaped with burning anxiety.
‘We just ran an H.I.V. test on him’, he waved the paper forlornly.
‘H.I.V?’ Amaka whispered audibly.
‘Yes’. The doctor replied and paused.
‘And?’ Amaka asked impatiently
‘It’s negative’
Amaka felt disappointed. She had wished it was positive. At least, there would be recommended drugs for it. Dr. Wale finally dropped the cliché.
‘Nothing is medically wrong with your son’, he pronounced pitifully. ‘I may have to refer you to Dr. Delano, a renowned paediatrician.’ He scribbled something on a pad, tore it and gave it to her. ‘Dr. Delano is a consultant with the teaching hospital but owns a clinic-Child’s Haven on Makun Street’
‘Thank you’, Amaka took the paper and made for the ward to pick up her son.
‘I have called him and he is expecting you’, he called after her. ’Please go with the file’
Amaka found Child’s Haven hedged between Zenith Bank and First Bank on the busy Makun Street. The duplex ran out of the road in a distorted alignment. Although it had no gate, the two banks on its two sides had fenced it in. It had a modern derelict look with a wide patchy grass that stretched into the road. A few cars that parked on the grass were quite exotic. She saw a space beside a black Lexus jeep and slid her Honda Pilot in.
The reception was a spectacle! Seated in the cold lobby were expensive parents with children who seemed to have defied medical diagnoses. Some children were so skinny that they looked like skulls and bones in their oversized clothes. Some were with protruding and gleaming tummies, those pictures that reminded one of the Rwandan war. Oddly enough, no child cried. The lobby was strangely quiet. Amaka concluded that children with odd ailments never cry, except Jason!
Amaka took in these scenes in her stride as she waded to meet the receptionist; an elderly man with an extremely flat nose that would make one wonder how he breathed.
‘Good day sir’, she greeted, clutching a bundle of shawl to her chest. ‘I would like to see Doctor Delano’
‘Welcome madam’, he had a woman’s voice. ‘Are you on appointment?’ He asked
‘Yes, I was referred by Dr. Wale.’
‘Oh yes!’ He exclaimed. ‘He is expecting you. Just sit for a while; he is with a patient right now'
After a few minutes, a young pretty woman followed an empty-looking stretcher rolled by a nurse into the ward. Amaka had to look keenly before she could pick a tiny figure beneath the stretcher’s sheet.
She read the nameplate on the door before she knocked. It simply read Dr. Delano. She tapped gently on the door, carefully holding on to the office file in her hand with the other hand still clutching the shawl housing Jason. She pushed open the oak door and walked in.
She met him on his feet. Dr. Delano was a man over-shadowed by his name. The chief consultant of the state teaching hospital and current president of the Paediatrician Association of Nigeria was bird-like.
Facing Amaka was a small man, not bald, but with completely white hair. He had a pointed foreign nose from where millions of white long hairs like whiskers jutted out as if struggling for oxygen.
He sat down and motioned Amaka to do the same.
‘Dr. Wale briefed me on the phone', he said. He sounded deep and soothing.
‘Yes, it’s my son’
‘I know. Where is the file?’ She handed over the file. He flipped through the pages quickly and closed it. ‘And your son?’ He asked mildly. Amaka gently passed the shawl across the big table. He placed the shawl on a stretcher beside his chair and unwrapped it. Amaka closed her eyes. What was left of Jason strangled her heart.
Dr. Delano didn’t bother to recommend for any test. He put his stethoscope on Jason’s chest for a long time, posing his white head at different angles as if struggling to hear the heartbeat. Amaka was suffocating with anxiety. After a while, he covered the boy and sank onto his chair with a professional sigh.
‘Madam, your son will be okay’, he said soothingly
Amaka sobbed out. ‘I’ll be glad doctor. Please help me, you are my last hope'
‘You don’t have to cry. Nothing is wrong with your son medically’
‘That’s what they keep telling me, but I know my son is sick’ she sobbed
‘I think your son is sick spiritually’ he said confidently. He opened his drawer and brought out an old white calabash dotted with white cowries. From the calabash, he removed a heavily folded white shawl and returned the calabash. He unfolded the shawl, revealed the contents, and spread it. There were six large oval-shaped white cowries and a black pod-like object. He removed a red band and tied it to his head.
Amaka gawked at him like an imbecile.
‘Don’t be surprised’, he beamed. ‘Some cases are more spiritual than medical. My ability to traverse the two is what defines me'. He threw the cowries apart and started shaking the pod-like object, mumbling incomprehensibly. Then he paused and looked at her.
‘What’s your son’s name?’
‘Jason’
‘No. His real name, the local name’
‘Mayowa’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Amaka. Chiamaka’
The man continued with his mumbling, but this time, Amaka could hear her name and Jason sandwiched between the jargon. Suddenly he stopped and started packing the objects. He made sure he returned all the objects to his drawer before he spoke. The suspense he created could be sliced with a knife.
‘Madam, your son is a victim of a spiritual attack’, he said finally
‘Spiritual attack? How?’ She asked shockingly
‘You can spend millions on him, but no doctor will see anything’
‘What am I going to do, doctor?’
‘Let me ask you a question’
‘What, doctor’
‘Where did you bury his placenta?’ He asked silently as if disclosing a secret.
The question hit Amaka like a sledgehammer. She sat rigid with a bleeding conscience.
‘Where did you bury it?’ The elderly doctor asked again.
‘I…I really don’t know…’, she stammered
‘We need to find the remains of your child’s placenta. If not…’, he trailed off
‘If not?’, Amaka asked frightfully
‘He will not live to celebrate his next birthday’, he euphemized
Chapter 4
Where is my Placenta?
The doctor’s pronouncement kept ricocheting off her brain to her whole system. If Jason should die, she would also die mechanically. The only way she could get the placenta was to find Jummy. She swung to action.
Jason was not sleeping when she gently packed him into a grocery basket. His head had grown bigger with a protruding forehead. His eyes sunk deep like the two dots on a snowman’s face. Was he trying to say something? Amaka peered at the dead eyes which blinked sporadically but couldn’t read anything.
She picked the basket like a shopper and headed to her jeep. She drove around the town, trying to remember where she had seen Jummy. Providentially, after about thirty minutes of circular driving, she found the house: MUGODE ORPHANAGE. Leaving the basket in the back seat, she alighted and walked to the house.
The old house was busy with boisterous children. Amaka entered and found herself in a large room with an unplastered floor. About twenty babies lay crying on threadbare mattresses. A middle-aged woman in a hijab was feeding about three babies from a dented dirty plate. In her haste, probably to feed them all, she spilled most of the cereal on the bed. Amaka grimaced.
‘Good afternoon, here’, she greeted
The woman stopped and looked back. When she saw Amaka, she dropped the plate and warmed up.
‘Good afternoon, ma’, she replied and blocked her at the door. Immediately after the feeding stopped, the babies resonated with cries. The woman hastily closed the door.
‘I want to see Nurse Jummy’,
‘Okay. You are from where ma? She asked suspiciously
‘I’m from this town. Jummy is my friend and she told me I could get her here’, she replied as the woman led her to the back of the house which was filthier than the frontage. ‘I actually want to bring some gifts for the children’, she lied.
On hearing this, the woman became more courteous. She brought out a rickety wooden chair and set it against the wall facing the open smelly toilet doors.
‘Ramah!’ She called out one of the numerous young girls washing clothes beside the toilets. She asked the girl to get Amaka a bottle of soft, but Amaka politely declined the offer. She was getting impatient.
‘Did you bring the gifts ma? The woman asked
‘No. Jummy asked me to see her so that she could tell me what you actually needed’, she lied again. This time, the lie opened the door.
‘Ok, you are right ma. I will go and tell her.’ And she left.
Amaka brought out her face towel and covered her nose. The putrid smell of decayed and fresh faeces pervaded the atmosphere. She was about to give up when Jummy sauntered in looking sleepy.
Although she was still in her uniform, she looked worried and surprised to see Amaka.
‘Anty, what are you doing here? She queried unhesitant
‘Won’t you even say hello to me’, Amaka said mildly with a smile. Jummy heaved a noisy sigh, brought out a stool and sat facing her.
‘Good afternoon. I’m sorry for my rudeness. It’s just that you are the last person I expected to see here’, she said apologetically.
‘Now that you have seen me, you should know it’s for a cause’, Amaka threw the bait.
Jummy quickly sensed something untoward brewing. She braced herself to caution.
‘So, what do you want?’ She asked.
‘Jummy, I earnestly need your help’, Amaka said weakly. Oblivion of the putrid smell, she dabbed her sweaty face with the face towel.
‘You always do’, Jummy replied with a slight shrug.
‘Jason is seriously sick and he is at the point of death right now’, Amaka ignored her proud remark. She knew this was not the time for a display of superiority.
‘Jason? Who is Jason?’
‘My son… I mean… that baby....’, Amaka stammered as she gesticulated to explain her point.
‘Oh, the Fulani baby!’ Jummy exclaimed. ‘What happened to him?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been to many hospitals, yet they couldn’t see anything medically wrong with him but Jason keeps drying up every second’, she sobbed.
Jummy felt touched. ‘I’m sorry, anty. So what do you want me to do?’
‘For Jason to live, I must exhume his placenta’, she said slowly. Jummy stiffened and shifted in her seat.
‘Placenta?’ She asked. ‘Where do you intend to get that?’
‘That’s why I’ve come to you. Please Jummy help me.’ She begged. ‘Remember you took it away that day’
‘I have disposed of it. Do you know the number of placentae we take delivery of every day? Amaka went on her knees.
‘Jummy please, try and remember. I will give you any amount you want. Let me remain a mother.’ She begged her.
The mentioning of money got Jummy thinking. She kept quiet for a while.
‘How did you trace me here? She asked.
Amaka narrated how she did. Jummy drew close to her as if she was about to divulge a secret.
‘Anty, I really pity you. You have been good to me before, so I feel I owe you the truth.’ Amaka was all ears. ‘I have sold the placenta.’ She said downcast.
‘You sold it? To who? Why? Why didn’t you bury it? Amaka lamented.
‘There is no way you will blow ashes and it will not trail you’, Jummy cut her short. ‘There is no way you will know the truth and you will be free of guilt. You are as culpable as I. I know you’re a lawyer, but I have enough proof to nail you if you make any smart move’, Jummy said matter-of-factly.
Amaka was stupefied. Although this wasn’t the first time Jummy would threaten her, she felt the young girl was up to something and she was ready to dig it out.
‘You are threatening me again?’
‘anyanty Amaka, I’m sorry, but I just wanted to confide in you’, she said apologetically. Like a stalking snake, she excused herself and entered the house. Amaka sat there like a figurine. Sooner than she expected, Jummy returned with a young pregnant Fulani girl. Amaka jumped to her feet.
‘What are you doing here, Aminat?’
‘Ah… well done, ma.’ the young girl greeted shockingJimmyummy cast a look at the two of them. She seemed surprised too.
‘So you recognise her’
‘Yes, she worked in my store’, Amaka fumed, gaping at the duo.
‘This is the girl that delivered the baby in your office, and her name is Rashida and not Aminat’, Jummy retorted indignantly.
It was Amaka’s turn to gawk. The lawyer’s sensor in her detected a default. Instantly, she picked a cockeyed prank in the atmosphere. It dawned on her that the duo had a standing relationship that predated the incident in her office a few months before.
‘Why did you plant her in my office?’ She asked straightaway, ashen-facJimmyummy was thrown off balance by the direct question, but she steeled herself with an admitted grin.
‘Y-y-yes’, she replied hesitantly. ‘I did. I just gambled that you would call me to help you out and it paid off, she smiled
‘So you’re into a baby production racket?’ She interrogated
‘Baby factory business’, Jummy simplified with a smile. ‘It’s a big business, bigger than a lawyer like you’, she added boastfully.
‘Ma, where is my baby’, Aminat cut in sobbing. Amaka peered at her, but couldn’t link her to that gaunt-looking Fulani girl in her office that night. Being jelly-minded now meant betraying Jason and that would be the last thing she would do. She would protect Jason even in his death.
‘Are you going to return her baby?’ Jummy jammed into her thought.
Speechlessly, Amaka slowly picked up her purse and stood up. Looking at the protagonists, she stormed: ‘I don’t owe anybody any baby’ and she stomped out of their sight heaving curses on her trail.
As Amaka sat in her car, she couldn’t suppress the gripping urge to weep and wail. Reposing on her car steering wheel, she let go of the urge and rocked the car. After a while, she intrusively looked back at the grocery basket. Jason stared lifelessly with his dry caked lips forming O. Thick dry mucous blocked each of his nostrils as if to suffocate him. Jason was dead. Amaka just peered, finding it difficult to believe this inevitable tragedy. Sorrowfully, she covered the basket.
At the police station, Amaka presented her lawyer’s I.D. and demanded to see the D.P.O. Out of respect for lawyers, the constable ushered her to the D.P.O.’s office. She made a statement and presented herself for arrest. A few minutes later, she was escorted to her jeep and the grocery basket was retrieved and labelled as an exhibit.
At dusk of the same day, a truckload of armed police stormed MUGODE ORPHANAGE. Among those taken away were Jummy, Aminat, and many hungry-looking children.
#nirclestory
#story
#aficanstory
The End
