I know mama said life will throw a lot of things at me. I remember her saying I should make lemons out of the lemonade…or something of that nature. But she forgot to give me the recipe, and now I am stuck at taking off the peel. Even that chore has become so hard, as the peels are stuck to the body, refusing to budge.
This is the only reason why I was subjected to that obnoxious ritual at the church. The reverend there looked like a clown to me, raising his hands and feet in what he called a holy dance. I can’t believe Mide took him for his words. All the hens and the bells only left my head ringing and my clothes reeking. Yet, I am expected to feel delivered and free. Who said I was possessed in the first place?
All I did was try to exhume the corpse, to create a more secure place for my little child to lay her head. The coating of the casket seemed too rough for eternal rest, and the ground too hollow for a chance at rebirth. What if she felt tired of resting on her back, wanting to turn around, but finding no space for that? I didn’t want to imagine my poor thing going through that.
Imagine Mide telling me I needed to go see a psychiatrist because I felt that way? What would a psychiatrist know about the comfort of a dead child? That was why I worked alone that night, digging and digging until I saw the shine of the casket. My poor little thing! She looked even worse after spending a night cramped up there.
Why the hell is this bike man running like he has a death sentence? He shouldn’t dare come close to my car. That would give Mide another reason to look at me like I just dropped from the skies. He never ceased to tell me each day how he had spent so much repainting the car simply because I mentioned that it reminded me of my dead child’s favorite color. Who told him it was a painful memory?
They wouldn’t let me see her again after what I did. But they can never understand. No one ever understands me. Why can’t they see that life took my only child away from me, and I am trying to recreate the moment by painting it my own way? Wasn’t that what mama meant with that saying? Or could they be right? Am I possessed?
Now Mide had to set two appointments for the same day. Wasn’t the reverend enough for him? Now, I have to go in to see the imam. I hope his house doesn’t smell of hens, because I cannot take anymore. Hopefully, he sees the lemonade in the lemon and does not conclude like everyone else.