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Lebachi knew it was forbidden to look at the wrinkled old lady’s eyes, but she did.

*

She yawned and adjusted the puff-puff showcase on her head as she dragged along behind her father, the potbellied owner of the snack stall at the motor park. The deep-fried doughs of puff-puff in the showcase were leftovers from the previous day’s sale; her father would reheat them in hot oil and mix them with freshly made batches when they got to the stall.  They walked through the muddy path behind the cocoyam farm.

Her father made them take the path on days like this one when they were behind schedule. Tired of trying to catch up with her father’s long strides, she entertained herself with nature, scooping up the tiny water droplets of the morning dews on the leaves, playfully chasing after the lizards jumping off the back of trees. She mimicked birds chirping. This made her laugh. Her laugh narrowed into a smile, and she shut her eyes, inhaling deeply.  Her brows furrowed suddenly as though something had changed in the air. She opened her eyes swiftly, and right before her eyes stood the ineffable mystery of Isiokpo town.

She froze. Lebachi knew she was not supposed to look at the wrinkled old lady’s eyes, but she did. She did not look away, and she did not run.

The old lady uneasily took two slow steps backwards, limping into the bushes. Lebachi followed her with her gaze till she was completely out of sight. Clinging to the showcase with both hands, she hurried, looking over her shoulder intermittently till the old lady resurfaced, gazing at Lebachi.

At the crossroads, a sudden urge to stop overcame her; she set the showcase on the ground robotically. Her father turned around, he saw her unbuckling her shoe, but he kept walking. Her gaze met the old lady’s gaze, and she opened the showcase, took out a few pieces of puff-puff and wrapped them in a sheet of newspaper. She held it in her hand, looking at the old lady, who motioned to her. She left the wrap on the ground and continued behind her father. She trailed the old lady with her eyes, examining her frail physique, the full head of greys, and her limp as she relied on a stick for support. The old lady moved towards the food to pick it up. She shot a toothless smile at Lebachi, who hurried to catch up with her father.

*

It was the end of the school year of 1980; it marked the beginning of apprenticeship for some school leavers and the year of marriage for others; two more years till the end of school for Lebachi, and she would get married. It would not be if only her father would rethink his resolve; she didn’t want to stop schooling and get married; she wanted to be a Nurse and work at the big city Hospital in Port-Harcourt.

*

The motor park was bustling with activities per usual, with lots of customers at their stalls, scrambling to get some scrumptious puff-puff and buns. Her father had added iced Zobo beverages to the menu to form a balanced diet, as he would say.

She sat on a stool outside with her back to the stall while straining another batch of Zobo through a sieve into a tub of crushed ice. Her gaze went to the tattered tarpaulin shack by the electricity pole across the road.

 She remembered the old lady. She hadn’t seen her since their last encounter; she knew she was in there; everyone knew she lived there but never came out.  She stretched her neck to glimpse her, but the yells of impatient customers brought her back to the present, and she continued her duty.

‘But why does no one care about her?’ she said to no one.

‘Because she is a witch.’ one customer said.

‘We heard about her in my village. She eats children,’ said another.

‘She killed her whole family in one day,’ he added.

‘The gods have cursed her; If you ever behold her, you must visit the shrine for spiritual cleansing,’ he said with all seriousness.

Her father had never told her much about the old lady before; she wondered why she never questioned further. Like a shot, she saw the old lady’s face and immediately rushed into the stall to safety.

She wondered if she needed to go for cleansing at the shrine since she had done more than behold this abomination.

*

Her father’s sister arrived just as they were closing up the stall. This happened often; she could barge in on them as she pleased. She never regarded her aunt as one of her favourite people because she was the voice in her father’s head with an opinion about everything.

‘What do they teach you in that school? Do they teach you how to be good wives to your husbands?’ she would ask.

 ‘I did not go past elementary six, nor did your father. Look at me now, doing well with no regrets,’ She’d brag.

She planned for Lebachi to be matched with a big-time fabric merchant or a Car spare parts dealer from the big city market.

*

She lay tossing about the bed at night as sleep eluded her. Disturbed and saddled with the thoughts of the toothless old lady’s wrinkled face; it would not leave her mind.  Wondering if she really was a witch.

‘How did she become a witch?’ she thought.

 She was restless as she thought about how much pain the children she ate must have suffered before their deaths. She fell asleep and dreamt. The wrinkled old lady set her on a large platter and was about to eat her. She was saved by the cock’s crow; it was morning.

*

Isiokpo, a waterside town, was located in the coastal region of Nigeria, marked with blankets of deep vegetation, surrounded by large rivers with wildlife harvesting and bushmeat trade as the principal occupations. It was a sleepy town save for the motor park where the highlights of events happened daily. From drunk drivers fighting over turns in line or women, to fraudulent medicine sellers who sold concoctions with bogus claims of curing hundreds of ailments, including AIDS. To pickpockets, and the list goes on. Lebachi’s father ensured she did not fraternise with the wrong crowd, especially the bus drivers. He instructed her to reject every offer of generous tips with ulterior motives from the Men and warned them away from his daughter; his daughter would marry a master, not a servant.

Her father had always aspired to be like his own master, the one who taught him the trade. It was a privilege to be trained by that master in his time. Lebachi’s father was one of the lucky few. His master had dozens of snack stalls at different motor parks in the big city.

Upon completing his apprenticeship, his master set him up with his first stall, a contract norm with every apprentice.

His luck was nowhere near his master’s; although the business flourished in the early days, things soon dwindled. His luck worsened when Lebachi’s mother left, leaving him to care for their daughter. He moved back to the small town with Lebachi. They survived on wages from his occasional menial jobs. The commissioning of a motor park in their village made him consider opening a snack stall like in the city. He needed funds he did not have; his sister came to his rescue. She had ever since been a massive part of his personal or business decision-making.

*

Lebachi was fetching some water at the public tap by the motor park. She noticed a strange movement in the shrubs, and she investigated. It was the old lady, she jumped. That was the closest she had ever been to her. She recognised Lebachi and pointed her rusty flask towards her pleadingly, rubbing her throat. Lebachi looked at her; she didn’t look like a witch. She had no blood-dripping fangs; her eyes were not fiery red. How could she be a witch? Loneliness and suffering had aged her. She looked at the rusty flask bug-eyed; a vintage and expensive-looking item with a wretched witch? Did she steal it? It is like the one the chief owns, but better. She had so many questions and opinions in her head. She caught herself and relaxed.

‘I will help you get water if you tell me more about yourself.’

The old lady’s face suddenly took a morose expression.

Lebachi heard her father calling from a distance and took the flask to help her get some water before dashing off.

‘I will be back.’

*

 Later that afternoon, she sought permission to leave the stall early because she felt sick. Her father obliged; he agreed she had done so much and deserved the rest, but he noticed she had packed a bag and a few more snacks than she usually would take home. He watched as she left.

Lebachi made a U-turn at a safe distance and headed south of the motor park to the electricity pole.

*

The orderly arrangement of the shack surprised her; the insides did not correlate with the outside. She had dreamed it to be a bottomless, stinking hole filled with dried human bones. Lebachi watched her devour the puff-puff as she set down the bag of foodstuff she had brought for her. She must have gone without food for days, maybe weeks. She wondered how she fed. She checked the wound on the old woman’s leg; it looked better. She toured the extent of the shack, which was not larger than a few feet. There were stacks of books, emblems, medals. She saw picture frames of happy-looking people, Caucasians and Africans, all well-dressed in situations she had only seen on television. A particular picture caught her attention. It was of a lady in a nurse’s uniform receiving an award; she admired it.

She put the picture frame down and picked a metal Afro pick. It was her first time seeing one, and she wondered if all the items belonged to her victims. Lebachi picked up the picture frame again, admiring the beautiful young Nurse and could not help but question.

‘Who are you?’

The old lady took the last bite of puff-puff, gulped the Zobo and rested her back, avoiding the question. Her guest wouldn’t give up, she queried with her eyes.

‘Her,’ she responded wanly, in the Igbo language, referring to the picture in Lebachi’s hands.

Lebachi staggered. It was the first time she would hear her voice, but she was more shocked at the revelation.

‘That’s you? How? When? What happened?’

The old lady stared ahead into the short distance.

Lebachi was impatient; she nudged her.

She began, but this time, she spoke in English. ‘It all started in 1943; I was betrothed to Nkanunye, a mechanic apprentice, whom I was supposed to marry after I graduated standard school.’

She paused. Lebachi was astonished, wondering where the impeccable Queen’s English came from.

She continued. ‘I was lucky to have received an elementary education in the times that many Parents were reluctant to send their daughters to school; they believed that an educated girl was an economic loss to her parents and whatever she gains from education would benefit her husband and new family.’

‘Please go on,’ she urged.

The old lady focused on her. ‘Just before the wedding, a measles epidemic struck our town; I was affected. My parents feared I would die. Fortunately, a medical team conducting outreaches to small towns heard of the outbreak and came to our aid. My family was grateful for my life; I was especially impressed by the act of service. The team was kind, particularly the nurses. They showed so much care, enough to arouse my desire to become a nurse.’

Lebachi’s interest rose.

‘My desire met opposition from my parents, who immediately revived the wedding plans. I became recalcitrant; I had lost interest in that arrangement, mostly because Dominic had stolen my heart.’

Lebachi noticed her relaxed facial muscles, the twinkle in her eye and the soft smile as she mentioned the name.

‘He was the youngest doctor on the team. He mentored Altine, a northern auxiliary nurse about my age whom I quickly struck a friendship with; she planted the seed of elopement in my heart.’

Lebachi smiled; she had a friend like Altine.

‘After many years in England, we returned upon establishing the Nursing school in Port-Harcourt by the government, the same year the Civil War ended. I worked there for a few months till something started tugging at my heart to return home. I could not understand why. Maybe I needed closure; my parents did not deserve what I did, nor did Nkanunye. I needed to seek their forgiveness.’ She sighed.

‘I pleaded with my dear husband to return to our hometown with me; our second child had just turned ten. I wanted my parents to meet their grandchildren. Dominic did not object; he was the kindest man; God bless his soul.’ She said, touching her forehead, lower chest and shoulders.

‘Mixed reactions met our return; however, they did not take long to accept us. I was so happy to be back. I felt I owed this community, this town that made me. We decided to take over the running of the abandoned health centre through the support of a foundation we worked with in the city and with the approval of the King. Many indigenes volunteered to work with us; soon, the clinic was in operation.’

It had gotten dark. The old woman located a matchbox and an oil lamp; she took out the last matchstick and carefully struck it, lighting the lamp.

‘I will bring you a box of matches tomorrow.’ Lebachi assured her.

‘It is late, go home.’ The old lady advised.

‘Or I can stay, and you can finish telling me your story.’

The old lady shook her head and smiled at her; this time, she did not show her teeth.

‘Where did I stop?’ she asked.

‘You stopped when…’

‘I remember.’ she interjected. ‘I had become a celebrity, and everyone wanted to be associated with me. Well, not everybody, not Nkanunye. He had not forgiven me, and he did not hide it.

‘Unknown to me, he told everyone who cared to listen to beware of my witchcraft; to him, the only reason I came back to the town was to perpetrate evil.

‘Nobody listened to him at first, but he kept at it till he got some people’s ears. An opportunity soon opened for him to strike; my first daughter suffered appendicitis and needed to be transported to the city hospital for surgery.

‘Our vehicle was faulty, and we could not find a mechanic to help us fix it in time for the journey, so we arranged a chartered taxi. Somehow, Nkanunye caught the news and offered to help fix the car in time for the journey. I was grateful and seized the chance to ask for his forgiveness, which he assured me I had gotten.’

She sighed.

‘I believed him. He fixed the car; the plan was for my husband to go with the children to the city while I joined them later in the day after tidying up operations at the clinic. It was the perfect plan.

‘Nkanunye offered to help me at the clinic to speed things up so I could meet up with my family by public transport. I was grateful for his help and happy he had left the past in the past.

‘Just about noon that day, we got news of a fatal auto accident involving my family. I was devastated. While processing the news, a volunteer worker at the clinic rushed out to inform me of the patients on admissions dropping dead. I was confused, and I could not think.’

Lebachi was confused, too; she stared intently at the woman, waiting.

‘Nkanunye began to testify against me amidst the gathered crowd, affirming that I had killed everyone, including my family, just as he had told them I would. The shock was not enough to describe how I felt. I lost my mind, and I began to laugh. The crowd pelted me with stones, labelling me a witch. The king sent for me, and I received my punishment. My parents were ordered to dissociate from me. I was banished from the town, never to return.’

‘So, why did you return?’ Lebachi asked.

‘I did not go; I had nowhere to go. I spent days in the cold, sitting at the town’s borders, hungry. My poor mother could not bear to watch her only daughter rot away; she always sneaked back here at night to bring me food till she was able to convince my father to build this shack. That was when she could bring some of my belongings.’

She showed Lebachi pictures of her family.

‘After my parents’ death, my survival depended on charity from strangers who ply this route.’

Lebachi felt sorry; it must be terrible being the old lady, going from being a young and successful nurse to an old, haggard vagrant presumed a witch.

She heard the howling of a hunter’s dog in the distance and realised how late at night it was. She knew what might be waiting for her at home, but she did not care. Her day was fulfilled, and she will be coming back.

She tiptoed into the compound, and her father stood outside the house armed with a whip.

*

Lebachi would not speak to her father. It upset her that he had whipped her that much after all she did for him at home and at the shop. She busied herself with duties at the stall to avoid him.

She spent her break time looking through the old newspapers they used to wrap the snacks for the customers. She came across a medicine advertisement with a picture of a beautiful nurse smiling while dispensing the medicine. Her father sat beside her, and she pretended not to notice him as he tried to lock her gaze.

‘I hope you do not serve her with my plates?’ he asked.

She fought a rising panic as her heart leapt in her throat.

He continued. ‘All the disappearing acts, empty pots of soup, staying out late, and you think I wouldn’t know? I know you have been visiting and feeding her; I followed you; learn to cover your tracks better.’

She was speechless. She always knew her father had compassion, but she did not know the extent. He told her all he knew about the old woman. Even though he told her the distorted version known to the entire community, she listened to him, believing the old woman more.

‘Why are you allowing me to help her?’ she asked.

‘It’s been many years; I had just paid your mother’s bride price three years before you were born. I believe she has suffered enough; even the gods tire of punishments. They have pardoned her; that must be why they positioned her in your heart.’ He responded.

Sunshine flooded her soul; her happiness could not be contained. She hugged her father and returned to work with renewed hope.

*

 Dry and cold air came with the mid-December Harmattan weather—chapped skin and lips, cough and cold.  Lebachi was running the stall today; her father was down with the cold. They replaced the Zobo on the menu with tea to suit the weather. She could not help but wonder about the old lady in such weather. What if she had fallen ill and or died? It had been a while since she saw her due to a tighter school schedule; she had been made the senior prefect of her school.

After making a large batch of snacks and a large kettle of tea, she left the stall to Emenike, the new apprentice and assured him she would only be gone for a short while. Lebachi set out towards the shack.  As she approached, she began to think of the worst; it scared her to go in; it looked dusty and lifeless until she heard a cough and rushed inside.

She looked terrible; the weather had been harsh on her.

‘Bachi, is that you?’ She asked.

‘Yes, Mama.’

‘Heavens be praised.’ She said in a hoarse voice.

‘I brought warm food; eat some while I fetch some herbs.’ Lebachi said as she propped her up.

She brewed the herbs and gave her some.

‘I have to go now mama; I will be back tomorrow morning. Take this brew before you sleep at night, I will place your dinner right here.’ She said as she showed her where to find what.

The old lady nodded in appreciation, as she drifted to sleep. Lebachi tucked her in and sneaked out of the shack.

*

The next day took the same routine, and the day after that; till the old lady was nursed back to health.

‘How is your father?’ she asked.

‘He is doing much better, he sends his regards and wanted to share his magic healing soup with you.’ She laughed, handing the bowl of soup over.

The old lady shot her a knowing look. ‘Let’s hear it.’

Lebachi smiled, she had been caught. ‘I do not want to get married mama; at least not now and not to an arrogant businessman from the city that I do not know. I want to choose my path; like you. I want to be a nurse; it has been my lifelong dream. What can I do?’ she asked desperately.

The old lady held her hands in hers while looking into her eyes, she spoke to her in Igbo. ‘My child, these hands hold your fate. Whatever you desire or not desire will be held by these hands.’

She let go of Lebachi’s left hand, freeing one of her own in the process. She searched through a pile of books by her side and placed a piece of paper in Lebachi’s hand before letting go.

She looked at it, it was a leaflet with information on the basic requirements for nursing school.

*

They are low on supplies at the stall. Her father is better, but not enough to go to the city to shop to restock. He decided Lebachi was experienced enough to make the journey alone, and she would have her aunt to guide her; she will spend two nights at her aunt’s and maybe meet with her future spouse. This gave her mixed feelings. The journey was planned for the next day; she decided to visit her old friend before the journey. She packed enough supplies to last her for a few days.

‘Think of the advantage.’ The old lady said.

‘You will be alone and will have the chance to visit the school of nursing without anyone knowing. It’s an opportunity for you to pick up the forms.’ She said with a twinkle in her eyes.

 The thought of finally having the chance to visit the school excited Lebachi; she had butterflies.

*

Going to the city regularly for supplies is now Lebachi’s duty, as her father swears, she gets better bargains than he does. Before she embarks on another journey, she arranges for her old friend’s welfare as usual. On the 4th of June, 1989; three days after her departure. A strike action over the Nigerian Government’s austerity program has escalated and broken into a riot in Port-Harcourt. The chaos rapidly spread into smaller neighbouring towns. A crowd of agitating youth are being chased by soldiers, as they throw sticks and stones at these soldiers and policemen. Emenike is fetching some water at the public tap; he takes to his heels the moment he sees them. He was not born during the Civil War, but from the stories he was told, he is sure this must have been how it started.  He sprints to the stall to warn his boss and other businesses within the park, but he’s too late. Shops are razed down, stalls broken, and properties looted.

As the chaos advances, the shack is not spared. A soldier kicks off the door looking for any fugitive hiding in there; he sees the old lady, curled almost into a ball holed up in there, paralysed to the spot, the menacing aura holding her in a tightening grip.

‘Wetin you dey do dia?’ he retorts in pidgin English.

More soldiers move towards the sound of his voice and orders her out and dismantle the shack. The crowd of angry youth move in on them and continue throwing stones, the policemen fire numerous canisters of teargas into the crowd to disperse them, making it difficult for the agitators to breathe.

Lebachi returns in a taxi amidst the chaos; confused and scared. She worries for her father but is horrified at the sight of the dismantled shack. She looks ahead and sees the old woman on the ground helpless as she gets trampled upon in the stampede.

Lebachi tries to get in there and save her. ‘Please help her.’ she calls out.

She is ignored; her father quickly moves in and pulls her away as a huge rock land on the old lady’s head.

‘It’s too late.’ He tells her.

Her teary gaze meets that of the old lady, their eyes well up in tears as she breathes her last; Lebachi wails.

*

It is officially the end of the school year of 1990; and the end of formal Education for Lebachi.  It has been several months since she lost her dear friend, but hard to forget; she wishes she were here. She renews her pledge to herself and the old lady, and she’s more determined to actualise the dream. Her rebellion against her father began with her decision to stop going to the stall, followed by locking herself in her room, then hunger strikes, hoping he would get the message.

Her father’s sister had arrived earlier in the day, but stayed at the stall. She came on the invitation of her brother this time; he is out of ideas on how to get through to Lebachi, he wants his dear daughter back. As they return to the house that evening, He warns his sister to steer clear of the Lebachi’s door as she is easily irritable.

 ‘She would come out in the mornings and might not speak to anyone, not me, not Emenike; I am tired’. He declares.

The next morning, Lebachi gets out of bed earlier than usual; the house is silent. She hears inaudible voices from outside; she stands at her room window, cracking her curtains, just enough to peek.

‘There they are, two conspiring adults.’ She whispers.

Her aunt has a wrapper tied above her chest, her father has his tied below his belly, each with a chewing stick in their mouth. She knows they are talking about her, most likely about how to marry her off. She can tell by the way they keep looking towards her window. And she thought if she opened her curtains right then on them, her father would go, ‘Oh my daughter, you are awake?’

And the aunt would go, ‘My niece, how are you? Did you sleep well?’  she mimics them.

‘Bunch of hypocrites!’ she spits.

She thinks about her life in Isiokpo; knowing she wants more, she deserves more. She waits patiently for her father and his sister to leave for the motor park, before sneaking to the shed in the backyard where she has hidden the bag; it has gathered up some dust, the dust irritates her nose, and she sneezes. Going through the contents made her realise how much she misses her. She holds the picture to her bosom. She latches the clips on the bag and decides the picture belongs inside the house; then hides the bag.

Under her mattress, she reaches for the school of nursing application form; she fills it in, and breaks open her piggy bank.

*

A month later, after her aunt and father tire of waiting for her to come around, they set a wedding date. They decide it’s best for her; her rebellion did not work out for her. Her aunt carries on with the plans and her Dowry is paid. Her father’s dream will soon come true; his daughter will marry a master, not a servant.

*

She likes to loiter in the school quadrangle with Florence Nightingale’s statue on Saturday mornings. It has been a habit she imbibed since she got here. She watches a group of students take Taekwondo lessons from their Sensei. They are loud and confident; they are strong too. Another group sits under an oak tree taking instructions from an elderly nurse. Others are just lying on the grass enjoying the Lecture-free weekend. She wonders if the elderly nurse knew the old lady.

*

She takes a walk to the motor park later that evening, the many activities going on give her Nostalgia. There is a woman mixing batter, the batter looks dense and gluey; she walks up to her.

‘Madam, is that batter for Buns or Puff-puff?’

‘What did you say?’ the woman asks.

‘I mean, will you be frying Buns or Puff-puff with that?’

‘Which would you like to buy?’

‘None.’ she says. ‘But I trust it would come out nice.’

Lebachi misses her father and not the town, she misses the motor park and not the chaos, she misses the stall and not the snacks; she has had enough of those to last her an entire lifetime. She misses the old lady and everything she brought.