It’s been three months since my mum passed on.
It’s been three long and hard months. Having to go and meet my uncles to raise funds for my late mum’s burial which was a week away was psychologically tortuous. Uncle Donatus had bitterly narrated how my mum had ostracized my father from the family till his death and how she had ignored him even after my dad died. I had listened tortuously and painfully to someone bad mouthing my mum who I considered my ‘little God’ whilst she lived. I pretended like I wasnt aware that his constant advances towards my mum was the reason my mum avoided him.
I would ordinarily not have had to put up with this trash talk by anyone, especially not from any of my uncles(who never showed any care to me and my mum); but here I was, the only surviving daughter of my mum, with a week to pay the undertakers, the church, refreshments for my mum’s age grade et al. I also had to source for money to repay Alex’s loan and pay the mercenary guy who was helping in writing my project and; I needed all the money I could get. If I wasn’t a strong willed lady, I would easily have had a nervous breakdown.
After his 3 hour vituperation which was made all the more embarrassing as it was done in the presence of his wife and kids, he went in his room and handed me N4, 000 as his own contribution for the burial.
In between the shock I felt at the small sum he was giving me with his knowledge of my circumstances and the indignity I had suffered hearing my mum reputationally crucified, I shed a tear as I counted the money. Noticing my teary face, Uncle Donatus had muttered something about me managing what he gave me and trying to appeal to my dad’s other brother; Uncle Emmanuel. He also said the family would still have a meeting to collectively decide on how to help with the burial. With my previous encounters with them and their antecedent during my dad’s burial, I would be a fool to rely on my uncle’s promises.
On my way home that evening, I said a prayer asking God to see me through it all. It was my first prayer in months and I felt lighter.
I called Uncle Emmanuel later that evening and he was unusually receptive. He tried consoling me about the death of my mum and asked me to see him in his office the next day to discuss what he would assist me with the burial. I secretly wondered if I had courted his help earlier, my mum would still be alive. From my budget for the burial, I needed at least an additional sum of three hundred thousand Naira for the burial and at least another fifty thousand for Alex and my project mercenary. I had secretly hoped I would get a sizeable amount of that sum from Uncle Emmanuel; after all he was a senior manager with a new generation bank. As with Uncle Donatus, my mum was not particularly enamored about her relationship with him.
I showed up in his office the next day as agreed and although he was warm, I felt extremely uncomfortable a couple of times I caught him glancing at my backside. Even during our conversation, he would unconsciously lower his gaze and momentarily focus on my bulging boobs (Perv!). He went on and on about how fond he was about my mum and how much he felt hurt by her passing (see famzing).
After a little over an hour he got up hurriedly and told he had a meeting to attend and that I should see him later that evening at home. I reluctantly agreed. His constant stares and my bewilderment at why he wouldn’t give me what he wanted to there and then made me uncomfortable at the prospect of going to his house. The only comfort I had was the presence of his wife and child.
The time was 6pm and I set out to go to his house. I placed a call to him and he rejected the call. A minute later he sent a text explaining he was still at the meeting but that I should go to his place and wait for him. I went there expecting to see his wife but only saw a teenager who I do not recall being my uncle’s son; I was to later learn he was my uncle’s wife’s distant cousin living with them. He confirmed that my uncle had called him to say I was coming. I waited.
In between mouthfuls of the nicely prepared meal that I was offered (I had not eaten something that good for some days), I took time to take in my uncle’s apartment. He lived in a duplex and you could have mistaken him for the MD of a bank. His wife was also an executive with an oil company in Port Harcourt and I could smell her touch on the house. The house was well furnished with European styled furniture. I had planned to ask him for three hundred thousand before but there and then, I decided I would ask for more (Oliver Twistress).
A good piece of meal taken after a prolonged hunger usually has this effect of making me drowsy. Coupled with the stress I had been through around that time, I dozed off only to wake up around 8 pm. I was really worried and called him. He apologized profusely and said he would be there in the next one hour. I complained about the danger of returning late to the area I was living and he said “don’t worry”; then he hung up.
One hour, forty five minutes later, my uncle arrived and gave me a most ‘un-uncle-like’ hug, pressing my boobs so hard against his chest and my hand mistakenly grazed his dick; it was hard. He apologized for keeping me waiting for that long and advised that I wait till the next day before returning home since it was late already to get transport home. Still puzzled as to the whereabouts of his wife and child, I asked if Aunty Mabel and Junior were still coming back from where they had gone that evening. Uncle Emmanuel looked me in the eyes and said; “Mabel and Junior are on vacation in the United Kingdom”.
Oh No! Trouble!