Kure

Kure held his baby sister, Amena, in his arms and quietly sang her Nigerian lullabies while Mama finished up with her male visitor. His tiny voice quivered into Amena’s ear as he tried to distract her from hearing the movement and heavy breathing coming from the opposite corner of the dark room. The eight-month-old infant cried for her mother’s breast and didn’t understand that she needed to wait quietly and patiently for Mama to finish. Kure didn’t know what his baby sister wanted. He was scared the visitor would get angry and yell at them, it had happened many times before. Hush now, little Amena. Everything is going to be all right, he thought to himself as he nervously rocked the baby and continued to sing in her ear. He hoped it would calm her down, but nothing was working.

Kure heard the man let out a deep heavy sigh; it was followed by the sound of a zipper and the clank of a metal belt buckle. The tall dark figure stood in the middle of the room, ready to leave. Kure could only make out a blurred version of the strong built frame that stood before him. He saw the man pull out his wallet from his back pant pocket and hand his mother some Naira.

“I’ll see you next week, Nansat. And next time do something about those damn kids.”

Mama opened her mouth but he was out the door before she could offer an explanation. She sat defeated on the twin size mattress that rested unevenly on the dirt floor. She paused for a moment and then began feeling around in the dark to find her robe. Her fingertips came across a silk cloth. She wrapped the worn garment around her slender body and tied the rope around her middle.

“I think Amena is hungry, Mama,” Kure said hesitantly. He didn’t want her to get angry with him. He remembered the time Mama slammed him up against the wall and the only picture they had of his father fell and the glass shattered into a million little pieces. That had made Mama even more furious. She wound up and hit Kure across his left cheek. He fell to the floor and lay in the broken glass. All the while Amena’s little arms and legs were flailing as she cried on her back all by herself in the corner.

“Oh, Jumoke…” Mama sobbed as she picked up the photograph. She held it to her chest and walked out of the shack into the night.

This time was different though. Mama didn’t say a word as she took Amena out of Kure’s tired arms. She sat on the floor and leaned against the tin wall, uncovered her breast and fed the baby. Kure thought back to that photo of his father. His memory was faint but he could remember his father’s dark healthy skin, glowing eyes, and strong serious face. How long ago that life seemed to be. Before Amena was born. Before his father died. Before they had to leave their house in Jos. Before Kure had to drop out of school and get a job at the market. So many things had happened that the happiness he once knew seemed impossible to reach. He remembered how he couldn’t even recognize his own father when he buried him. His father’s sunken face and skeletal body was forever implanted in Kure’s memory of the last days of his life. He could only lie in bed because the disease zapped him of all energy and will to live.

Word traveled quickly of his father’s disease. At a time when the Agu family needed support from friends, family, and their community, they were completely shunned from society. Their life seemed to change overnight. His father lost his job when his mother was five months pregnant. They proceeded to lose their home and move to the Mathare slums. Overnight Kure became the breadwinner of the family. He stopped going to school and got a job at a meat shop in the market. He lost all of his friends; no one would talk to him in fear of catching the deadly virus. Kure learned to stop looking people in the eye because all he saw in people’s faces was disgrace and condemnation.

He had to get accustomed to life in Mathare. It was a new culture to adjust to. He soon became immune to the rotten smell of the ankle deep stream of human waste that ran in between the shacks. There were no toilets in Mathare, only trash bags to defecate in and walls to piss on. He recognized the dogs in the area. Many were bony with each defined rib protruding, patches of hair missing, and sometimes even wobbling on three legs. One afternoon he watched as a dog ate the remains of another dog on the side of the road. It was then that Kure realized his heart had become stone. He had seen men walk around the slums as if they owned the place with machetes on their hips and power in their stride. It amazed Kure that pride existed in a place like this.

Every morning Kure woke up before the sun came out. He had to walk nearly two miles to get out of the slum and get a ride to work on the back of a taxi. The first few times he got on the back of the motorbikes he would hold onto the driver for dear life but then he realized other adults did not do that, so he stopped holding on and relied completely on the strength of his thighs. The roads in Nigeria were not well maintained; there were patches of old pavement and then sudden patches of dirt. The things people carried with them on taxis no longer surprised Kure. One time he saw a man hold onto a dresser on the back of the bike; another time he saw a man balance a mattress on his head while riding. One time Kure and his driver drove past a truck with about ten live cows all smashed together in the truck bed, mooing in discomfort. The bottom of the truck nearly hit the road because of the weight of the cows. Kure had also seen women riding on the back of taxis carrying crazy objects like these with their infants tied around their back. Kure was no longer surprised to see such strange things on his way to work. And every morning he always noticed the pack of students walking together in their navy blue and hunter green plaid uniforms on their way to school. They skipped and laughed and shared jokes at the expense of others. He longed to be a part of that pack once again. He missed not having a care in the world except his success on spelling quizzes.

Kure pushed those thoughts aside as the driver pulled up to the meat shop. Kure jumped off the bike and handed the driver his Naira. His inner thighs burned and throbbed from contracting his muscles for twenty—sometimes thirty—minutes. By now the sun was up and shining, and Tobi was outside preparing to open the store. Tobi handed Kure the broom to sweep the dirt and debris away from the shop and into the street. Kure swept inside the store as well and then prepared to wash the windows. He filled the bucket with soapy water and his thoughts trailed to his baby sister as he used the squeegee on the windows, I wonder what Amena is doing right now. I hope Mama has fed her. I hope they are safe. Kure hung the carcasses in the window of the shop for all who walk by to see as the flies loved to hang out on the raw meat.

For the most part, Kure knew what to expect each day at the meat shop. Familiar faces would come in and try their best to barter him down to his cheapest price for goat, beef, and chicken. Kure became very good at bartering and grew to understand people’s different strategies. He learned how to read people and knew how to get the best price from his customers. Tobi noticed this about his new employee and was pleased with his hard work.

One day a couple months ago, after Kure had finished cleaning the store inside and out and sold off pieces of meat for more than their worth, a fresh new face entered the store. Kure stared at a spot on the floor between him and the customer to avoid eye contact. He greeted the man into the shop, “What can I do for you today, sir?” His eyes did not leave the spot on the floor.

“How are you doing today young man?” The smooth friendly voice replied. It had been a long time since anyone asked Kure how he was doing. He took his eyes off his comfortable spot and glanced up at the customer for a moment and then fixed his eyes back to the floor.

“I am fine. How may I help you, sir?”

“How old are you son?”

“I am eleven years old, sir.”

“What are you doing working at a meat shop midday? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“I don’t go to school, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Well… I can’t afford to. I work here to help my family.”

“Hmm… Okay, well I guess you can help me by cutting me up two pounds of that fine beef.” Kure quickly got to work and packaged the meat up neatly. The man handed him Naira without even bartering for a cheaper price. Kure did not understand this man.

“You have a nice day, son.” Kure nodded and thanked the man for his service.

The man continued to come back to the meat shop on a regular basis ever since then. Kure had come to know him as Emmanuel and always looked forward to his visits. He was the only person who showed interest in his seemingly meaningless life. Kure looked forward to their discussions of soccer and recent news stories. Emmanuel had the most comforting presence and always voiced such wise words. After some time, Kure became comfortable enough to share with Emmanuel the story of his family and how he lost his father to AIDS.

One day Emmanuel brought a woman with him to the meat shop and introduced her as his wife, Kyenpiya. He told Kure about a school him and his wife were starting up. They explained that they had developed the first free private school in Nigeria and that they wanted him to apply. Kyenpiya told him that only twenty students would be accepted and that all students come from similar family backgrounds who have lost a parent or both parents to AIDS. The school was structured so that he would stay there Monday through Friday and go home to his mother on weekends. They would provide food, shelter, and a private education for him. It was a good thing that Tobi was not in the shop that day and that business was slow. Kure sat and listened to Kyenpiya and Emmanuel. He heard the hope in their voices and saw the love in their smiles. It was clear to Kure that they had put a considerate amount of thought into this plan. Before they left the store, they handed Kure a packet of papers for him to fill out if he was interested.

Kure returned home late that night from work. He brought home a slab of lamb chops for dinner and planned to cook them over the community fire pit. First he wanted to check on Mama and baby Amena and share the good news of Emmanuel and Kyenpiya. He walked into the shack that he learned to call home and he could hear the familiar sounds of heavy breathing coming from the corner and in the darkness he could make out the image of bodies moving up and down. Kure’s ears were filled with moans and he realized that it was never his mother moaning but always the men that came through. Kure’s next thought traveled quickly to his little sister, Where is the baby? Is she hungry? Kure tried to look around in the darkness, he heard tiny, muffled whimpers coming from beneath a bundled blanket on the floor. He picked Amena up and wrapped his arms around her. This time he exited the shack and stepped out into the night. A security light from above shone on Kure and Amena. He realized the blanket was smothering her and so he pulled it away from her face. In the light he noticed bloody scratches and bruises on his precious baby sister’s face. Kure felt the anger run vigorously through his veins and take control of his body, “Who did this to you, Amena? Was it that man in there?” If only she could talk… But Kure knew his mother was not capable of doing this to her daughter.

Kure looked into the innocent face of his sister. She had thick black eye lashes moist from crying, smooth rich skin with a layer of dust and dirt, and dried snot accumulated underneath her little nose. He looked at the black and blue blotches on her forehead. Something inside Kure snapped. I can’t take this anymore and neither can my family. Kure’s heart raced when he knew what he had to do next. He took in one deep breath and turned back into the shack. He gently placed the baby in a chair and then turned on his heels, his eyes narrowed in focus as he marched over to the bed.

His hands had formed into fists, which tightened at the sound of each moan. The man’s back was to Kure as he hovered above Mama and thrust his hips. Kure felt his stomach tie into knots and his arms shake. Mama noticed her son standing before her and her male visitor. Kure could see the white of her eyes and her eyebrows furrow in confusion. Kure reached with both hands and grasped the cotton material of the man’s shirt. He gripped hard and in one motion, Kure used all his strength to tug the man off his mother and threw him across the room. The man took a few steps backward, lost his balance, and fell to the floor. Kure knew he couldn’t fight the man because he would lose that battle, so he gathered up the man’s belongings and threw them near the door. Kure could hear his mother screaming at him, asking him why he was doing this. Kure told the man, “Tonight was free, now it’s time for you to go. You are to never come back here again.” Kure tried to use his deepest voice and clenched his jaw so that he’d be taken seriously. Dear God, please just have him leave. I don’t want to fight this man.

The man got to his feet and Kure could see in the man’s eyes that his prayer would not be answered that easily. The man stood tall, shoulders back, muscles flexed, “What are you gonna do little boy? You think you can fight me? You think you can tell me what to do? Well let me teach you a little lesson…” The man came at him with fists and cocked his arm back, ready to swing. Kure shut his eyes tight, anticipating the impact. He waited a few seconds, nothing had happened. Kure slowly peeked with one eye open and saw that his mother had stood in between him and the man. She held one hand up, “Please sir, do not hurt my son. I beg you, please just leave now.”

Kure couldn’t believe it, but the man lowered his arm, grabbed his things, and left without saying another word. It was unexplainable, but he was so thankful, Thank you, God, for protecting us. Mama turned to Kure and asked, “Now what the hell were you thinking?” her voice stern as she held her hands on her hips and waited for his response.

“Mama, look at yourself! Look at what you have become,” Kure’s eyes pleaded for his mother’s understanding, “You used to be a strong woman with a light in your eyes. When I look in your eyes now, all I see is sadness. Mama, I never want you to ever have to do those things again. I will get a second job if I have to. I know you do those things because you think that is the only way you can provide for me and Amena, but that is not true Mama,” Kure gasped for a breath of air. He could have continued to tell his mother that he would rather starve and feel loved by his mother than sit and watch her prostitute herself in order to feed their family. Tears escaped his eyes and ran down his cheeks. He missed the days when they laughed together, “You never have to do those things again, Mama. I will work harder for us, we will make it work…”

“Okay Kure, calm down honey,” there was a kindness and gentleness in her voice that surfaced. She knelt down and grabbed Kure’s shoulders. She had been so worried to provide for her children’s physical needs that she had forgotten how to care for their emotional needs. She brought her son close and squeezed him. She hoped he could feel how much she loved him and for the first time since her husband’s death, she let herself cry in front of her children.

After his embrace with his mother, Kure went out to the fire pit to roast the lamb chops. He took with him a packet of papers; it was the application he filled out earlier that day for Emmanuel and Kyenpiya. He squatted and watched the fire blaze around the meat. Kure reflected on his peculiar day. He thought back to the genuine smiles and hope he received from Emmanuel and Kyenpiya. He remembered how he mustered the courage to throw his mother’s client out of their home. He was amazed at his own bravery. Kure remembered the tears he saw his mother shed. She had tried for the longest time to appear strong and only when she allowed herself to be seen as weak, did he really see her strength. Kure knew he had a tough decision to make.

He wadded up the papers and tossed them into the fire to fuel the flames. Kure knew this was not the time for him to go back to school. He could not leave his family now, not when they depended on him for their next meal. He watched the wad of papers curl at the edges and crumble into ashes. He felt a pang in his heart as he watched one of his dreams go up in smoke, but he also knew that his dream of a united family was more important than his education. And for the first time he had hope that his family would come together again.