The Silence Between Hallelujahs

It’s a Friday night. The half-moon is visible through the Macmillan Library’s overbearing towers. The air is full of misery, frivolity and passion. The kind that collects when dealers in words come together to celebrate a night at the library.  It is the Afrobeats session and somewhere between the Yoruba’s talking drums — the spirit of a thousand years of tradition and the rhythmic beat of the music — a woman stands in the center of the circle. Her flowy Lagoon green dress has a personality of its own. Her body sways with grace like wind between trees in an enchanted forest. Her hips thrust right and left. Each step and sway tells a story older than time. The crowd steals gazes at her, their expressions hidden by their adorning masks. Their words remain unuttered but we can feel them in the air.  She is wearing a black mask adorned with bright feathers at the sides of her face. Her eyes shine through the gaps in the mask. She is an intricate work of art. She imagines her ancestors dancing to Kilume around a bonfire at midnight. Tonight, she is free. Tonight, she is a human being, unshackled, breathing.

A hand carefully touches her waist followed by a whisper. ‘Can I join you, pretty?’ Her legs lose their balance. She stops and walks gracefully towards the waiter standing tall with a tray of champagne. She picks a glass and closes her eyes at the thought of her taste buds rejoicing over the light floral scent of the drink. Just when she is about to lift her mask to take a sip, the familiar stranger whispers in her left ear, from behind her, ‘There you are, Cinderella’. She graciously arches her neck and whispers ‘Didn’t Cinderella have to run home barefoot with one glass slipper? That would hurt my pedicure’.  The music slows down. The MC reads a quote on love by a South African author. The two strangers stand side by side, glasses in hand, each grinning behind their masks. ‘The name is Michael and you are? ’Sophia,’ she whispers back. Her voice enchants the masked man further. 

And so it happened that the tall nice-smelling man with a black lacey mask and the witty lady lost focus of their surroundings and talked for hours about their favourite books, his heart warming with the sound of her laughter, and her heart basking in his attention, until the alarm on her smart watch brought her back to reality. She stood up and ran down the architectural marvel of stairs. Her hands were shaking in anxiety as she waited for the Uber. Michael, confused, stood at the topmost stair, looking down over her, wondering what befell his charming potential bride.

A piece of her dress was trapped in the taxi’s door even as she urged the driver to speed off. She was in a hurry. The lady driver asked her to confirm the drop-off. She nodded, sighed, and cupped her head between her palms. The driver looked at her, puzzled. Sophia caught her curiosity and with an ‘ooh!’ removed the mask, carefully not to ruin her lace wig. She placed the mask on the passenger dashboard, brought her hand to her left cheek and winced. The driver’s face sunk.  She slowed down, looked closely at Sophia’s bruised eye, and clicked her tongue. She understood. The two women seemed to hug each other, swinging their pain from side to side. Without a word, the driver tuned the radio to a familiar tune.

‘I am not the only traveller, who is yet to repay his debt’

It was Lord Huron’s The Night We Met. Sophia began to sing along.

‘Take me back to the night we met.

And then I can tell myself.

 What the hell I’m supposed to do?

And then I can tell myself, not to ride along with you.’

Her heart screamed the lyrics. The music unburdened her heavy soul. But even as she bobbed and bobbed, inside her, there was a sadness, like a person crying in the corner of a dark room.

‘When you had not touched me yet.

Oh, take me back to the night we met…

 I don’t know what I’m supposed to do haunted by a ghost of you…’

She approached her estate’s gate, hands covering her face, she smiled at the gatemen, and the taxi was waved into the estate. She hated this house; her three children were in it. She despised how perfect it looked, with its white picket fence like an American dream in an African setting. She handed the driver a thousand shillings note. Sophia blinked profusely to prevent her tears from flowing and wrapped her hands around herself like she was hugging herself. She scanned her environment, took her mask and pouch, and fearfully walked into the flowery front porch. The driver reversed, switched off her car’s lights, gripped the steering wheel with both hands and let out a silenced scream. She knew her passenger’s husband waited, with a fist, on the other side of the door.

***

‘Halleeluyaaah, praise the Lord. Let us celebrate the Lord in this place.’ Manu’s voice echoed across the church hall the following morning. The crowd cheered, Sophia raised her hand and adjusted her magnificent fascinator covering one side of her face. Gave the wildest smile and a fake celebratory jump. Hearts are wild things, Sophia thought. Could it be the reason why they have cages named lungs? Manu swayed the crowd with his testimony. The congregation shouted louder Amens. He taught them a dance and a song that thanked the giver of life for His mercies that endured forever. Immanuel, Manu was her husband of five years. God was supposed to be with him. Manu’s mother, the Lady Bishop and the family’s matriarchy, sat to her left. She smiled at Sophia as they danced to the song led by a man they both knew too well. This was the perfect family. She was a fortunate woman, married to a wealthy man and a shepherd of the Lord’s flock.

He loved his wife, the way the axe loves the tree. Manu had a few baby mamas and few affairs with different ladies in the church every other year. But it was her she loved, he always said. It is her he chose. Debby, Manu’s mother told her to pray to God to fix all things. ‘Women cover their households,’ she said. ‘Do not tell anyone about your infections. I will talk to him.’ That was three years ago, but still, she was a woman; she was a mother like Sophia. She would surely help. Here in church everyone plays their roles perfectly. Everyone says their lines perfectly. Everyone wears their masks perfectly. Sophia could not afford to be ungrateful. Her husband bought the flour and milk. She footed other bills. A woman must help her husband. He was a good man deserving of a perfect family.

Manu was a purposeful man, a fixer of destinies. He was unquestionable.  e He gave the impression that the world was his playground, his stage. In Manu’s world, everyone else was an actor and subject. He was the main star and the director of the show. He was anointed and brought here to guide others past the fog of ignorance. He had the biggest bible you could ever get, various other bible versions and a collection of self-help books from which he dispensed wisdom. He was covered by good works, a teacher of faith. Those who challenged his lectures were blind to his destiny’s grandeur. He forgave them because they were poor creatures, they did not know better.

He had the best car in the crowd and lived in the finest estate. Yes, maintaining this lifestyle was a constant challenge for him, but he took it upon himself to show the world how far they were from perfection, from himself.  His family was a means to an end, a depiction of this perfection he presented to the world. The parables, hymns and expensive suits were a performance, crafted for other people’s eyes. He had perfected the art of pretense and traded his true self for this version. The financially stable man of service was a mask that fit him so comfortably and tightly, that he himself had no recognition for the man underneath it anymore.

Manu was calculative, without this mask, his voice would be like a black withered mango. A man who knew his actions towards others were constantly a humiliation ritual. Sophia spoke quietly like she intended only herself to hear. Otherwise, her command of the English language and her confidence could outdo his.  He governed everything about her. Even though she had a thriving dancing career, it was unacceptable in this house. She was only allowed to be in the shadows. He was the main character. He alienated her from her friends and family. He made sure she used all her money on household things. She could decide to leave him but he was an honourable man, at least to the public, and all women in church wanted him.

***

Sophia entered the house and found Manu seated in his usual spot. The big seat with the back facing the window made Manu’s shadow appear exalted and feel like a throne. He sat there with her work laptop in hand, ‘Nonsensi, blare bastard, you fool… you thought you could hide these invitations from me? So, you want to go to Tanzania without me?’ Sophia was lost, Manu went on ‘you think I will allow my wife to travel abroad so that she can meet men? Thank God in his wisdom, he opened my eyes to go through your computer!’

Sophia was so tired of this; she had fresh bruises on her face. She did not have the slightest idea why an invite to join women to tackle children’s rights was an issue. She did not intend to go. She was a shell of a person, that old outspoken, ambitious girl was long gone. Sometimes that old girl reveals itself, like tonight on the dance floor, but would never in his presence. She stood there, with her shoes in hand, like a child being scolded. She responded by pouting her lips until they touched her nose.

Manu rose from the throne and slapped her across the face. She fell on the linoleum floor on her side. ‘You are useless, you cannot even leave my house. Those men who think you are pretty are useless’.

‘Mummy, mum’ she heard, just as the blood on her teeth started to stream like water on pebbles. Her son’s steps down the stairs did not scare the dark figure hovering over her from trying to hit her again.  ‘Over here my love’ she half-shouted at his son Anun. This was not a new scene in the six-year-old’s life. There were days he also received blows. He feared his father like a plague. He could not even twitch a finger when he called his name. For Sophia, time was waving like a hand from a train beckoning her to board. Manu clicked his tongue, pushed his son to the side and went up the stairs like a man scorned. Sophia sat on the spot, feeling numb, catching up with her son. She slept on the couch that night, thinking about Michael.

When she met Manu met eight years ago, they were the perfect couple. He was charming.  She could not deny him when he went down on one knee with the Ksh.500 ring. It is the thought that counts? No? Looking back at the 25-year-old her, with her mother’s eyes, smooth face with no scars, spoiled by life, she could never have imagined a 30-year old her would be sleeping on the couch, crying. Two nights after their magical wedding, she was harshly introduced to an illegitimate son. But people make mistakes, she forgave that inconvenience. Somewhere between having babies, facing harsh postpartum seasons, neglect, manipulation, affairs, and physical abuse; she lost the girl who she was. Today when they ask about the scar on her forehead, she says it was from a blow dryer, and when they ask what a blow dryer’s burn feels like, she says that it feels like a blow dryer burn, that nothing feels like something else.

***

One Thursday evening, Sophia came home from the market and house unfashionably quiet. Her nanny was sobbing. Her children were gone, taken by their father. ‘What did he say??’ she shouted. The nanny shook her head in confusion. Sophia had been married long enough to understand such manipulation. She rang his phone. He picked up with a sneering mockery.

‘If you want to see your kids again; behave like a wife. Drop your job. Obey the curfew’ he paused. ‘Or else, get out of my house I will bring the kids to you.’

He knew she had nowhere to go. Sophia agreed to all the things he demanded, including bowing her head whenever he passed next to her. She wanted her babies back. He kept them away for four days, enough time to make the message sink in.

The day he was supposed to bring back the kids, and his family, Debby made a magnificent entrance into the compound. She was broken and alone. Her grandmother used to say that the power a woman wields knows no bounds. So, she fixed her face, greeted them in exchange for ‘chew!’, fixed them tea, occasionally looking towards the entryway for her children. Manu’s uncle sat with guts resting on his thighs, two wives beside him, their legs shaking in an unsettled manner. Their communication was confirmed by their eyes, the meeting of their eyes would indicate a thing they had collected from their tested observation skills. Clicks, like the falling of spoons were exchanged, parrot noises came from their throats. Not knowing the agenda of the visit, Sophia retreated to her bedroom.

Hours went by, Sophia’s heart bleeding with every second. She was not allowed to talk to her children. Half past 10 pm, a light cast shadows into her dark bedroom waking her from her stance. It was their car, oh sorry, his car, making its way into the parking. She peeped at him behind the blinds, he packed next to his mother’s car. How strange it was to have loved a man whose mom was the other woman. She thought. In a few seconds, her kids rushed out of the prison, oh sorry, car. Ran towards the house shouting ‘Mum, mommy’. Sophia’s legs were light, she found herself in the living room embracing them in tears as the other parties watched with despise written all over their faces.

As the nanny took the children upstairs, Manu stopped pacing and shouted.

‘And where do you think you are going, woman!’ their eyes met. ‘They are here to tell you how to be a wife’ he exclaimed pointing to the seat reserved for her.

As she sank into that couch, Sophia felt relief that her children were with her. Nothing else mattered that night. Not even the fact that the five people sat on the other side of the room. She was in a court of opinion. With a clap, the aunt broke the silence ‘These young girls do not understand marriage, I have been married to Mjomba for …’ she raised her two fingers in the sky to imply twelve years. ‘And I have a co-wife, no day have I refused to offer this man my dues from the shop’. The women agreed in chorus. For the next one hour, Manu stated his displeasure at the marriage. Sophia nodded, she kept quiet, she was still with the knowledge that her kids were sleeping upstairs. The family accused her of things that Manu knew were his fault. The meeting ended with a prayer and casting of demons who wanted to ruin a perfect marriage. They did not know, that the camel’s back was broken, she was going to leave this circus. That night he, spat at her private parts and climbed her. Her mind wandered to a future free from all this. He checked her phone for ‘suspicious’ conversations, snored to infinity.

***

Eight months later, Sophia stood on a balcony facing the city. If cities had illnesses, this one suffered from sleeping sickness. It hummed with possibilities, its wind tousling her hair against a crimson sky. She had dreamed of this moment. She was free from the monster, at last. Trees swayed in the wind and with every breeze, she felt her past pain slipping through her fingers like sand.