My parents and I were separated just after I was born, and I found myself in the grudging care of Bakary and his three-year-old son, Lamin. I came to understand that there had been complications during his delivery, which had cost his mother’s life. As a result, on top of sustaining some brain damage, he had respiratory problem as well, and was far from being like regular children.
But we loved each other from the first and, although, initially, Bakary didn’t take to me, on seeing his son’s adoration for me – the only thing Lamin had shown much interest in – he relented and grew to tolerate me being around. And for the next four years, life was great having Lamin as a friend.
However, things were not to stay wonderful for long. Lamin’s condition began to deteriorate, and by his eighth birthday, he joined his mother.
From then on, things took a drastic change for me. Bakary, at first, withdrew into himself in his depression. As a devout Muslim, he took solace in his prayers and ignored everything else around him including his job and me – just like he had done when he’d lost his wife. During that period of desolation, I was forced to scrape myself up whatever food I could find; mostly from the neighbors’ outdoor kitchens when no one was looking.
A few months after Lamin’s demise, Bakary, for reasons of his own, abandoned his prayers in place of aggressiveness. He had then found a job as a clerk at a bank, which was far beneath his capabilities, and beginning to take an interest in me – for a change. Most of it went along the lines of him usually coming home from work in the evenings to find me lying in front of the TV – Lamin had taught me how to turn on the TV – watching Lamin’s and my favorite show, Lassie. He would regard me for a while, look at the TV screen for much longer, fixed his suddenly blazing eyes back on me, then say something like,
“Why do you always have to remind me so much of him?”
This would usually be followed by a well aimed kick, which I’d sometimes managed to avoid in time before scurrying off to seek shelter in the darkest corner of the kitchen until he’d retired for the night. I’d never found out whether he meant that I reminded him of his son or the TV show.
That was how it had begun; which had been nothing compared to what I later endured under Bakary’s roof. Aside from the constant kicks, I’d had hot tea and coffee thrown at me, I’d been repeatedly thrashed with a piece of rubber hose, I’d had a red hot iron placed on the top of my head while I’d been sleeping, I’d been deprived of food so many times that rummaging around in dustbins wasn’t so degrading anymore.
Yet, I couldn’t leave. I’d been sheltered all my life, hardly ever leaving the house. I didn’t know our neighbors very well; they weren’t the friendly type, and I couldn’t possibly go to any of Bakary’s family. They would’ve only brought me immediately back. Beside, I was scared of leaving. I didn’t know what life was like outside. Granted, I had one or two friends about my age living in our street – I’d like to think of them as friends – and they’d told me some amazing things about what goes on in the streets as well as in their own homes. Yet, this knowledge only made me more wary about being on my own out there. So, I stayed and valiantly took everything Bakary gave.
At first, I’d cry, plead and whine but that only seemed to excite him further, so, over the years, I learnt to master the art of dumbness. Sometimes, I amazed myself at how much of his abuse I could take without making a sound. But, I mastered it because my muteness seemed to deflate his pent up anger and misery, and his abuse would cease as abruptly as it had begun.
Thus our life together had been, until this evening when the front door slammed shut decisively behind me just after the barking out of the following words:
“I can’t stand you anymore! You remind me too much of my son! Now, get out of here, and I never want to see your ugly face back here again! The next time I see you will be the day I’ll kill you!”
Feeling hopeless and desolate, with those last few words still ringing in my ear, I went down the quiet street, slowly, not really knowing where I was headed. It was almost 10 p.m and my so-called friends were already indoors with their respective families. No one else I knew would take me in at this time of the night, and I certainly wouldn’t go to any of my father’s family or friends.
A few doors from my house – previous house – was a little canteen made of corrugated iron. The two windows were still intact but the door had long fallen off its hinges and had either been stolen or dragged off somewhere. In there, I took shelter with my eyes glued to my front door, which could be easily seen on account of the low fence enveloping the small yard. I was hoping that Bakary would get over his anger, realize what he’d done and come out looking for me. I fervently hoped that it would be so.
***
I woke up the next morning feeling slighted bewildered; for a moment, I didn’t know where I was. Then, it all came flowing back to me and my heart sank. Immediately, my eyes sought my front door again.
Some time later, Bakary came out, dressed for work, got into his car and backed out of the yard, called out a cheerful ‘good morning’ to a passing neighbor, and drove off in the opposite direction from where I was.
For a moment, I couldn’t understand what had just happened. I’d been hoping so badly that he’d come searching for me that my heart couldn’t bear to accept what my eyes had just seen. With my heart trailing behind me like lead, I left my shack and street, turning into the next street I came to.
The next few days were spent in a haze. I’d wandered into a part of the city I’d never seen before and got completely lost. I slept wherever I could find enough shade to keep out the rain, and ate whatever I was given or could find in bins. It was dreary. All I could really remember about my adventure was my discovery of traffic. I didn’t learn much about it because my first experience with it taught me the vital lesson of avoiding it in future.
I’d been almost a week out in the streets when I fell ill. It didn’t creep up on me; it jumped out at me from nowhere. One minute, I was ambling along an alley in misery, the next I was lying on my side as my stomach uncontrollably turned upside down. In my fright and confusion, I managed to drag myself against a wall and must have passed out.
It was motion that woke me up. For a few seconds, it felt like I was in Lamin’s arms being rocked gently from side to side like a little baby. I loved for him to do that, especially when I’d been much younger. It very often lulled me to sleep.
However, the next instant, I was jolted to full alertness as a female voice whispered soothingly quite close to my ear, “Soon, you’ll be feeling better, you dear poor little darling.”
In panic, I began to struggle to get away from her arms. Not really knowing anyone else except my family, my judgment of people was more often based on Bakary’s treatment of me, and I was suddenly afraid that this person would take me home and kick me like Bakery used to.
“Hey, shh,” she urged softly, one arm tightening its hold on me while the other gently caressed the scarred top of my head. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. Come on, calm down. That’s it. Good boy. Calm down.”
Gradually, I calmed down. It was due more to the fact that I couldn’t escape those determined arms than any feeling of security. Therefore, although I remained still, my whole body was as taut as a rubber band stretched to its limit.
It was a short walk to her quiet neighborhood, much nicer than mine – and I was pleased to note that there was no traffic here. The woman opened a little black gate and went inside, closing it behind her. Two steps led to the front door of a bungalow which opened into a little living room, modestly furnished.
Going over to the sofa, she placed me gently onto it and stood back to scrutinize me, also giving me the chance to study her. No older than twenty, she wasn’t particularly tall but was slender and had long braids all the way to her back. They were held by an orange hair scarf. Her face was plain looking but she had a wide, pleasant mouth which was at this moment even wider by her friendly smile.
“Oh, you look wretched,” she observed sympathetically, speaking more to herself. “Where do you come from, I wonder?” She knelt down in front of me and I moved back cautiously a few inches. “It’s okay,” she said quietly. “I’m your friend. My name’s Aji. Aji,” she repeated pointing to herself and looking me in the eyes as she spoke. “You don’t say much, do you?” She smiled after a while.
I recoiled a little as she reached out to touch me.
“Okay, I won’t,” she said, withdrawing her hand. Then her tone changed to become even more cheerful. “I know what you’d like,” she said in a teasing voice. “Food. You hungry?”
I continued looking at her without a word. I knew it was stupid but I’d long associated talking with violence, and was afraid to make a sound. My instinct, which wasn’t so bad, was telling me that this girl was okay; a bit too talkative, but okay. Yet, my nerves were telling me something different.
Quietly, Aji stood up and threw her handbag on one of the armchairs. Next, she pulled off her head scarf, which joined her bag, and began humming a catchy tune as she went into the next room.
On my own again, I gave a sigh of relief and realized that I was breathing much easier now. For a brief moment, I had the urge to run off, but I was too tired and miserable. And was still feeling a bit queasy. My head hurt as well and I had a killer hunger.
As if to mock me, I heard the clanging of a spoon against some kind of metal – most probably a metal bowl or plate. This was suddenly followed by an aggressive whiff of meat stew, which was pursued by waves of the same appetizing aroma.
Gone was my fatigue and vanished were the shakiness in my legs. The smell floated towards my face, twirled around my nose, grabbed a tight hold on it and pulled me steadily to my feet before leading me towards its origin.
I found Aji sitting at the kitchen table eating rice and some kind of vegetable soup. That hadn’t been what I’d smelt. Then I saw it; a large metal dinner plate full to the brim with the juiciest meat stew I’d ever seen. For a moment, I wanted to cry with joy, but checked myself. Despite my condition, I still had a bit of dignity left in me. Forcing myself to take my time, and making sure to avoid eye contact with Aji, I went over to claim my meal.
For the next two days, I wouldn’t let Aji come near me – I was still wary. She had to go to work but trusted me on my own in the house. When she discovered that I was smart enough to turn on the TV, she conscientiously showed me how to change channels as well.
“My, aren’t we the clever one!” She praised at my quickness to grasp certain things. I admit, I was mighty chuffed by her approval.
She would leave for work, leaving me enough food to last me a week, and come back in the evening to stuff me full some more. I was beginning to fall in love with her. It made the saying ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ more precious to me.
Aji told me that she’d decided to live on her own, much to her parent’s dissatisfaction. But, being the only child of quite a wealthy family, she tended to get away with most things. Despite their disapproval, the Drammeh’s were very generous in partly supporting her financially while she worked to cover other expenses.
Aji Drammeh was unlike anyone I’d heard of. She hardly had any friends and kept pretty much to herself. She painted a lot, and after the first two days, despite the fact that she spent most of her days at work, she’d already done a rough painting and two sketches of me. And she was constantly talking – which was fine by me because it gave me an excuse not to speak. After only two day, I knew more about her than probably herself.
On the third day, I allowed her to give me a bath, and a week later she took me for a medical examination.
***
Eighteen months on, we’re still together.
She never talks about keeping me and I never really hope. But, there are little signs that have ignited tiny sparks of hope inside me. About six months after she brought me home, she had a carpenter over to alter the back door a little so that I could go out and play in the yard when I felt bored. She’s also cleared a cupboard in the kitchen especially for me – to keep my favorite food in. She’s spent quite a lot on toys and stuff for me and has been talking recently about introducing me to her parents.
We have a good complementary relationship and I’m happy with it just the way it is. She takes care of me, and I watch out for her. She’s not a particularly pretty woman, but she is striking in both her unusual dress-style and her open personality. As a result, very often when we’re out taking a stroll or stop at a café for a takeaway, she gets hit on by some loser or another, who she’s obviously not interested in. Yet, very often, on seeing me and my expression of disapproval and menace – an expression which clearly says ‘keep away! She’s mine!’ – most of them would back away and leave us in peace.
She’s always saying things like, “It’s just too wonderful having a big strong man around to watch out for me and keep away the unwanted.” I love hearing her say such things. With each such comment, I feel my confidence increasing a notch.
I’ve met the few friends she has, and gradually, my view towards humanity in general is beginning to take a different approach. I’m beginning to truly understand Bakary, understand the hell in which he’s living to treat me the way he has. And I’m beginning to forgive him. I’m working very hard at it, thanks to Aji’s support by making my life much brighter than I could’ve ever imagined.
I long for her to know about my past, but I’m still having trouble speaking. Sometimes – thankfully, not very often – I give a start of wariness or involuntarily back away if she makes any abrupt movements towards me or speak suddenly in a tone of voice much louder than her usual tone. Then, she’d look at me askance, making me feel both ashamed of my weakness to discard my past fears, and my disloyalty towards her in not trusting her as much as she trusts me.
At times, when we’re together on the sofa watching Lassie – yes, she loves it too – I would think that perhaps–
The front door opening makes me jump with a start. Then my heart begins to pound with excitement. Aji’s home. I jump up from my favorite piece of furniture – the sofa – on which I was reclining watching a nature program, and rush over to greet her.
“Hello Handsome!” She exclaims joyfully on seeing me. She has long ago begun to call me Handsome. Since she didn’t know my name, and thought that I was ‘handsome beyond words’, she christened me it.
She kneels down and gives me a fond hug. “And how have you been today?”
I stare at her with loving eyes, hoping she’ll realize how much I love her.
Just smashing! I reply silently.
“Have you eaten?” She asks, getting up and going through the ritual of dumping her bag and scarf on the chair.
Don’t talk to me about food, I groan, trying not to remember my gluttony earlier.
“I have some very good news,” she says, falling lazily onto the sofa. I go to sit next to her. She appears quite serene, but her eyes are twinkling with excitement and something else. I can feel the infectious emotion swelling up inside me as well. “Excellent news, in fact.”
I turn to look impatiently into her eyes. What is it?
She takes a deep breath, lets it out and says with trying slowness, “Well, I’m a little late coming in today because I went to the authorities to see whether I can keep you.”
She looks up at a tiny sound of astonishment from me.
“I know that I’ve never said anything before, but I didn’t want to raise your hopes up only to have you disappointed in the end,” she explains, looking earnest. “These things can get very complicated, especially since I don’t know anything about you. Anyway, I’ve been meeting these people for a while now – gave them your medical documents and other information I have about you. They had to do a background check on me, of course, to see if I was well up to taking you in permanently. Plus there was the fact that I’m under twenty-one. There was a lot involved and it was a long and nerve-wrecking procedure, but I kept up hope.”
She stops and I almost groan in disappointment.
“Anyway, to cut a long story short–” she sits up straight and places a hand on either side of my face, looking extremely thrilled once again. “You’re now officially my charge!” She exclaims. “We can be together for ever and ever! The very best of friends!”
The very best of friends forever and ever?
Okay, so I lied a little when I said that I didn’t hope much to stay with her for long. I wanted desperately to stay with her, and this disclosure of my being with her forever and ever filled me up with such happiness, such relief, a dose of pleasant disbelief, and unfathomable gratitude that, in my elation, I opened my mouth and cried out with joy, uttering the first words to come out of me in years,
“Woof! Woof! WOOOOF!”
THE END
