AMINA - Episode 2

Amina stretched, exhausted. It had been a long day. She relished the quiet in the taxi, courtesy of the grey-haired driver. She yawned for the umpteenth time. The driver glanced at her from the rear-view mirror.

"Se owa okay?" he demanded in Yoruba.

"Beeni, Sir," she responded, giving in to another yawn.

Adjusting in her seat, she caught him stealing concerned glances at her. She wiped the tears, and then it dawned on her. He thought she was crying!

Smiling, she informed him, "Mo wa okay, Baba. Today was stressful," she finished in English.

Although they had lived in Lagos for over five years, she wasn't a fluent Yoruba speaker. The man nodded in understanding and focused on the road.

His understanding was the reason she boarded the cab in the first place. He had been kind enough to accept the meager sum of money she had left after jumping buses the whole day.

She had rushed out of the house with three thousand naira after leaving some money with Idris. The paltry sum had left her almost empty. But it was worth it. Family was everything to her, and she could not bear to see them in pain.

Looking back, she had watched her mother, Miriam, go through hell to provide for them after they were thrown into the streets. Like an Ox, Miriam had taken on several menial jobs to put food on the table and ensured they never lacked the basic things. She had eventually started selling fries on their street in the evenings.

The move was a big relief. The business had helped them sever ties with abject poverty, moving them from the zero-one-zero standard of eating. In addition, it afforded Amina and her brother, Idris, the opportunity to assist her. With the business thriving over time, tragedy struck; Miriam's health began to suffer. What started as minor bouts of coughs graduated into scary coughing spells and shortness of breath.

For a long time, Amina felt something was off with her mother's health, but Miriam hid it well. She had assured her it was only stress, managing the condition by self-diagnosing.

Amina could vividly remember the day she walked in on her swallowing a chunk of pills. The number of pills had scared her. She had rushed to her side, concerned.

"Mum, what's wrong? You know you can talk to me," Amina inquired, worry etched over her face.

Miriam gulped more water, "It's nothing, My Dear," she assured her, smiling.

"Haba mana, Mama! You're fine, yet you just swallowed all those pills?"

She peered into the face of the woman who had nurtured her all these years. Aside from the brown eyes that hinted at stress and endless worry, she still looked beautiful. Amina knew the smile should reassure her, but she felt it in her bones - her mother needed to visit the hospital.

"You need to visit the hospital," Amina suggested.

Miriam shook her head in the negative, "I'm fine, Amina. It is just the regular body pains and stress, gaskiya!" she illustrated by stretching both slender arms.

Amina blinked back the memory. That was over a year ago and the beginning of their ordeal. Miriam began falling sick more often than not. The steady decline in her health weighed heavily on Amina. Amina had to work extra hours to keep things under control. She scouted for gigs during the day and ended up with an apron at the food stand, serving fried yams, potatoes, and fish.

It had taken an outrageous amount of pleas and threats from the kids to get Miriam to stay away from the business to rest and get treated. In the end, she caved in. The initial visit to the hospital had left Amina shaken. Her mother's lungs were collapsing.

The words from the doctor had reminded her about the frail nature of man, "She needs to get treated as soon as possible. Her condition can get worse," the doctor adjusted her large frame in the swivel chair, "I understand money is a cause of concern, but for your mother to get treated, we need money."

Amina partly blamed herself for her mother's health. If only she had exerted the same pressure, maybe her mother would be on the road to recovery. Whoever said one could make a Nigerian parent do the bidding of their children!

The cab pulled over the curb, right in front of the entrance to the array of clustered buildings. Amina paid the driver with words of appreciation. The car zoomed off, leaving dust in its wake. The panicked voices from the path between the rows of buildings startled her.

Amina watched the oncoming crowd as they carried a body, screaming at her to get a cab. She stood confused, trying to get a glimpse of the lifeless body. As the crowd neared, she spotted Idris crying profusely, his slender frame vibrating to the intensity of the sobs. No matter how ominous a situation is, Idris hardly parted with tears. At that moment, she knew it was none other than her mother!