them near me, so they greeted me from a distance each time they walked by and saw me working in our backyard. When not on the farm, I enjoyed some welcome privacy as a result of the wall around our house; it shielded me from the prying eyes of men and of curious neighbours who wondered why I no longer worked the stall or my husband’s farm.
As time passed, Noah began to play again, and I began to view the future with optimism. But I failed to envisage that the way I looked could create such problems for me, as it had in the days before I got married. Back then the Chief of our village had done everything in his power to win my heart. He would ride to my parents’ house on his handsome white horse, promising me wealth and more wealth. I spurned him each time, repulsed by the idea of marrying a man old enough to be my father, who had passion only for gin and women, and who neglected his duties, key of which was to commune with the gods, through the priests, to ensure the prosperity of our village.
I was not yet sixteen at that time. The budding romance between Tanto and me was the talk of the village, and no amount of pressure from my parents could dissuade me. Eventually, against their wishes, Tanto and I were married, and the old Chief retreated sullenly from my life. For a while, he was not seen in public, but he soon went on the prowl again, riding on his horse to pursue and acquire any young girl who pleased his heart.
My parents and siblings were incensed. They vowed never to forgive me. They said I had brought them shame, that I had spoilt their chance of becoming affluent citizens, so they disowned me. Soon after, the Chief added Tanto’s young aunt to his legion of wives, and, instigated by their new son-in-law, who promised to make them rich, Tanto’s family disowned us too. And so we became a man and a woman with no family.
It was a very difficult time. On many nights I cried myself to sleep, with Tanto whispering comforting words to me. I could not imagine life without a family. Thankfully, Tanto had a good friend called Kpofe. He treated me like a sister, and he became our family. But soon after Noah’s birth, he travelled to the city to pursue his fortune and he would not return for a long time.
Noah’s arrival brought us so much joy. The rain had poured incessantly for many days prior to his birth, and this was said to be a good sign. As if to affirm it, a missionary arrived in our village on the day he was born. It was the first time a missionary would visit us; and though he was black, not white, we were very much excited all the same. A great multitude came out to welcome him.
Many said that Noah was a special child. The missionary said so too, and we asked him to conduct the naming ceremony. Although it was the duty of the father to pick a child’s name, we gave the honour to the missionary, and he picked the name Noah, which, he said, meant to comfort.
On the seventh day, the day of the christening, the omens were good – the weather was bright and sunny, and birds sang in the trees. The turnout was impressive, even though both our families were notably absent. We prepared a great feast for the guests, and it was the climax of a love story that warranted us a colourful mention in the village’s folklore.
The missionary stayed in our village for three weeks, and, in that time, he taught us about a greater god who dwelled in heaven. He showed us the Bible to prove his point, and he taught us many things contrary to all that we had ever known about our existence. All of us, even the Chief and the shrine priests, were intrigued, although none believed him. He attempted to use his teaching to reconcile Tanto and me with our families, but they remained adamant, saying that the concept of forgiving such an act of disobedience – as we had committed – went against the laws of our land.
He spoke about meekness and turning the other cheek. Many wondered at his words. By the time he left our village, his teaching had stirred something in a few of us. And the rain, which had taken a lull during his stay, came back in torrents soon after he left.
In time, the missionary’s visit became a distant memory, and his god a mere fable. Meanwhile Noah grew big and strong. By the time he turned four, Tanto encouraged me to go into business, and so I began selling vegetables from his farm – tomatoes, cucumbers, cabbages, carrots, spinach and a few others that changed with the seasons.
*
Main Street divided our village into two unequal halves. The middle portion of this road was our commercial centre. Several wooden stalls were scattered over it, and it was a thing of great prestige to own one as a trader. My decision to give mine up after Tanto’s death turned out to be of ruinous consequence for the village’s commerce. The merchants returned after our period of mourning was over, and discovered that my stall had been taken over by another trader, who did not give them the quality of service I had. As a result, the fortunes of the stalls’ owners fell into a downward spiral and their businesses soon reached the verge of collapse. Left with no option, the merchants stopped coming to Main Street.
One day, the woman known as Chair-Lady paid me a visit. She was one of the traders on Main Street; and by virtue of owning the biggest stall, she was regarded as the head of our market. Without being told, I knew why she had come. I welcomed her and fetched her water in a small calabash. After she had drunk, she wasted no time in getting to the purpose of her visit.
‘Business is at its lowest ebb in our village,’ she began, and spoke for several minutes. She wanted me to come back to Main Street. I remained silent for a few moments after she had finished. She waited eagerly for my response, and finally I found my voice.
‘I’m so sorry that business is not going well, and I wish I could return.’ A small sigh escaped me. ‘But I’m still devastated with grief, and my son has been badly affected by the loss of his father. He needs me more than ever. Going back to business will not give me the chance to care for him as he deserves. Besides, if I were to return, how would I get the vegetables to meet the merchants’ demands, seeing as my husband is no longer alive to supply them?’
‘There are other vegetable farmers in the village,’ Chair-Lady replied with some hope. ‘They’d be glad to supply you.’
‘But they already have other traders they supply,’ I countered.
‘I could get them to give you preference.’ She said this with the authority of her status, trying to impress me with it.
‘It could be difficult,’ I said, looking away from her.
‘Not if I talk to them. I’ll make sure you get supply regularly, and that way the merchants will be encouraged to come back.’
‘The other traders could sell to the merchants just as well. The farmers could even sell directly to the merchants.’ My voice was unyielding. ‘What difference does it make?’
‘It makes a lot of difference,’ Chair-Lady replied anxiously. ‘The merchants prefer to do business with you. And, I must say, you seem to be our good omen on Main Street. Without you, things are not the same. Please come back, Ese.’
A long moment passed. I shook my head slowly. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t,’ I said, looking away from Chair-Lady. ‘Maybe someday I will come back. Maybe. For now, my son is my priority. I wish I could gladden you with a more positive answer. Please understand.’
‘Our village is facing economic ruin,’ Chair-Lady said despondently.
I lowered my head. ‘I really am sorry,’ I managed to say.
*
Noah had been eavesdropping on our conversation. He came to take my hand after Chair-Lady left. ‘Mother,’ he said, ‘you know, I’m not a child anymore. I can look after myself and you can go back to your business.’ He smiled warmly at me.
I smiled back. He was big for his age, and it often amazed me that he spoke with the confidence of a much older child. ‘Yes, I agree you’re not a child anymore,’ I said with a laugh. ‘But don’t forget, you’re only just seven. You need me more than they need me at the market. And I’m glad that we are able to spend more time together now.’
We held hands in silence.
‘I enjoy spending time with you, Mother,’ Noah said, a distant look in his eyes. ‘One day I will take over Pa’s farm, and I will supply