1 The sun was setting, painting a blood red picture over the stretched sky above.

All of Sapele, the little spot in Delta State, Nigeria, was blissful, yet an air of melancholy dusted the air with its presence. Ringlets of clouds dotted the sky, as the odd bird made its way home. As the sun set, a life was being laid to rest. An eternity, a long-winding journey, had come to an end. Everyone at the funeral had reason to mourn but it was harshest on Vicky. The family stood by, in the house. They were mourning the passing of Caro Vickys mother. She was buried in a room inside one of her houses as was the culture of her people. Except for few that had visited their home in Jos in the past, two uncles, friends and family came from all over Nigeria, including people from Jos, where they lived. Vickys uncle, the one whom she had asked to help co-ordinate the burial, was there too. Her father, though, was not allowed to come custom dictated that a man does not attend his wifes funeral. Customary Urhobo women were taken back to the father's hometown for funeral, and since Vickys mother was an Urhobo, she was taken home to her father's land for the funeral, from Jos, where she died. Vickys mother was laid in state before being laid in the ground in the evening. Her coffin was placed under a green and white canopy, dulcet colours in mourning. All of fifty, Vicky had a tough time throughout - Life had dealt her the toughest of cards. Vicky sat on the side, in a chair kept outside the canopy, for her, and watched. Vicky was given a fan, and was asked to fan her mothers coffin as was the tradition. There were musicians who sang songs, calling each childs name as they walked by. The ceremony was outside the house the family had canopies and chairs outside for guest. The laying to rest was to be held inside the house. The coffin was laid in state under the canopy outside. Vickys eyes blurred with tears. Some competed to make it to the front. Some refused to leave her choked throat. Emotions ran through her numbed frame, her mothers passing threatening to open a floodgate that had accumulated through years of pain. It felt like she was looking out from a chasm so deep within her, that it engulfed her very existence. All she wanted was love, the love of her mother. And was that too much to ask? She looked down at her hands as she gulped something was caught in her throat, it refused to go down no matter how much she swallowed. Her fingernails had dug half-moons into her palm. The angry red welts stared back at her. Good, she thought. That should keep the pain inside for a while.

The wind rustled in the trees above with quiet dignity. Vicky did not exactly long for her mother. Vicky was an anomaly in her family, the black sheep, the rose that grew in a bush of thorns. Her mother had done nothing to acknowledge the relationship between them. Vicky looked through the wispy lace that hung over her black hat. Funny, how life worked. All along, she had looked at her life, her childhood and her days as a child through the miasma of detachment and despondence that her mother painted for her. And now, her mother could not move on to the world after without Vickys presence. The monsoon season was on them the time of year was crying in its own way, with Vicky. Rain would have spoiled the funeral; the villagers normally called a native rain stopper to funerals. But Vickys family had not done so,being Christians. They had hired trumpeters who played in front of the coffin carriers. Vicky lived in the United States of America and had to travel to Sapele for the funeral. She filled her days with work helping young people get over difficult times, helping troubled youth find some relief from their problems, besides also working as an Information Technology Officer. When she heard about her mothers passing, Vicky had been in church praying. Ellas husband Vickys brother in law called her on the house phone to tell her mother was dead. Somehow, that morning, Vicky had sensed something had happened. There was a sense of foreboding that kept clouding her mind. When she returned from church, she saw the missed call and called Michael back. What happened? she asked without even saying hello to her sisters husband. She fell ill and died on reaching the hospital a heart attack. Michael told her. In the heart of the Delta State, in Sapele, Vickys mother had passed on. Vicky had talked to her mother just three days ago. Shocked, she called her father who told her the same. She then called her uncle, her mothers cousin, asking him to please step in and help make preparations since Vickys siblings were not speaking to each other. Vicky was the eldest of four children. Vicky did not want to stand in the way of giving her mum a befitting burial. Society expected it from her. Unknown to her, engaging her uncle was the biggest mistake. He took advantage of the situation and set them further apart, selling his soul to anyone who would promise him more money. He managed to wangle money from Vicky, and from the other siblings , in the name of organizing the funeral, when in reality, he pocketed as much as he could. Vicky was not going to be drawn into fights or competition over the dead anymore.

Vicky totally ignored her siblings and contributed to the funeral and stayed calm. She did her bit to contribute to the funeral, and kept her siblings out of the planning. She planned to surprise them seeing her come to the funeral was all they needed to go mad. She would walk away and then they would point to the world. Vicky stayed calm but was so ill and angry. Later, nobody called to comfort her she felt so alone she broke down many times - the doctor had to put her on several medications because her blood pressure was high, she was so angry and never felt this anger before. How could her family still be wicked even after their mother had passed on? Standing beside Vicky sobbing buckets, Joy stood bowed under the agony of loss. Vicky looked at the extremely bossy woman, her sister, and felt disheartened. Her sister had caused her a lot of pain. Joy had a proclivity for envy and anger, aggression and wicked mockery of other peoples life and work. Vicky admired her courage and confidence, though the thought of all the bullying that Joy had put her through sent her in nervous waves. Affection was not something Joy showed Vicky, only anger, jealousy and aggression. So much for naming her Joy! John, Vickys brother, shifted uncomfortably on his feet, shuffling his weight. His eyes were transfixed on the ground as the funeral unfolded before them. The musicians continued singing, as people sat down, looking transfixed at the canopy. John barely acknowledged Vicky when she came to Sapele from the United States, to attend the funeral; his jealousy of her spoke volumes. He was aloof, but grief did not escape him. Vicky remembered how rough he was when she was younger and needed a shoulder to cry on. Exceptionally indecisive and mistrustful, he would spy on her, run about and behave sneakily by stealing her things. He was a dull boy, so conniving came easily to him. John was a true blue mama's boy. He thought that he owned the world. The only beacon of hope that Vicky found standing beside her was Ella. Ella was crying, too, but Ella knew how much. Vicky had gone through. She was an extremely wise sister. Vicky loved the few moments that Ella spent with her, as often as she could each week, showing her care. But there was an aura of mystery around her. She was cheerful and outgoing on the outside but something about Ella made it clear that she had something different about her. Nobody in the immediate family talked to Ella except Vicky. She had recently relocated to another town and she was broke when the news came that her mother had passed on. Ella and her husband had moved town, and had paid a lot of money towards their moving costs. Their

current landlord required a two-years-deposit, and they had changed schools for their children. They had moved to the countrys capital where things were overpriced, costing almost twice what they paid in Jos. They had to also pay almost double schools fees for their three kids. While the rest of the siblings showed harshness to Ella, Vicky cared for her. The others didnt count her as being anything more than trash, because they knew she was low on cash. Joy was angry, clearly. Vicky had noticed her anger writ large on her face as soon as she had arrived. Joy didnt want her around; she wanted to play the role of the eldest daughter. But Vicky was the eldest by chronology, and Joy detested that. To everybody in the funeral they looked like a perfect family. People saw unity, because Vicky was bent on making sure that the day went in peace; it was her duty. She looked at her mother lying in state. She was mad that her mother would go leaving the family in so much disunity. After the funeral, her mothers family wanted the four siblings to attend a family meeting, but Vicky wondered if it was necessary. The meeting was convened in a bid to get all of them to talk about her mothers belongings, and to settle the disputes between the siblings. The person that held them together had gone. She felt nothing towards her siblings. Her mothers death had not changed them. She could see the same wickedness. If anything, it was worse. Vickys mother was dressed in white, a lacy dress that looked beautiful in its mute splendour. Her hair was nicely done, and a green gele (scarf) was draped on her. Green was Caros favourite colour. They took the coffin into the room in the house to be buried. Vickys mothers coffin was slowly being lifted before it would be set in the deep trench in the ground below. Both present and absent at the same time, she watched as the thick, mahagony casket shook and trundled into place. Vicky was given a shovel to put some dust in after she was laid in the ground. A hundred shades of black coloured her mind, the blackest of blacks forming a deep pit that craved and longed for love. The coffin was placed, the speaking voices quietened down. The first shovels of mud were thrown in. Vicky fell to her knees, emotion overcoming her. The difficulties of a lifetime, the pain and sorrow of a deprived childhood, a disturbed teenage era and the painful reminiscence of it all had finally gotten to her. Her mothers passing did not stir within her sorrow or grief for the loss of a loved one but rather, it showed her a side to herself, that made her braver, stronger and a fighter. A gun salute ensued, after they laid her body into the ground.

Vicky was not loved as a child; she was not cared for. Her siblings wouldnt care a bit, they wouldnt even be by her side. Jealousy, anger, hatred, a sense of disownment was all that they had to offer this beautiful young soul that had depleted to a wilted flower. But Vicky was strong. She clung onto the straws of hope that firmed her resolve, and guided her towards being a beacon of light for herself, and for the many women whose lives she would grow to change. Vicky vowed to herself to change every negative into a positive; every sorrow a support; every grief a godfather. Her own were too preoccupied with hating her, to care or show her love. Vicky would speak to herself, she would dress in loose clothes, she would be in pain and cry all the time. But they never reached out to help her instead, they rebuked her, they showed her how much they did not care, and they went out of the way to tell Vicky she was not wanted. But Vicky stopped short of spiralling out of control. Her life was her own. It was a gift to her from the lord above. He was her father, he was her mother, he was her sibling he was everything to her. And if God was by her side, no one else was needed. Vicky rose from the ashes like a phoenix and grew to become a force to reckon with. She was a leader, a fighter and a woman of substance. Vickys mind took her back to a time before.