25th December.

Nwugo never really wished to travel home for Christmas. Her husband more than anyone should
understand her state of mind and the reason for her decision but Donald insisted, He said.

“This period everyone stays closer to their families, we can’t leave her there, all alone..”

He gave the “alone” a little stress which made her feel a touch of guilt but then what difference does it
make?

The journey home was a punishment as far as she was concern. The Sienna felt completely empty to her
despite her Husband’s constant attempt to brighten her mood. The emptiness that loomed over the car
smelled of fresh onion which Donald had bought for Christmas.

The days before today she has completely avoided that particular spot where she lay, she stopped using
the gas cylinder because she had to go outside and turn it on, she stopped brushing her teeth outside,
an exercise she loved doing before now. When she washed her clothes she hung them on the flowers
instead of using the hanging line at the back.

Today however was different, it was meant to be the day Christ was born and Donald being the man he
was asked her to prepare a little something for the visitors that would soon start trooping in like kids on
recess.

Slowly she got up from bed and wobbled to the kitchen, it was dusty and the floor was littered with rat
stool. To her it was frightening how she has been using the kitchen for almost three days without
noticing it’s horror state. She felt sorry for herself and for Donald.

A cold tear streamed down her left eye as she opened the kitchen window for the first time since they
returned to the village And just opposite the window she lay, under a soursop tree and covered with
dusty red earth. She saw a lizard taking shade on the grave and she remembered how Mary hated
Lizards, she would jump and scream at the sight of one yet there she lay, a cool spot for this red headed
lizard.

She smiled, the tears came again, this time hotter, wetter and heavier. She took few steps back to pick
up a broom and an empty pot that was left hanging on a loose rack feel, the noise it made was piercing
and a reminder of how empty she was without her.

She cuddled the pot and cried on it briefly before she heard the rumbling of a careless foot making it’s
way towards the house, she got up quickly and cleaned her eyes with the edge of her wrapper. The
voice came quicker than expected.

“Happy Christmas Nwugo”

“Happy Christmas Diokpa”

She replied, her voice as tender and sweet as it could be. The voice was like a high pitched Soprano
covering a heavy bass which was the pain and bitterness in her heart but Diokpa couldn’t see it. Nwugo
is finally getting over The death of her daughter he thought.
25th December 2020,

Ariwa