ROSES AND SCENTS - A SHORT STORY

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Cindy was charmed by the red roses in the vase on the side-cabinet. It was surrounded by figurines in the images of birds and angels. She often stood by her mother and watched her pour scent oil from a tiny bottle on the roses.  She once asked her mother if she could take some of the oil to school and pour it on the flowers in her school’s premises. She vaguely understood when Mrs Okoroafor explained that the flowers on the side-cabinet were artificial while the flowers in Cindy’s school were natural.

She loved to stand by the cabinet and allow the fragrance caress her nostrils. It connived with the dresses she wore to church and parties, the babie dolls, her Hannah Montana school bag, and her hair ribbons to make her; though an Igbo girl, feel like the princesses in the Lady Bird fairy tale books her parents bought for her.

For Cindy, life was scented. A scent that replaced the smell of blood and flesh at the butcher’s, and the sour air that persisted at Utako market, where she often accompanied her mother. All she could see and smell was a scented, enchanted world even in third world Nigeria.

Mr Okoroafor, Cindy’s father, was an oyinbo Igbo man. Though born and raised in his fatherland, his heart danced to the beat of the white man, particularly the Americans. Maybe he loved their movies a little too much or was hypnotized by their literature.  In any case, he learnt and loved their ways. A shame he did not celebrate “Thanksgiving day”. In compensation, he never spoke the Igbo language to Cindy. He fidgeted that she would learn it and her accent would be contaminated.  He groomed her in the art of watching cartoons. He preferred cartoon characters shaped her diction. He walked out disappointed anytime he visited a bookshop. There were no new fairytale story books. He had bought all the titles the publishers had cared to ship to Nigeria. He read Cindy bedtime stories and tucked her in bed, under a pink, babie duvet.  He painted her room pink and named her Cinderella.

His wife loved the idea. They never visited her husband’s village.  He abhorred traditional practices, though her reason was different. She silently thought his mother was a grouch.

So, disgust for tradition and scores with in-laws birthed Cindy’s scented world in Abuja, Nigeria’s capital city. The clear skies of Easter holidays found the Okoroafor’s at a picnic in Millennium Park or a fun time at Wonderland. During the drives to such locations, Cindy sat at the back seat. She caught sparks in her mother’s eyes from the rear view mirror. The same glow she saw when her mother dropped her off at school.

Cindy longed for school every school day. She sang rhymes with her friends. Her cute teacher smiled all the time. It was a private school. At school, she longed to go home. She longed to see the roses guarded by formidable birds and angels. She loved to inhale... perhaps lavender.

When the sun rose, she longed for its setting.  For at night daddy would read her a bed time story. At night, she yearned for the morning; when she could eat cornflakes and watch her parents prepare for work.

Ahmed, the gate keeper terrified her. He reminded her of beasts and hideous creatures. He was very dark skinned and had shallow eyes that sharply contrasted with his skin colour. She also disliked Aunty Adaugo, her dad’s elder sister. A scarce caller at the Okoroafor’s home who came now and then to discuss their long absence from the village or pressing news she heard from there. Aunty Adaugo always complained that the fragrance in the sitting room was choking. Every time she looked to the side-cabinet, she snorted about Cindy’s mother wasting money on “nonsense”.  

Aside Aunty Adaugo and Ahmed, life was good, splendid in fact. Cindy had hopes that like fairy tales, good will triumph over evil; Ahmed and Aunty Adaugo would be gotten rid of. Then She and her parents would live happily ever after. One night, Mr Okoroafor complained of a pain in his chest.

After school on a bright Friday afternoon, Cindy found Hajia waiting at the entrance to her class room. She ran excitedly to her, wondering what her neighbour was doing in her school. The woman smiled broadly and hugged Cindy. 

“Your mummy sent me to pick you up, she is busy” Hajia said with the heavy accent of her roots. This sounded adventurous to Cindy.

As they drove home, Hajia checked up on Cindy a hundred times. Asking “Are you fine?” Cindy always affirmed and was amused at the trend. Hajia brought her meat pie and ice cream and insisted she finished it saying “you have to eat something please”. Cindy wondered at her tone. She also wondered why the woman shook her head often as she drove, curving her mouth and letting out breaths.

Ahmed opened the gate. As they drove in, Cindy glared at him. He looked back at her and she saw a certain glow in his eyes. They drove past him. When she looked back, she caught him shaking his head as he closed the gate.

Haija was about to explain to Cindy that she would have to stay at her apartment for a while but Cindy had caught a glimpse of two women in front of her house. She recognized them from church. She flung the car door open and few out with her school bag, running home excitedly. The women saw her as she approached and one of them spread her arms in invitation. Cindy ran into her warm embrace. The ladies asked how her day went at school and went on to play and joke with her. Hajia lingered closely beside them. Cindy saw the three adults exchange glances. It seemed they were up to something. A thought told her they had a big surprise for her. Without notice, Cindy took off toward the front door and when she heard the trio running after her, calling her back, she quickened her pace, excited, believing she would discover the big surprise. She beat them to it.

The smell of perspiration and varying body fragrances hit Cindy as she stepped into the living room. That was the first thing she noticed before she wondered what so many people were doing in their living room.  The faces where familiar but the expressions on them were strange. She noticed Aunty Adaugo who had her two hands on her head.  She noticed her dad’s friends, few persons from her church, and neighbours. Her mother sat between two other women, staring ahead. She did not notice Cindy’s presence until the Pastor beckoned Cindy to come to him.  When her mother looked at her, Cindy saw that the glow in her eyes was gone. She looked very sad. It was obvious the fake smile she quickly put up was on second thought. Cindy ignored the Pastor and walked slowly to her mother.  She sat gently on her mother’s lap. Mrs Okoroafor could hold it no longer and burst out in tears, wailing. Cindy was stunned by her mother’s sudden emotion. She cried too, as her mother squeezed her in an embrace. The two women beside Cindy’s mother kept speaking words of comfort and patting her shoulder. The Pastor walked up to them and said for Mrs Okoroafor to calm down. Everyone else said nothing. Mrs Okoroafor calmed herself.  Through her wet eyes, Cindy saw the side-cabinet. Someone had removed the vase of roses and the figurines. The large framed photo of her dad had been removed from the wall and placed on the cabinet. A notebook lay open in front of the photo.  The Child looked to her mother and enquired about her father. Without thinking, Mrs Okoroafor screamed that he was dead, that he would no longer read her bed time stories. She said he was not coming to them again. Then she lay back in the sofa and started wailing. It all made sense to Cindy like someone had flung a stone at the glass of her ignorance. It shattered loudly and the sound of realization would not stop playing in her head. Aunty Adaugo started repeating at the top of her voice that Cindy was only seven years old; that it was two months to Easter, and that Mr Okoroafor was her dearest brother.

That night, Aunty Adaugo and two women from the church slept in their house.  The Pastor left very late and before he left, he convinced Cindy and her mother to eat and go to bed.  Cindy lay in her mother’s embrace beneath a flower patterned duvet. There was no bed time story. There was no good night kiss. The bedroom walls were white not pink. It all felt new.

Weeks after Mr Okoroafor’s burial, the vase of roses remained on the floor beside the side-cabinet. No one noticed.  The smell of ordinary life replaced the fragrance from the scent bottles. Cindy always slept in her mother’s room.  She looked forward to neither morning nor night. In fact, she thought little about the nearest future; her heart danced between the past and the present.

Ahmed helped them turn on the electricity generator at night when there was no power supply. It took a lot of pulling and Mr Okoroafor used to do that. Ahmed ran other errands for them as well. Cindy forgot her fear for him and made haste to call him whenever his attention was needed. She loved Aunty Adaugo too. Maybe because she always brought food stuff when she visited and talked nicely to her mother. Maybe because Cindy’s mother frequently thanked her and seemed to conspire with her against the extended Okoroafor family. It could have been because Aunty Adaugo did not complain about fragrances and figurines. There were none.

Mr Okoroafor’s demise was two months to Easter. On Easter Friday, Cindy and her mother drove to the outskirts of Abuja were Aunty Adaugo lived with her family. A place Cindy had never been. They ate Jollof rice and Chicken. Cindy learnt to play ten-ten with her cousins.

The years passed as if they did not. One morning, Cindy arose to be an adult woman of repute and accomplishments. A University invited her to deliver a key note address during its convocation ceremony. On arrival at the splendorous venue, a smiling child had been positioned with a bouquet. The young girl walked up to Cindy as she stepped out of the car.  Cameras were clicking; an academic procession was waiting a little distance away. The girl raised the bouquet up to Cindy. Cindy bent and took it, tears stood in her eyes. A mixture of lavender and jasmine oozed out of the bouquet.  She hugged the child. Just before she freed herself, she whispered in the girl’s ear “They are artificial”.