"How did it happen?" They all asked.
"I don't know. Honestly, I don't know," I said, and they all stared at me. I know I sound weird; I killed my daughter, and I'm saying I don't know how I did it.
"I didn't mean to," I said to my husband's eldest sister, who has been looking at me with killing intent. Believe me, I'll be very happy if she or anyone decides to kill me now because I know I deserve it. I don't wish to live.
"We will have to bury her before the sun sets," said Nonso, my husband's elder brother.
The crowd began to disperse. I knew it by counting the number of legs I could see. Within three minutes, everyone was gone, except one person. I waited for the next two minutes, but he didn't leave, so I raised my face to look at him. It's my husband's younger brother.
"Are you okay?" He asked. Am I supposed to be okay?
"No," I said, shaking my head.
"You will have to take it easy. Things happen. I know this is difficult, but you'll have to allow yourself to be consoled. For the sake of the one inside you," he said, and my hand moved to my tummy.
"How many months now?" he asked.
"Nine," I replied.
"I was at the psychiatric clinic today. Chendu is responding to treatment," he said, and looked away.
I scoffed silently. I know he is pitying me. He's looking for what to say to lessen my situation. I was at the psychiatric hospital this morning, and Chinedu was at his worst. He doesn't have to lie to make me feel better.
I cleared my throat and looked straight at him. He kept eye contact for a few seconds and then looked away. I kept staring.
"Won't you ask me how it happened?" I asked.
"I know you didn't kill her," he said.
"But I did. Chibuke, I did," I said, as tears rolled down my cheeks.
"You didn't do it intentionally. It was a mistake," he said.
Yes, it was a reckless action. But that can't justify anything. I was very angry when she meddled with the pot's handle and spilled out the whole contents on the floor. In the heat of my anger, I threw her the chopping board I was cleaning. It landed on her head, and before I could say Jack Robinson, she was on the floor.
I rushed her to Nduka's hut, the only herbalist in the village. He told me she's still alive and that she'll wake up soon. I waited and waited, and then I felt like I'd made a mistake. I should have taken her to the hospital, though it's five villages away from here. I was still regretting my actions when Nduka came out and announced she was dead.
The soup she poured was made from our last penny. She kept a diary, too. In the diary are the records of the bad things that are happening to us. She expressed her love and pity for Chinedu in the diary and despises my constant mood swings. But these aren't enough reason to take her life.
"You were angry, Doremi. And what you did was a result of your anger. I've once cautioned you about this habit of throwing things when you are angry. Now you have seen what it's caused you," said Chibuke. Then he stood up and began to pace the sitting room.
"What time did the elders agree to bury her?" He asked.
"I don't know exactly. They'll be here before sunset." I replied.
He kept pacing, then tapped his foot on the ground several times. I don't know what he's thinking, but I just hope he's not planning to save my life. The elders may agree to banish me to the forest of evil, and I'm not afraid of my fate. I really want to be punished for my actions. But my fear is for Chinedu. How will he cope with the news of the calamities that have befallen his family in his absence, if he ever recovers from his madness?
He's the one that triggers my anger problems. I warned him when he started smoking paper with his friends, and then they moved on to mixing leaves, flowers, and seeds of a certain plant in the paper. That got him insane. Not the plain paper, but the stuff inside it.
I became the breadwinner of the family with a seven-month pregnancy. I harvested the yams, tended to the goats, and worked on people's farms to raise money for various needs, especially Dinma's school fees.
I became so frustrated, and it got on my nerves.
However, a woman was supposed to be strong; now, where is my strength?
What would be my explanation? That I can't survive our trying times? Just two months of trying time, not years.
"Doremi!" I heard, then felt a hand on my shoulder. I exhaled in relief when I saw that it was Chibuke.
"You seemed lost in thought. I apologise for startling you," he said, and I nodded.
"I think we should take Dinma to the hospital," he suggested.
"She's been confirmed dead by Nduka. She's in the ritual room already. What will happen if the elders come here and don't find us?" I asked.
"What if Dinma is not dead? Nduka can be wrong sometimes," he said and dashed towards the ritual room.
This room is where deceased family members are kept for rituals before burial. It is a tradition, and we are not supposed to enter it. But this's about my daughter, so I hurried after Chibuke into the dark room.
He lit a candle and passed it to me, then he picked her up, and we hurried outside, through the backdoor.
Chibuke carried my daughter's body, and we ran, barefooted, along the bush track. I had this urge to break down; I was at my limit, my breaking point. A lot had happened in a few hours; I didn't know when the tears in my eyes began to blind me. I couldn't see the road anymore; my legs became weak, and I blacked out.
There were blue cotton, white walls, and bunk beds; my eyes scanned, and I blacked out again.
Upon regaining consciousness, I saw people in white coats, a stethoscope and the smell of medicine. I realised I was in a hospital!
I scrutunized the room for Chibuke, then hurried out of bed towards the door. As I reached for the handle, I felt a sharp pain in my backāno, my abdomen. Water started running down my legs. I realised I was in labour, and then my mind went blank.
When I opened my eyes, Chibuke was beside my bed.
"Where is her body?" I inquired.
"God has granted us a miracle. Dinma is alive, not dead. She's lying on your right," Chibuke explained.
I turned to my right and saw Dinma, my daughter, sleeping peacefully.
"And you have a baby boy," Chibuke continued, smiling in a way I had never seen before. I touched my baby bump and gazed at him.
"I'm sorry, Doremi. You were not strong enough to go through the normal process, so we had to perform a C-section," a young male doctor, whom I hadn't noticed before, explained. I nodded to him and turned to Chibuke.
"Thank you," I whispered with all my strength.
Though I felt too weak to cry, I couldn't control the tears flowing uncontrollably down my face. I felt sleepy afterward, but before I closed my eyes, I remembered Dinma's diary. I shouldn't have read it, and I won't read it again, because as she approaches fifteen in a few days, she might probably write about her mother's attempt on her life. I pray she forgives me.
