GONE- By CHINWE JUDITH OKAFO

Everyone is saying so many scary things; that you will not return again but I don't believe them. I told them that you will not leave me this way. You will not leave your Kanu Nwankwo this way. They say I should be nice and friendly. That I should not bury myself within my room, but they don't know the truth. They don't know that you exist inside my room.

How will they know when I matter so less to them. How? Yesterday they had a meeting. How many goats to kill? What are the requirements for entertaining people from your club? How much will the club give? How much does this cost and how much does that cost. I couldn’t listen no more. I couldn’t. Then Uncle Kelechi said something that made me angry. He said; “this would have been better if Chiamaka had belonged to a Christian organization”. I felt bitter. Very bitter. I remembered it all. The days of you being a big mummy. The way the big person took his frustration on you. How you were not allowed to speak. How you were the weaker vessel. I became sad. Very sad.

Where were these people when the big person used you as a rag. Where were these people when you left the big person. Where were these people when newspapers carried the news that Mrs so and so divorces her husband. Where were they when you needed someone to talk to. Where were they when those mad church people kept your cellphone ringing for hours and left the verandah of our former house littered with 'come back to God' pamphlets. Where were they?

This morning the big person came. I refused to be nice to him. I refused to call him 'daddy'. I yelled at him. I told him he caused it. That he is a killer. He killed you. He killed you. He was embarrassed. He came with two people from the church. Aunt Pepeye and brother Limca. They said they are sorry and they know how I feel now. I told them that I feel better. That you are in my room. That you have been in my room for days. And that’s how I ended up been prayed for.

They prayed for me in that funny way. Shouting and jumping up and down. They cast you out. Out of my life. That the dead and the living has nothing in common. That I am not yours anymore. But they don't know the truth. They don't know that you will always remain in my room because that was where I hatched the plan to end your misery. I couldn’t stay and watch you wilt. I couldn’t stay and watch you turn into a bag of bones. I couldn’t. So I had slashed a strand of your hair while you were sleeping and placed it inside a bottle. Two days later nothing happened. A week later you had an accident on your way back from work. But I’m confused Ma. How come you were listening to 'the storm is over' when your car drove into a tree?