Oluchi: A Short Story

She stood cradling her baby, tapping his back while humming a familiar tune that her mum used to sing back in the village. “Onye kuru nwa na-ebe akwa?” she sung softly. It was a cold December morning in New York but her mind was back in Nigeria, back in her village where the agbalumo trees were always full of ripe fruit and the market place was full of noise and excited chaos; it may not have been the best life but it was the life she grew to love.

Oluchi was a simple girl, the tenth of eighteen children and the last daughter born to her mother. She was a stubborn child growing up; partly because she only kept company with her seventeen brothers, occasionally joining them in football matches after lessons rather than fetching water to help her mother cook supper. “Mama Oluchi! Warn your daughter to stop plucking my oranges! Next time I catch her I will pluck her legs!” and “Oluchi, when will you realize that you’re a woman?” were the common complaints the local village women constantly said about Oluchi as she eventually grew to become a village nuisance. Despite the love and instruction given to Oluchi, she was set in her ways as a stubborn child. Her father constantly tried giving her instruction “Oluchi”, he would say “When a child sees a fight that has been stopped, he says that he really saw a fight:  One who has someone to do a thing for him does not know the pain of it.  One who has not experienced a thing says that he would not have put up with it.  One day a man will come looking for your hand in marriage and the tales of your mischievous ways will reach his people.” It was not until years passed that she understood her father’s wise words.

Oluchi eventually grew into a beautiful young woman; the target of many men in her village. By 13, she’d had over thirty men visit her village from near and far in search of her hand in marriage-all were denied. Her parents did not believe in marrying off their daughter at a young and naive age. Her father, who received a PhD in both Biology and Philosophy, owned a hospital in Lagos but chose to raise his children in the village in order to instill culture into them at a young age. He hated the fact that the city children were unable to understand their language and knew nothing of their culture. Mazi Obi was a strong man, not just in physically stature but in his morals. Every Sunday morning at cock crow he stomped through their massive house exclaiming, “This is the day! This is the day that the Lord has made!” and proceeding to force everyone out of bed and into their Sunday clothes for Sunday service. Her mother was more soft-spoken. Looking at Amaka Obi, you would never know she was a mother of eighteen. After giving birth to two sets of triplets and three sets of twins, she had proven herself to be a physically strong woman. Amaka was not just a mother, she was also a professor. She received her PhD in English at Harvard University and went on to head the Department of English at the University of Lagos. Money was no object to the power couple; with eighteen children between them, they had no choice but to be successful. They lived in a 300,000 square foot mansion; thirty bedrooms, twenty-one bathrooms, countless cars, over ten house maids at their beck and call, three guard dogs, two swimming pools, and two security guards-all enclosed in a massive gate the villagers jokingly referred to as the “Pearly Gates.” The Obis believed that their children should have nothing but the best and education was not an exception-all of their children were sent abroad for their university. One-by-one each child bid their farewells and journeyed to the great unknown, some eventually returned with multiple degrees and business offers while others decided to remain overseas and build a new life in a foreign land.

It was now Oluchi’s turn to travel into the great “Obodo Oyinbo”. Her parents were persistent in never letting their children travel abroad for vacations so they did not become too infatuated with a culture that was not their own. Oluchi craved to see the great America; the villagers referred to it as the land of milk and honey and she could not wait to taste every bit of it. She’d been accepted into Columbia University in New York. She’d done some research about New York but all she really knew about the great city was that they gathered in the streets during the New Year and witnessed some sort of big apple explode; she could not wait to see this apple and maybe even taste that too. It was a solemn day as she prepared for her new life: tickets, suitcases, picture albums, blank envelopes-all there. She was ready. As she made her bed for the last time, her mother walked in. “Oluchi”, she said “I know that this might be a frightening time. Your father and I both did our studies and came back. Ikenna, Kelechi, Emeka, Obinna, and Arinze are there now and will be done by the end of this year. You know if you’re having any problems to write home okay? I want you to make sure you go there to study and not to make friends. Some of those Americans are not there for studying, they go to school to party and disgrace their parents. Don’t fall into the wrong crowd because I know you’re very fond of getting into t-” Oluchi looked up in annoyance “Mum I am 17 now! I know what I am going to school for. I don’t know why you people always feel the need to give me these lessons as if I am unable to think for myself. Even if I make friends, what is the problem?” Shocked, Oluchi’s mother looked at her and sighed, “It’s not me that will hurt if you continue to live like a stubborn fool Oluchi. I have given you instruction as a mother. We have raised you to know what to do. If you like, go to America and waste your life.” With that she left the room without so much as a goodbye. Mazi Obi had been called into the city to perform open-heart surgery on a patient and was unable to see his daughter before she took off to start her new life. The last thing she’d remember him telling her was to face her studies.

Oluchi enjoyed America; the parks, the parties, the restaurants- and the boys. She enjoyed her university; it was beautiful and the students were equally beautiful. Everywhere she turned she saw another beautiful face but one in particular stood out. His name was Xavier and he was the definition of suave; tall, dark, and handsome. He played football for the university and was the starting quarter-back of the Columbia Lions-he was only a freshman and was already being scouted by some of the top National Football League teams. Every girl on campus wanted a chance at Xavier but he wanted Oluchi. They were lab partners in Organic Chemistry and although there was a clear attraction, neither made the initial move-until one Autumn day. It was chilly October afternoon when Oluchi felt herself dozing off in class. “The selective synthesis of specific stereoisomers of epoxides can be performed using enantiomers of Jacobsen's catalyst…”, her professor droned on as she battled with gravity to keep her head from falling to her chest. “Haha! Didn’t get enough sleep last night huh?” Oluchi’s head snapped up “Yeah, I mean-” she wiped the remnants of saliva from her face, “It was my birthday yesterday so roommates took me out for shots.” Xavier studied her face and frowned “Well I wish you had told me. Let me take you out to make up for it” he said. At that moment a million ideas rushed to her head Is this really happening? What do I say? Should I go? He’s a ladies’ man. He’s no good-but he’s so fine “Sure. Pick me up at seven?” she whispered. “It’s a date.” he said. Against her better judgement Oluchi prepared herself for her date. It was the Autumn of ‘95 and she felt on top of the world; the man that every woman on campus wanted only had eyes for her! Throughout dinner she gawked at him, laughed at his jokes even though they weren’t funny, and agreed when he suggested that she come back with him to his place. She offered him her coat and accepted the glass of red wine, sipping casually all the while forgetting she was only 17 and three months and not old enough to drink. She continued to laugh at his jokes which had become a lot more amusing, she accepted his offer for a back rub, she returned the kiss he gave her, and she agreed to spend the night with the man every woman desired to be with. He chose her. She was almost obligated to give herself to him-if not someone else would.

They never spoke after that night. Apparently a scout from the Philadelphia Eagles saw potential in Xavier and jumped at the opportunity to sign the young prodigy. She called his phone every other day for the next four months-he never answered. Eventually his phone line was switched off with a recorded operator being the only voice on the other line. He was off to the big leagues, leaving Oluchi behind. Oluchi eventually moved from the pain and shame of having been used but whenever she thought of the night she spent with him, she became sick to her stomach in disgust. The sickness grew worse. Every morning she found herself bent over her toilet in pain- she knew this wasn’t the common flu and a pregnancy test from her school clinic confirmed that. Her mother had warned her about keeping bad company but she turned a blind eye, she became agitated. All her life she’d ignored the warnings of her parents. What do I do? How do I fix this? She knew her parents would disown her as soon as they heard. She would probably get lucky and die during childbirth. Yes, she would carry the baby to term and pray that the baby killed her so she wouldn’t have to face the shame of having a baby out of wedlock-a bastard. A shame to the family. Who was she kidding? She knew she’d survive, after all her mother bore 18 strong children. She would have her baby and give it to someone that could give it a better life. She would disappear in the meantime until then. No one would hear from her; it would only be 9 months, she lived on her own. She could do it.

That was then. As she stood in the chilly December breeze she continued singing, “Onye kuru nwa na-ebe akwa? Who is carrying the baby that is crying?” The tears began to flow from her eyes. Her child was not crying but she was. She was only a child living in a world that was not nearly as sweet as she had been told it was. As she held her son close to her bosom, she thought of her father’s proverbs “When a child sees a fight that has been stopped, he says that he really saw a fight:  One who has someone to do a thing for him does not know the pain of it.  One who has not experienced a thing says that he would not have put up with it.” She never cared about her discontent towards instructions from her parents until that moment. At 18 she stood on the corner of Madison Avenue and E 51st Street. As she stared at the doors to St. Patrick’s Cathedral, she realized that she was faced with two choices: leaving her baby there and picking up the pieces of her life or pick up the religion she’d since abandoned. She took a deep breath and walked towards the doors. It was time to make a choice.