Memories From Quidah II

One tuesday morning,it had been raining heavily yet Manuel insisted he had to go to school. 'Ma cherie, the students will still come to school despite the downpour.' He had said to her. 'You can still go after the rains....' She had pleaded with him whilst hugging him. 'I'll be back soon ma cherie.' Manuel said whilst they still held on tightly to each other. She couldn't stop him no matter how hard she tried. With an umbrella in his left hand he bade her goodbye,after hugging  and clinging on to her for so long. She kissed his left cheek and he left.

She had watched him from the window of the hall of the chamber and hall apartment they lived in as he had walked carefully through the rain on muddy ground. She had watched  him disappear gradually behind the bushes.
She sat looking outside the window,watching the rain fall. Lightening struck and she bent her head to avoid seeing it. When she raised her head, she heard the loud sound of thunder and it was followed by lightening again.  She covered her face with both palms,then she stood up to go to the bedroom. Thinking about her love who had passed through the rain to go to school. She wished he did not have to. It kept raining outside heavily till she heard the banging of the door.

Initially she did not believe har ears but after a while she got up to go and check. She saw two women and four men standing outside.Their clothes were soaked from the heavy downpour. She recognized one of the men. She invited them inside but they had declined then another group rushed towards them. This time they were five. The women were wailing,she wondered what in the world this could be all about. 'Il est mort' she heard one of the women say in French. 'Who is dead?' She blurted out loudly in English. Without giving it a thought she run outside and the crowd followed her, the men leading the way.

She had followed them to the main road;running as her heart beat faster than usual.When they got there,she saw people gathered and screaming. Others were crying and as she approached them and they saw her, their cries became louder. Then she saw leaves covering something. It was a human being she was sure. Then she saw his brown shoes  on his feet. His right feet did not have a shoe on, he only had on his light brown socks. She quickly recognized them as Manuel's. No, this can't be true. When she got closer, she raised one of the branches covered with leaves and then she saw his face. He lay still and she could see blood gushing out of his head. Then she realized it had almost been divided into two.

"Ma-nu-e-lllllll......" she screamed.  He did not respond neither did he move. She held him by the shoulder trying to shake him but his eyes were shut and then she looked at his head again and screamed; 'Mon armourrrrrrrrrrr......'    Manuel was dead. He had been knocked down by a vehicle. She lay her head on his chest crying and screaming whilst the women tried to raise her up  and stop her from crying.  He was gone. When they finally raised her up on her feet, a gaze at the crowd that had gathered close to where Manuel lay caused the hair on her skin to stand.  She spotted his other shoe somewhere across the road and there had been traffic all of a sudden as this was the main road that stretched through the town of Quidah  all through to the border and neighbouring Togo. The same road stretched to Cotonou, this was a highway. Fosua collapsed and when she had regained consciousness later, she struggled to recall what had happened.

Four days later,Manuel was laid to rest. Fosua wished she could be buried too. Manuel had taken her sunshine with him. Death had stolen her sunshine away. He had killed her alive. She had been totally shattered. It felt like she had died and been buried with him. She felt lost and depressed. Her life had ended. She could not envisage the lonely nights without him.

Who would comfort her..who would soothe her pain..where was her idol..the only one who knew the customs and norms of her own idol. The idol of her heart. Her muse for the story  she was writing had deserted her.

Indeed the days had seemed longer and her nights empty. To her, the clock had stopped ticking in her world. Fourteen days after he had been buried, she could not take the pain and loneliness anymore.
She decided her reason for settling amongst the people of Quidah was no more and it was time to return to her own people.

Forty two days on, she could eat her heart out that though she had left home without approval from anyone, it was the best place to go now that she had nothing to live for here. She was still very young;twenty five and she would defy the jeers from the scoffers. She had been sure there would be quite a number of them back home. Yet home was the only place that seemed a better place to be in her distress.

Though nothing seemed crystal clear; death had forced this decision out of her and she needed to move away leaving behind all the memories they had built together whilst living together for four years.

She was brought back to reality when she heard voices. The bus had stopped at a police check point and the driver had been speaking with the police. That was when she realized that she had been lost in her own world. Reminiscing on past events. She looked around outside the bus and far away, she saw the fields. She felt a pang in her heart. She could not tell where they had gotten to. She had not gone anywhere except Cotonou in four years and could not remember anything on this road. All she could do for herself was to remain calm and watch as the bus made its way to her destination; the place she had once known as her home. A country to which she took nothing back after these long years except pain and loneliness. She still had several hours to go before they finally arrived in Kumasi where she would continue to her town; kintampo in Ghana. The bus sped off again. As they left behind the place which had once been haven to her, her mind was a battlefield. Torn between leaving behind all the memories and taking with her all the memories; sweet; sour and the bittersweet.

Now that Manuel was no more, all she had left were memories of him. Captured on her life's recorder and she would replay them again and again. He had given her the best four years of her life and she would cherish the memories of it forever she thought to herself. Memories of Manuel De Souza; memories from Quidah.
Death had taught her a cruel lesson and stolen her idol away but the memories they built together would linger on for ages to come.

I've been wanting to do a story  of  real African origin developed within an African setting.   I finally did.  As much as I would want the world to relate to all my works, I'm still a proud black girl. One day, I'll do it better after proofreading. Happy Sunday!