Itohan Dan Carlo knocked on the door
of the Idemudias at Central Road
in Benin City. She was the first cousin of late Uyi Idemudia
who died in a ghastly motor accident while she was in Italy.
“Yes? Who is there?
Osaro, please see who is at the door?” Mrs Idemudia said.
“You’re
welcome, aunty. Mom, it’s aunty Itohan,”
Osaro announced.
Rita
Idemudia came out of the kitchen cleaning her wet hands with a kitchen towel.
“Itohan, what a surprise! When did you come into the country?”
“I
came in yesterday and was told of what happened. That’s why I decided to see you and express
my heartfelt condolence,” Itohan said glumly.
“Thank
you. This is very considerate of you.”
“How
are you coping with taking care of the children and their education?” Itohan
Don Carlo demanded.
“My
husband’s death had been a big blow to me and the children. Since his death
we’ve been finding life very dificult. I have been managing to pay the school
fees for the younger ones in primary and high schools, but Osaro who should
have been studying medicine in the university has to sit at home. You know I’ve
been a stay-at-home mother.”
She
looked a moment into space, thinking of her ex-husband. It seemed so strange and sad to know he was
gone, even when Uyi Idemudia had been so vital and alive.
A
search of Uyi Idemudia’s papers and records in Benin City and elsewhere turned up no money
except the records of a single bank account containing twenty thousand
naira. If there was anything else, it
was never discovered.
“What
a pity! What is Osaro’s age now?”
“She’ll
be sixteen next month. On the 15th
of July, precisely,” Mrs Idemudia replied grimly.
That
was the right age for her purpose. “I
should be about to help you with Osaro’s education.”
In
high school Osaro gulped knowledge insatiably and proved something of a prodigy
in science subjects.
“Oh! Thank you.
That’ll be a great relief.”
“You
know my husband Don Carlo is an Italian.
I’ll phone him tonight to get admission for Osaro in one of the good
universities in Italy. Once that is done, I shall ask Osaro to come
over.”
Rita
Idemudia heart jumped with joy and hope.
“Osaro
come and hear this,” Rita Idemudia said heartily
Osaro
had felt her father’s death most. She was very close to him. And his death had
aborted her ambition of being a medical doctor.
When Rita Idemudia looked into the children’s bedroom, Osaro was holed
up in the room, as always since her father died. When she saw her daughter sprawled on the
bed, eyes closed, tears slipping down her cheeks, her jaw tightened, she felt
depressed.
“Stop
crying; God has heard your cry and sent a helper.”
Osaro
reluctantly came out of her room, her eyes red with weeping.
“Your
aunty Itohan has promised to help sponsor your education in Italy.”
“I’m
not going.”
“You’re
not going?” Rita Idemudia yelled. “Have you gone mad? You’ve been crying since your friends resumed
classes in University
of Ibadan three months
ago. Now you’ve a golden opportunity of
not only going to college but in Europe, and
you’re turning it down.” Turning to Itohan, “Please don’t mind her. I’ll talked sense into her head later.”
“That’s
all right. I shall be going. Sorry about what happened. I shall visit you again before I travel
back.”
“Thank
you for calling. In fact, after I have
talked to Osaro, I shall bring her to see you. She must apologize for this
insubordination.”
“You’re
welcome any time. Please have this ten
thousand naira to buy something for the children.”
“Thank
you very much. God will bless you for thinking of coming to our aid. My husband’s brothers sold his house and car
and shared the money among them. They claimed I killed their brother because I
wanted to inherit his properties. I was
given the water with which his corpse was washed to drink to prove my innocence.”
“When
my father condemned the action, one of the younger brothers replied, ‘What do
you mean we’re not being fair? She did everything in her power to keep him from
us, and he’s dead and she isn’t, and that drives me completely crazy. From what
I learned, she told him he should learn to live with her and without us or
learn to live with us and without her. And our brother decided to live with her
and without us. She is a bad woman.’ My shook his head in lamentation.”
In
African it was believed that any woman who killed her husband supernaturally
when she drank the water used to wash his corpse she would die shortly
afterward.
“That
was very unfortunate,” Itohan said, “some of our culture is bizarre.”
Idemudia’s
extended family evicted his family and sold his house; accusing his wife of
being the cause of his death through witchery. His car was sold for less than
its real worth and they pocketed all the money.
Rita Idemudia and her five children were only allowed to take away their
clothes and other personal possessions.
It was the money sympathizers gave her that she used to rent two rooms
that they now occupied.
Itohan
Don Carlo was the biggest human trafficker from Nigeria,
the brutal Madam, who beats up young girls and made them whores in Italy.
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