‘Pamela pull this down biko, put a slip underneath, see your big bottom, your skirt is raising at the back’Pamela’s mother spoke quickly and then paused. Pamela felt naked, her mothers gaze narrowing, trailing across her ’s’ shaped spine. ‘It is good oh, we are grateful to God, my daughter looks well well’ Pamela’s mother chuckled heartliy, her body seemed to reverberate. Pamela imagined that several invisable drum sticks were being beaten against her, to make her shake like that. Pamela smiled a little, comforted by the warmth of her mother’s Igbo dialect and her own boundless imagination.
It had happened suddenly. Pamela was unprepared, for the two firm swellings on her chest, and her impala like gracfulness which accompanied her new ‘mystical woman body.’ Her heart shaped mahogany face glistened with youth, pulled taut by tiny braids, her eyes slanted a little upwards resembling an African mask. ‘Ah this child is exquisite’ Dr Eke always refered to her as a child even though she was nearly sixteen years.’ When did billy goats begin to wear doctors’ coats’, foolish man she thought.
The day Dr Eke, held her hand for a few seconds too long when he greeted her, was the day she knew her life would be changed for ever. She could no longer climb trees, obtaining scratches and laughing well into the night with her brothers, and small naked village children who raised their arms up to be carried, while looking curiously at their protuding navals.
‘When will you come back sister Pamela?’ Nkechi lingered by the door, solemn faced. ‘What would you like me to bring back for you from the city?’ Pamela said, avoiding Nkechi’s question. ‘A dress’ Nkechi’s tiny face lit up with awe, at the prospect of her future present, she intonatated every letter ‘a d – r – e – s – s’. Her four year old frame felt heavy with health, as Pamela pulled her up to her lap. ‘Be good for mommy, the way I will be good for my madam in the city, do you understand?’ Pamela said, the infant placed her head on her sister’s lap, both of their faces now moistened with tears.
Pamela’s mother had packed for her many provisons, she felt like a laden donkey. ‘Make sure you give Aunty Ifeoma some fried fish, and take some for yourself, if you forget she will consume the whole thing, that woman is growing as big as a house.
That afternoon, the driver picked her up at the gate. She looked out of the window, trailing her long fingers on the glass, and watched as her village grew smaller, and further away. ‘Follow God as he follows you’, her mother’s last word resounding spirit – like in her ears….
