1
I. A BRIEF HISTORY
Nigeria 1994: Flash floods break out in multiple states. 400,000 citizens are displaced, 180,000 are left vulnerable to death; entire neighbourhoods are lost, communities broken apart, businesses drowned, and families scattered asunder. Over 100 corpses were recovered from the flood.
Causes: Heavy rainfall due to climate change.
II. THE WEIGHT OF WATER
This is it. This is where silence and noise merge. This is where life and death commune. This is where darkness gets a hold of light, comprehending it, subduing it. This is where it blossoms. This is where it all crumbles to dust. This is it: where hope dies, where faith fails, where words lose their meaning, where the fabric of be-ing disintegrates and rearranges itself so that to be, one must un-be. This is where it will end, right here. Our songs, yet unsung, shall cease even before a note is sung. Our stories, yet untold, shall cease even before our names are spoken. This is where death shall meet us. We shall not be forgotten, for we were never known. We shall billow skywards in a smoke-dance, and we shall meet our maker. Oh! How I wish to meet Him, that I may ask what has broken His heart, and why He cries so much these days.
These days? These are not days. I remember what days were, what they should be! Days are bliss. Days are sunshine and radiance. Days are lift-your-voices-and-sing, spread-your-wings-and-fly. Days are waking up beside Mum, her arms wrapped around me, on a warm, fluffy bed. Days are drawing the blinds, receiving a smack of light on my face, and squinting against the excited rays of God’s smiling face. Days are slapping my feet, in the rhythmic beats of a hastened jog, against the tarred pavement leading to my school building. Days are looking back from the school porch, a smile stretching across my face at the sight of Mum waving goodbye to me. Days are sitting through boring Business Studies classes, forcing my numb fingers to scribble misshapen letters on my notebook. Days have names, like Saturdays: when I have all the time to flip through my favourite movie channels. Like Sundays: for beautiful dresses, glistening koi-koi shoes, flowery scents, for Church, for smiles, for pictures, hearty lunches, more movies; for the sorrowful sighs drawn by uncompleted homework, for the liquid sadness of knowing the dawning day will bring a Monday.
Days are colours: the blue of the skies, the pillowy white of the clouds, the green of leaves, the rainbow of gardens, the burning bright gold of the sun, and the black of birds dotting the skies.
Days are a concoction of sounds. The ecstasy of screaming kindergarteners singing their rhymes into a heated atmosphere; the bustle of the marketplace, the quacks of worn-out trucks, the melodious tones of women hawking moi moi and okpa in the streets, and the blare of speakers belting out the latest afrobeat tunes.
God cries a lot these days, but these are not the days I remember. These are not the days I want.
These days are a frozen, wet darkness. A dirge of rainfalls, the howls of a ghost feast. God’s tears filling my ears with dread, piling up, drop upon drop, and soaking the earth with fluid barrenness.
These days I cannot name, for time has spilled from my grasp.
*
The pale light trickling from the bulb illuminates the water’s surface. The light shining upon the water is reflected on the walls of the bunker, exposing the peeling chrome paint.
Water seeps into the bunker through the rusted circular opening overhead, sending ripples across the surface of the watery silence inundating us. I watch the ripples spread, gaining radius across the water. They gather at a certain point and terminate there. I watch a new ripple form; I watch it circle across the surface; I watch it get to its termination point; I watch it die. How many ripples have I watched? How many times have I deceived myself into thinking that I can trace a single ripple across a distance? How have I found it so easy to make a home of this place? How have I become so familiar with this emptying sadness? Why do I make it mine? Why do I house it? I think it; I whisper it; I dream it; how long till I become sadness embodied? How long till I become an endless expression of emptiness? How long?
Sometimes, I forget I’m not alone. I have to remind myself I have Mother right beside me. I look at her face and I find sadness in her gaze. She’s emaciated, her scalp bare, scrapped clean by alopecia. No braided wigs to hide her baldness now. No bone-straights. No bobs. Nothing.
Here, nothing is hidden. Every flaw is uncovered. Every fear is exploited.
Gloom clings in the air, pressing down on us. Opposite Mother and I, Heavy leans his muscular frame into the chrome wall, his back facing us, with thick black dreadlocks hanging over his shoulders. He taps the last can of baked beans—now empty—lightly against the wall. But the sound is swallowed by the baby’s cries. Lady Big rocks her baby with her fleshy arms and shushes him, but he keeps crying. I do not know how he’s still alive. Maybe, Reverend’s prayers are working after all. He stands next to her draped in his black cassock, his back against the wall, muttering prayers into the chill air. Tall stands alone in the corner adjacent to us, his unkempt afro almost touching the ceiling. He exhales repeatedly into his palms and rubs his face. We stand together, a family of strangers, sheltering beneath the flood.
I cannot tell how long we’ve been buried here. I’ve lost count of time. To be honest, I didn’t lose count of time. I simply lost its idea. That there is such a thing as time eludes my consciousness most of the time. Time has become a fleeting thought. It sweeps in and out like a swift whoosh of breeze on a hot afternoon, teasing the sweat on one’s skin. Strutting about so quickly one cannot even cease it; yet it passes, leaving but a footprint, a testimony of its presence, so that it is impossible to deny its existence.
I could say we’ve been here for months. A year? Possibly. But it’s definitely been more than a few months. I think, in a way, I’ve tasted a certain madness. Not the kind that makes one roam the streets naked, nor the type that gnaws sensibleness away from the mind. The genre of madness that has inked itself across the leathery firmness of my heart makes me itch to tear my aching legs away from my hips. There was a time when I could sit on the base of the bunker; the water in it was only at my ankles. Now that the water is on my belly, I cannot sit. I can’t even rub my knees without the water licking up my entire face, making it impossible to breathe. The pain coursing through my legs reinforces the madness, and that rioting, vexing desperation makes me want to grab my mum, shake her violently and yell into her ears: Get your daughter out of this place!
Mother’s silence is unnerving. Silence? At this time? I wish she’d do something other than hold me close to herself; say something other than: Are you okay? Are you fine? I need her to do something human! Something vulnerable. Something unstrong. Something raw. I desperately want her to scream, rip her clothes, curse the bleeding skies, break down in tears and wail. I need her to be weak in the same way a building needs its foundation to be shallow so it can permit itself to collapse. But she won’t! Now, I have to be strong, for she is strong. I can’t cry, I can’t wail, I can’t break down, I can’t vent this madness, I cannot give this helplessness an expression, if I did, she’d break down in sorrow, and weep. Then, I’d be responsible for her weakness. Such a burden, I cannot shoulder: it will crush me to a pulp.
Her hand is clasped around mine, both our hands submerged in the water. At what point would we begin to dissolve?
The baby’s voice floats against the water, it grows claws and stabs my ears.
“This baby is dying!” Lady Big cries. “Chineke nna! God! Don’t let my son die. Biko. Please.” Her voice breaks.
Mother tightens her grip on my hands. A rumbling spreads across the water as Heavy moves towards Lady Big. The disturbed water rises to my chest and falls back to my belly.
“No be small fever be this o,” Heavy croaks out, feeling the baby’s neck. “This child go die if we no leave this place soon.”
Lady Big sobs and the baby’s cries rise, as though he heard the judgment proclaimed against him.
“We should never have entered this place! This idea was from the pit of hell!” Reverend spits.
“Wh-wh-what should we have done?” Tall stammers. “Swim th-through the flood? To where? This was the o-only logical route of action. St-stay underground and wait till the rain st-stops.”
“Now, look where that got us!” Reverend says. “We should have swam from roof to roof. God would have surely sent help!”
“Oh, please.” Tall throws his hands, sending beads of water flying in the air. “Do you kn-know what a flood is? Ti-tides? Waves? Overflowing river b-banks? Ever heard of those terms, man of G-God?”
“Make una stop this nonsense!” Heavy yells. “Pikin dey die, una dey argue. If we no flee this shithole all of us don die be that o.” His thick voice echoes through the bunker.
“Bro, see, let’s wa-wait it out. See what happens. The ra-rain could stop. Who knows?”
“My baby will die!” Lady Big blurts out. “Look at him naa. Ọ nwụ chaa go. He’s almost dead!”
“Lady, can your ba-baby swim? Huh?”
“So, you son of wickedness would let her poor son perish in this hell.” Reverend wags his index finger at Tall. “God have mercy on you!”
“If we stay, the baby dies,” Mother says, and I look up at her face. “Then us, we will die too. If we go, we fit die o, but there’s a chance we could make it. I say we take that chance. Abeg.”
Tall throws his hands again and faces the wall. “Fo-fools! Fools! Fools!” He bangs his fists against the wall.
“Guy, you no go behave?” Heavy says, facing Tall.
“He thinks himself smarter than us all. Pride most certainly comes before a fall.” Reverend says. “I know the Lord will send help. In fact, He showed me the vision of a black swan floating on an ocean. That means help!” He chuckles. “Fear not! We can do it.” He turns to Lady Big. “My lady,” he says “I swim real good. I will protect your child. Let me have him.” He strides towards her.
“Mum.” I whisper into Mother’s ears. “I can’t swim. You know I can’t- you know I can’t swim.” A mosquito buzzes in my ear and I slap myself.
“Don’t wound yourself!” Mother frowns and rubs my ears.
I pull her hands away. “Mummy? I. Cannot. Swim!” I scream out a whisper.
“Then I’ll piggyback you. You’ll be fine. Just hold tight. I promise. You’ll be fine. We just cannot remain here.”
I dart my eyes around the bunker. Resolve is etched clearly on all their faces. They’re mad! They’re really going to swim out of this bunker, into an earth we haven’t seen for God knows how long! This is madness!
Mother cups my face. “Look at me, my dear. Look at me. We will be fine. Hold tight! You hear?”
I nod. She lets go of my face and hugs me.
“We’ll be fine, I promise,” she says.
I turn away from her so she doesn’t see me cry.
“Make everybody get set o. We’re swimming.” Heavy announces. “Shift back, so the water no go pull una unawares. Make sure your legs strong for ground. Abeg o. God go save us.”
“Shall we say a prayer, my brethren? God is a protector of those who believe in His name. We must commit our journey…”
Journey… Reverend’s voice trails off. This is no journey! This is madness! What if there’s something heavy on top of the bunker? How then do we leave? What if the water is as high as the heavens? What if there’s nothing left? What if there are no roofs? What if everyone else is dead? Do these people expect to find drugs? DRUGS? MEDICINE? IN A FLOOD? Does Tall think he can wade in the flood? As skinny as he is? Heavy really does think he’s strong enough to resist the pressure of the water? Mother thinks she can swim with me on her back? I know I’m small, but this is just… plain madness!
My heart sinks into my belly like it’s being pulled by a string. It bounces back into my chest and I almost puke. I push laboured inhales into my lungs. This is a terrible idea!
Mother pulls me to herself. “On my back, now, now, now.”
I move closer to her and she turns her back at me. I wrap my hands around her neck.
“Thank God you haven’t had a growth spurt yet,” Mother teases, and chuckles. It’s not funny. I don’t laugh.
“Ready?” Heavy asks, striding to the opening of the bunker.
“Yes!” Lady Big and Reverend echo. The baby is tied to Reverend’s chest with a wrapper. The wrapper covers the baby’s face.
Heavy climbs the ladder leading to the opening and stops when his head is a few inches away from the opening. He grabs the lever. “Stand gidigbam o. Tight your muscles well well,” he says.
“Climb my back now, come on,” Mum says.
I obey. I rest my head against her cheeks. My heart hammers against her back.
“Just hold on tight, baby. Don’t let go. Okay?”
“Okay.” My voice shakes. I don’t know if it’s the cold or if it’s the apprehension crawling crisscrosses around my skin.
“Una don set? I’m opening o!” Heavy shouts, his voice looming like the roaring echoes of a certain danger.
I tighten my grip around Mother, my eyes glued on Heavy. He twists the lever, a squeaking cry spills into the water. He twists again, and again. The squeaks crescendo into riotous cries. Then, a crashing sound gushes into the bunker. The cover is pulled off its hinges and it smashes into Heavy’s head. The sound of metal striking against bone sends chills across my neck. Heavy lets out a scream, and his dreadlocks stretch out like tentacles as he’s thrown backwards into the water. The roars of the restrained flood, now let loose, swallow Heavy’s scream, and everything else.
Water slams into us, and Mother rises and floats. I squeeze my eyes shut as we rise. I feel Mother’s arms swinging tirelessly. Shoving currents of water behind us to propel us higher into a void space.
Water ransacks every part of me. It seeps into my clothes. Lifts my hair and twists itself between strands. It squeezes against my pores, demanding entrance. It has no respect, it has no shame, no courtesy, no restraint, no discipline. It goes everywhere. Touches everything. Nothing is hidden from the hunger of its touch.
Mother swims for what seems like hours. My ribs quiver from the lack of air. I fight the urge to breathe. I clasp my lips together so water doesn’t spill into my mouth. I pull my eyelids apart to search for any hope of light. I see it! A faint glow. Not too far ahead! Shapes in the water catch my eyes. Roofs, buried. Submerged houses. Drowned furniture. Cars upturned. Buildings. Swallowed by water. Trees, broken in half. Pulled off its roots. Twisted laundry rails. A bleached yellow blouse clinging still to one of the bent rails. Everything, generations, families, and communities lying scathed in the belly of the flood.
The quivering in my ribs reaches a climax and my mouth opens by reflex. Water pushes into my throat, and I choke. I tighten my grip around Mother’s neck and thrash my legs around her waist. In an instant, Mother lifts us out of the flood. I cough up the water in my throat, my chest heaving to the pressure of the cough.
“Hang on!” Mother cries. “I see a roof. Hang on! Please.”
I draw a deep breath and we sink again. Waves of water clap against us and we plod through the flood.
Mother lifts us from the water once more and my eyes welcome the sight of the roof. My heart leaps. Mother climbs the roof, still carrying me. She slumps face-down on the corrugated sheets. I uncurl myself from her and slump too. Our gasps merge to create a breathy symphony.
Pellets of raindrops fall on my face, and I clench my fists.
God, if you don’t wipe your tears this moment!
Mother sits up and looks around.
“I can see them,” she says. “I see them! They’re coming.” She rises, wobbly, pointing in a direction.
I shift my gaze in the direction of her fingers. Lady Big and Reverend are pushing through the flood.
Mother yells at them. “Here! Come here! Hey! Come here!”
Tall approaches behind them, swimming with his long skinny hands. All three of them reach the roof and Mother helps Lady Big settle.
They gasp. Lady Big sobs. Reverend’s hands are in the air worshipping God. Tall pours curses upwards. If they are meant for God, he may have to raise his voice a tad bit higher.
Then, Lady Big jerks up. “My baby!”
Reverend jerks up too. The baby still hangs around his chest. I take one look at the boy’s face, and I just know the light’s gone.
Lady Big’s wails rise into the atmosphere, fighting against the rain and lifting itself into heaven. I’m sure God will hear it. Maybe He’ll stop. Maybe He’ll save us. Maybe…
Mother falls to the ground and holds me tight. I do not look at her. I gaze upon the unending waves of jam-packed crystal fluid. Stretching and flowing endlessly.
He who thinks water is life is yet to know the fury of a flood.
Shapes and objects speckle the surface of the water. But something strikes me. Something of peculiar form. When what I’m gazing upon dawns on me, I draw my face away from the water and rest it against my mother’s chest. Sobs break out of my mouth. Mother rests her face against mine and kisses my forehead. I do not hear her cry, and for the first time, her strength consoles me.
But, Tall shoots up and yells, “Heavy! Heavy! Lo-Look here! Heavy!”
My sobs burst into wails. I saw him first. Not swimming. Not stretching his hands. Not fighting. Not struggling. Just floating. Dead! Just dead!
Tall falls to his knees and screams. I hear Mother’s sobs now. Loud. Deep. Earthy. Rich with pain. Raw. Human. Vulnerable. Real!
Her cries blend with mine in a communion of sorrow. And together we break, under the crushing weight of water.
*
Two months before the flood…
III. ALLIANCE AGAINST CLIMATE CHANGE (AACC) ONLINE FORUM
MONDAY, 17TH AUGUST, 2043.
(1:45 PM) Amara: Guys! Sambisa Forest is on fire!!!! 🔥🔥🔥 I’m not kidding. The videos are all over social media.
(1:46 PM) Charles: I saw it this morning o! Things are getting out of hand. This is crazy!
(1:46 PM) Ada: Who lit the fire? What kind of dangerous play be that one naa? People are so wicked!
(1:47 PM) Amara: No one lit anything. It just started. Those trees have been withering for years. The greenhouse effect has rendered those areas almost inhabitable. Too hot! The sun there will peel your skin I swear! Guys we have to do something. We can’t just talk all the time and be about no action! Our world is going bizarre.
(1:49 PM) Beatrice: Do the people even know what’s going on? Everyone is acting like there’s no trouble. Oil spillage everywhere! Mountain heaps of refuse are encroaching into people’s houses and they’re burning these refuse, contaminating everywhere! Refineries are not even chilling. People are still roasting coal like yam.
(1:49 PM) Ada: LMAO. She said it’s “roasting coal like yam.” Abeg no make me laugh.
(1:50 PM) Beatrice: LOL. It’s not funny o. Just last week WHO announced that the average life expectancy for Nigerians has reduced to 45 years!!!
(1:52 PM) Ada: Hiaaan. Is anyone here above 40? Me, I’m 36 oo. So we’re all going to die soon. LMAO
(1:52PM) Beatrice: Sorry honey. I can’t relate. I’m a 46-year-old single mom to a brilliant 15-year-old. We’re definitely not in the same category. Hahahaha. Better call me grandma. LOL
(1:53 PM) Ada: Grandma Beatrice! I salute!
(1:53 PM) Charles: Can you guys stop? This is not even funny.
(Sophie left this group)
(1:54 PM) Amara: I don’t know why they’re laughing. People are dying every day. People are losing their homes. Their jobs. I’m just stressed and tired. I wish I’d just disappear. My baby girl has cancer! She’s dying. This is heartbreaking. Everything in this world is pissing me off. The whole atmosphere is polluted! We’re just breathing rubbish air in this country. I’m tired. I just really want to disappear!
(1:55 PM) Charles: So sorry Amara. I’m really sorry.
(1:55 PM) Beatrice: OMG! Babe, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Really.
(1:55 PM) Ada: So Sorry dear. Really sorry. God strengthen you.
(1:56 PM) Amara: Thanks, guys.
(1:58 PM) Charles: Things are really happening. Just last month, my wife’s sister died from fish poisoning in Rivers State.
(2:00 PM) Beatrice: What fish poisoning? I didn’t hear about it.
(2:00 PM) Charles: These oil bunkering thieves spilled oil close to a river. The oil seeped into the river and killed all the fish. The fishermen still collected the dead fish and sold them. Now people are dying. In fact, two years from now, Nigerians will have to live without fish. This is the damage these fools have done!
(2:02 PM) Amara: We have to do something about this. Do you think we should protest?
(Okoye left this group)
(2:03 PM) Beatrice: Protest? We’re like seven in this Group. Sophie and Okoye Just left, so we’re like 5 now. Only four people are active. We can’t protest. It’ll be like trying to bite down a building.
(2:04 PM) Ada: We definitely cannot protest. But we can go to the press. My husband is an editor in The National Grosteque newspaper. These are the kind of things they love to publish. I can persuade him. People need to know what this climate change issue is causing. It hasn’t rained in Jigawa for almost nine months! Crops are dying!
(2:05 PM) Charles: That’s a brilliant idea, Ada. Let’s take it to the press! I can write to them if they want. Please, let’s do this. Abeg.
(2:06 PM) Ada: No problem, brother. I’ll do my best.
(2:06 PM) Amara: You guys are the best. I can bring my baby’s pictures. Let them know the fumes from the refineries are causing damage to people’s lives.
(2:07M) Ada: No problem, dear. Sorry about your princess once again. I’m so sorry.
(2:07 PM) Amara: Thanks love 💙💙.
(2:08 PM) Beatrice: Take care everyone. Stay woke!
(2:08 PM) Charles: Take care guys!
(2:09 PM) Ada: I’ll let you guys know the outcome, okay? Take care.
(2:09 PM) Amara: Bye dear.
2
I. A BRIEF HISTORY
Nigeria 2012: Unprecedented levels of rainfall cause Nationwide flooding, more severe in overpopulated and underdeveloped regions. Over seven million citizens are affected by the flood. Two million people lost their homes and over 400 corpses were recovered. Thousands of children go missing and are never found.
Causes: heavy rainfall due climate change, poor drainage, and overcrowded slums.
II. DROWNING SONG
The Earth bathes itself in misery. Providence has drawn us out of the bunker to be witnesses to the Earth’s desolation. We did not leave the silence behind, nor the sadness; the air is heavily laden with it, and it brews, mixing itself into everything so that when sadness meets misery, silence and desolation, anger is birthed.
The wind’s anger is that of a starved lioness failing to catch prey. Rabid. Strengthening. Anger that screams: destroy, destroy, destroy. Ours is the anger of slaves: despondent, helpless, humbling. Anger that screams: coward, coward, coward, at you.
The atmosphere is brighter than it was a while ago. I take it it’s day. But I’m not sure. Dark clouds, the colour of thick smoke, obscure the heavens and it is impossible to see the sun. If it still exists.
The rain has not ceased. It’s dwindled to drizzles now but the wind is unbearable. It sweeps the water in waves and smashes it against us. I clench my jaws, restraining my gnashing teeth. Mother’s arm is tight around me and my head is on her thighs. I see no birds in the sky. I see no sign of life. None. Not even in us. Objects mottle the surface of the muddy water. I make out bottles, shoes, clothes, plastic chairs, and even books on the surface. The water smells like fermented death, and I marvel at its insatiability, its unquenchable desire to hold dead things. My teeth knock into each other as I glance through the surface. The water stretches out beyond the reach of any eyesight, brown like rotting intestines. This is no water; this is a tomb! A cemetery holding dead things. Dead animals. Dead people. Dead dreams. Dead hopes. Dead destinies. Dead memories. Dead stories. Dead inventions. Dead! Dead! Dead! Everything, dead!
What dreams do I have now? The goals I wrote down on the back of my diary are rotting with the world. 10 Things I Hope To Achieve Before Twenty. 5 Places To See Before Thirty. Character Score Chart. Discipline Score Chart. Daily Vocabulary Growth Challenge. Daily Reading Target. Cartoons To Watch. Series To Catch Up On. All useless! What future do I have? I envy the dead. They have no worries. No fears. No cares. No sorrows. No pain. No attachments. No burdens. They don’t cry. They don’t get hungry. They don’t shiver in the cold. They don’t wish for things. They are free from this stench. From this rottingness. From this decay. They’ve attained the perfect level of peace and serenity. They’re free. Free! Oh! And I envy them! I envy the water caressing their dead flesh. I envy their eyes that see no evil. I envy their nerves that feel no pain. I envy their ears that receive no news. I envy them! Yet, I do not want to die.
I want their peace, but I don’t want their death. I want their freedom, but I don’t want their decay. Like them, I do not want to feel, but I do not wish to cease either. I want to have my cake, but I want to eat it too.
Tall has been silent for a while. I don’t even hear his breathing. Mother is quiet too. Lady Big is cradling her dead baby. Crying. Reverend is talking to himself: I see a black swan… I see a black swan… coming… coming… coming… I see a black swan… I see it coming.
Self-perpetuation is man’s greatest flaw. Why do we choose suffering? We have nothing to hold on to, so why do we still hang on? Why do we cling to false hopes? There’s no deliverance here. No salvation. Waves hurl corpse-stained water into us, baptizing us with death. So close is death to us, so close we could reach out and grab it. Put ourselves out of this misery. How difficult could it be to throw myself into the flood? Let the waves sweep me away and into the watery abyss. I’d rather delude myself into thinking I’m too important to Mom to die. Pathetic! All my life I’ve been a burden, with this stupid sickle cell disease! My death will be a relief. But here I am, massaging a non-existent ego. I am nothing! More nothing than a void space. The nothingness of futility is nothing compared to the nothingness that I am. How befitting for Reverend to nickname me Little. How perfect. Little strength. Little courage. Little soul. I’m not Bertha anymore, I am Little.
How could I still be Bertha? Bertha holds memories. Bertha holds dreams. Bertha is ambitious. Bertha is a brilliant fifteen-year-old who represents her school in national competitions. Bertha is a star. A light. Bertha sings in the shower. Bertha argues a lot. Bertha is proud, although she doesn’t accept it. She lives for pictures, perfumes, shoes, and dresses. Bertha is a foodie. Bertha has friends: James, Oluchi, Nathaniel, Mirabel, Somto and Josephine. Bertha has a first love: Pere. My Pere.
I still think of him, and his eyes. His smile, his perfect teeth, pointy canines. I could never forget the first time he made my belly churn, leaning into my desk, his skin a chill night, his eyes a light shining through a water body, his lips red like a sunset, asking for some textbook. That moment I understood desire. I wanted to see the world through his eyes. I wanted to smell roses through his nostrils. I wanted to lap water from a spring with his tongue. If it wasn’t his embrace, then I didn’t want to feel. If it wasn’t his voice then sound could go extinct. If it wasn’t his heartbeat giving my life rhythm, then the world could stand still. In that moment, the world tipped over, and I fell. I’d catch him stealing glances and we’d smile at each other. Then I began to notice the tiniest things, like him grazing his lower lip across his teeth; like him twirling his pen whenever he spoke; like his love for poetry, his love for music. I marvelled at his brilliance, his outlook on things, at his heavy breaths, I could literally hear air go in and out of his nostrils. He was skinny, like me. He rarely did any hard work, he never lifted heavy things. He understood me. He understood my moments of silence, he understood my curiosities, my idiosyncrasies, my need to be bigger than my body. He was the one, for me, he was the one.
Everything fell apart when he missed school for a month and came back with all his hair shaven. He didn’t look at me that day. He didn’t come to my seat. He didn’t tease me with names like yellow paw paw. He didn’t fondle the tip of my braids. He just came in, sat through classes and left. I felt like my heart was going to explode. And it did explode when he came to me the next day. He sat beside me at the close of school. He didn’t speak a word for a long while. We drank the silence, and then he shifted his gaze to me and I found that the light in his eyes was gone.
“Years ago, I played under the rain,” he started, his eyes misting over. “When I got sick, my parents thought it was a cold. It wasn’t.” He peered into my eyes; I glimpsed into his, catching sight of the pain flooding the hallways of his eyes. The flood trickled down his cheeks. I’d never seen him cry.
“Pere, are you okay?” I asked, with a broken voice. “Are you well?”
He reached for my hand and I placed my fingers into his. They were damp and cold like they’d been breathed upon by death.
“Bertha, you’ve been more than a friend,” he said. “I have known many pains, I tell you. So many. But you,” he wiped his tears with the back of his palm, “you’ve been a panacea for every pain. You’ve been a gulp of ice water on a scorching noon.”
“Oh, please, Pere.” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get poetic with me.”
He raised my chin softly and our eyes met again. “You have to know, Bertha.”
“Know what? Pere, stop this!” Tears stung my eyes. “Stop this thing, I don’t like it. You’re scaring me!”
“Bertha, I have two months to live!” He broke our gaze and held his hand over his mouth, a pool gushing from his eyes.
“To leave?” I asked, my heart swelling past its point of elasticity. “Leave to where? You-you can’t LEAVE. Your-your parents live… th-they work here!” Sobs clogged my throat, my cheeks dampened with tears. He didn’t say leave, he didn’t say leave. God please I hope he said leave. “You have two months to what?”
“I played under acid rain. I didn’t know what it was. I, I thought it was just rain.”
“Kids play under acid rain all the time. That doesn’t mean they’re going to di—”
“I have lung cancer!” He cut me off.
A tremor rose from my belly, bursting forth from my mouth. I did not stop myself from sobbing.
“I don’t want to die, Bertha. I don’t want to die. What will happen to my dreams? What will happen to us? I don’t want to go, to be anywhere without you. I love you, Bertha. I love you so much.”
My heart sank at those words. Words I had waited a long time to hear, words that now broke me rather than mend me. “I love you too, Pere. I do, with my heart. But, what is love without life? What is that love without you? What will love become when you’re gone? What?”
He leaned in with his arms spread and I embraced him.
“Love never dies, Bertha. Love will always be love.”
His tears drenched my shirt, and torso against torso, heartbeat against heartbeat, smithereened hopes against smithereened hopes, we released our brokenness into the air, packets of sobs speckled with sighs floating towards heaven; clouds and shadows merged beneath our wails; we laid our dreams to roost, never to be awoken, never to be picked up, and the heat of our pain saturating the atmosphere condensed, rained down on us, drowning us with sorrow.
Life is a drowning song. It sings of men finding home beneath the weight of their sufferings. Life is a drowning song. Everyone hears it, and we have broken our bodies dancing to its tune. Life is a drowning song, a swallowing of light, a cutting of sound, a bending of matter. Life is a drowning song, and no one shall be saved from the pull of its waves.
So, Pere is gone. And so is Heavy. Us soon. Death, plucking us like fireflies gossiping their presence in the dark, quenching our lights forever.
And we call them names, we give them names. Floods. Acid rains. Wildfires. Droughts. Landslides. Erosions. Heat waves, and much more. Then, we go ahead and class them together as ‘natural’ disasters. Natural. Like we didn’t cause most of it. There’s almost nothing natural about natural disasters. We poison our atmosphere and pretend to be shocked when disasters break out. We watch rainfall levels increase year after year. The potholes in our roads get bigger, our gutters overflow and flash floods break out every other month, while we fold our hands and pity the victims. We hear of droughts, wildfires and global warming, then we pretend to be concerned only to go back to our cooking gases, our generator sets, our fuel-powered vehicles; back to incinerating our wastes, felling our trees, watching our litters become waste heaps and doing nothing.
All these years of inaction, of watching our world bleed and burn and refusing to nurse its wounds, have brought us here.
I like to think that I don’t deserve this. Of all the one hundred and thirty-one billion people who have walked the earth, why me right here and now? Why me with sickle cell disease? Why me in the heart of this flood? Such evil fate. Such terrible luck that I was born for the singular purpose of knowing hurt; the earth choosing to empty all of her wrath upon me. Such terrible luck. How terrible.
Lightening streaks across the sky and the rain intensifies, washing my tears off my cheeks.
Reverend staggers to his feet and places his fingers above his eyes, peering through the rain. “I can see it!” he yells. “The black swan! It’s here!”
I lift my head from Mother’s thighs. I peer into the distance. I spring up. So does Mother and Tall. And together, we cry out to the canoe approaching from the distance.
*
Two weeks before the flood…
III. ALLIANCE AGAINST CLIMATE CHANGE (AACC) ONLINE FORUM
SATURDAY, 3RD OCTOBER, 2043.
(9:53 PM) Ada: Comrades, they’re closing the National Grosteque.
(9:54 PM) Charles: What!!?? Why?
(9:57 PM) Charles: Ada! Are you there? Why are they closing the media house??
(9:58 PM) Amara: What’s going on? How can they just close the National Grosteque? Just like that? Wetin happen????
(9:59 PM) Amara: Ada! This is a serious matter can you reply???!! Nawa o.
(10:15 PM) Ada: Guys! I’m literally shaking as I’m typing this! My husband is fighting for his life in the hospital. He was attacked. If you see what these people did to my husband!!!! They beat him to pulp! They came to our house and scattered everywhere. My children are crying. I hate this!!! They threatened my kids’ lives. Guys, I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t!! Maybe we went too far. I told you guys! Last week! I told you guyyyysss! Calling for a national protest from a public newspaper was a bad idea. Now look! I’m sorry guys. We did our best. Wish you all luck. God save us.
(Ada left this group…)
(10:17 PM) Beatrice: OMG! This is crazy! All our efforts down the drain. All our hard work? Over like that? I feel so sorry for Ada. Ahhh!!! God save her husband oo. This is painful.
(10:18 PM) Amara: Omo! This country dey fear me o! Ahh! My heart is bleeding. This is painful! This is painful I swear. God will punish them. I swear on my baby’s grave! I swear! God will deal with them! Greedy people! What did we do? When did it become a crime to sensitize the public on the present and looming dangers of climate change? Is that not what they should be teaching kids in primary and secondary schools? When did it become a crime to call for a protest demanding these refineries and power plants to stop polluting our environment? There is God o!
(10:20 PM) Beatrice: At this point, all we can do is commit this country into the hands of God. That’s all we can do… seriously.
(10:21 PM) Charles: Into the hands of God? LOL. Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh but God committed the earth to man and now we’ve wrecked it! And we want to tell him Imeela Baba, thank you, Jesus, with a spoilt earth? At this point, not even God can save us. We will just wait until everything blows up in our faces. Look at what is happening already. Rain! Lagos, rain! Rivers, rain! Enugu, rain! Hurricanes, wildfires and tsunamis overseas. Guys! I’m not one to sugarcoat anything. We’re doomed! And that’s facts!
(10:23 PM) Beatrice: Goodnight, everyone. Pray for our country. Pray for the world! Peace. 🐦 ❤️
(10:23 PM) Amara: Goodnight my love… God save us.
3
I. A BRIEF HISTORY
Nigeria 2022: Nationwide flooding leads to the destruction of over 200,000 homes. Almost two million citizens are displaced, with over 3000 casualties reported.
Causes: Prolonged rainfall due climate change.
II. MELODIES OF SORROW
The canoe reaches us. It’s covered at the top with a yellow mackintosh. There is a wooden pole at both edges of the canoe, pillaring the steel canopy on which the mackintosh is hung. A tall, dark, and muscular woman rises and observes us. “You people look terrible,” she says. Her voice is deep and throaty. She sniffs phlegm into her mouth and spits it out.
There are large golden hooks on her ears. Her hair is full and thick. Her eyeliner extends from the corner of her eyes, and her lips are coated red. How does she have the time to paint her face?
Her breasts are round and full. Her hips wide, curved like a bow. She’s beautiful, in an earthy way.
“Help us. Please,” Mother says.
The woman eyes us and smiles. “Woman holding the baby,” she says, Lady Big looks up at her. “Is that baby alive?”
Lady Big shakes her head and breaks out in sobs.
“I take women alone. I cannot crowd our canoe. I hope you understand,” she says, looking at Tall who stands crestfallen.
Mother embraces Tall and Reverend. “Don’t worry. You’ll find help,” she says.
“Be careful,” Reverend says to Mother. “God be with you. Our help will come.” Reverend helps Lady Big to her feet. She clutches the baby still. She wipes her tears and embraces the men.
Mother lets her go first. She settles onto the canoe and the woman’s eyes are glued to the dead child in her arms. Mother holds me and we walk to the canoe. The woman carries me from the roof and sets me down in a small space in the middle of the canoe. Her grip is tough. Mother helps herself in and we wave at the men. I hope they find help. I pray they do.
The canoe moves and soon Reverend and Tall fade out of our view. But Reverend’s singsongy proclamations ring in my ears: I see a black swan… I see a black swan… coming… coming… coming… I see a black swan… I see it coming.
There are nine people in the canoe. Ten if the dead baby is included. The dark woman (who says her name is Dike), and two women who paddle the canoe, both of them so skinny their skins are a map of their bones. Then, there’s a woman in a hijab, holding two little girls to her side. One of the girls has her eyes glued to the base of the canoe, with her thumb in her mouth. The other keeps staring at me. There’s something in her eyes. Something unspoken. Raw, like fear. But solid, like words screamed into a chill night.
I inspect the canoe. It’s clean, but it has an odour. Like an open sore, an unclotted wound. There’s a coal stove and a pot beside the woman and her children. Two stones are placed beside the utensils.
I don’t get it. What are they cooking?
I look at the children again. The child sucking her thumb has a plaster on the spot where her left ear should be. The other has a bandage around her right arm. The bandage is stained and sodden. I knit my brows and I shift my gaze to their mother. There’s a big patch on her left calf. It looks as though the calf muscles were removed.
My heart hammers in my chest. A thought rises in my mind and I try to push it down but I look at the two women who are paddling the canoe and I find that their left feet are missing. Both of them! There’s a bandage around the stump. My mouth goes dry.
I see a black swan…. coming… coming… I see a black swan… Reverend’s voice rings in my ears.
I throw my gaze to my mother. She’s asleep! Asleep! I’m about to wake her when Dike sniffs loudly and spits into the water.
Mother’s eyes blink open. Dike rises from a wooden stool and faces us.
She looks at me, then Mother and Lady Big. She smiles and that smile glints a cunning sparkle in her eyes.
“So, I welcome you people. Both living and dead,” Dike says, still smiling. “We’re going to the skyscrapers. I don’t know if you people know all the things that have happened. How our world don take spoil. This stupid rain hasn’t stopped falling for eight months. Eight good months! Now, whether you believe it o, or not, we are enjoying here. As I’m talking to you now, Lagos, Osun, Ogun, all those states don go like that o. There’s nothing left. The ocean overflowed and cleared everything there. The Northern States are burning. The Nigeria you knew before, e don go! So, as e take be, I know you people are asking yourselves, why all these stories. But, let me tell you, or let me remind you that I saved your lives. There is no hope o. At all, at all. And I helped you. Not long from now, we’ll reach the skyscrapers. Water never cover the up parts for now. We will camp there, but before we reach, this canoe will be our home. Your home. And homes, they have rules. Here our rule is simple. Very simple. Just like A, B, C. And that rule is: survive! Yes! Survive! I’m going to ask you for something. A tiny, ant favour to help us to survive. You are going to offer thanks to us for saving you. And if you refuse,” she clears her throat and spits, “I will throw you away.” That devilish smile spreads across her face again.
“What?” Mother asks. “You should have told us that before letting us in.”
“Don’t shout at me you woman, dried like stockfish! No try turn my kindness against me. No try am at all, at all. I demand a sacrifice. A tiny, ant appreciation for saving you. You will give us a part of your body!” Dike stoops and pulls a butchers’ knife from beneath the stool. “Or, off you go!”
Lady Big screams. Mother jumps in front of me and stretches her arm over my chest. “Stay behind me,” Mother says. My bladder lets loose and I pee myself. Instantly, the air around me turns to ice and I struggle to take in air.
The two women who row stop, and drop the paddles.
“Bring that dead thing here!” Dike orders, and they limp to Lady Big and tear the baby away from her hands. Lady Big fights them but they’re surprisingly strong. She slaps her hands against them and one of them pushes her. She loses balance and falls backwards into the flood.
Lady Big lets out a yelp as she slams into the water. My mother screams.
“Please bring her back. Please, I beg you! Please, you have her baby. Save her please!” Mother begs.
“You want to save her?” Dike roars, and prances towards us. She yanks Mother forward and throws her to the ground. My eyes widen as she looms above me. She grabs me and drags me to the edge of the canoe.
“Mummy!” I yell.
“Since you like the fat woman so much, let your daughter go and save her.” She sniffs phlegm into her mouth and spits it onto my face. It slides down my cheeks. I don’t stop screaming.
“Stop! Stop!” Mother yells from behind us. “I’ll give an offering. Please, let my child go!”
Dike drops me and I hit the base. I bury my face on the wooden floor and weep. Waves of water pour into the canoe and crash into me.
Dike walks to my mother. “So, what am I taking?” she asks.
“Ta— take two fingers,’ Mother stammers. “One for me and one for my daughter.”
“I’ll take three.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and press my hands against my ears. Still, I hear the sound of a knife slicing through bones. I hear the desperate echoes of pain in my mum’s screams. I open my tear-clouded eyes and see my mother writhing on the floor. Blood seeping from the holes in her left hand. Wrath fills my heart and explodes inside the entirety of my being, I fear I’ll burst into pieces. I do nothing.
COWARD!
Dike lifts her blouse and her left breast bulges out, she shoves her hand into her right chest and pulls a heavy roll of bandages from where her right breast should be, exposing the wide patch on that area.
The sight nauseates me and I retch.
“Now let’s take care of that small injury,” Dike says to Mother and grabs her hand. She rolls the bandage around Mother’s left hand. Only her thumb and index finger are left.
Dike rises and dusts her hands, leaving Mother sprawled on the floor. “My dear ladies, food will be ready soon. Am I not gracious?” Dike giggles and snatches the baby from the women. She shoves the bandage back into her right chest, holds the baby in one arm and picks Mother’s severed fingers from the stool on which she chopped them off. She strides to the corner where the stove and pot are kept. The other woman reclines with her two daughters, who are crying. Dike litters her booty on the wooden base and picks up the stones. The paddlers resume their position, their faces as uncrackable as death.
I crawl to Mother’s sprawled mass. I lift her bald head and rest it on tiny laps. My tears cascade down her face and she forces a smile onto her face. Look at her. Still trying to be strong. Fighting the weakness. Embracing danger and death for my sake. She quivers in my hands and I hold her tightly. I must be strong! I must be brave. I must fight the crippling weakness!
I wipe the sweat off her face with my hands, and I peck her forehead. For the first time in a long while, I reject the name: Little. Now, I have to be Bertha. Bold, audacious Bertha. For Mother, for myself.
The little girls’ cries rise in the air and bounce against the mackintosh, filling the canoe with melodies of sorrow.
*
Two days into the flood…
III. ALLIANCE AGAINST CLIMATE CHANGE (AACC) ONLINE FORUM
SUNDAY, 18TH OCTOBER, 2043.
(3:45 AM) Amara: Help! Please! I’m trapped… Can someone send help?? Please!!! I can’t leave my house. The entire street is flooded! I can’t swim!!!! Help!!!
(4:15 AM) Amara: Guys! Are y’all dead???? This water is entering my house! Hei God! I don’t want to die like this. Ahhh! Is anyone here???!? Come online, please! I beg you, people! Beatrice! Charles! Charles!!!!
(5:29 AM) Amara: You guys are evil! Wicked!!! Why are you abandoning me now!!! I need you. This water is carrying my properties away. My door is broken. It’s sweeping everything away!!! I’m hanging on my window! Someone say something. Please don’t let me die alone! Please!!!!!
(6:11 AM) Amara: I AM DYING!!!! THE WATER IS ON MY NOSE!! I’M LITERALLY HANGING MY HANDS IN THE AIR!!! JESUS CHRIST! GOD PLEASE!!! SAVE ME!!! SAVE ME!!!! THERE ARE SNAKES FLOATING IN THIS WATER. I’M DEAD SERIOUS!!! THERE’S A BIG PYTHON COMING CLOSE TO ME! I CAN’T ESCAPE I’M HANGING ON MY WARDROBE! I DON’T WANT TO DIE LIKE THIS NAAA!!!! THE SNAKE IS CLOSER NOW, IT’S CLOSER. I DON’T WANT TO SCREAM IT’LL BITE ME. IT’S ON MY CHEST!!! IT’S ON MY CHEST!!! IT’S BITEHDHUSUSSJJSUSYSHDHDJSJSUSJSJSJSJDJSJSHSHSHSHSHYSYSHSHSYSSHHSSYYSHDHSJSJSUSKSKSHSYSHSHSHSHSHSUSHSHSHSUU36362+2(277$37727282(2(2727262
(6:23AM) Amara is typing…
(7:46AM) Amara is typing…
4
I. A BRIEF HISTORY
Nigeria 2023:
Nigeria Meteorological Agency (NiMET) — “2023 will witness an early onset of rainfall accompanied by flooding”
National Emergency Management Agency (NEMA) — “This year’s forecast has indicated that there is a high risk of coastal flooding due to expected rise in sea level and tidal surge that may negatively impact agriculture, human settlements and transportation… Flash and urban floods are also forecast over many cities and towns…”
Nigeria Hydrological Services Agency (NIHSA) — “178 local government areas (LGAs) in 32 states of the federation including the Federal Capital Territory are at risk of high probable flooding on the early rain that will begin this year.”
WARNING: CLIMATE CHANGE
II. BLACK SWAN
Mother lies asleep, her head on my thighs. I tear a piece of cloth from the hem of my blue blouse. I stretch the cloth over the canoe and wet it. I squeeze the water off it and place it on Mother’s head. I feel her neck… not so hot. The cold press should calm her a bit. I kiss her cheeks and rest my hands on her shoulders.
“Won’t you eat?” Dike crows.
I lift my head to face her. She’s holding a plate with her left hand, and a chunk of meat, on her right hand.
“I will not eat a dead baby,” I say.
“Don’t talk smart at me you child!”
“And how would you know what smart is?” I ask.
She throws her plate and meat spills from it. I make out the shape of my mother’s slender fingers on the floor and I clench my fists. Dike rises from the stool, her eyes: two balls of flames on her head.
“Talk one more word. I swear I go kill—”
“Alligator!” One of the paddlers screams, cutting Dike off.
Dike throws her gaze to the front of the canoe. I look too. The gator’s bulging eyes are above the water and its scales brandish themselves against the surface as it snakes towards us.
“It’ll knock this boat over if we don’t distract it!” One of the paddlers says.
“Row to the left! Oya! To the left!” Dike orders. She flings her gaze at my thighs and smirks.
No. She wants to use Mum!
She spits inside the canoe, bounces to me and picks Mother up from my thighs. Mother groans and I lunge at Dike. She smacks me across the face and I hit the ground. I whimper. Air freezes in my chest, but the horror unfolding before me does not freeze.
She drags Mother away. I struggle to my feet, take one step forward and my eyes catch the glint of the knife on the side. I grab it and I charge towards her, a war cry bursts forth from my mouth. She turns and her eyes slide to the knife lifted in my hands. She dumps my mother and braces herself, but she’s too late. I plunge the sharp steel into her chest and the crunch of her sternum resounds around me. I pull the knife out and blood squirts from her wound. Her eyes are two balls of flames on her head, and those flames go off as I kick her off the canoe.
I squat and help Mother up. I settle her comfortably beside the canoe. All the eyes on the canoe are glued to me.
“Row!” I say. “Please.”
The two women paddle and the boat steers away from the approaching gator. I watch as it reaches Dike’s body, it draws its jaws open, bares its ragged teeth and sinks it into her legs. I shut my eyes, and breathe.
A hand touches my back. I look and find the little girl with a bandaged ear staring up at me.
She removes her thumb from her mouth.
“Thank you,” she says, tears anointing her face.
I embrace her, and tears flow everywhere. From our eyes and from the skies.
*
The skyscrapers’ roofs come into view and we rejoice. I’m sitting close to the two girls now.
“Sister Bertha,” Grace, the girl with the bandaged arm, calls. “Will we be safe here?”
I smile at her innocence. “Yes Grace, we will.”
“Is God punishing us?” Joy, her sister, asks.
“No, Joy. God didn’t do this. We did.” Their eyes widen in surprise.
“We did things we weren’t supposed to. Littered things everywhere. Poured dirt in our streams. Dug things from the ground and let it spill everywhere. Cut down the trees that protected us. Killed too many animals. Set harmful things ablaze. God wasn’t the one doing those things. It was us. If we get another chance, we must protect our world and keep it safe. I know God will help us. He loves us. We’ll be safe. Okay?”
They both nod, I embrace them and kiss their heads.
Voices echo from the first skyscraper in view. They’re applauding us. Celebrating our arrival. We’re survivors. The paddlers row with increased fervency and soon we reach the walls. A short ladder is lowered from an open window, they hold it a few inches above our canoe. The kids go first, then I, and the grownups.
A cloud of people surrounds us, they cheer, embrace and congratulate us. There is no sadness here. I don’t feel it. A certain joy diffuses through the room. An unbreakable joy. A joy tried, tested and purified; purer than gold.
I stand still breathing the new air. My whole body aches, the blood coursing through my veins feels thicker and the air seems heavier than ever. Still, I don’t mind. I breathe nonetheless.
“Beatrice! Is that you?” A voice sounds from behind.
I look back and a short, plump man walks towards Mother.
“Charles?” Mother says. “Charles! It’s you! You made it!”
Mother hurries to him with open arms. The ache in my body intensifies. My head swings. Air clogs my chest and my breath is cut off from my lungs. I stretch forth my hands to reach Mother. I open my mouth to call to her but my vocal cords slacken. My knees buckle and I fall.
The man’s face contorts in shock as Mother is about to hug him. He points his finger at me and his mouth takes the shape of a scream. I hear nothing. Everything becomes a blur. Everything becomes a fading dream. And then, I see nothing…
*
Light trickles in in a crescendo. I pull air into my lungs and I feel them expand.
I’m alive.
“Bertha?” Mother’s soft voice calls.
I stretch out on the mattress on which I’m lying. I look beside me, and there Mother is. Eyes afire with expectation. Damp, but ablaze still.
“Mummy,” I answer, “I’m fine.” I force a smile.
“Thank you, Jesus!” Mother cries. Rubbing my face. She kisses my forehead and my cheeks. I chuckle.
“Thank God you’re awake. Charles,” she calls, “she’s awake! The drip worked!”
She helps me sit up and Mr. Charles approaches, a smile drawn across his chubby face.
“Welcome back my dear,” he says. His smile is even wider now, revealing a broken upper incisor. “Let me get her something to eat,” he says to Mother. “She needs it.”
Mother has me in her arms, still thanking God. I ask after the girls and the other women. She tells me they’re close. Somewhere around. They had to keep the girls away from me; seeing me in that state made them sad. All around us, clusters of people are healing. Mending. Surviving. Trying to put together the shards of their broken lives. There’s a flame burning in the centre of the room and people are gathered around it. There is something glowing in all of us, and I know what it is. It is a will to survive. And I know, beyond any doubt, that we will get through this!
Mr. Charles sets canned corn, biscuits and water beside us. I’m about to snatch a biscuit when a sound blares from the distance. I shudder and throw my gaze forward.
“It’s here!” Mr. Charles exclaims.
“The rescue ship?” Mother asks.
“Yes oooo. Jehovah Jireh thank you!” He lifts his hands to heaven. He gathers the food and Mother lifts me onto her back. And together we scurry to the entrance.
My jaw slackens at the sight of the ship. It’s a gigantic, glorious, silver ship. Its lights sack the darkness and I get a taste of days again.
There’s a figure emblazoned on its side. I look at it and I smile. I think of Tall, Lady Big, Heavy and especially, of Reverend. I look at the figure again and tears cloud my eyes, obscuring the image of the beautiful black swan.
THE END