The next morning, Amaka woke before the sun. Her body ached, each movement reminding her of the day before, but she did not linger under the blankets. She dressed slowly, choosing a loose wrapper that would hide her swelling stomach yet allow her to move freely. Her basket was packed with the fruits she had gathered the previous day, carefully arranged so nothing would be bruised on the walk to the market.
Kunle was still asleep when she stepped out. The compound was silent, the air cool and sharp with the promise of another long day. Amaka paused at the gate, feeling the weight of her belly, the weight of her choices pressing equally against her chest. She inhaled slowly and walked forward.
The market greeted her with the usual cacophony. Voices calling prices, laughter, and the shuffle of feet against dusty earth filled the space. She found her usual spot under the shade, arranging her fruits carefully. Familiar faces nodded in greeting, and some came forward to buy. Every small transaction strengthened her resolve.
As she sold, she thought of Kunle. He would return home, angry, perhaps even violent. The thought no longer paralyzed her. She had survived worse. She could survive him. She would survive him.
By midday, sweat gathered along her neck, and her body reminded her of its limits. A small girl selling roasted plantains nearby waved at her. Amaka waved back, smiling faintly. Her heart lifted slightly, feeling the small sense of community around her. She was not invisible here. She belonged, even if only in this small space.
When she packed up at the end of the day, her hands were tired, and her back ached, but her basket had fewer fruits. Money exchanged hands, light yet significant. She folded it carefully, hiding it inside her wrapper, and began the walk home, each step measured and deliberate.
Inside the compound, everything appeared unchanged, but Amaka knew better. She had changed. Her mind was sharper, her will steadier. She set her basket down in the kitchen and rested her hands on her stomach. The baby kicked lightly, a gentle reminder that she carried life within her, a life that would grow stronger than any oppression.
Kunle returned as usual, his presence filling the house with quiet tension. He glanced at her briefly but said nothing. She did not speak either. Words felt unnecessary for now. Actions carried more weight.
That night, as Amaka lay awake, she thought about the days ahead. The market would call her back. Her small business would grow, bit by bit, hidden from the eyes of a man who could not understand independence. She would endure his anger, his scolding, his fists if necessary, but she would not stop. She would not return to being a mere shadow of herself.
Amaka touched her stomach gently, feeling the baby move, imagining a life where fear did not dictate her every choice. She breathed deeply and whispered, “We will survive. We will live.”
The house was silent around her, but inside, a quiet defiance had taken root.
Comments ()
Loading comments...
No comments yet
Be the first to share your thoughts!
Sign in to reply
Sign InSign in to join the conversation
Sign In