[Stories] The Girl With The Magic Hands [Episode 2]

“Do you know how to move like a lady, eh?!” her father shouted at Chidera . “Look at this mess. Always knocking things over and breaking things. You move about like a fat man! But you’re NOT a MAN, you’re a GIRL!”

By this time he was waving his hands about and he knocked over his cup of tea. This enraged him more.

“Go and bring back water from the well!”

Chidera wanted to cry but she didn’t. Nor did she protest that she would be late for school. Her father didn’t care about this. He didn’t think she was very intelligent anyway. When he came home from a bad day at work, she often heard him telling her mother how slow in the head she was.

So she wrapped cloth in a small circle on her head and placed the large green container on top of it. She balanced it easily though it was almost as big as she was. Chidera was not a small or big girl. But she was strong. So when the container was full, she could still easily keep her balance, the only drops that spilled on her coming from tiny cracks in the container.

She slowly walked down the dirt road to the well. She passed homes and patches of forest. As she walked, the patches of forest became denser and she began to feel better. The forest was the only place that had such an effect on her. She heard the flap of wings, the click of flying grasshoppers and the soft voices of women at the nearby stream.

She didn’t expect to pass any of her friends on the way to the well. They would all be on their way to school. Her close friend, Florence Mgbafor, would be wondering where she was as she looked at herself in her mirror to make sure her hair was perfect and her nose was not oily. And the teacher would surely punish Chidera for being late.

Chidera looked down at her white shirt and navy blue skirt. She would get water on her clothes. There was no way around it with the container’s tiny cracks. She wore flip-flops instead of her good sandals and didn’t think she’d have time to change them. When she got to the well, there were many other women waiting to draw water. Chidera sighed and took her container off her head. She was wearing her flip-flops instead of her good sandals and now she didn’t think she’d have time to change them before running off to school.

“Good morning, Chidera ,” said Mrs. Odum.

“Good morning,” Chidera said.

“How are your mother and your father?”

“They’re well,” Chidera said.

“And how are your studies going?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Several of the women behind her chuckled.

“Fine,” Chidera said. “I-I know I will be late for school but my father needs water.”

When the women continued talking amongst themselves, each of them filling their containers, Chidera relaxed. She knew the women would talk about her and her family. She was sure someone had heard her father’s yelling. Someone always did. Her friend Florence told her this.

“My mother and her friends are like wall geckos, always listening to everyone’s words,” she said. “Your father is always yelling, so you can assume he’s a man they like to talk about.”

When it got to be Chidera’s turn to get water, she took her time. What was the use in hurrying now? She was already late and if she took long enough, her father would have left for the construction site where he worked and her mother for the market with her shrivelled vegetables and wooden figurines. With the chattering women gone, Chidera was able to sink back into her better mood, the good mood she only experienced when the forest surrounded her. She sighed as she brought up a bucketful of water, her sad face coming as close to a smile as it could. She looked up at the palm trees.

She loved the delicate shape of the long palm tree trunk and how it burst like green fireworks at its leafy top. She was pouring the water into her container, noting how the drops made perfect circles in the dirt when she heard the voices. She stopped pouring and looked around, listening. At first all she heard was the forest and the life it carried. Then she heard a soft laugh, a woman speaking and another woman singing. Three voices.

Chidera looked around. There was no one else waiting to draw from the well. She set the bucket down. The singing was so sweet and the other two voices were so welcoming. But they aren’t talking to me, Chidera thought. She looked at her half filled leaky container. She didn’t think anyone would steal it.

Slowly, she stepped around it and looked in the direction of the voices. From deep in the forest, she thought. Down the small path that branched from the big one. Few women used this path, having no real reason to do so. The men used it when going into the forest to hunt or to tap palm wine. She had only walked down this path once, out of curiosity. There was a particularly tall iroko tree that grew about a hundred steps down the path. It was the only iroko tree that she’d ever seen, for iroko trees were very rare. Chidera had stood before it and craned her neck all the way back so she could see its top.

Chidera took a step toward the path. Then another. Then another. She didn’t know the song. It didn’t sound like it had any words. She didn’t know the tune, either. But it was like sugar water and her ears were like her parched throat. The path was overgrown with branches and intruding vines. But it was still a path.

Read episode 3.....