“Lonely Days” began with the story of death. A man had died.
However, “Lonely Days” is not the story of that dead man, but a woman – a lonely woman; one who became alone due to the loss of a spouse. The man who had died was named “Ajumobi”, and he had a wife, ”Yaremi”.
This is Yaremi’s story
Yaremi’s story began when she realised her husband had died. It was nine full moons ago and a shooting star had zoomed down the empty sky in a long line of fire. A bird called the go-away bird started to hoot a mournful tune to the ears of the castigating people of Kufi (which was her village). This confirmed it – “Ajumobi has been accepted by his Maker”; her husband had kicked the bucket.
At first, Yaremi was perplexed. She didn’t know whether to be sad and bawl her eyes out with tears of sorrow, or be thankful to God for not making her husband die a tragic death. Then, she made a choice. She chose sorrow. Her husband had died, and her partner had gone to heaven. Her heart was troubled, but she consoled herself with the fact that Ajumobi did not die a disgraceful death like the Aku firewood cutter who hung himself with a rope on the kola nut tree.
Yaremi also felt honoured. She was the last human being her husband saw before he left. He gave her one last stare; it was penetrating, meaningful, and fleeting. In his dying black eyes lay an expression of hurt and disappointment. Yaremi felt remorseful. She wanted to apologise to him for all the wrongs she had done. Perhaps she had offended him, that’s why he gave her such a strange stare.
Yaremi started to reminisce. She was so lost in thought that she stumbled when she stepped out under the sun to pick up her head tie, which had fallen on the ground during her wailing. It looked like a trap out there – mourners watched her every step with their judgemental eyes. They weren’t merely sitting there to mourn with her, they were there to mock her – to destroy her reputation.
Yaremi was truly lonely. Her days were lonely indeed. She felt abandoned, like a rock at the bottom of the ocean. It was silent. One by one, the mourners left, followed by extended family members and their mockers. She was alone. She had never learnt to be alone all her life, now she had to tackle dark, lonely days.
I know you’re wondering; didn’t she have children? Yaremi did have children – 3 for that matter, but they lived and worked far away. Her two daughters; Segi and Wura had been given out in marriage. Segi, to her palm wine tapper husband, Wande and Wura to a blacksmith, nicknamed Sokoti. Her son, Alani, was a resident of Ibadan and an expert furniture carpenter by profession. The only person left with her was her lazy grandson, Woye.
“No husband, no children, perhaps she should get a job,” you say. Yaremi did have a job. She dyed taffeta cloths in indigo solution for a living. She also did extra jobs around the house like raising crops and cutting bushes amongst others.
Woye was lazy, but a little thread here and there, he put in his best when dyeing taffeta with his grandmother. While beating the taffeta, to entertain himself, he’d playfully count the number game (p.7). This amused Yaremi and helped her stay in touch with her inner child. After a short while, she always joined him.
Yaremi had found a new strategy – a way to drown the loneliness. She was already a widow, what better way to stay occupied than through work? So, she became a workaholic.
A lonely, lonely, workaholic.
