Death Is… – Bright Aboagye

SETTING

Living room with a few photos of Akosua, Esi and Kwame. Akosua sits on the only chair in the room and Esi leans against the door and watches her. 

ESI: It’s quiet now.

AKOSUA: Too quiet.

ESI: Isn’t that what you wanted?

AKOSUA: What we wanted! 

ESI: Did we? 

Akosua is shocked by Esi’s response. She stares at her and shakes her head. Esi ignores the reaction from her mother. 

ESI: Tomorrow it shall not be when the family members start trooping in from far. 

AKOSUA: Hmm… I leave that to my maker. A widow is no match with the family members. As they say, families love a corpse. People who only look at you when their son dies…

Akosua remains quiet and doesn’t bat an eye nor look at Esi who keeps staring at her. Akosua’s hands tremble slightly. Esi notices but doesn’t comment. 

AKOSUA: You shouldn’t hold things in, Esi. It’s not healthy.

ESI: Oh, we’re talking about health now? That’s nice of you. Finally, you’re showing concern for the bad things that happened to me.

AKOSUA (sighs): I’m just saying… It’s okay to feel. It’s okay to only speak with your silence. 

ESI: Feel what, exactly? Relief? Guilt? Or is it supposed to be sadness? Because I’m not sure which one fits.

Akosua flinches but doesn’t respond immediately. She plays with her hands and stares at them.

AKOSUA (barely audible): I don’t know either.

ESI: Do you even miss him?

AKOSUA (finally stares at her daughter): Esi…

ESI (interrupts AKOSUA): No, really. Do you? Or is this just…habit? Pretending like it’s some big loss because that’s what people do when someone…when someone…someone you are married to… 

Akosua stares at her daughter for a second waiting for her to finish her sentence but she doesn’t. She then turns to watch Kwame’s photo and she reaches for the photograph on the table, holding it carefully as though it is a precious good that can break easily. Esi watches with disgust and rolls her eyes. Akosua notices.

AKOSUA: He was your father!

ESI: Yeah. And?

AKOSUA: And he loved us.

ESI: Did he?

AKOSUA: In his way.

ESI: In his way?! His way was shouting and breaking things and making us feel like we were… And entering rooms…entering rooms to…

She stops herself. Akosua’s hands tighten around the photo frame. She hugs it for a while. She sets it down carefully and exhales, looking down at her lap.

AKOSUA: He wasn’t always like that. He was educated, loved reading and was the best at almost everything. There was a time… A time when I thought I…loved him more than anything. 

ESI: When?

AKOSUA: Before you were born, and even after. He was kind, Esi. Thoughtful. He…he would do the house chores after I had spent a long day at the market. Once, when we didn’t have much money, he stayed up all night learning maths in addition to his English teacher job so he could take private classes with kids so we could eat. That made him a good man. When I was pregnant, I didn’t move an inch to do anything. He did everything after his teaching ended. People spoke against it yet he did the house chores.

ESI: And then?

AKOSUA: And then things changed. He lost his job because a daughter of one of the rich men claimed he had touched her in school. He was expelled and it affected him in his job applications. 

ESI: Did you believe he could do that? 

AKOSUA: Your father was kind, he was gentle to me, and he loved me. He loved his job and teaching the children. 

ESI (In disbelief): Oh come on! 

Akosua does not give a direct answer.

AKOSUA: And the changes came. Slowly, at first. Little things. He’d get angry…but he always apologised after. Then one day, I came back late from the market. I had stayed longer, trying to get a better price for the oranges and I had hawked all day with you on my back. He was waiting for me.

Akosua looks away. She looks to the other side and rises on her feet. 

AKOSUA: He didn’t shout at first. Just sat there, quiet. But his eyes…they were red, charged with red. I tried to explain, but he wouldn’t listen. He grabbed the tray I had brought home and… threw it across the room. My oranges scattered everywhere. Then he hit me. Just once, that time. Hard enough to make me afraid.

Esi gives Akosua a quizzical look.

AKOSUA: He didn’t touch you. He didn’t even try anything with you. You cried on my back.

Esi moves closer to Akosua and tries to hold her. 

AKOSUA: It didn’t stop. Every time something wasn’t right, he…made sure I knew. Once, he…he threw a pot of water at me. Said it was my fault for letting it boil too long. I had to shield you from it, Esi. I did and that’s why I had these scars.

ESI: You told me they were from when you were a kid. 

AKOSUA: I  told you things. 

Esi stares at her mother and scans for information. 

ESI (excitedly): But I also remember him coming to my room when I was little.  With his books. He used to read me stories. Remember how he’d change his voice for all the characters? He’d even make me laugh. He’d tell me Ananse stories. Then….

AKOSUA (Interrupts): He loved you in his way. That part of him never left. Even when…even when he broke everything else.

ESI (becomes sad at this point): How can someone be so good and so…horrible at the same time? 

Akosua tries to interject but Esi continues.

ESI: He kept coming at night. He kept coming! Com…ing.

AKOSUA looking apologetic tries to reach for ESI but she moves away from her mother.

ESI: I would feel movement around my legs. Then ask, “Papa, what’s that?” He would say, “It’s Ananse the spider moving on your thighs into your inside and it won’t hurt…sleep.” It hurt every time. I would come to you and tell you but you’ll say it’s just my dreams. You never did anything until that day! Why?! 

Esi charges at Akosua and  holds her cloth.

AKOSUA (apologetic): I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Esi. Sorry. 

Both cry with Esi still holding her mother’s cloth seeking answers from her.

Bright Aboagye is a Ghanaian who dreams of becoming a surrealist blues poet, writer and – with a passion for cooking – aspires to open a restaurant. Bright hopes that his works inspire and give hope to all who read them. He holds a bachelor’s degree in English from the University of Ghana and a Master’s degree in Literature in English from the University of Cape Coast. He is MFAing at the University of Ghana majoring in Playwriting. He has written three full-length plays and is looking for a director/producer.

*Image by Bansah Photography on Unsplash