Every Breath a Calamity – Uchenna Eze

SCENE: 

Nwabusi’s house. 

Light reveals Ndubuisi—a muscular young man, 23, on round glasses buttoning his grey long-sleeved shirt. It is a sparsely furnished all-in-one room with a single door by the left. A small mattress is strewn on the half-carpeted floor by the right, beneath a plastic table tightly stacked to the shoulder with books, and a chair. A standing fan is flanked between the mattress and the table. To the left of the room, just behind the door is a gas cylinder on the floor. A small basket of ceramic plates, cups and other utensils lay beside. Next to it is a carton of Noodles, just beneath two pots hung on the wall. To its right and across the table are a cluster of bags neatly arranged under a pile of hangered clothes and trousers. Ndubuisi speaks with a depleted cadence as if an added gusto will make him reveal things he does not want to. He doubles as a morbid and assured acquaintance, invisible yet familiar.

NDUBUISI: This crime which man committed in the beginning of time must have been too grave to avert the curse of living and hasten the blessing of death. Under this fleeting orange wheel, every breath is a morsel of calamity lying in ambush. 

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: What calamity do you now speak of having continually rejected the way out of your misery? 

NDUBUISI: If a tanker ran into a marketplace and caught fire, destroying lives and properties in the process, though sad, I still won’t regard it as the worst calamity in this life.

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: What if this tanker ran over your father’s house and reduced everything to dust, including your mother and father? 

NDUBUISI: Such a terrible thing happening to my mother will force my blood flow to a standstill. 

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: Would you consider it the worst calamity? 

NDUBUISI: No, it still won’t be the worst thing about this life. 

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: How about if it happens to your pregnant wife? 

NDUBUISI: I may not experience a more dreadful thing than mourning my wife in this lifetime, but there is still something I dread the most. 

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: What is it then? 

NDUBUISI: The first breath that goes into me when I wake up each morning, and the rest that follow. 

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: Now, you are getting me confused. How is this a calamity?

NDUBUISI: It is simple. One cannot witness life’s pool of calamites without a gate pass. 

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: Hmmm. Someone is taking notes. Are you finally accepting to die? 

NDUBUISI: Why hurry? We all are walking bags of dust, with death perched on our shoulders each morning.

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: The problem I have with you is that you know so much about this and yet you are reluctant to embrace the easy way out I keep offering you, you rebellious son of misery. Look at that basket, take that knife and unburden yourself from this overbearing calamity that is only bound to accumulate. 

NDUBUISI: (Slaps his head) Idiot! Isn’t it your job to prepare me for what happens after we die?

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: Hah, me I won’t die with you o. I don’t know what happens either, I can only speculate. 

NDUBUISI: Of what use are you then to me? 

Enter Rosa, a heavily pregnant young woman, holding a kettle in hand. Her hair is a thick blend of three braided cornrows, skin the brown of chocolate. She supports her lazy gait with her left hand clutching her waist as she strolls to the gas cylinder and lights it up, then she places the kettle atop. She reaches for the wooden low stool at the centre of the room and settles in with distress. Ndubuisi takes a glance at Rosa who pays him no attention.

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: Take a look at her. She is not happy; she has never been happy with you in spite of all you do. The sole reason your life is besmirched and cursed, and yet, for her, you want to continue sniffing this air and wallowing in misery. For how long do you think you can keep up?

Ndubuisi contours his voice to match irritation as he turns to Rosa. 

NDUBUISI: This life will put your back on the ground no matter how hard you work and grind. First, they say we should work smart and not hard, not minding that all hard work is a culmination of accrued smartness. What can a man really do? Today he is thinking about the bills, tomorrow he is chasing his losses. See how suddenly my entire savings for the last year went into the payment of this house rent, and it is just for a period of six months. In another six months, I will be running the width and breadth of the world to raise money for another rent. All I now have to turn to is a miserly salary of 20,000 Naira which my tight-fisted principal has refused to give a raise. Tell me, am I not supposed to be working towards clearing your dowry? Did I not promise to settle your parents before you go into labour? Tell me why this life has chosen to grey my hair and stillborn my efforts with calculated misery. 

Rosa is fiddling with the carton of Noodles, taking out a packet of Lipton, a sachet of milk and a small, round loaf of bread. If she is paying attention, she does not show it.

NWABUISI: Anyway, I am hoping my application as an Assistant Lecturer at my alma mater returns positive. And if it does, my right hand to God, I will waste no second in paying your father and kinsmen the much-anticipated visit. And he will know it was never my intention to disrespect him and bring you shame by bringing a child into this much troubled life. You just have to be patient with me, please, my Rose. 

NWABUISI’S HEAD: I did not ask you to say that, you disgusting bag of shit. And why do you even think you will get the job when your superiors are still queued up for the same role? 

Rosa pours water from the kettle into a cup. She stretches in full length for another cup in the basket which is beyond her reach. Ndubuisi scurries over to help.

ROSA: (Raises the sachet) This is the last milk we have left. 

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: Demand to take the milk for yourself, it was bought with your money. 

NDUBUISI: I like my Lipton without milk anyway; it is healthier.

Rosa divides the milk between the cups, hands him one with a half portion of bread.

ROSA: I have been living in this house with you for close to a year now; I am not blind to all that is going on. What I am blind to is why you will continually explain things to me like you put a gun to my head and forced me to move in with you. 

NDUBUISI: Oh, I owe you this explanation and more, my sweet Rose. You know, you are the calm to the chaos that is my life, the light that extinguishes my darkness and the glue that keeps me in one piece. Your back shields me from the scorching whip of life, Rosa, and with you, I am motivated to take a step closer to life each day. 

She takes his hand and caresses gently. 

ROSA: My shoulders may not be as broad as yours, but be sure there are always here to carry your burden. Come on now, it is half past seven, you should know better than not to exchange work hours for praise-singing. 

NDUBUISI: Believe me, my Rose, a moment spent with you in praise singing is better than a thousand hours’ worth of work. 

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: You don’t mean that, do you? Because your broke self will not choose the torment of a hungry woman over millions of naira not to talk of dollars. Dollars! 

Enter Egoyibo, a grim looking woman in her sixties, short and plus-sized. Ndubuisi spills his tea upon her sudden intrusion. She is tying a wrapper on a black T-shirt. Her countenance is that of a malicious cat as is her gait. She inspects with unholy indignation the liquid in Rosa’s cup.

ROSA: Mama! It is too early in the morning to barge into our home without knocking. You didn’t even tell us you were coming. 

NDUBUISI: Good morning, mama. Is all well? 

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: You must be thick for asking that. How can it be well when you are illegally in possession of her daughter? 

EGOYIBO: What is this thing you are eating, ehn? Rosa? You are a pregnant woman in her final trimester, look at the poison you are eating because you chose an express image of poverty over a gold mine that was thrown at you in the son of Chief. Even your father who was the face of poverty in his clan when I married him was 10 times better than this foolish thing you people are doing. (Turns to Ndubuisi) Are you not ashamed, nwaa? Ndubuisi! No, I don’t think that name is good enough for you because your life can never be the head. Ndubuodu sounds better since you have decided to remain on the ground and be an irresponsible, poverty-stricken half-man. Or are you not irresponsible? Tell me what responsible person kidnaps a person’s daughter, impregnates her and plays blind to tradition. Tell me. 

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: This is exactly what I was protecting you from and what you would have avoided if you had listened to me a while ago. Now, you must pounce on this woman and ensure she doesn’t leave in one piece: just a casual nose pumping and bone breaking until she gasps in apology for what she said to you. 

ROSA: Mama, nobody kidnapped me, please. We don’t want any of your troubles today.

EGOYIBO: Mma g’aka na nti, if you make me slap you, you will wake up in the labour room. Are you running mad to defend this nwa nsi, this son of shit? I na puzi ara? 

NDUBUISI: (Lips quaking) Mama, please. You didn’t come into our home to bully us this early morning. 

EGOYIBO: Did someone say something? Did you say anything? So, if real people are talking, normal people, ndi gbaragba, you too will bring your dirty mouth into the talk, abi? 

ROSA: Mama! 

EGOYIBO: Hapu m, leave me. 

ROSA: It is in my place to ask you to leave us alone! Leave Ndubuisi alone! He is not the first person to marry on credit. 

EGOYIBO: I will not leave him alone o; I will not leave him alone. Do you know what his wicked act coupled with your foolish decision to reject Chief’s son has cost me? Do you know what it has cost your father? We would have been in Dubai by now, or London, or New York, holidaying and chopping life; your father would have taken the Ezeogo chieftaincy title, and I, the nwunye Ezeogo. We would have had our enemies worship the ground we walk and offer us food items in exchange for our money. But because of your stupid choice, I can no longer have that. And to make matters worse, the small price on your head, obere ego, and the wine entitlement to compensate for your madness have been denied us by this… this vegetable. Do you think I will really leave you alone? 

ROSA: I am proud of my choice, like you were when you chose my father; I love Ndubuisi and nothing else matters. 

EGOYIBO: (Snaps and frets) Eiiiiiiii! God forbids. No child of mine would choose penury over happiness. 

ROSA: It depends on what you mean as happiness, mama. This is my happiness! 

EGOYIBO: I curse the day I named you my daughter. 

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: And why are you still standing there like the golden calf of Nebuchadnezzar? Okay, maybe that was too easy a punishment for this mad woman. I can now agree that she deserves to die before dying, now walk with me. Take the knife. Start by gouging out her eyes, feed it to her and cut off her tongue afterwards, force it down her throat and watch her bleed and wobble for light as you pull her teeth one after another. 

Ndubuisi, as if in a trance, slowly approaches the basket and picks up the knife. 

ROSA: Did you really think you and papa would force me into marriage against love? Chief’s son whom you wanted me to marry could not as little as wipe excrement off his buttocks, was that your choice of a husband for me? One for whom I would have been a caregiver than a wife? Do not pretend like my happiness is anything to you when it is clearly the fatness of your pocket you are seeking. 

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: What are you waiting for? She is an old woman and whatever happens to her won’t really matter. Her daughter loves you; she will help cover it up. Come on and do it! 

Ndubuisi seethes, his left-hand balling into a fist.

EGOYIBO: And you think Ndubuisi was a better alternative? Listen, the authenticity of a man is measured by the depth of his pocket. This thing you have here is not a man; he is a wheelbarrow whose ability lies in carrying and offloading all of his bad luck inside of you. 

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: Did you hear what she just said? Go ahead now and do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. 

NDUBUISI: (He heaves and lunges forward in a spirited move and then stops midway, slaps his head and drops the knife) Nooooo! 

ROSA: (Alarmed) Are you okay? 

A moment’s pause. Ndubuisi is petrified, eyes wide and darting. 

EGOYIBO: O na puzi ara? Is he running mad? 

ROSA: (Shakes him vehemently) Ndubuisi. Ndubuisi. It is me, Rosa, your Rose. Are you okay? 

NDUBUISI: (Regains consciousness and grimaces) Just a slight headache. 

EGOYIBO: You haven’t seen anything yet. Shebi you want to play madness, you will see madness when the time fully comes. You think your plans have worked out, and you can’t wait to celebrate by dancing naked in the river. Just wait and see (chuckles). If only you knew what would happen to you should anything happen to my daughter. If only you knew the mound of gravels I will put in your mouth when as little as a scratch screeches her skin. You will be an inch away from death but it will not consume you. You will beg for it but it will say not today, come tomorrow. And when you return the next day, it shall say it has no delight in taking you. 

NDUBUISI: (Sternly) Nothing will happen to my wife…

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: You are such a good for nothing coward. 

EGOYIBO: (Cuts in) She is not your wife. If you want to wife her and have the child bear your name, come pay her dowry before her delivery; it is what tradition says. If your mother gave birth to you without the customary price on her head, I don’t encourage my daughter indulging in such an act of shame. 

NDUBUISI: (Furiously) Mama, I am working my back hard towards that. What more can a man do? (He takes a deep breath and swallows hard) Soon, you will see me, my father and my kinsmen. 

EGOYIBO: Which father are you talking about? Is it the one whose corpse is lying cold in his parlour? Well, I am not surprised. A man who is so wretched he cannot provide milk for his pregnant woman would act cold to the news of his father’s death in order to avoid the cow-killing ritual.

ROSA: Mama, what are you saying? What do you mean his father’s corpse is lying cold? 

EGOYIBO: Dimkpa is dead. His father is dead. Since your atrocities evicted you from the village, I volunteered to bring him the news. O biara ije nwere ula. 

Egoyibo exits. Ndubuisi takes off his glasses, pressing his eyes hysterically. 

NDUBUISI’S HEAD: For every breath you draw in, a calamity much graver than previous experiences lie in wait. Now do you understand the requirements of burying a titled man like your father? The demand is that a fat cow must be slaughtered for the deceased and his Umunna sufficiently fed from it in order to ensure a seamless passage into the land of the spirits. Is this what you want to handle? Where would you get that sort of money? If you do succeed to put the money together, maybe by means of a loan, would that come at the expense of your wife’s dowry? Then what if she dies in labour? They will make your already miserable life fall apart by ensuring you perform the full traditional marriage rites in death. But I wish that was all. What about your mother and younger siblings? Think about all the demands they will place on you now as the figurehead of the family. How do you handle all that? By the time these things start unfolding, do not say I did not urge you to plant the knife in your heart and prevent the next big calamity. 

Ndubuisi is numb, rooted to the spot and tearless. After a beat, he stoops and reaches for the knife, carefully examining the steel. Rosa goes closer, and gently rocks his back. 

NWABUISI: What do you think happens to people when they die? 

ROSA: We will never know until the day we die. 

NWABUISI: Today is not that day. 

CURTAIN.

Uchenna Edwin Eze is a playwright and screenwriter with screen credit for ROK studios. An alumnus of SprinNG writing fellowship, he edited The Muse, No. 51, and served as associate drama editor, The Muse, No. 50, a journal of English and Literary Studies at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka and founded by Chinua Achebe in 1963. His writings have appeared in Akewi, SprinNG, Afreecan Read, The Muse Journal and elsewhere.

*Image by HisArt Photos on Unsplash