She marched towards me and spoke when her toes were touching the tips of my shoes.
‘Have you ever seen God in a labour room giving birth to a child? Tell me, Yejide, have you ever seen God in the labour ward? Women manufacture children and if you can’t you are just a man. Nobody should call you a woman.’ She gripped my wrists and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘This life is not difficult, Yejide. If you cannot have children, allow my son to have some with Funmi. See, we are not asking you to stand up from your place in his life, we are just saying you should shift so that someone else can sit down.’
‘I am not stopping him, Moomi,’ I said. ‘I have accepted her. She even spends the weekends in our house now.’
She held her thick waist and laughed. ‘I am a woman too. Do you think I was born last night? Tell me, why has Akin never touched Funmi? He has been married to her for over two months. Tell me why he has not removed her wrapper once. Tell me, Yejide.’
I stifled a smile. ‘It is not my business what Akin does with his wife.’
Moomi lifted my blouse and laid a wrinkled palm on my stomach.
‘Flat as the side of a wall,’ she said. ‘You have had my son between your legs for two more months and still your stomach is flat. Close your thighs to him, I beg you. We all know how he feels about you. If you don’t chase him away, he won’t touch Funmi. If you don’t, he will die childless. I beg you, don’t spoil my life. He is my first son, Yejide. I beg you in the name of God.’
I closed my eyes, but tears still forced their way past my eyelids.
Moomi sighed. ‘I have been good to you, I beg you in the name of God. Yejide, have mercy on me. Have mercy on me.’
She held me then, pulled me into her arms and muttered words of comfort. Her embrace held no warmth. Her words sat in my stomach, cold and hard where a baby should have been.
6
Fear gripped my ankles as I climbed the Mountain of Jaw-Dropping Miracles. The heavily bearded man who trailed me did not ease my worries. He was my escort, sent from the mountaintop where the other faithful chanted words that the wind carried to us and carried away again. I could see about a hundred of them, clad in green robes and matching chef caps.
‘No stopping,’ my escort said.
He must have noticed that my steps were slowing. The steep mountain was bare, with no trees to offer momentary shade from the sun. I was thirsty, my throat was dry and there was hardly any saliva in my mouth. There would be no reprieve for me. I had been asked to come fasting. No food, no water and, as the escort had informed me when he met me at the foot of the hill, if I stopped to rest as we climbed up the hill, I would be sent back home with no prayers and no meeting with the Highest Priest.
Mrs Adeolu had assured me that the Prophet Josiah, the leader of this group, was indeed a miracle worker. Her protruding belly was convincing evidence. I needed a miracle fast. The only way I could save myself from polygamy was to get pregnant before Funmi; that way Akin might let the girl go. But as I pulled a small goat up the mountain, the only miracle I really wanted was that of water gushing from a rock so that I could quench my thirst. The way my escort stared at my chest was alarming. I was trembling not just from exhaustion but with foreboding. Each time my eyes met his blatantly roving ones, I wanted to run down the hills back to my car; yet I pressed on towards the crest. Funmi was still living in her flat in town, but I did not need a prophet to tell me that she would move into my home once she got pregnant.
‘Can you help me with the goat?’ I asked the escort, wishing the prophet had sent a woman to fetch me.
‘No,’ he replied and moved a palm across my face. Just when I wanted to slap it away, he curved his palm and dragged rolls of sweat down my cheek.
He held my waist, presumably to steady me. I tried to quicken my trembling pace, but the goat had stopped. I pulled and pulled until the rope was chafing my hands. I would have dragged it on its side, but the instruction had been to bring a white goat without wound, blemish or a speck of another colour.
‘It is the goat; I’m not stopping to rest.’ I was scared he might send me back.
‘I can see that.’
After a while, the goat started moving. We soon arrived at the crest of the mountain. The faithful sat in a wide circle with their eyes closed.
‘Enter the circle,’ my escort said. Then he sat down with the others and closed his eyes.
A man stood at the centre of the circle. His beard was even longer than the escort’s and covered most of his face. His chef cap was bigger than that of the others and instead of dragging down his back, something had been stuffed in it to make it stand upright.
‘Make way for our sister,’ he said.
The two faithful in front of me stood up and stepped further into the circle without opening their eyes. I dragged the goat with me into the circle and went to stand by the man with the big cap. I looked around at all the faces and realised that they were all bearded, all men. I recalled the escort’s lewd stares and felt faint. As if on cue, the men began to moan and tremble as though from some unseen stimulation. I thought of Akin and how beautiful our children would have been.
‘You will have a child,’ the man beside me shouted and the moaning stopped. He opened his eyes. ‘Behold your child,’ he said pointing at the goat. I glanced from the goat to the man’s dancing eyes. I thought of running away from this crazy man, but I could see all of them chasing after me, deranged and drooling like rabid dogs, green robes flapping in the wind. I could imagine myself rolling down the steep hill to my death.
‘You think I’m mad? The Prophet Josiah is mad?’ He grabbed the back of my head and laughed in short cackles. ‘You cannot run from us until we are done. By then you will be with child.’
I nodded until he let go of my head.
The moaning resumed. The man stooped beside the goat and removed the rope from its neck. Then he swaddled it in a piece of green cloth until only its face was showing. He thrust it towards me. ‘Your child.’
I took the bundle.
‘Hold it close and dance,’ he commanded.
The moaning stopped and the men began to sing. I shuffled along, holding the bundle to my chest, labouring under its weight. The singing switched to a quick chant and my pace quickened. I sang with them.
We danced until my throat was so parched that I could hardly swallow. And each time I blinked, I saw flashes of light and colour, like shards of a broken rainbow. We kept dancing until I felt I was on the edge of some divine experience. Then, beneath the brilliant sun, the goat appeared to be a newborn and I believed. We sang and danced until my ankles ached and I longed to fall on my knees. Hours must have passed before Prophet Josiah spoke.
‘Feed the child,’ he said. His voice was like a remote control that switched the activity of the surrounding men. This time when he spoke, the singing stopped. I looked to his hand, expecting him to hand me some grass.
He tugged at the front of my blouse. ‘Breastfeed the child.’
After he whispered those words, it was natural for me to reach behind my back and unhook the ivory lace bra I wore. To lift up my blouse and push up my bra cups. To sit on the ground with my legs stretched out, squeeze my breast and push the nipple to the open mouth in my arms.
I did not think of Akin and how he would have said I was going mad. I did not think of Moomi, who would have reminded me that my feet were shaky in her son’s house without a child. I did not even think of Funmi, who might be pregnant already. I looked down at the bundle in my arms and saw the little face of my child, smelled the fresh scent of baby powder and believed.
When Prophet Josiah removed the bundle from my arms, they felt empty.
‘Go,’