"She Wants to Live"

I have this little supervision project for a client in this estate, so I have to come regularly to check that lines remain lines, and curves remain curves. It's our civil engineering parlance for dotting the I's and crossing the T's. I have a demanding client. That of course is why he engaged me. You know I'm a civil engineer, don't you?

Now, that's enough about my client and their project. It is not they I mean to talk about. So let's get started.

Here's the thing: there's no day I come to this vast construction site that I don't see this lady and this other girl. The lady is slim and dark; a buoyant spirit bubbles out of her all the time. It expresses itself in her smile and joviality. But beyond this amiable facade, I see hardship.

She sells food to the construction workers every day--a mobile mini-restaurant of sorts. I mean, I see her bearing this food basin on her head, and a plastic bucket of dishes and cutleries in her hand, trudging the sites. Every day. With a smile! It wasn't difficult for me to befriend her after my first few days. I began by patronizing her market and buying food for a worker one day. Something about her stood out. For want of a better expression, let me simply say she has the spirit of a human being!

"Migwo, Daddy," she would greet me. "How's Mommy?" she would ask. All the time. She knows her lines. I would see the smile, behind it the hardship.

"There's something special about this lady," I told myself one mid-morning at the site. I just couldn't wrap my head around it.

Well, that's about this lady. Now let's talk about this other girl. She's a very short but shapely, dark mule with developed feminine features. I can tell she has a mental handicap because a certain imbecility is etched on her visage. Watching her move about, I can tell she's very strong. Perhaps tireless is a better word.

My immediate impression when I first saw her walking about the site, carrying soft drinks on her head, and selling them to the workers was, "O God, may these workers not abuse this girl sexually!" She's like a moron. And construction workers are rough and crude and merciless!

All the time I see her, load on her head, moving about the sites with great purpose.

I did not connect the girl with the lady until recently. I had always thought they were entrepreneurs who went about their separate businesses on this lustrous construction site.

Then the encounter.

I was tired and sat on a bare piece of sandcrete block when the lady emerged from inside an ongoing construction and we greeted. Load on her head, of course. What did you think? Then the girl followed, right behind her, a bucket of load on her head, too.

"Cynthia, watch that iron as you cross," the lady said to the girl. "If you trip on it, your load will fall on you, and you'll know yourself!"

Cynthia successfully crossed the barrier and went the other side. The lady stopped to greet me, as usual. Yes, the smile was there. It just never goes away. Then, for the first time, we engaged in small talk. Boy, as it turned out, it was big talk indeed!

"I always have to worry about her," she said of Cynthia. "I can't be too careful with her. She was abandoned by her parents after a useless boyfriend-girlfriend affair."

"Abandoned? Why?"

"She's invalid. The mother didn't want her, the father didn't want her."

"Why, why?" I asked in anguish.

"As soon as she delivered her, her mother pressed in her head, intending to kill her because her boyfriend zapped. That spoilt something in her brain. When Cynthia wouldn't die, she took her to Udu bridge, intending to throw her in the river, then a man caught her and shouted, 'Woman, I dey see you O!' But then, she abandoned her, and Cynthia's aunty was forced to take her in. Cynthia's been with me fifteen years now."

"What? Where's the aunty?"

"I don't get to see her. She's not interested in Cynthia anymore."

"What does she do?

"Carries concrete on building sites."

"And the father and mother?"

"I don't see them. Don't know where they are."

I'm shocked. "So how did you come about her custody?"

The smile gushes. "When I was working in the civil service, she would come around our offices, begging alms after her aunty leaves the house. I saw she was vulnerable. They would soon rape her. So I took her in. I found out the aunty didn't want her anymore."

"What motivated you?"

"Compassion."

Compassion!

"But I can see you scrounging to survive, yourself. How can you cope?"

"Daddy, when I lost my job, no thanks to these useless governments, I decided to go back to my catering business. That's what we do in this estate. And Cynthia is very helpful. She's a child who wants to live. When I ask her to visit the aunty, she refuses. I'm the mother, father, and aunty she knows."

Tears wan commot from my eyes. I took a good look at Cynthia. She was dutifully waiting for her "mommy," load on her head. "How old is she?" I asked.

"Twenty-five last week. I baked her a birthday cake, and she insisted she'd only cut the cake at one big madam's house. The madam loves her and gives her treats from time to time. She organized a party for her."

She opened her phone and showed me a video of Cynthia dancing in a catsuit. She was beautiful, and the moronic look was absent. Boy, can she dance!

I handed the phone back to her. "So do you have children of your own?" I asked.

"No, not yet."

"Are you married?"

"No, not yet."

"How old are you?"

"Forty-four soon, by God's grace."

"Time is going," I said, rather foolishly, before I realized.

"It's all in God's hands."

"O God, where are you?" I bellowed inside of me before praying for her. "Are you born again?"

"Yes, I attend so and so church."

"Not a church that would help her," I said to myself. I know that place. "What's your name?"

"Catherine."

I woke up in the middle of the night, and thoughts of Catherine flooded my head. Then I began to pray and shed tears. When last did I cry in prayer? Can't remember. "You must help Catherine, so she can help Cynthia," I said to myself and began to type this article. She should set up a proper restaurant.

Who wants to join me?