Rue was terrified, disgusted, appalled and everything put together. She crept to the hospital bed and saw her daughter, bruises on her face and body as though she took part in the MMA championship final fight, and she wasn't the winner.
What scared her more was the fact that she had a hand in her misfortune.
Even now she could remember..
"Mama, I don't like this." Leah complained to me as she looked at the picture.
"He's handsome, rich, comes from a good family and he likes you. What's there not to like?" I asked, annoyed by her constant whining.
"I don't like the fact that I don't know him, I haven't heard of him before, at least not until 3 weeks ago and the glaring fact that I haven't met this man that you've promised my hand in marriage to."
"You were betrothed to each other at birth." I say, annoyed at her cold feet.
"He went to study abroad, for oyibo land, he has money, ego in dollars, and now he has come for your hand."
"You really don't know how fortunate you are." I said looking at her as she looked at the picture.
"He is handsome." She said, admiring his skin and figure.
"Mhmm" I hum in agreement.
"It's the sun there, unlike our Nigerian own that blares with vengeance, their sun allows their skin to look well done, not like bolé yam roasted by an amateur." I say jokingly.
"Still I don't know about this, how can I get married to someone who I haven't even met?" She asked me again.
"Ooh my dear young child, that's how I got married. That's how my mother got married, it's our culture, our way of life." I explained it to my daughter.
The marriage went off without a hitch and they went to another community.
Communication was strained but my love and belief in her well-being never wavered.
That was until I met with one of my market friends who traded in that community of the latest gossip going around.
A woman who gets beaten everyday by her husband as though she's a stubborn disrespectful child, even more than that, as though she's less than a child.
I wasn't bothered, I knew Mike's parents, knew his mother since we were teens, never had she been beaten.
Not until I came to visit my daughter, after months of no communication.
I came to where their house should be, yet the neighbors pointed me to the hospital.
Now me in my fiftieth year of age has come to an unknown hospital, in an unknown community, looking at a face that I nurtured, a face that once sucked on my breasts and drooled on my laps as she slept, a face that I once knew, now beaten beyond recognition.
"Ummm" The sound broke me out of my thoughts.
Leah woke up, she tried turning her head but winced in pain, one of her eyes was swollen shut and the other looked drowsy and glazed.
"Leah!! Leah!! Can you hear me?" I called out, my emotions like a whirl storm.
She coughed and drips of blood flew out of her mouth, then she went back to sleep.
My eyes were stuck on the blood on the bed sheets, my daughter's blood, my blood.
It was a culture for children to be betrothed at birth, yet it's also a culture of blood for blood, and my blood has just been spilled.
"I will avenge you Leah, this is a promise, one that I swear on my blood."
I kissed her on her head and walked out of the hospital.
I went back to my village, to my house, carried my belongings and planned to go out to knock on a door.
A door that most people usually shy from, out of respect or fear or maybe a bit of both.
Today, I had no fear in me, no shame, just a want of vengeance, a mind of boiling anger and a heart of regret. It was the dead of night, the moon shone brightly and I could see my shadow moving with as much purpose as I was.
I reached the house and knocked, a few minutes later a man covered in chalk markings and scars stepped out, he was dressed in red, and held a staff.
He looked at me curiously, wondering what would have prompted me to come knock in such an ungodly hour.
I didn't give him the opportunity to guess or ask what I needed.
Immediately he came out, I said just one phrase.
"Blood for Blood."
This is a response to the May Inleo Monthly Prompts posted by @leogrowth.
A story based of the cultural norm of betrothals at birth and parents gifting spouses to their children.
You should check the prompts out if you don't know what to write and need some ideas...
Lovely prompts on here...
My Instagram page.
Posted Using InLeo Alpha
Posted Using InLeo Alpha