I wanted to remember his nose. I remember everything else.
***
I remember how looking into his eyes was like looking into a body of softly flowing water. I remember how he would sleep with the pillow placed under his belly rather than under his head, how he would wake up at intervals to urinate. I remember how on the eve of the elections, he could not sleep, not even for a second: how he left the television set on throughout the night disturbing me. That night, I woke up twice. The first time around one in the morning, to his screams of ‘Yes’ ‘Yes’ ‘Yes’ to the television, to the candidate on the screen that was ordering the masses ‘to make sure they protect their votes.’ To make sure ‘they do not allow the thieves hijack the results.’ The second time around four in the morning, he woke me up to tell me to search for my voter card because I was also going to vote, because ‘every vote counts.’
He had been consumed by the elections, he had been consumed by his love for these politicians who did not even have the slightest clue regarding his existence; these politicians who were known to be liars, people for whom lying was not only an action but also a job description.
During the weeks that lead to the elections, he would spend the money that we barely had making banners and stickers. He would go from one neighbor’s house to another, he would knock on their doors and when they opened, he would offer them a sticker and a small flag of the party and have a conversation on the immense importance of voting in the candidate he was preaching. He would use words that began with: our party promises to… and this is our party’s resolve… our party this and our party that, as if the party belonged to him, too, as if somehow he had overtook the conceiving of the party.
‘I am four weeks pregnant.’ I told him as we lay on the bed to sleep, a few days to the elections.
He was happy. ‘My first child; I will name him Restoration, our party’s slogan.’
I was disappointed. I shook my head and turned the other side.
When the day of the elections came, he dressed himself in Agbada, the colours of the party, the exact way his candidate dressed on the day he came to campaign in our state and told us that he was the answer that we had been looking for, that it was God Himself who had ordained him on this mandate, as though God cared for politics. He made me come with him, he kept going on and on about how everyone’s vote counted, he used the words ‘exercise’ and ‘franchise’ and ‘disenfranchise’ a lot.
After we voted, he told me to go home and pound yam to celebrate ‘their’ victory. He said he had to stay to ‘protect our votes by fire or by force’ but that he would be home as soon as the votes were counted.
I was anticipating his return; it was about a quarter past six when I got the call from the police. They said after the results were counted and his candidate did not win, he began to ‘foment trouble.’
Typical! I thought; of course he did. I knew he did not have it in him to peacefully accept a negative result. I knew it. I was glad that the police were there to pick him up. I concluded that I would let him sleep in jail for a couple of days before I go to bail him.
‘It quickly degenerated into a very chaotic situation. A few people were injured. He broke a few bottles and stabbed a couple of people. One of them is in a critical condition at the General Hospital.’
‘Oh my God,’ I said. ‘Look, let him stay there in jail until further notice.’
‘That’s what I am trying to explain to you, madam.’ The policeman said, for the first time, I noticed the nervousness in his voice. ‘Madam, your husband is not here in the cell. We wanted to subdue him because he was on the rampage. We were afraid he was going to hurt more people.’
‘What are you saying?’ I asked. The nervousness had now transferred from his voice to mine. I could not think. The air in the house had suddenly become too heavy to be breathed. The fan kept rolling its blades but provided no breeze; I had begun to sweat profusely, more than profusely. Large stones had gathered in my throat- I could not swallow. ‘What are you saying?’ I repeated.
‘Madam, we only meant to subdue him; we did not mean to shoot to kill.’
***
I wanted to remember his nose. I remember everything else.
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