TO WHERE THE WIND BLEW

JUNE, 1986

Ronke got home and picked the house keys from the usual place, somewhat with the old feelings she’d always had – relief mixed with sadness. She was going to be home alone again; probably for a week or more this time. She still couldn’t understand the rationale behind her parents’ refusal to allow her have a pet. At least, something to keep her company at all times. She had wanted rabbits but her mother had driven the thought far from her. At her age, seventeen, it was incredible that her parents had such an intense and rigid control over her life. They would not allow friends, extracurricular activities, not even sports, yet they were never there for her. To make it worse, her mother complained she was too secretive. How wouldn’t she be? She had to carve out a life for herself, and her Art ended up being her only succor.

She found some food in the cooler in the kitchen, and a note from her aunt Ranti, telling her she would be a little late coming home. Aunt Ranti was always coming back late from wherever she went, Ronke smiled at herself. She ate, took her afternoon bath, and left the house also. She felt like drawing and Uncle Ladi’s house, her inspirational hideout, was most appealing. Some of her best creations had been made there. Uncle Ladi was her maternal uncle. A polygamist and chronic womanizer, her parents had warned her off him and his household. But-- the house was open to all. Ronke had discovered a deserted sitting room upstairs, and without seeking any permission, had turned it into her studio. Of course, her parents knew nothing about it. Since they were away a lot, Ronke had time and space enough, to indulge herself.

After Ronke got there and settled down, she said a short prayer, and began her drawing. Thunder struck outside, and she stood up to peep outside only to discover that the weather had changed. The weather was so fond of changing abruptly. One minute, it would be clear and sunny, the next, hell would be threatening to let loose. Well she thought to herself, Aunt Ranti will just have to understand and keep a secret. She breathed another short prayer and brought out her drawing board and other materials she kept safely in her secret Art studio; she had a concept in mind. She had inspiration and slowly, with deep focus, she began to draw. Her fingers moved through the strokes swiftly, and a peace settled over her as she fulfilled a deep- seated passion within her. The rain poured outside, cutting her off from the rest of the world. When she felt tired, she stood up, stretched and surveyed her work. A picture that had burned in her memory was suddenly not there anymore but on white cardboard. The picture of a girl, carrying a rabbit across her neck on the beach looked back at Ronke and she smiled as she rolled the cardboard. When she got home, she would apply the right colors with crayons, her friends had always told her she was too childish to be drawing and coloring but it was only in her Art that she found fulfillment and joy. Ronke strolled to the window and watched. The endless pelting on the roofs of other houses around her, made her to suddenly realize she could be stranded for days. She couldn’t ever enter the rain because of her rheumatism. Panic gripped her heart as she realized the problem she could be in. She toyed with the idea of still entering the rain but the streets were deserted and darkness was fast approaching. She checked her watch; it was 7pm.The rain was not subsiding. It was semi-dark in the room. She thought she should go downstairs and find one of her uncle’s wives. She was getting very confused. She turned back to look at the horrible weather outside, and tried to calm herself down. The door opened behind her and she turned to look at the intruder. A burly of a man sauntered in, slightly swerving on his feet. The deep stench of alcohol filled the room.

“Irene” he bellowed.

“Who are you?” Ronke trembled. A drunk from downstairs? This is what her parents had warned her about in Uncle Ladi’s house. Drunks were always everywhere. She edged towards the door, as she realized the drunk was staggering towards her. She couldn’t quite see his face but he was so big, and his face was shadowed. He moved towards her swiftly, smartly. Ronke did not expect he would have such a balance.

“Irene, thank God --” he slurred, closing in on her and forcing her to retreat further towards the wall.

“I am not Irene. Get away from here. Get away from me” Ronke tried to push but he was so much bigger. It took him little effort as he pinned her flailing arms behind her, and bent to take possession of her lips. Ronke struggled with the last strength in her body. It was futile. He stank but worse still, he hurt her. He did not hit her and at a stage, he started begging her-- or rather, pleading with ‘Irene’ to allow him. When help did not come Ronke grew tired of the struggle and as pain soared through his penetration, she (thankfully) blacked out. The drunk had his way with her.

***

When Ronke opened her eyes, the room was dark. She moved slowly, listening for sound, afraid that her violator was still around. There was calm everywhere and she heard car and motorcycle movements outside. Suppressing a sob, she groped round the room and found the switch. She was alone. She picked her clothing and got dressed. Thank God, her dress had not been torn. She checked the time, it was 8.15pm. Without second thoughts, she ran blindly from the room, her beautiful drawing lying forgotten in Uncle Ladi’s old living room. The rain had stopped and one or two stars were already out in the sky. She got a taxi and went home. Her peace and innocence, torn away from her forever.