EMPTY HANDED

"Kosarachi!"
"Yes mama"
"Bring out the remaining rice, onions, salt and maggi".
Rice? Salt? For what mama? I asked.
"Nwatakiri a. Biko, biko. Don't put me into trouble because of your questions o. Go and bring what I asked and every other remaining food stuff so I will distribute them to your aunties and uncles", mama shouted whilst looking round to make sure no one had overheard what I said.
Like the obedient girl I was, I went into our make-shift store and brought out the sack containing every unused foodstuff from Papa's burial.
Papa had suddenly died about a month ago. Almost every expense during the course of his burial were undertaken by mama. I remember she had to borrow money from some of her colleagues at work and even from Papa Oge, our rude care-taker inorder to buy most of the items she brought all the way from the far city to the village for Papa's burial.
None of the aunties and uncles mama was asking me to bring out those foodstuff for, had contributed a penny for the burial. On three different occasions, I and little Junior accompanied her to beg for burial from some relatives. They completely turned her down and even began asking her for any help she could offer them. I was so pained. I swore not to accompany her to any other house; relatives or not to ask for support of any kind.

Aunty Perpetual's case was the worst. As soon as she heard we were in the village, she carried her mean self and came to stay with us.Even though she owned and ran a hair salon, she never as much as bought bread for breakfast throughout her stay with us. Insstead, she ate from us and sometimes, asked for more.

"Mama, no . We can't give out our remaining foodstuff to those people", I insisted, the thught of their greed heavily on my mind.
Mama pulled me close, hugged me and said "If you give people the little you have and they accept it from you, then they also accept that you are more blessed than they are". Those words rung in my ears over and over. I never forgot them.
I brought out the already worn-out sack which harboured the foodstuff and slowly distributed them into six parts for my uncles and aunties. Out of a corner of my eye, I saw mama wipe her eyes with the edge of her wrapper. I knew she was crying. Why wouldn't she? She had nearly no money in the bank because of all the payments she had to make during papa's burial. There was no food for us to eat when we returned to the city, my WAEC fees were due for payment and my siblings school fees for the new term had to be paid; yet here she was, giving out the liitle food items that would have sustained us for sometime to my greedy and selfish relatives who didn't care if we ate sand after the burial so long as they were satisfied. I held mama's shoulders and gave her a reassuring smile.
Later that evening, each of my uncles and aunties came and collected their portion with a continuous thank you and nothing else.
The following day, we left for the city.  Empty handed.

P.S The characters in this work are completely fictitious. Any resemblance both in name and attribute to any human, dead or alive is co-incidental.
This is dedicated to all widows and widowers who pay through their noses to foot the burial of a dead loved with little or no contribution from relatives especially in-laws.
God is your anchor.