She is Mama Twins.

Our Landlady.

The true definition of an altruistic person.

Even though I and other neighbors call her "Mama Twins", we've never seen any of her children or relatives.

Nobody ever visits her.
She visits nobody.
Always sitted at the balcony overlooking the dusty city of Abomey, as if in some sort of divine meditation to find inner peace, Mama Twins silence commanded a thousand thoughts in my mind. Thoughts a garrulous person would have failed in sharing. Thoughts of loneliness, sadness, and other downtrodden emotions associated with a person walking alone on an isolated alley of life.

"Her Family dey abroad for London" Igor, an Egun man selling provision beside our Compound had revealed to me when I inquired as a new tenant who was curious on why she stays alone on the last floor of the three storey building. "Dem get plenty plenty money" He added.

I've lived with this knowledge ever since.
Mama Twins rarely speaks.
Her gaze, deep and sober as if peering to read one's mind, and eventually ravage on the knowledge of some dark secrets.

Every festive period, she cooks and distributes to all tenants. And when Mr John had difficulties in paying up owed rents of two years, Mama Twins waved it off.

Her benevolence commands peace and hope amidst the trying year of 2001 when I left Nigeria for Benin Republic after losing my wife and kids to the Ikeja Bomb Blast.

I always say to myself;

"If the world was populated with more people like Mama Twins, evil will definitely be thrown into a never ending pit of depression."

The last floor where her room was located was out of bound to everybody. This she made known on the induction of every new tenant in her house. Her privacy was premium and we had to respect it anyway. After all, she is the owner of the house.

One mid afternoon, two boys whom I guessed to be in their early 20s ran inside the compound asking to see the owner of the building.

"Where is your Landlady?" They asked almost at the same time as if presenting a rehearsed speech. I felt the tremble in their voice. And before i could articulate a response for their question, an aged Man walked in, aided by a young lady whose right arm was thrown around his waist for support. By this time, other neighbors have gathered outside on seeing strange faces and earshot of unknown voices which were in discordant with our serene Compound.

The aged Man struggling to stand firm, dipped his hands into the blue lace Agbada he had on and brought out a picture featuring a younger Mama Twins flanked by two identical boys.

"This is my wife and these two boys are her children" His teeth gnashed "we are here to see her" He blurted

"Eh! Naa Mama twins husband be dis ooo.... See her children" Koffi, a Ghanaian, said in excitement.

"You are welcome sa" Another voice greeted from my back.

"I also nodded in respect.

"Can you please lead us to her door" asked one of the boys.

I led the way.
Other neighbors followed on the good news that Mama twins Husband and Children are finally back from London.
The atmosphere was joy filled.
But this joy wasn't extended to the faces of these strangers.
There was indifference.
As if concealing their happiness or sadness, or whatever feeling they had in there.

First time in history, many, including me, visited the last floor.
We reached Mama Twins door.
The air was different.
Cold and eerie.
Cob webs hung on every corner as if no human presence has graced this place since ages.
Rodents scampered to safety on our presence.

But there the door was.
With life almost snuffed out by termites that a heavy knock might send it down into ruins.

"Kon Kon Kon" the aged Man knocked gently.
No response.
He knocked again.
No response.

"Make I shout her name, maybe she dey sleep!"... Adaobi, my next door neighbor suggested.
We all nodded in agreement.

"Mama Landlady.... Mama! Mama Twins" She called out repeatedly.
But there was no response.
Obviously tired of waiting for the response that seems not to be coming anytime soon, the door was forced open by one of the boys. A shoulder push that sent fine wood grains rolling on the floor and the door in fragments.

A blustery wind enveloped us.
The room was empty. And the echoes of the fallen door could still be heard reverberating across the walls.
No furnitures.
No clothings.
A nothingness that reeks of mystification.
Just crumbs of newspaper pages that must have fallen from the mouth of vermins.
We were terrified.
This was supposed to be our Landlady's room. Why is it isolated? No traces of Mama Twins or her belongings?
The aged Man turn to us spiritlessly. His teeth clanked against each other as he made efforts to speak. He stared deeply over our heads, as if reading some invincible writings on the wall.

"My wife, whom you said to be your Landlady has been dead since 1991. She died of food poisoning in Ojo Alaba, Lagos. We traced her here after this young lady, who happens to be a family friend claimed she had seen her twice at the balcony of this building.."

A deafening silence followed.
We were mortified and stared at each other in disbelief.

Adaobi fainted.
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.
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Abomey, Benin Republic
© 2003

Bako Abdullahi ✍️

Wo,w superbly captivating but i hope it's not a one time thing.