CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Sticking through adversities
“Finally! We’ve arrived,” Milani exhaled, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Exhaustion clung to her limbs, but relief flickered in her eyes.
The journey had stretched on for half a day, leading them to a bustling village where the air was thick with the scent of sun-warmed spices and dust. Traders called out their wares, voices merging into a chaotic hum as villagers paused to observe the newcomers.
Milani pressed forward, guiding the camel through the crowd while Lenora sat perched atop it, her sharp eyes flitting across the unfamiliar faces. The villagers’ stares lingered a moment too long, curiosity laced with quiet judgment.
She tried asking around for the village chief, but no one seemed inclined to help. It wasn’t difficult to guess why—after days on the road, her scent was far from pleasant, and the camel beside her fared no better. People recoiled, wrinkling their noses, giving them a wide berth as if odor alone rendered them invisible.
With no answers forthcoming, Milani sighed and kept moving, hoping to stumble upon someone with enough kindness to offer them a place to rest.
Then, she saw it—a small crowd gathered around an elderly woman.
“Listen, old woman!” A young man’s voice rang out, thick with arrogance. “This isn’t a charity! My father’s too soft-hearted, letting you stay here without paying, but I’m not my father. I gave you two weeks’ grace. Where’s my money?!”
The woman clutched a woven basket to her chest. “My oranges aren’t ripe yet, but they will be soon. Please, just a little more time—”
“Shut the hell up!” The young man’s face twisted with scorn. “Patience? Do you think patience will pay my debts?!”
Before Milani even registered her movement, her voice sliced through the tension.
“Aren’t you ashamed? Harassing a woman old enough to be your mother?”
The young man turned, sneering. “And I was wondering what reeked so terribly. Should’ve known a walking trash heap was roaming the village.” His companions snickered, fingers pinching their noses.
Milani arched a brow. “Compared to your manners, I don’t stink half as bad.”
His smirk faltered. She took the moment to assess him—short, a head lower than her, and clearly aware of it.
“You must’ve been thrown out of your husband’s house,” he shot back. “I get it. Now keep walking and mind your business.”
Milani scoffed. “And I’m guessing your wife left because of your… shortcomings.” Her eyes flicked down meaningfully.
His expression darkened. “What did you just say?”
“Oh? Did I touch a nerve?” She tilted her head mockingly. “Run along, then. If people see us like this, they might mistake me for your mother scolding a disobedient child. But considering how close you already are to the ground, I doubt it would bruise your ego much.”
The young man’s fury boiled over. “Beat her!” he barked.
His lackeys moved in, but before they could strike, the old woman dropped to her knees, clutching the young man’s leg. “Please, leave her be! I’ll pay, I promise!”
The man kicked her off, sending her sprawling.
Milani saw red. In a blink, she was on him, her hand locking around his throat. With effortless strength, she lifted him to her eye level, then drove her fist into his nose.
Once. Twice.
Blood splattered.
And then, she flung him across the street.
“Who’s next?!” she demanded, fire in her voice.
Silence.
His followers had already vanished. Without their leader, they were nothing.
A small clap broke through the hush.
Lenora, still perched on the camel, beamed with delight. “Aunty Milani, that was so cool!”
Milani exhaled, shaking the adrenaline from her limbs. “Never seen someone with such rotten manners,” she muttered, before remembering the old woman. Her anger evaporated as she rushed to help her up.
“My arthritis isn’t getting any better,” the woman quipped, gripping Milani’s arm for balance.
“Nana, are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?” Worry creased Milani’s brow.
The woman smiled kindly. “I’m alright, dear. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
Milani scowled. “Not your fault. That guy’s attitude stunk worse than my clothes.”
The old woman chuckled before eyeing Milani with a smirk. “Speaking of stink… my dear, you need a bath.”
Milani huffed a laugh, but before she could reply, the woman’s gaze lifted to Lenora. “Is she your daughter?”
The explanation was too complicated, and Milani wasn’t in the mood for it. So, she simply nodded. “Yes.”
“Come,” the old woman said. “My home isn’t far. You can rest there.”
Milani accepted the offer with quiet gratitude, taking the basket from her hands as a gesture of respect. “Let me help.”
The path to the house was lined with towering orange trees, their vibrant leaves fluttering in the breeze. Hedges framed the walkway, and fallen petals painted the ground in a golden hue.
The house itself was modest—a wooden bungalow nestled at the center of a spacious courtyard. Two orange trees stood like sentinels at the entrance, their fruit still ripening. A low fence bordered the property, more decorative than protective. Near the leftmost tree, a stone basin collected water from a steady stream, overflowing gently when full.
“This home belonged to my daughter’s family before she passed away,” the old woman murmured as she pushed open the small gate.
Milani’s chest tightened. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
The woman’s lips curved into a sad smile. “It’s been five years. I’ve made peace with her absence.”
They stepped inside, the air still and serene, disturbed only by the whisper of rustling leaves.
“You may stay here,” the woman said, her voice warm with gratitude. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for today.” She reached out, giving Milani’s hand a gentle squeeze.
Milani returned the gesture. “Thank you, Nana. I appreciate it.” Then, a thought crossed her mind. “But what if those boys come back?”
The woman sighed. “Once my oranges ripen, I’ll sell them. In the meantime, I trade yams. And hopefully, the money I lent a friend will be returned soon.”
She exhaled and gestured toward the house. “Come, let’s go inside.”
For the first time in days, Milani felt the weight on her shoulders lighten.
________________________________________✍
Milani all but collapsed into the wooden chair, her body sinking into exhaustion. Every muscle ached, her limbs felt leaden, and even the act of breathing seemed like an effort.
After the brief conversation with the old woman, she’d helped Lenora down from the camel, their movements sluggish under the weight of fatigue. Together, they had cleaned the house—Lenora finishing long before her, now covered in dust and laughing as she played with the camel. Meanwhile, Milani had nearly passed out, struggling to haul Blade’s unconscious body inside. Carrying him was one thing; carrying him carefully, ensuring his stitches didn’t tear, was another ordeal entirely.
By the time she was done, the moon hung high, silvering the night, and the air inside the house reeked of sweat and exhaustion. None of them had bathed in days, and it showed.
Milani was too drained to care. She didn’t have the strength to wash herself, let alone bathe Lenora. Instead, she slumped near the window, hoping the breeze might offer some relief, might carry away the stifling heat and the scent of weary bodies.
Lenora, equally spent, curled up at Milani’s feet, right beside Blade’s unmoving form. The journey had drained them, and the hours spent cleaning had wrung out what little energy remained. None of them had the strength to groan, much less to offer words of encouragement. The only sounds were the sighs of the wind, the rustling leaves, and the steady, rhythmic chirping of crickets.
Then came a knock.
No one stirred. No one had the strength to.
So, the old woman let herself in. She carried a tray of tangerines—plump, ripe, their vibrant skin gleaming like molten gold under the dim light.
Even through the haze of exhaustion, Milani and Lenora managed a weak smile.
“You still haven’t bathed,” the old woman noted, setting the tray down on the table before turning to face them.
“We’re tired, Nana,” Milani murmured. “Tomorrow.”
Nana shook her head, her expression unreadable as she took a slow, deliberate step forward. Her gnarled stick tapped against the floor with every step, creating a measured beat as she closed the distance.
“There is no excuse for filth,” she declared. Then, with a sharp rap of her stick—twice against the floor—she snapped them both out of their stupor.
“Up. Now.”
It wasn’t a request.
Milani groaned but obeyed, gathering what little strength she had left. She pulled Lenora to her feet, the child half-asleep, and together, they trudged after Nana.
The old woman led them straight to the bathroom. Without warning, she twisted the faucet, unleashing a spray of water, and before Milani could react, Nana’s stick prodded her forward—right into the icy stream.
“If I hadn’t seen you in that room, I’d have sworn a camel was living there,” Nana muttered. “If it were just you, fine. But are you trying to teach this child to stink like one too?”
Milani sputtered under the water but said nothing. She knew better than to argue.
Nana sighed, settling onto a small stool before wordlessly yanking Lenora’s clothes off and scrubbing the dirt from her skin. Beside them, Milani washed in silence, surrendering to the moment.
When they finished, fresh clothes awaited—new, clean garments folded with care.
Milani hesitated. “Nana, this is too much. The house is already—”
“Will you wear the house?” Nana interrupted. “Or would you rather parade around in rags, smelling like a stable?”
Lenora, sensing Nana’s disapproval, wordlessly grabbed the dress and pulled it on. Milani followed suit.
“When you need help,” Nana said, wringing the water from Lenora’s hair, “ask for it. Shamelessly. It won’t kill you.”
“Yes, Nana,” both Milani and Lenora murmured.
__________________________✍
Lenora drifted into sleep almost immediately, her small body sinking into the blankets. Milani, though exhausted, forced herself to stay awake, watching as Nana carefully wiped down Blade’s fevered skin with a damp cloth.
His wounds meant he couldn’t bathe properly, but he couldn’t be left in filth either.
As Nana worked, she reminisced, her voice quiet but steady. She spoke of her youth, of motherhood, of the nights she had done this same thing for her children. Of how, years later, her grown son had been wounded, and she had cleaned him as she had when he was small. How he had been mortified upon realizing it.
Milani fought to stay awake, her head bobbing as sleep threatened to take her. She prayed Nana wouldn’t take offense.
“…And I asked my son,” Nana continued, chuckling, “‘When you were a baby and I wiped your bottom after you—'”
A loud thud interrupted her.
Milani. She had finally succumbed, her head landing on Lenora’s stomach, using the child as an impromptu pillow.
Nana sighed, shaking her head with amusement. “I must be getting old. Didn’t even realize I was boring you.”
She turned back to Blade, gently lifting his arm to wipe beneath it.
That was when it happened.
With sluggish movements, Blade’s fingers twitched. Then, weak but instinctive, his hand shot up, grabbing her wrist.
Nana barely had time to react. Her body moved on instinct—years of hardened reflexes taking over.
With a startled gasp, she swung her walking stick.
The crack of wood against flesh echoed through the room.
Blade went limp.
Nana huffed, shaking her head. “Grown man should know better than to grab an old woman like that.”
Then, as if nothing had happened, she resumed her work.
