Prosper’s Flowerpot

A bright brown house crammed in against a series of colorful copies. Prosper was told that this would be her new home. This blank room that she was supposed to share with her older sister, Grace, felt far from it.

“Are you okay Prosper?”

“I’m fine Grace, I just feel tired.”

And she truly did: her mouth reeked of an awful aftertaste of vomit and her eyes felt ever so heavy. Grace ran her finger through the spaces between Prosper’s messy braids, embracing her. A boy peeked into the room, a mischievous smile etched across his face.

“I think you should at least shower soon.” Obi grinned. “You stink.”

“Shut up.” Grace gave him a deadpan look.

“Hey, I’m just saying the truth.”

“Are you serious? Look at her! Do you think it’s the right time to tell her that?”

Prosper clenched her fingers. She might feel tired, but she wasn’t weak. She’d rather have Obi’s taunting than Grace’s pitied look every day–at least it made her laugh sometimes. She remembered laughing at Palmy’s attempt at words of wisdom.

You know I could get a lot older than you, right?

“No, you probably going to live to fifty.” Prosper interjected. “That’s your average lifespan.”

And I’ll still look like an…it girl, while you are already looking like a grandma.

“How do you know about it girls?” Prosper laughed “Have you been listening to the kids next door?”   

So what is your point…why are you laughing so hard? People are weird. Okay, haha, are you done laughing?

“Obi’s right though, ask Mom for your towel and shower.”

Prosper sat up as if woken from a dream. 

“Okay, I’ll do that”

But Prosper did not shower. She simply just slept. The house filled with some friends and members of the Balogun family, moving furniture together, giving them advice, and dining with them. Every room was filled with life–all except for the blank room with a sleeping form. 

Prosper felt a shake. Between blurred vision, she could make out the outline of a man sitting on her duvet. When he noticed she was awake, he retracted his hand from her shoulder and stood up. 

“I’ve had enough of this–at the very least, show your face to your Uncles and Aunts that have helped us. Everyone is celebrating.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

Eli shook his head. 

“Why do you look ungrateful?”

He couldn’t help but say those words. Prosper was getting older–she was no longer a baby anymore. He remembered the times of his early teens: his father insisted that he would stop playing with his friends given his failing grades. At his rude refusal, his mother slapped him on the back. They both came back later, rubbing his back.

A man cannot be swept back and forth. To have a solid foundation, you must go to school. This will make your life easier, omo. Bad company can pull down even the strongest of people. Do you understand?

Those words were all it took–it was the last time that Eli had resisted their words so rudely. His parents made him strong. He wondered how they both did it and what they would think about Prosper. He wished they could’ve lived enough to tell him how to keep a family together. But it was no matter. 

When Prosper didn’t move, Eli clicked his tongue disapprovingly, leaving her in the room. He marched down the steps, not looking at his wife in the eye. Mary knew then to not disturb Prosper. The girl didn’t come down for the rest of the evening, even after the last Uncle drove away from the neighborhood. 

Then, around 11 PM, Mary saw a small figure skip down the staircase and into the kitchen. The figure opened the fridge and kneeled.  Mary could tell from the fridge’s soft gold luminescence that it was her youngest. She walked to the entrance and switched on the lights.

The little girl flinched. Glancing at her mother, the girl rose, slowly pulling against her braids.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

Mary did not answer, instead walking to the countertop. The stand was bare, save for a glass kettle filled with hot water. She switched on the kettle.

“Prosper.”

“Yes?”

“Have you showered?”

“Yes! I brushed my teeth as well.”

“We don’t have any meal apart from Jollof rice, and I can’t have you eating that so late. But, 

some bread wouldn’t hurt. Make sure you brush your teeth again."

Prosper’s face brightened. 

“Thank you, Mom…can I have hot chocolate with that?”

“No, have some tea instead. It will help you sleep better.” Mary paused “You can add some sugar though.”

She stroked Propser’s back, feeling a pang of guilt when she felt the girl’s spine. It had been two weeks since the cutting of the palm tree, but Prosper seemed to have shrunken. If they hadn’t cut the palm tree down, then maybe things would have been different. But her grandmother never told her of the effects of moving so far away from a bonding plant. Her grandmother had never even left her hometown.

The thought of her grandmother left knots in Mary’s stomach. She missed her but wished she would no longer have dreams of her petite cream-coated house. Of her soft steps and hums. Her grandmother would tell Mary and her siblings stories about their family line for bedtime while their mother was showering. About a crafty trader, a proud prince, and Mary’s least favourite story — the cursed farmer. 

There was once a farmer who couldn’t harvest his cassava. He plowed during the wet season, but he had nothing to show for when his harvest season came. One day, he threw his tool against the soil, and shouted it,“How dare you? You, you are the reason why my crops bear no fruit! You are bad soil!”

 The soil replied to the man, “It is nothing but your inability to take care of me! You expect me to do all the work then, eh?” 

The man, refusing to take his part of blame, replied to the soil, “If only I can control the harvest of my crops, and not have to rely on you so much. If my crops were as fit as I am, I’d be in the midst of kings!”

The soil said, “Let it be so.”

The farmer quickly had many seasons of harvest, but as he grew older and weaker, his harvest waned and waned until the soil dried up. The man begged the soil, “What happened? No matter how I try, my soil won't be harvested.” 

The soil responded, “You wanted to control your harvest, I simply let it be so.”

“What happened to the man then?” Mary would ask. 

He died in obscurity, his curse passed down to some of his children and fewer of his children’s children.

Mary hated the story in every single way. It was that kind of story that kept her up some nights and made her footsteps stay out of gardens through her teens. It was the kind that kept her praying and praying and hoping. Hoping for something better. That hope sparked with her marriage to Eli and the birth of her three children. 

Then Propser turned three, and Eli–against Mary’s wishes–bought some soil to start a small garden, planting a small palm tree. Everything was fine at first. But Prosper had lived through seven rotations around the sun, and she started talking about how the palm tree outside the house would talk to her. Eli thought it must have been something demonic, so he took Propser to several pastors. With the suggestion of her teachers, they took her to hospitals for a series of diagnoses. It had come to a head one stormy night: Mary had been staring at the garden from the window. A streak of white danced on the base of the palm tree and disappeared. At the same time, Mary heard a scream from the girls’ room. She ran, bombarded at the sight of a tearful Grace and a lifeless Prosper, Obi pressing against her chest. 

“Mom! Prosper isn’t breathing…I–I can’t hear her heartbeat!” Grace cried. 

“I don’t know if I’m doing this right…”Obi covered his eyes. 

From there everything was a blur for Mary. She felt her husband rush past her. She remembered sweat trickled past his lashes and made his eyes look reddened. Prosper had revived only slightly when he rushed her out of the house. Mary remembered waiting, focusing on the brown patterned carpet. Sun rays had cast through the windows onto the carpet, and blinded Mary’s vision.

 Eli eventually arrived, a limping Propser in hand. Mary’s relief was quickly replaced by despair when she noticed that Propser now had a long jagged wound running from her left knee to her ankle. She learned later it had been there since last night. She knew then there was something she had to check. Every step she took closer to the garden was one with dread. She ran her fingers against the palm tree trunk. Surely enough, there was a clean white mark there. She sobbed bitterly, wishing that she was wrong. Wishing that Eli and God had listened. At that moment, nothing felt real, save for the remnants of ancestors tormenting her.

Now Mary’s youngest, scarfing down her croissant and sweet tea, will always be bonded to that damned soil that her husband, Eli, brought to their compound. He apologized many many times, but she still hated what he had done. Well, it’s no matter now. 

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

Prosper said it so quickly that she triggered a series of hiccups.

“Swallow well before talking. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Mary stood up. “Drink some water, and let's go to bed.”

Mary knew she would need to do something about Prosper’s condition very soon. She called her sister the next day. 

“He cut the tree down?!”

Mary sighed, sitting on the couch. “I told him it would be better if he just left it there, but the next people who bought the land didn’t want a palm tree, which I understand given how the tree was much too close to our house.”

“I understand…but you should have had a backup plan.”

“What should I have done then, Naomi?” Mary waved her hands frantically, voice cracking.

Naomi’s voice softened.“You know, one time I asked her about the story, about the cursed farmer. I don’t remember the details because it was so long but I think it was how his descendants knew they were cursed. Do you know what she said?” 

Well, it depends on their own story. My mother, your great-grandmother, used to sing to the plants in her garden. There was one time when the soil had dried up very badly….she had been bedridden at that time. I asked her one day if she thought she was like the cursed farmer. She told me that even though she didn’t feel so good, she couldn’t imagine a life without her predicament. The thing was a gift to her. Maybe we should change the title of the story…

“She never told me that,” Mary said, surprised.

“Well, you never asked. You don’t have to feel scared. Prosper is a kind girl, and if I had to put my money on it…which I don’t have much of, she’ll probably end up more like Great Grandma, and not the farmer I want you to know- you’ve tried your best. Now, let me try something.”

“Okay.”

“The tree is gone, but do you know if the soil is still intact?”

As they spoke about their new plans, Mary felt her body relax and her worries fade. The conversation carried itself away, as the sisters laughed and reminisced. Out of all her siblings, Noami was the only person who could evoke such conversation with Mary. What a feeling, she thought. She closed her eyes and for the moment, imagined the sisters sitting on the steps leading up to their cream-coloured house again.  

“I think that’s a good plan, I don’t think the new landowners would mind taking out some of it, but I’ll have to ask Eli about it.”

“I’ll also need money to go there. I can chip some in but I’ll need help with lodging.”

Mary's heart swelled. “Thank you. I’ll ask Eli about it. I love you.”

“Love you more, sis.”

Mary waited for the right time. When Eli was stuffed with eba and soup mixed with meat and fish, but not before he showered the stress of work away, and wouldn’t have any conversation about the worries of their world. The perfect time arrived when Eli offered to wash their plates after their shared meal. As he was pouring soap into the scrub, Mary leaned against the countertop.

“You know that Prosper still looks so skinny…will she get bullied in school? What if she gets rushed into the hospital?”

“What is it?” Eli put a soapy dish down.

Mary narrated Naomi’s plans to Eli. His face darkened.

“It will help Prosper feel better if there’s a plant in there.” Mary stressed her words. 

“But what about the money?” Eli asked.

Prosper happened to be walking down the stairs. Her ears perked up. She froze in place. Her father’s voice sounded strained.

“We barely have enough to pay rent. How are we going to pay for a trip to Nigeria?”

“My sister said she will help us.”

Her father sighed.“Ayanmo mi. Work has not been easy, but I will look into our savings. We’ll talk about this later.”

With her head lowered, she dragged herself back to her bedroom. She laid on the bed, gazing up at the star-patterned ceiling. Prosper used all her strength to jump on the bed several times, her hands brushing against the markings. It had been bumpy —did someone paint over the stars? 

Prosper didn’t see a lot of stars at her new house. The first few nights here she squinted up at the black sky hopefully, but to no avail. But she still wished, using these stars as a proxy for the ones so far away. That they would get a better house, that her parents would be happier, and that she wouldn’t have to feel so tired all the time. Little wishes like that.

One of her wishes came true, sooner than she thought. She was by the staircase when her mother answered the door. There was Dad; next to him was a woman in a red trench coat and a familiar smile.

“Aunty Naomi!”

Prosper ran, tripping and falling over the staircase.

“Careful!”

Her father pulled her up.

“Don’t run across the house.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Your Aunty wants to talk to you about something,” he said curtly. “See if your Mom is awake and call her. Call your brother and sister too.”

They all gathered in the living room. Aunty Naomi sat by Prosper, arms wrapped around a white flowerpot filled with dark brown soil. Prosper took a deep breath. It reminded her a lot of Palmy’s. Naomi smiled.

“Do you recognize this soil, Prosper?”

“The palm tree in our old garden, smells like him. His name was Palmy….he’s dead now though.”

Prosper tried not to look at Dad. Aunty Naomi brushed Posper’s braids.

“I’m sorry.” Aunty Naomi said “I know nothing can replace him.”

“It’s fine.”

Prosper coughed. Aunty Noami rubbed her back.

“Here, this is a part of Palmy. You recognize his smell, right?” 

Prosper’s eyes widened with realization.

“You can grow anything you want in this little soil. Whatever you grow won’t be as big as Palmy, but it’ll be pretty.”

Aunty Naomi faced Dad. He shifted in his seat, retrieving a brown packet. 

“They are cosmos seeds. They’re easy to grow and tough as nails…they also should look nice. Let us know if you need anything–I’m sure you’ll be fine with this.” He said it so quickly, almost like he was afraid that he would stumble over his words. Prosper had never seen her dad look so awkward.

“Thank you, Dad.”

Prosper’s voice cracked. She coughed harder. She’s fine, she just needs a bit of water. She looked at the flowerpot,sadly. 

“Are you okay, Prosper?” Aunty Naomi asked.

“Have you eaten today?” Mom interjected as she walked over to Prosper. She rubbed Prosper’s knees.

“Would Palmy be mad that I replaced him?”

Aunty Noami shook her head. Prosper played with her dress, unsure. 

“Palmy sounded like a cool guy from the way you talked to him,” Obi said 

“A tree.” Grace corrected him.

Obi clicked his tongue “You know what I’m saying. Don’t start with me right now.”

Prosper giggled, but she clutched her dress.

“I’m sorry…I think I’ll still really miss Palmy…What if I still miss him?”

“That’s okay.” Aunty Noami rubbed her back. “It’s okay to cry about him sometimes.”

“I can cry now?” Prosper gave her parents a guilty look.

Eli was shocked that his daughter could ask such a question. Her forlorn eyes elicited a sharp pain in his chest. He was supposed to stay strong for everyone —that’s what he was taught. But he missed watching the night stars like he used to. There were barely any here. He understood a bit about Prosper at that moment. He sighed —he thought about what his parents would have done for him. He walked over to the trio of women and embraced Prosper awkwardly. 

Prosper froze for a moment. Then, she felt tears trickle down her cheeks. They tasted salty, like the chips she used to eat by Palmy’s shade. As her mother, aunt, and siblings joined in a collective hug, she cried harder. 

Nobody could tell that after this moment,  the flowerpot and cosmos seeds would remain untouched for months. It was in the spring of the next year that she would touch the soil inside, squeezing it gently. Strangely it still felt moist- her family members would periodically spray water on it. She planted her first seeds then. She painted over the blank flowerpot: little stars over the dark horizon. She would feel terrible on dry days, and the cosmos flowers would look wilted when she scrambled over studying for her exams. On better days, they both glowed as the sun. That pain, like time, passes. But it was no matter.