Page 12 of Cursed Daughters
“He is mine. I bought him.”
“You did what?! Are you okay? You better take it back to where you got it from.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I am keeping the dog.”
“Must you look for ways to frustrate me?”
“I am not the one spending hundreds of naira chasing a man who does not want me.”
Mo felt the slap before she saw it coming. She couldn’t even have said how her mother closed the gap between them. It barely hurt. She took a step back and tried to soothe the puppy. He had started mewling.
“Mum…” Tolu began, but if he had more to say, it disappeared into the silence.
Aunty Kemi, their household mediator, cleared her throat. “Bunmi, she is not wrong. You are only forty-eight. And you have kept your figure. You can remarry if you want.”
Her mother turned and eyed her sister. “I am not you,” she said. “I know the vows I made. And I hardly think chasing men up and down the place is the way forward.”
“I have fun. They have fun. Is it not better than pining for a man?”
Bunmi sucked in her breath before saying, “You are practically a prostitute.”
“Mum!” Tolu shouted, but Aunty Kemi was already squaring up to her sister, a cobra ready to strike. “I did not hear you complaining when I paid our NEPA bill, and the water bill, and found money for groceries. But you, you want to sit on your throne and be judging someone. Then in the night, you will be following evil spirits.”
“You will respect me, Kemi.”
“Come off it! There is only three years between us.”
“You think money gives you the right to disrespect me?”
“I wasn’t trying to disrespect you! But now that we are on the topic, without money a person cannot even breathe.” And then they were insulting each other in Yoruba, a deeper Yoruba than was familiar to Monife, whose understanding of her mother tongue left a lot to be desired anyway. She had spent her formative years speaking solely in English and had lost her connection to Yoruba as a result. Usually, Ebun would translate under her breath, but her cousin had made herself scarce as soon as they arrived home.
They were interrupted by a car horn just as Tolu was readying himself to get in between the two women. They heard it honk again—perhaps it had been going for some time; it was hard to hear above the chorus of shouting women. But eventually Aunty Kemi realised her date had arrived. She smoothed down her dress, threw her sister a final, contemptuous look and slammed the front door on her way out.
Her mother turned to Mo. “Monife, get rid of that dog. Tomorrow. Don’t make me tell you twice.”
V
Monife stretched comfortably across two bodies on the sofa—her head and shoulders were on Ebun’s lap; her legs were resting on her boyfriend’s. Her thigh jiggled as he argued with her brother, who was sitting across from them. Football. This was what happened whenever Tolu got talking—he would bring up football, aiming to convert whomever into supporting his team. It was exhausting. She popped a TomTom in her mouth and flipped a page of her latest Mills & Boon read.
Her boyfriend was struggling to keep up with her brother’s encyclopedic knowledge. He was getting louder and louder. Mo slipped on the headphones of her Walkman and pressed play. Aaliyah’s “Back & Forth” flooded her ears. There! She was free of all discussion of Arsenal vs Man U. She flipped another page.
They were in the east wing living room, which was the largest reception space in the house. The furniture in here was old but comfortable. There was a large Persian rug splayed across the centre of the room. And the wall was covered in history—pictures of the Falodun family for generations past. Most of the family treasures were in this room—the heavy draped curtains, the sculptures. It was also the room that had the most natural light in the house, and as such it was her favourite place tobe.
“Mo?” They were all looking at her. She removed the headphones.
“Sorry. Did I miss something?”
“I’ve been calling your name,” her boyfriend replied sulkily. “Your brother has invited me to join his match this afternoon.” Mo raisedher head and narrowed her eyes at Tolu, who was grinning. “Will you come?”
She didn’t want to. She sat up and swung her legs to the ground. The puppy—Sango—scrambled up from where he lay and followed her. The idea of spending the afternoon stroking her boyfriend’s ego and watching them kick a ball about did not excite her. But before she had a chance to reply, the lights suddenly turned off and the air-conditioning unit rattled to a stop—another NEPA power cut. The cuts were arbitrary and becoming more and more frequent. She sighed. If she and Ebun stayed home, they might end up barbecued.
The guys went ahead. Before the girls left, they dabbed their faces with powder and gloss and slipped into outfits that were a little more interesting than their loungewear. Mo brushed her thick hair into a high bun, and wore denim shorts and a T-shirt. She didn’t bother with jewellery. She grabbed her camera, determined to get something interesting out of the outing.
The boys were already playing when they showed up. Since it was simply a casual match between friends, Ebun and Monife made up fifty per cent of the spectators. Mo quickly spotted the boys on the pitch who were familiar to her—her boyfriend and brother were on opposing teams; then there was Chuka, whose nose took up most of his facial real estate; Oba, with his odd habit of wearing long sleeves no matter how unforgiving the heat; and handsome Dele, who she had once spent an enjoyable week making out with, something she could never tell her brother. Dele did look good, though. His forearms flexed and his skin glistened. He waved at her as he ran past, but she was careful not to wave back.
