Page 15 of Cursed Daughters
“Ah ah na. I just want to be your friend.”
“Does your wife know you are looking for friends?” The man glanced down at his wedding band, and then shrugged. “I have a big heart.”
“Uncle, just develop the film.”
“Nawa o! I am not that old na. Call me—”
“I don’t plan on calling you anything. We will come back in an hour.”
Despite her blunt treatment of him, or perhaps because of it, thephotos were ready when they returned. They each took half and flicked through them as they sat in the car. Mo came across the photo she had taken of the golden boy on the football field. His face was half-turned towards the lens and he was smiling. He was a Greek god.
“We are not going to turn into them, are we?”
She raised her head. Her cousin was holding a photograph of their mothers. She had caught them in a moment where both their masks had slipped. Aunty Kemi had no make-up on, and her hand was on her older sister’s shoulder. Bunmi was gripping the hand tightly. She looked defeated. They both did. Mo squeezed her cousin’s free hand.
“No. Of course not. We will meet the loves of our life and live happily ever after.”
“Doesn’t the curse mean that that’s virtually impossible?”
“Fuck the curse.”
Falodun Family Curse
Fikayo, daughter of Kunle, son of Tobi, daughter of Yemisi, daughter of Wemimo, daughter of Feranmi (the one who was cursed), was plagued with an autoimmune disease.
She was also the first of Kunle’s six daughters to fall in love. They stood together, before God and before man, and promised to be there for one another “in sickness and in health.” Perhaps she should have declared her ailment and given him a chance to make an informed choice; but hadn’t he said he loved her with his mind, heart and soul? Hadn’t he declared he would take a bullet for her? What was all that in the face of a little episode here and there?
And at first, it seemed as though their love would indeed stand the test of time. He sat by her side, fetched her water, wiped her tears and gently shushed her.
But then came her third episode; and then her fourth. He grumbled. He was distant. He no longer came running when she asked for a glass of water, a bowl to throw up in, assistance with cleaning up the vomit. He was busy. He had this event, and that meeting. He was gone for days. Her care was left to her sisters, who took it in turns to stay with her. And she was curt with them. She hated that they were there to witness her husband’s neglect.
“He had an unavoidable business meeting,” she would say. Or, “He needs to work hard to pay for all these hospital appointments.” And most of her sisters were polite enoughto nod and avert their eyes; except, of course, for Afoke, who went on and on about the bloody curse.
But her sickness was not due to the curse, and thankfully, she wasn’t always sick. Sometimes she could be wife—she could cook, she could clean, she could perform her duties in the bedroom. But always between them, the knowledge that it was only a matter of time till she fell victim to the fatigue, aches and nausea; unable to do for him, or for herself.
And one day, he declared that this was not what he had signed up for.
She was sick for weeks afterwards; she refused to eat, or to take her medication. She willed her body to ravish her. She begged death to come. But the episode ended. She was alive. And so she marchedon.
VII
A week later, they arrived at a house party in a group of nine—Mo and her boyfriend, Tolu and his latest squeeze, Chuka and his girl of the month, Oba, Dele and Ebun. Ebun was a little young to accompany them, but she refused to be left behind. Mo had assured Aunty Kemi that it was a chaperoned party and they would be back by tenp.m.
The house was illuminated in the darkness and you could hear “Whoomp! (There It Is)” booming from the other end of the street. It was a gorgeous house, all white, with four columns and a crest scored above the front door. It was vast in size, but news of the party had reached far and wide, so people spilt out onto the road.
As soon as she muscled her way to the main floor of the party, Mo spotted Golden Boy. He was dancing with a girl. The grace he had displayed on the field had not transferred to the dance floor. His hips failed to fully understand what his feet were trying to do and his arms were limp by his sides. But his dance partner was happy to do all the work. She was shaking her hips, her bum, inching closer and closer to Golden Boy.
“Do you want something to drink?” Mo’s boyfriend asked.
She turned to him. He paled in comparison to Golden Boy and she was struggling to recall what it was exactly she had seen in him. Tolu had already disappeared, and Ebun had been spotted by a friend from school. She gave him a small smile.
“I’ll have vodka and Coke.”
“One vodka and Coke coming up.”
He disappeared into the sea of bodies, and Mo returned to looking at Golden Boy, but he wasn’t where her eyes had left him. So she began to move through the crowd, waving distractedly at people she knew. She eventually found him propped up on the corner of a table, sipping his drink.
She walked up to him and laid her hand on his arm, forcing him to look up. His eyes were unusual—the colour of an amber traffic light, they held her in place. He was even more beautiful up close. She cleared her throat and gave him her widest smile.
