Page 6 of Cursed Daughters
VII
On the plate was the head of an agama lizard in all its glory. She picked up the fork beside it, poked at the meat and then dropped the utensil.
“I think I’ll pass.”
“You cannot pass,” Aunty Bunmi informed her. “You are a mother now. You must learn to sacrifice for the sake of your child.”
“By eating a lizard?”
“By denying yourself.”
She thought she heard Mo scoff, but Mo wasn’t there to scoff. Only a week in and already being made to feel as if she wasn’t “mother” enough. Even now, Aunty Bunmi cradled the baby in her arms. Ebun had to engage in a tug-of-war just to hold her own daughter. The only time Aunty Bunmi readily released the newborn was when Ebun had to breastfeed. Even worse, Sango hovered, unwilling to be more than ten feet from the baby.
“It is a small thing,” her aunt continued.
“We all had to do it,” added her mother gently.
This tradition had been sprung on her as she readied herself for the arrival of the pastor. It was day nine, so already a day late for having her child prayed for, blessed and named.
She had wanted a simple ceremony, with herself and the baby in attendance, her mother and aunt; and Tolu, who was yet to respond to her invitation. He had moved out of the Falodun house a day after his sister’s funeral, a day after the birth of Ebun’s child, and he wasn’t taking her calls. So the ceremony would be even smallerthan she had planned. Surprisingly, her mother readily agreed to having a more intimate event. Ebun assumed it was because a single mother with a mystery baby daddy was more scandal than even Kemi was willing to bear, but she should have known better than to trust the easy acceptance of her terms; two hours before the pastor was due to appear, they sprung this ritual on her.
“I am not interested in fetish practices.”
“That is the problem with you young people, you think you know everything. This isn’t fetish, it is our culture. Our tradition.”
“What she is saying is the truth, Ebun,” added her mum. But if she was so confident that devouring a lizard was above board, why the hurry to get Ebun to consume the creature before the pastor arrived?
Ebun stared at the lizard. She was still adjusting to the sleepless nights and the sore nipples; she didn’t have the energy to fight anybody. She picked up the fork and knife laid on either side of the plate. The lizard’s head was covered in scales; its eyes stared sightlessly at her. At least the creature was cooked. She took as small a forkful as she could, and gulped it down quickly. For a moment she thought it was going to come back up, but she grabbed her glass of water and gulped the liquid, calming herself and her stomach.
There was a shared sigh from the two older women.
“Ehen! Now we can move on.” Her mother gestured to the wooden coffee table, where various ceremonial condiments had been laid on a glass tray. This part of the ceremony, at least, Ebun was familiar with. She hadn’t been to many naming ceremonies, but she understood that this was a far more typical practice than eating lizard. Her mum beamed as she passed the items to Ebun and Bunmi, stating the name of each thing and its purpose as they took a bite or a sip.
“Oyín: so that the life of our child will be sweet and happy; obì: to repel evil.”
“No evil will come near her,” added Aunty Bunmi. They collectively ate the honey and the kola nut.
“Àtàr?`: so that she will be as fruitful as the plentiful seeds.”
“Yes o!” Aunty Bunmi wiped tears away with her free hand, and Ebun pretended not to see. Instead, she directed her eyes to the sleeping baby, in her too-big satin dress.
“Òmí: so she will never be thirsty and no enemies will slow her growth.”
“Her enemies will not even see her.” And together they drank.
“Èpò: for a smooth and easy life.”
Ebun found herself sucked in by the rhythm and meaning of the words her mother was speaking. She would later blame the hormones, but she wanted all these things for her daughter. The palm oil tasted thick and harsh on her tongue.
“Ìy?`: because her life will not be ordinary. And òrògbó: so our child will live a looooong life. Amen!”
Amen! Ebun repeated to herself.
And then it was time for the actual selection of the names. Her aunt produced an empty bowl, then immediately dropped a fifty-naira note into it, symbolically buying her right to provide a name for the child. Ebun held her breath. If Aunty Bunmi dared to suggest the name Monife, Ebun would reject it. Could she reject it? She would find out then.
“What will you name our daughter?” asked Kemi.
“Motitunde!”I have come again.Monife would have been the less offensive choice. Aunty Bunmi was basically branding the baby a reincarnation. Yes, Ebun’s child looked like her cousin, but babies changed; this would not be her daughter’s final form. Ebun opened her mouth to speak, but her mother dropped money into the bowl, thus sealing the name.
