Page 104 of Cursed Daughters
“No, ma.”
The woman stepped right up to Eniiyi, looking up at her face. Eniiyi tried not to shrink away.
“Ah…okay. Na you be the little baby. Eniiyi!” The woman grabbed her with a surprisingly strong hand. “Do you remember me? I am Mama G. I am Bunmi’s friend.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, ma,” said Eniiyi, before turning back to Osagie—but Mama G was not done.
“Nawa o! You even sound like her. Not the Britico accent o, but that deep man voice she carry. And see your eyes!”
“Mmm.” She really didn’t need this. She wished the strange woman would stop.
“Ah! I almost say na ghost I dey look at. Even with this your bald head, you are her carbon copy! Be careful o. People who return can still make same error.”
Eniiyi felt distressed. She heard herself stammering. “No! No. I…have this birthmark…” She twisted and pointed out the lighter, mottled patch of skin across the back of her neck. “My aunt didn’t have this.”
Mama G dismissed the mark with a wave of her hand. “Make sure you don’t die o! If you need spiritual—”
“Madam, that’s enough!” Osagie cut in. His tone brooked no argument. Eniiyi had never heard him sound so…pissed. “If you cannot respect this family and this function, at least respect yourself.”
“Nawa o! Wetin I do?” Mama G hissed, then eyed up Eniiyi one more time before turning on her heel and leaving the kitchen.
“Thank you,” Eniiyi mumbled. She hoped he wouldn’t ask any questions about the bizarre encounter. She returned to plating food.
“Wait,” he said, and she swivelled back. “You…you have vitiligo?”
“What?” He raised his hand and touched the back of his neck, and she mimicked the movement—cool fingers upon her now naked neck. “Oh! My birthmark? I…”
“That’s vitiligo,” he stated. And she thought about it, the look of it, the pale beige against her mahogany skin. How had she never…She had taken the fact that it was just a birthmark for granted.
“That’s pretty rare. I don’t know anyone besides myself that has…” And then he stopped talking. Oblivious, Ebun was in the corridor, speaking to an elderly guest who had demanded her attention. He looked at Ebun, back at Eniiyi and then at Ebun again. He wasn’t saying a word, but Eniiyi could guess what he was thinking: vitiligo could be genetic. Perhaps she had been wrong thinking this man had only just come into her mother’s life.
“Excuse me,” he said, before brushing past Aunt Ashley carrying in another plate of food.
Aunt Ashley watched him disappear and then turned to Eniiyi, who felt as though her world was shifting beneath her feet. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t really know,” she said.
VII
The cathedral was built in 1865, and was likely the only surviving architecture of that period in the heart of Lagos. It was a magnificent building, with stained-glass windows depicting the saints. The church was filled with ornate benches, and endless lamps. Historically, the Faloduns had attended this church, and Grandma East still worshipped there now and again. The songs backed by the organ were beautiful and haunting. The vicar preached of a hope in heaven; and then it was time for Eniiyi to take the stand and give her tribute, as Grandma West’s granddaughter, though of course she wasn’t; but the lines had been tangled for all of them a long time ago, and this was not the time to unpick the knots.
She spoke of a woman who was fierce but soft; who was heartbroken by the time Eniiyi had been born but who still had abundant love to share. And then they laid Bunmi—beloved mother, sister, grand-aunt, teacher—to rest in Ikoyi Cemetery, beside Monife. Eniiyi tried to ignore her discomfort, standing before Monife’s grave, but she felt as though a hundred ants were running up and down her skin. The grave was poorly tended—no wonder Monife would not be contained here. She had died at the age that Eniiyi was now; Eniiyi had turned twenty-five in the days since losing Grandma West.
“You have to let me move on now,” she whispered. “But either way, I am done being your vessel.”
She felt her phone buzzing in her pocket. It was a text from Zubby. He was at the cemetery. He was dressed in all grey, and she knew he would have thought about what the appropriate colour for the occasion might be. He was so beautiful.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see my girlfriend. Who has apparently cut her hair.” She didn’t know what to say. “You look good. Like an African goddess.”
“Thank you.”
“I heard about your grand-aunt. I wish you could have told me. I’m sorry. For your loss.”
“Thanks.”
“Eni…we are okay, right?”
