Page 28 of Cursed Daughters
But she had found a chink in his armour. His words had been said to his empty bottle and not to her face. She swallowed her laughter by draining her mojito.
They fell to talking about the presidency—the disappointment that was the president’s run thus far; the seemingly arbitrary decision to change the national anthem whilst his citizens faced economic crisis; the lack of hope in the political process.
Funsho quickly ordered her a second.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” She said it as a joke, but his eyes widened and he began to stutter.
“I…no…I wouldn’t…”
“Please,” cried a frustrated Tobias, “ask this girl out and let us have some peace.”
It was her turn to stammer. Funsho was her friend and she didn’t want to complicate an otherwise easy relationship. The mojito was brought to a quiet table.
V
That night she dreamt of Monife.
It had been a long time, maybe six years, since she had last had a dream about her aunt. But there she was, looking out at the ocean, same as always. Her feet were drawing casual circles in the sand. She wore a T-shirt that dropped to just below her knees and her hair was like a lion’s mane. Eniiyi was aware she was in a dream, and in her dreams, her aunt was sometimes faceless, sometimes her mirror-image. Tonight, she looked tangible, wild and, most critically, alive.
She walked to where her aunt was standing, where sand met sea. “Fancy meeting you here,” she said to the woman who never spoke. She didn’t wait for a reply, which was fine, because she didn’t get one. She used to ask her aunt all sorts of questions: Why was she haunting her dreams? Did she have unfinished business? Why was she tormenting her? Why wouldn’t she speak? Was she a ghost?
Monife never answered any of the questions. She had never spoken or even acknowledged Eniiyi’s presence. So Eniiyi eventually gave up on trying to strike up a conversation.
When she was younger, she chose not to tell her mother or grandmothers about these dreams. Even without the supposed connection between herself and Monife, she knew the weight visions carried for the older women. And then the dreams had stopped when she left home for boarding school.
But now Monife was back as though she had never left, and for some reason, her return was making Eniiyi feel unsteady.
Perhaps all of this was simply her imagination working onoverdrive; this was, after all, a dream, not a meeting in the spiritual realm between life and death. Surely, if they were meeting at a crossroads, Monife would do more than simply look at the water. But she had chosen a striking setting—there was the gentle caress of the wind, the seagulls cawing, the cold wetness of the water tickling her feet and ankles. Eniiyi dropped to the sand, crossing her legs in the process, and waited for the moment she would open her eyes.
VI
Eniiyi quickly fell into the rhythm of home. She was unable to sleep past six a.m., because all three of the women who had brought her up were early risers. As far as they were concerned, the day began at six, and that was when they would decide the floors needed sweeping, and that they wanted to listen to their praise and worship songs. If they woke anyone up in the process, they were simply drafted in to help. So she got into the habit of rolling out of bed and taking Sango out for his morning walk.
The walk was followed by a series of chores—which was how she found herself responsible for the laundry, sweeping the house, dusting the shelves and scrubbing the floors each day.
When she was done, she would escape to the dining room, which lay between the east living room and the kitchen, and set up her laptop. She scoured the internet looking for a job as a genetic counsellor. After enduring a bachelor’s in biochemistry and a master’s in human genetics, she had assumed getting a job she wanted would be a piece of cake. She had seen plenty of clinical scientist roles, genetic tech roles and guidance counsellor roles advertised, but no posting for a genetic counsellor. She wanted to become a specialist who could assist and advise people dealing with inherited genetic illnesses. She felt a kinship with individuals whose lives were spiralling because of something a relative had suffered. As a last resort, she filled out a few applications for jobs in labs and hospitals, but she would hold out as long as she could for her dream role.
At 8:30 a.m., they would come together for breakfast. GrandmaEast would regale them with the latest gossip—so-and-so’s granddaughter had been caught cheating on her husband, such-and-such was being pursued by the EFCC. Her mother barely said anything, except to remind Grandma East that she shouldn’t be spreading things she didn’t know for certain; words that were quickly and firmly ignored.
Grandma West spent the entirety of breakfast time staring at Eniiyi with her big eyes. And after she had had a fill of studying her grand-niece, she would nod repeatedly as if confirming something to herself. Her mother had told Eniiyi to ignore it, but how could she? Ebun wasn’t the one enduring a stare so relentless that the moin moin became like sand in her mouth and she started to come up with reasons to leave the table earlier and earlier.
On this occasion, she decided to take herself for a swim. She needed some air and an opportunity to clear her head. She grabbed her swim bag from her room and then, just as she was headed for the front door, Grandma West appeared in the hallway as though by magic.
“Where are you going?” Her voice was frailer than it used to be, but there was still a sternness behindit.
“Swimming,” Eniiyi replied.
Grandma West’s eyes widened. “You will not go!” she shouted in English, bringing Ebun running from the dining room, a piece of toast still in her hand. “Tell her she will not go!” Tears were beginning to gather in the older woman’s eyes, and Eniiyi felt a stab of guilt.
“What did you do?” hissed her mother, coming into the hallway.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Stop her! Tell her she cannot leave this house.”
“Eniiyi?!”
“I only said I was going swimming.”
