Page 33 of Cursed Daughters
“What about Eniiyi?” she said.
“It is to do with Monife’s reincarnation,” began Aunty Bunmi. Ebun hissed and tried to stand, but Mama G clamped a strong hand on her arm, holding her in place.
“You need to listen o. One man from my village, na photocopy of his papa. Everybody say he talk like his papa, he walk like his papa. Then he begin smoke igbó like his papa, he dey even drink palm wine like his papa. And as Ogun is my witness, the same way his papa crash his motor and die, he too enter car, crash and die.”
“I don’t know what you are trying to say.”
“This reincarnation matter no be small thing o. Sometimes, the people wey return, they no dey live for long. And sometimes, dey die, the exact same way dem die the first time. You are her mama, Ebun—you no fit hide from this. You must save this child from herself.”
Ebun wrenched her arm from Mama G’s grip.
“And how would you suggest I do that? How would you suggest I ‘save’ her.”
“No be small matter at all; but I can start to beg the gods for her sake.”
“For free?”
Mama G began to hmm and ha. Ebun stood up abruptly. She had had a long day, and she hadn’t even had a chance to see Eniiyi yet. “I don’t want any part in your delusions. And I don’t want you anywhere near my daughter.”
“Ebun,” her mother warned. Ebun turned to face her.
“No. I thought you were better than this.”
“I want Eniiyi to live. I don’t want any more tragedy to strike this family.”
She considered the three women in the dim light—her mother with her weave on, and her polished nails; Aunty Bunmi, who was lining her cheek with tobacco; and Mama G, whose tribal marks were scored deep into her forehead. She would be foolish to let them lead her down this path of fear and superstition.
Yet as she walked away from the west living room, she recalled her cousin’s visit in the hospital, Eniiyi’s healing scar, the uncanny resemblance between the dead girl and the baby; and she couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps something sinister was at play.
Falodun Family Curse
Kemi, daughter of Afoke, daughter of Kunle, son of Tobi, daughter of Yemisi, daughter of Wemimo, daughter of Feranmi (the one who was cursed), met her husband at age seventeen, while visiting her aunt on the outskirts of Lagos. He won her over with baubles, and trinkets, and his smooth-talking Yoruba. At first she was happy to take and take and take, too young to consider the consequences of her actions. She wore the dresses, showed off the expensive jewellery and boasted of the old man whom she had wrapped around her little finger. She was certain her friends were jealous of her. She was beautiful and all this was simply her due.
But when her forty-five-year-old suitor asked her father for her hand in marriage, she was shaken. It wasn’t that she minded his company—he had taught her to play ayo, and cook egusi, and sometimes he could even be funny. But she had always imagined she would marry a tall, dark young man with a six-pack. She figured she would marry when she fell in love. But no one asked her what she wanted—her mother handed her over like a lamb to the slaughter.
She quickly birthed a boy, securing her place in her husband’s home; but sadly, her husband only had a few more years to live—and, she soon learnt, he had done nothing to protect the future of his young wife and his toddler.
What choice did she have but to find herself another mate? Her second husband was introduced to her by a mutual friend. He was indeed tall, dark and handsome. He was also cruel. She lasted as long as she could, fielding his fists and insults; but when he turned his anger to her son, she packed their things and fled.
Kemi birthed two boys for her third husband, a man with a bottomless wallet and a bottomless amount of girlfriends to go with it. But she knew what she was getting herself into when she married him. Over the years, she had herself checked regularly—she wanted to get ahead of any sexually transmitted diseases her husband might catch along the way. She found herself confiding in her doctor, then laughing with the doctor, then kissing the doctor; and becoming pregnant by the doctor. It was the closest thing to love that she had experienced, so she didn’t entertain the idea of getting rid of the pregnancy.
But when her husband learnt of the affair and, subsequently, her illegitimate child, he threw her out of the house. And so she retreated to her grandfather’s house with the child that needed her the most—her baby girl, Ebun.
III
As Eniiyi grew, Ebun watched her become more and more like Monife. Her hair thickened, tightly coiled but softer than a cloud, her legs stretched long, her skin sucked up the light, she had begun to favour her left hand, her smile came often and easily, and she watched them all with increasingly curious eyes.
It was those eyes that gave Ebun the greatest discomfort. They were starless and knowing. These were not the eyes of a three-year-old. They had known sorrow, and even when they twinkled, the joy was tinged with restraint. Monife had inserted herself back into their lives, and Ebun could only imagine it was so that her cousin could experience her unravelling up close.
She didn’t know what to do with this child that was hers but not hers. She found herself handing Eniiyi to her aunt more and more. She told herself it was her job that was keeping her from her daughter, that work was the reason she was so irritable. What would Monife think of Ebun’s motherhood?
One evening, late from work, she entered the Falodun home, dropped her keys and made her way to the west living room. She figured it was the perfect room to escape to. She had taken great pains to renovate it; she had always found it unnerving how little change took place in the Falodun house. She had it repainted and paid a carpenter to build new chairs and a new sideboard in a more contemporary style. But of course, for whatever reason, the mothers had decided this particular living room was where they would also relax.
As she walked into the room, she noted that her family had takentheir usual places. Her mother was watching a wrestling match and her aunt sat on the sofa reading a newspaper and chewing tobacco. In the centre, on the floor, Eniiyi lay on her stomach intently drawing on the sheet before her, with her tongue sticking out. Sango was beside her, one paw on the paper, gently snoring. It was a charming scene. She almost didn’t want to disturb it. Would they notice if she just went up to her bedroom? She took a quiet step backwards, and her mother raised her head.
“Ebun. Kúl?´.”
She’d missed her chance. “Yes, ma. ? káal?´, Mum. ? káal?´, Aunty.” She put on a smile, sat on the sofa and kicked off her heels, massaging her feet.
