Page 59 of Cursed Daughters
She nearly choked on her asun. Her skin felt hot and it had nothing to do with the spiciness of the food. Even the cool breeze wasn’t doing much to keep her temperature in check.
“I…I’m a tough teacher. You might not like me much afterwards.”
He held out his hand. “I don’t think that’ll be an issue.” She took the offered hand and shookit.
“All right. Class starts Tuesday. I’ll send you the deets.”
III
There was a full moon illuminating the night. It stirred something in her, but she closed the curtains and withdrew into her room. Sango was in his corner, lying on his dog bed. She was well aware that when she wasn’t home, they made him sleep outside; but she was here now and she would make sure he got all the comforts she could offer.
She slipped into her T-shirt and then sat at her desk. It was late, but she didn’t want to sleep; sleeping meant dreaming, and dreaming meant the sand, the water and her dead aunt Monife. The dreams had been relentless since the Elegushi beach outing. Every night when she closed her eyes, Monife was there waiting. And in the mornings, she was plagued with Grandma West’s unblinking stare. She felt as if she was slipping, and Monife was taking greater and greater space.
She opened her laptop and continued her job search. She constantly wondered if those faced with genetic illness told the people around them, or if they kept it secret. Would they confess a potential life-altering condition to possible partners? Or would they stamp it down, as she had done, pretending that there wasn’t something inside of her curdling her cells, sending her headlong into a destiny that was out of her control? Their worry was physical, hers spiritual, but she did not consider herself more free. Perhaps it would have been easier to have a real diagnosis, to be told point-blank: yes, you are a reincarnation, and this is how you deal with it. Instead, she was left to fret, to wonder and to dream.
Still, genetic counselling was a novelty in Nigeria, although it had no cause to be, especially with how prevalent sickle cell was in the country. She would likely have to pivot to another career if she could not find the job she’d hoped for.
The lights were off and the house was quiet, except for the faint sound of the TV playing in the east living room. Grandma East would be leaning forward in her favourite chair, touching up her nail polish and watching men grapple with each other on the ground or hit one another with a chair. The more theatrical the action, the further forward her grandmother leant. But she was beginning to suspect that Grandma East’s hearing was going. If Eniiyi could hear the show, even faintly, from her room, then it was too loud.
The cream ceiling had loose spiral-like patterns that gave the surface texture and character. She stared at it. Sleep would come soon, and then she would find herself on the beach, looking out at the water, with her aunt at her side.
Not so. This time, she was standing in the garden under the iroko tree. But it did not feel like a dream. She was soaking wet, her nightshirt was sticking to her body, and yet it wasn’t raining. She shivered, and her feet were raw and cold against the wet grass. There was no ghost aunty in sight. Her hair was wet too, and felt heavy on her head; she wrung water from it with her hands and stumbled towards the door that opened into the kitchen.
Grandma East was standing there, and when she saw her granddaughter in the doorway, she dropped the glass she had been holding. Eniiyi watched it shatter into a hundred pieces. She found herself gazing at the tiny mirror shards. There were a hundred reflections of herself—her cheek, a toe, a nail, a quarter of her ear lobe…
“Eniiyi? What’s happening, why are you up? Why are you drenched?”
Eniiyi blinked. Not a dream. The lights in the room were too bright. Not a dream. She shook herself and met the eyes of her concerned grandmother, who was surrounded by broken glass.
“Don’t move,” she instructed the older woman. She found the brush and pan in the pantry and quickly swept up the pieces, checking she’d got everything with her bare hands, whilst trying to wrap her head around what was going on. She hadn’t sleepwalked since she was a child.
“Eniiyi?”
“Come, Grandma. Let’s go to bed.”
IV
“One of the hardest things to learn is how to breathe. If you can breathe correctly in the water, the rest will come to you.”
“You make it sound easy,” Zubby replied.
It wasn’t. Eniiyi still had memories of spluttering, her lungs burning for air. If she saw her coach again, she would probably cross the road, but in the process her lungs had expanded and she had learnt to swim.
They were at the social club, where she had renewed her membership. It gave her access to the state-of-the-art pool, but it required every penny of the money she made helping her grandmother keep on top of the accounts of her jewellery hustle. She made sure to use the pool when most people were barely out of bed, or at night before it closed.
Consequently, there were only a few other people there with them, and the pool was large enough that most of the time it felt as if they were alone.
Zubby wasn’t a terrible swimmer, but his arms were doing the majority of the work, leaving his feet with little to do. But what lovely arms they were! His clothes really didn’t do him justice. He had broad shoulders and nicely developed triceps. She could watch him wade in and out of the water for ever.
“Try and breathe out through your nose and your mouth whilst your head is underwater.”
He blew a series of very aggressive bubbles, and then popped his head back up and beamed at her. He looked like a very self-satisfied three-year-old, and she told him as much.
He responded by splashing her with water. She splashed back. And that was the end of the lesson. They spent the rest of the time pretending to be artistic swimming Olympians, only slowing down when they were exhausted. She trod water and watched him approach her.
“I hope you’re happy. I am pretty sure you learnt nothing today.”
He gave her a mock-sad face. “I don’t want you to think I’m not serious about these lessons…”
