Page 62 of Cursed Daughters
Her mother paused, then finally met her daughter’s eye. “Shewas…she was incorrigible. And kind. And rude. She was quite confident, like…” She looked away then, and when she raised her eyes again, the soft gaze was gone. “She was a shameless romantic. And it hurt her in the end.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. I mean nothing. This place is making me tired. Please, let’s go.”
As her mother turned to leave, Eniiyi quickly stuffed the little notebook in her pocket. Her mother abruptly turned back.
“By the way…”
“Hmm?!”
“You gave Mr. Obasuyi my number.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Obasuyi…Osagie Obasuyi.”
“Oh! The army pilot dude.”
“Air force.”
“Sure.”
“You gave him my number.”
“He was turning up at the gate every day like a lost puppy.”
“You could have asked me.”
“Okay. Next time, I will.”
Her mother started to leave again. Eniiyi let out a breath. Once more the older woman turned back.
“What did you think of him?”
“You could do worse.”
“Mmm.” And then she was gone.
VI
Back in her room, Eniiyi wasted no time delving into the notebook. Monife’s scribbled notes, page after page after page, were devoted to the Falodun family curse. Eniiyi had heard of the curse. Every now and then, her grandmothers would discuss it, and then they would change the subject when they spotted Ebun glaring at them. But of all the secrets haunting their household, Eniiyi had been the least interested in the history of the family spinsters. She had never thought it might have anything to do with her. It was just folklore.
Still, having it all laid out on the page was interesting. Aunty Monife had been a good writer, and Eniiyi devoured the tragic tales of women in love, women trying to survive, women having the rug pulled out from under their feet. The tales always ended with the female in question thrown out of her home by her husband, sent back to live at her father’s house.
Reading story after story, she could see both Monife’s talent and her obsession. It was strange reading about her flesh-and-blood relatives as though they were characters in a novel. She found the actions of the women questionable. Then she turned a page and came to Grandma West.
Falodun Family Curse
Bunmi, daughter of Afoke, daughter of Kunle, son of Tobi, daughter of Yemisi, daughter of Wemimo, daughter of Feranmi (the one who was cursed), found her man. And they were a handsome pair, she with her dark skin and high cheekbones, he with his magnificent build and deep pockets. She promptly produced two children for him, and her first child was a boy, so she had every confidence that she was secure in her home.
She knew of the curse. Even with a son to carry his father’s name, she did not take her marriage for granted. She cooked, she cleaned, she was careful not to raise her voice and she always deferred to him, even when she disagreed with his decisions. She followed him abroad, she bore the cold weather of London, the cold neighbours and the loneliness. She didn’t ask where he went on the weekends, or why he came home late.
Of course, she knew there were other women—she smelt the perfume, spotted the lipstick stains, found the odd condom—but she did not expect fidelity. As long as her position as the wife remained intact, she could and would look away. He was a handsome man and a wealthy one; those ìránú girls would always be in the picture. But her husband could rest assured that at home there would be a hot meal and her open arms ready to receive him.
What she hadn’t anticipated was that he would fall inlove with one of said ìránú girls. A harlot he referred to as an “independent woman”; as if he had ever suggested he wanted such a thing. Bunmi made his meals, ironed his clothes, packed his suitcases, mailed the bill payments and raised his children. She had a part-time job as a teacher in a nearby school, but his income fuelled their lifestyle. If he had told her he wanted something different, she would have become it. She would have dressed differently, hired staff for the house, applied for promotions at the school. She would have walked differently, talked differently. But no, he wanted this Nigerian girl who had never even set foot in Nigeria and spoke with a clipped British voice, not unlike Bunmi’s own children. A woman who teased him, and sometimes did not answer his calls. He was proud to tell her that she was even dating other men whilst she was seeing him. He told Bunmi that he would give her a month to sort herself out.
And so she and the children went back home. What else was there to do? She had tried to beat the curse. But the curse had won.
