Page 78 of Cursed Daughters
Eniiyi wasn’t sure she was completely behind the logic, but she was moved by the thought. She wouldn’t have said she was a tattoo girl, but she got excited looking through the catalogues. Zubbyinsisted on getting one in solidarity. He picked a Latin quote—“Alea iacta est.” But she flipped past the quotes, past the zodiac signs, past the images of celebrities until she finally slowed at the birds of prey. She settled on the black kite. She liked the intelligence in its eyes—she would have the artist focus on the eyes, and the hooked beak.
It was expensive—a hundred thousand naira, which Zubby said he was happy to pay. The tattooist talked them through the procedure, and then sat them down in adjacent chairs. Eniiyi chose to have hers done on the side of her body, just below her breast, and Zubby said he would have his behind his ear. She gritted her teeth through the pain. Zubby’s was finished before hers. But she was happy with it when it was done, even though her skin felt raw and sensitive. The bird was two inches long and about three inches wide, and the artist had inked it mid-flight.
She listened to the instructions about bathing, and caring for the tattoo whilst her skin healed, and then they were out in the sunshine once again. She hadn’t realised how gloomy the parlour was.
“How do you feel?” Zubby asked, blinking into the sunlight.
“Weird. Terrified.”
“Do you regret doing it?” he asked, taking her hand.
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, feeling the warmth of his fingers clasping hers. “I did it for myself.”
—
She gave herself to him—unreservedly and generously. And he responded to her with the enthusiasm she had anticipated but with a gentleness that brought her close to tears. It should have felt strange to her, to have a person become so intimate with the parts of her that she had never paid mind to; but it was Zubby and it could not have been more right. Her body dissolved into his. And then they began again.
III
“I am dating someone. I have a boyfriend.” The announcement was made to the backs of the three women. Ebun was pounding yam, seated on a stool with a massive mortar and pestle. She had her skirt bunched up round her waist and was going at it as though her life depended on it. Grandma East was standing at the counter chopping okro. Grandma West was seated on a chair carried in from the dining room and had been given a task—plucking the spinach leaves from the stem.
The three women turned to face her. Her grandmother was beaming, her grand-aunt looked faintly confused. Her mother simply raised an eyebrow.
“Mmm. Really. And does this someone have a name?” asked Ebun.
“Don’t we all?”
“Funny.”
“Zubby. His name is Zubby.”
“Ah. An Igbo boy?”
“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”
Her mother raised her hands. “I was just noting it as a matter of fact.”
Eniiyi backed down. She was too ready to fight. She should give her mother the benefit of the doubt.
“Where did you meet him?”
“I…It was at a beach.”
“What beach?”
“Just…a beach. In Lekki.”
Her mother narrowed her eyes but chose to moveon.
“Is he your age?”
“Yes.”
“Well. When are we going to meet him?” her grandmother said.
“It is still early days, Grandma.”
“You want to wait for it to be late days before you introduce him?”
