Taming Femi

Chapter Nine

"Noooooo! Big sis, wear this one!!! The Army Green is so fine! It's calmer and more modest." She sat in a lotus position on my bed and I was literally two seconds away from throwing her out of my room!

I love my sister, you know this but aaarrgghh!! Her obsession with modesty can be such a pain in the butt. I mean, It's good that a fourteen year old is carrying modesty with her chest in this time and age, I'm so proud of her about that, especially considering how beautiful she is but Jesus Christ! Who wore a vomit colored dress on a date with a tall dark deep voiced man? 

This is the part where Ohi usually comes in. She's the fashionista of the house but the rat! After all that drama, she ended up travelling anyway. It was just me and Efe in the house. Ugh! I have to get rid of her.

"Don't you have an assignment to do or something?"

"I do, it's due in three weeks." She replied, a mischievous smile slowly crossing her face.

Right! She was on holiday! That's why she'd been in my house for the past two weeks.

"I love you. You know this but right now, you need to get out of my room."

The rat! She tipped back and fell flat on my bed! Laughing! The Efecacity of this girl! Oh it was on!!!

"You have two seconds to disappear before I descend on you." I'd already grabbed the pillow. I was taller. I had longer arms. Plus I'd always pull the age card. She lost every pillow fight before it began.

She jumped of the bed screaming and giggling as she ran, into the parlor I guess. Finally!

What would Ohi wear? I hum mentally, turning to face my cupboard.

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            I'm seething internally, but nevertheless, I turn to face my father again. This evening had gone from 100 to 0 real quick. I'd been on bloody Cloud Nine all day yet, one call from this man and my mojo was thrown off balance. Rats!

            I called Mr Deep Voice – I mean Mr  Babafemi - back after checking my schedule, which by the way, I knew was free. We planned to have dinner tonight. I'd picked out my outfit. The Red gown was to die for. I knew the thigh rise slit that climbed all the way to my left thigh could turn any man thirsty in seconds! I'd been so excited! So excited and then my father called and now, instead of being a goddess in Red, seducing Mr Deep Voice man, I was an upset daughter in vomit green, dealing with the woman who made me occasionally question whether I was adopted. And yes, I wore the ugly dress, to fuel my anger even more. 

            "Your mother said you have disrespected her. And, that you owe her N500,000. What do you have to say for yourself?" He huffed, quietly though. The man is used to his wife's dramatic antics and I know he only called me here just to hear my side of the story for ammo against my mum. The sly man.

            "What do you mean by that? I'm telling you that your daughter disrespected me and you're asking her what she has to say for herself." My mother interrupts before I can respond. Nothing new there.

            I'm still facing my father. Lord knows that if I face this woman, I will choose violence. "I don't know what she's talking about. As for the N500,000 can she please show you the alert where she transferred the money to me or can she remind me of the conversation we had were I asked her to borrow me money."

            The sides of my father's lips hitch up but he quickly coughs to cover the smile threatening to break out on his face. The poor man. He really didn't like being caught in the cross fire between me and his wife.

             "Oh hoooo! So I'm a liar ehn!" She hits her palms on her chest. "Victor! You are sitting here and watching your daughter call me a liar?"

            But that's the funny thing, you are a liar. The pages of my life are riddled with the lies you've told and the consequences of those lies.    

The thought strolls through my mind and I shake my head. This woman has forgotten who she's dealing with. "All my calls are automatically recorded." I say, pulling my phone out from my bag. "Calls between me and your wife are not frequent, so it would be easy to locate our last conversation. The N500,000 in question was supposed to be a gift from me to her. However, I can't give her the money anymore as a matter of principle."

            It was my father who spoke first. "And what principle is that?"

            "She has consistently advised against collecting money from "big men" as she likes to call them. The money came from a big man. So I can't give it to her." I press send on WhatsApp, forwarding the recording of the call to my father.

            "You're not serious!" She shouts, jumping to her feet.

            "Also," I continue, ignoring her. "As you'll hear in the conversation, she indicated that my marital status and lack of an offspring is a problem for her. So as of now, I won't be giving her any money until I get married. She can collect money from her other daughters who are happily married with kids." I drop the phone back into my bag right as she begins clapping hysterically.

            "Aren't you ashamed? You don't have shame. Your younger sisters are married with kids yet here you are. Is it money that is my problem? Keep your dirty money to yourself! Without a husband and children, your success is nothing but trash."

            "MABEL!" That silenced her. 

            I turned to face her now. To face the woman who told me I was worth nothing but my ability to cook and bear children. My eyes narrowed to slits as I remembered the things she made me do just so I could get married and give her a grandson that would "alleviate" her shame. If it had been left to this woman, I'd never have seen the four walls of a tertiary institution.

I give her a look that basically says "cash me ouhside, how bou that?"

I don't tolerate nonsense. It's a habit that followed me from childhood as the first daughter of an Urhobo man. We don't tolerate rubbish, whether it's from younger siblings to extended family members trying to be all up in my business about my marital status.

I certainly do not tolerate nonsense from the woman who told me for years that my father married a second wife because we'd all been girls and he needed a son to carry on his lineage. That had been a lie of course. He married a second wife because she'd pressured and nagged him into it.

I turn back to face my father. My mother ruined whatever childhood memories I had of this man but I will never forget that he'd never made me feel inadequate because of my gender. That had always been my mother. Some years ago, I'd thought it was him; all those words, all the things I'd endured in toxic relationships but now, at 31, I knew my mum had been patriarchy's soldier.

I prop my hands to raise myself up from my chair. "I'm very tired, I had an exhausting day today." I reach my father and hug him where he sat.

He stands up and hugs me properly, "Let me walk you out."

Even though I knew I'd cry myself to sleep tonight, I couldn't leave without getting the last word and so I say, in a loud exaggerated whisper, "I'd have sent you the N500K but I know you'll give it to your wife, so I'll spend it on you instead. If you're not busy on Saturday, please let's go out." The momentary victory puts a smile on my face. I may not be good at fistfights, but when it comes to a battle of wits and words, I am my mother's daughter.

Mama Efe 0 – Unmarried, childless daughter 1.

*********
Oouuuuuuuu trouble in paradise!

So for those of you who read Tseju's Bayo, you know Tseju had a beautiful relationship with her mum. In this book however, i wanted to shed light on the toxic side of mother daughter relationships. I hope this isn't triggering for anyone and if it is, my sincerest apologies.

Please, if you want, feel free to use the comments as a safe space to share your experience with a toxic parent.

Alsooooooooo!!!!! Who else is anticipating the date  with Mr Deep Voice 😩😩😩