Entangled Hearts

Winifred

   

                          Winifred

         
                  Saturday in the okiyi's mansion was met with high spirits and busy preparations. The  compound had a brand new look, far neater than Winifred could even imagine. The fresh white paint on the walls, the over-pruned ice pants and hibiscus shrubs, the way the lawns in the mini garden had been mowed to look like a big mat of green. The fact that all the cars both used and rarely used had all been washed. Winifred had been totally very surprised when the gate man had already arrived with detergent to wash her mercedes before she even turned off the car ignition. The compound smelled, no oozed of fresh paint. The weird scent freshly painted walls gave.
         Her mother, Mrs Okiyi stood under the cabbanna piping hot and angry into her phone. Winifred knew better than approach her. If she did, she knew there was going to be no way out. That she would have to gladly be her mother's victim. The one that would  have to listen to her long and angry complains. Annoying stories, she normally wouldn't care to hear and then having to soothe her. Sympathize with her, if possible humour her every word and so, she walked into the house while her mother hadn't yet really noticed her presence, hoping to talk to her later during dinner, when she had eaten, freshened up, rested and then, had enough strength for her mother.
         The smell of fresh paint waxed even more strongly inside the house. There was even much more activity there. People moving furnitures, moving cartons. People just walking about, talking at a speed that was faster than the tongue permitted. Pretending to be too busy to notice her passing by.
         Upstairs was unusually quiet, it gave the feeling of being in a boat, afloat a sea of noise. Totally devoid of activities and people. Not even her father who she had expected to see in the living room, making a call, watching television or just dwelling in his peace of mind. Well, he had now been added to the list of people she would see during dinner.
         Her room door gave a short creak when she pushed it open. Everything was the same way it had been. Except for the high brown ceiling, everything was pink and a total contrast to her personality, everything that pointed out who she really was as a person.
         The feminine pink opposed her tomboyish movements. She wondered what Silver's reaction would be if he ever saw what her room at home looked like. For now, she knew she had to keep coping with it as long as she was under her parents roof. As long as her mother breathed in oxygen and exhaled carbon dioxide.
          The idea of a pinked up room was totally her mother's, one of her so-called efforts to make her a complete girl. To remind her that she was a daughter and not a son or her brothers. All because her mother believed that growing up under the influence of two boys made her act like a tomboy and having her room all pinked up was a way to constantly remind her of who she was.
          It was even more annoying because no matter what she did. Her little protests or anything, the room would remain pink because it was her mother's ruling and her mother was the one person that she could never go against. The other person was her father but he sometimes allowed her mother's ruling on matters like this for his peace of mind and so, it stayed. Her room at home was going to be pink as long as she lived under them. She couldn't wait to be independent, so she could do things by her own terms.
           Her bath and self care routine in the bathroom must have soaked up all her time like dry towel did on wet bodies . She was barely done with toweling when soft loud knocks started to resound on her door.
            " Who is it?", She asked, still patting her body with the towel.
            " It's Bisi ma, Madam said I should call you. Food don ready",
            "Already?", She said checking her phone for the time to see ' 7:00pm', scrawled on it.
            " Oh, ok. Tell her I'll be there soon", she replied, resisting the urge to sigh loudly.
  A little while later, the soft knock came again.
           " What is it Bisi?,  She knew it was her. It was only her who knocked that way. Timidly.
           " Madam sey make I bring you myself", she replied.
           "Ok", Winifred replied pulling in her tee-shirt.
           She suspected that Bisi had just timidly lingered around the door before knocking again. Her mother never gave second instructions to the same help, for the same errand.  All the instructions were given at once and even if they asked for as much as a clarification or a repeat. A long rebuke or slap usually followed.
           Supper was white rice with beans and tomato stew, a large patch of vegetable sauce nestled at the side. Her parents were already at the dining when she came down.  Her father sat at the head of the table dressed in one of his long muslin gowns, chewing slowly on his greens. Her mother sat on the next spot beside him, she was still wearing the gown from earlier.
          " Mum, Daddy. Good evening", she greeted, pulling out a seat. The one facing her mother, it had already been set. Her plate of food already sat on the table mat,  covered by a matching white enamel plate.
          Her father gave a nod. He was probably in no mood to reply but she wasn't bothered. Away from his friends, he was mostly like that and she was used to it. Only her mother spoke but for Winifred it was better she didn't.
           " You avoided me, when you came back", Winifred coughed, almost chocking on her food. She clearly had no strength for her mother now, so she wacked her brain for an explanation.
          " You seemed very busy and I didn't want to bother you. I also really need to use the shower", she replied. Half lie. Half truth.
          It wasn't totally a lie. She had felt tired after her forty five minutes drive and a cold shower to cool her limbs was the next best option. Her mother was actually busy anyways, screaming her lungs into the phone. Her mother did not react. She spooned food into her mouth instead. She had either bought it or had decided to allow it rest.
           The rest of their eating was warped in silence again except for the occasional sound of  running into tumbler, when any of them wanted a drink. Winifred liked it like that. No talk, just plain silence. Ten more minutes and she would back in her room to rest.
          " How was school?", her father asked all of a sudden, startling her.
          " It's going fine", she replied throwing a glance at him. He was sitting with his hands placed on top of the table and fingers inter- laced into each other. The plate in front of him looked fairly empty with a few rice grains splattered around the center.
  " That's good", he replied nodding. He looked thoughtful but Winifred knew better. He was done with her. With talking to her.
           He was always like that with them. His family. A brief talk and nothing else. Totally characteristic of him.
          Bisi was now at the table, packing up the  dinner things with her eye firmly fixed on the table. Her father rose first, taking the door by the left. The one that led to the front porch. Her mother sat back watching Bisi clean. The way she keenly watched her was as if she was waiting for the poor girl to make a mistake in her cleaning or probably break a plate, so she could deal with her. The air had become tense. That was her cue to leave.
           She rose, pushing her seat back to align with the dining table before mouthing her good night and running upstairs, before her mother remembered anything she had wanted to talk about or worse. Spotted a mistake with Bisi, so that all hell could rise.
    

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