Dubem [A NIGERIAN STORY]

Chapter 8

Ms_Horrendous

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CONTROVERSIES

Yesternoon, as if I hadn't been suffered enough, my grandfather called. And for that, I cursed mother nature. If only he had seized his last breath before the damn call.

That would be so wicked of me.

My retired brigadier of a grandfather had a brief chat other the phone with my dad, firmly stating I changed schools.

It wasn't even a suggestion.

Consider all of the hardwork I'd managed to pull through this term, the vigour, the effort, the committment. Now he wants me to throw all of that away.

Nothing runs this way.

"For a start, he could have asked me. He could have asked me if I wanted to." I sat opposite my father at the dining table. If I had known earlier this was what he called me for, I would have pretended to have had a cold, or better, come up with a believable lie.

He ran a hand over his bald head. The tiny hair like structures were literally begging for survival, I really saw no good reason why he would hold his head like that.

He pulled his chair backwards as he stood to his feet, taking some few steps to the kitchen. He reached for the cupboard, standing at the tip of his toes.

"Aren't you going to say anything?". My arms flew into the air. I was agitated by the news yes, but I couldn't get an answer was more annoying. I was at the brim of frustration, I felt like biting my toes.

I stared at the white brittle material in his hands. It was the large ceramic mug I had awarded him on Father's Day. Let's just say my savings were pretty much... stolen.

The day before, while I was doing a room cleanup, I raised the soft stuffed furniture covered in leather beside my window to see the white large sized cup in all its glory; not really though. There were dry soiled particles covering the surface of the mug.

Why did I have to waste money when the answer was right in front of me.

But I hadn't just handed it over so easily. I couldn't get a better Father's Day gift so I tried the only idea that had popped into my head. I bought a Fifty Naira piece of cardboard and used a sharp scissors to split them in halve.

My father liked it. The way my detailed lines were well drawn, with the calligraphy pen in black ink across each words.

I didn't need much, and that was the only reason it went quicker. The opaque tape were used to coat the cut-out sides of the cardboard. Just like a badge. It was thicker.

He hugged me that day. 'He was really proud', he'd said. He said I had become much better. He encouraged me to draw more, and I could remember quite well, the impression on my face when he'd said 'I should be in the art field'.

He wanted me to be an artist. But Science was my first love, I'd taken much interest in it. He sweet talked me into believing that I had great and exceptional artistic skills.

But he was better than my mom...

"If it's your grandfather's will, then so be it". He raised his head upwards. "It's for your own good."

"Wha- why couldn't he just ask me first?" I asked agitated. There was an awkward silence that settled in the room.

"What do you think", he tilted his head from the side to ask me.

'It's not his place to say. You don't have full right over my life decisions' was what I would have said if he wasn't just giving me that stank eye.

I crossed my arm above my chest and gave him a look. "Would you teach at my school if I forced you to? Tell me, would you?"

"Young lady, I think I need to cast some sense back into that empty skull of yours. Have you lost your senses? Where are your manners?"

"Daddy!", I screamed, my hands flying rapidly across the room. "I'm fifteen for the love of God, I believe I'm supposed to have a say when it comes to certain life decisions like this. I live practically under the choices you and mother make for me. I'm not a kid anymore."

My father brought his head to his palms. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, and just the last word I never imagined I would have heard him say.

"Call."

"Call? What's that?"

And right just at that moment, my mother had made that her cue to interrupt.

"Is anything the problem. This one I was hearing loud voices. Biko you people should reduce your voices or do you want to break the walls of this house. Is this how you want our visitors to look at us when they finally arrive?", My mother said all at once. There was a twitched smile at the corner of her lips.

I could have sworn that the 'you people' used in her sentence was a clear reference to me.

"Honey, you never mentioned anything about visitors." My father said.

"Dubem", she motioned for my room. "Oya."

I raced to my room and slammed the door behind me. There was something off about my mother's behaviour, it was awfully astonishing I had to witness it. For the first two years and since the first day I saw that lady, she'd always hated me.

She seemed unusually happy.