Zara || A Nigerian Lesbian

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝚉𝙰𝚁𝙰
━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

Different, that has been me, but I have never come to terms with it. It scared me.

Knowing how I was living my life, it was like living in a closet with my body beneath a pile of clothes. I wasn't ready to come out. Even though Mum kept bickering about how I was jumping from one man to another - she did not know the battles I was fighting. Figuring out a way to survive in this society when you accept yourself for who you are, felt like a mission impossible.

"Zara!"

Quickly, I turned to the voice that called out my name, "I'm so sorry, Tunde. I wandered in my thoughts."

He sat up, leaving my bare breasts that weren't responding to his touch. "What's going on with you? Am I not satisfying you enough?"

"It's not that. It's just that..."

"That what!" He shouted. "For the past five months, you've been acting distant, like I am a plague. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Don't you dare scream at me. Do I look like those girls you run around within town? Respect your old age, please." Not waiting for a response, I picked up my clothing and moved to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

After a few minutes of grumbling and motivating my soul to be calm, I stepped out of the bathroom only to find out that he had left.

"Why did I even let him come to my house in the first place?" Throwing my unclothed body on the bed, I knew sleep was my next bus stop.

I woke up suddenly. Every thought from last night was in high definition. My eyes took in every ray of light through the windows, and without a doubt, I knew I had slept too long. The sound of kitchen utensils being used brought my attention to the fact that someone was in my house. I knew who it was.

Without hesitation, I put on my pajamas and waltzed towards the kitchen.

She stood there looking for god knows what, in her dashiki gown and headscarf. Old age suited her because she didn't look as old as she was - fifty. She was a woman who stood her ground no matter what - even if she knew that she was wrong. The woman definitely had control issues, but she had a big heart. After all, she was my mother.

"Mummy, good morning," I greeted as I stretched out my hand to pick up the cup of coffee waiting for me on the kitchen island. She knew me, I thought to myself, sipping the coffee.

Clearing her throat, she turned to me with a smirk on her face. "Zara..."

"Hmmm..."

"Why are you like this?"

Not today, Mum. Not today. My mother was about to preach the gospel to me. The look on her face reminded me of world war z. If anyone knew her very well, they'd know that the woman was about to go all in. And there was no stopping her.

"Zara, you are my daughter, o!"

I looked behind me to make sure she was talking to me and no one else. "Of course, Mummy, or did you adopt me?" I asked, putting down the coffee.

"I'm beginning to ask myself the same question. Maybe you were exchanged in the hospital, where I had you."

"Mummy!"

She raised her hand, shushing me up. "Don't even start. You are twenty-five, from a wealthy home, and you even make your own money. So it's not like you are dependent on your parents."

I pulled out the bar stool from the kitchen island and sat down. "Mummy, can you get straight to the point? I have some work to do today."

"Today is Sunday. You should not be working. And you already know what I am going to say."

"Mummy, do you want me to walk out on you?" I knew she didn't like that. It was my go-to technique when I needed an escape.

"I don't blame you," she retorted, adjusting her headscarf. "The Wellington's are going to be here this evening."

"To do what? Can't I have some privacy in my own house?"

"Privacy ni, privacy ko," she clucked her tongue. "I am your mother, so you do not need privacy. You had better come and help me in the kitchen. I don't even know why you don't have a maid."

"Maybe I should change all the locks in this house," I mumbled under my breath.

"Did you say something?"

"Err... I was suggesting that you can go ahead and do what you're doing while I go to the grocery store to get what we would need for cooking." I knew better than to say what I had said because I wasn't ready for her to leave her five fingers on my face.

"Which one is the grocery store again? Why can't you go to the supermarket?"

Scratching my head, trying not to embarrass my mother. I said to her, "A grocery store is the same as a supermarket."

She didn't say a word to me but rolled her eyes and continued her cooking chores. I shook my head and continued with my thoughts from this morning.

I needed love, and I needed to be loved. Out of the six men I had dated for the past five years, none met my needs. Not even the old-man from last night - I always got bored at some point. I wasn't sure if I was sexually attracted to them or if it was just my sex-starved body speaking for itself.

Deep down, I didn't want to come to terms with what my problem really was - I kept avoiding going to that place.

After this matchmaking my mother decided to embark on, I was going to figure it all out. Being miserable was not part of my life plan.

All I wanted was to be happy.