The rants of an antsy girl

22/01/2020

Wednesday

The air smells bright as I drop from the commuter.
Sisi Onitsha owns the bakery where I learn. Though, I won't call it a bakery, rather, a small shop. She has the fluffiest of all the finest cakes around and for someone who would most possibly be tagged as an illiterate, seeing as she is a secondary school drop out, by my Dad, she has a very open mind.
Her cakes follow the latest flavours and icing designs. She is a natural.
She is also a living gist. She knows most of the juicy things that happens in the city, even though she can barely read.
When I get to the bakery, she is the only one in, mixing sugar and butter for some cake.
‘Joanna!’ she greets a little too delightfully. I have given up on trying to remind her that my name is Joan, not Joanna.
‘Morning ma,’
‘How far? You look spec and spicy today!’ she exclaims. For Sisi Onitsha, everyone looks spec and spicy everyday, even if they don't actually look good. We allow her though, someone needs a little hype from time to time.
Suddenly I remember my Dad and his glorious announcement. This is the perfect time to tell Sisi Onitsha of my unplanned and abrupt end to learning baking. Once the many throng of apprentices come in, everything in the likeness of privacy and peaceful quiet, flies out the window.
‘Erhm... Sisi Onitsha,’  I start. This woman has barely even began the teach me the many deep mysteries of baking.
‘I have something important to tell you,’ I say, heaving my large brown bag up some high stool. I don't know why I punish myself everyday carrying this bag. I don't even know what it is that makes it heavy.
‘Okay,’
I take a deep breath and just when I'm about to spill, her phone rings and she signals that I continue the mixing.
She has a very funny way of picking calls; she holds her phone in one hand like it's alien to her and pokes the screen with a finger. Violently, if I might add.
She's shouting loudly into the phone. The person at the end of the line must be deafened now.
When she is done, two other girls arrive and after that, a customer comes and the rest of the apprentices.
By noon, my pathetic resignation speech is stuck in my head.
I have to be at my mother's shop by one thirty, because that is when I finish from Sisi Onitsha's but I had to lie that I wasn't feeling too well.
I intend to see Laju.
The last time we spoke, she told me she was at the NDDC hostel. Sometimes I don't even understand her. We live a stone's throw from the University, but she insisted on staying in the school hostel, so she would be able to focus on her studies. Of course my Dad agreed, but I believe she was trying to spite me.
Today, I will put that aside and act like the elder sister I am, to go see her.
If Benin commuters are bad, the school's shuttle is the death of me. The way it rattles uncomfortably on the road.
The hostel is the easiest to get to, it is by the side of the road, that is, after many curves and speed bumps.
Why are there even speed bumps in the first place?
It is when I alight that I realize how stupid I am. I did not call to tell her I was coming.
When I call her, her voice is groggy like she's been sleeping and when she recognizes mine, it becomes snappy.
She comes to me at the gate wearing a hoodie and some sweatpants, her eyes are puffy. She's somewhat taller than me and she has the finer facial features, the better shaped breasts and the most graceful walk any person could ever have.
‘What is this Joan? You should have called me!’ she says after we hug. It was a quick side hug.
‘I'm sorry, I forgot.’
‘How can you forget to call the person you want to see? What if I was in class?’
‘Well you are not in class. Let's go inside.’ I really want to go inside because I've heard of how nice it is and all. They say it is the best of all the cold hostels. On the day she moved in, I was too busy at Sisi Onitsha's that I couldn't come.
I make to go in, she pushes me back softly.
‘No,’ she says, averting her eyes from mine, which I'm sure is boring.
‘No? Why?’
‘You can't come inside. There are...there are Porters and unpleasant people... University people...’
‘What!’ I shout. Some passerbys cast us glances. ‘Your excuses are ridiculous! I'm not dumb!’
‘Lower your voice before you attract unwanted attention,’ she hissed.
I have a flaw, I don't like people younger than me, especially Laju, telling me what to to do and so I increase my voice.
‘Really? Attention?!’
‘Stop this Joan,’ Laju says, frowning.
‘So you are ashamed of me!’ My voice is louder now.
‘No Joan. Just shut up!’
This gets to me and I jab a finger at her oh, so glorious breasts and shout even more. Laju covers her face. So she really is embarrassed by me.
‘You are wicked to even be embarrassed by me! You hear!’
‘Shut up! Get out of this place! You don't belong here!’
Her words bite me and in infuriation I grab her ears and shake her head furiously. She is screaming and people are coming to us. There is a tall guy dragging me from her, telling me to leave her ears alone. His cologne is choking and it angers me. I direct all the anger at Laju, those poor ears.
Laju is screaming to hard and many people are around us. My head is swimming with anger and I barely know what is happening.
Someone pulls me from her and she skids back into the arms of concerned people, her hands holding her ears protectively. Her head keep bobbing up and down, and I see that she is crying.
It angers me some more and I try to grab those ears again, they ought to bleed. The people hold me back.
‘Do you know her?’ Tall, choking cologne boy asks.
I take huge breaths. It is hard to breath when you are angry. It is like the anger stuffs up your lungs.
‘No I don't!’ she says in a phlegmy voice.
‘She's a liar! She's my younger sister!’
‘That is a lie!’
‘Sister, what level are you? What department?’ Someone asks me.
‘She's not a student of this school!’ Laju spits.
I hang my head in shame as people begin to talk. One person offers to call a security officer. I manage to leave from there, my anger boiling down now.
Those words, She is not a student of this school, they keep playing in my head. People may have thought she meant I was from a different university. But it cut deep because I know exactly what she meant.
And how she had meant it to taunt me.
...

I get two slaps from my mother when I get to her shop. She is livid with anger and her nostrils are double their normal sizes.
‘What were you thinking! Waylaying your younger sister at her school?’
‘No. I just went to see her,’
‘By almost tearing her ears from her head? You are nothing but a disgrace!’
‘Mommy–’
‘Don't Mommy me. And I don't want to hear another word from you. Not a word.’
A few customers came and went then my mother grew restless. She's the one I take after when it comes to walking about.
‘I'll be back.’ She says coldly and leave.
Her shop is a small square one like the many others in the building. She put an umbrella outside and a show glass where some fish rolls and buns are out for display. As I watch, I notice a fly in the show glass, dancing around the snacks. I take the key and proceed to get it out when someone calls me.
‘Ehrm... Hi,’
It's a young boy, maybe a bit older than me, with the most dimpled smile I ever saw. He was looking through the wooden rack that served as a demarcation between our shop and the other. I just notice this and it's a bit strange. The last owner died months back, before the Christmas and people had refused to rent the shop.
When did this happen?
‘Yah...’ I answer.
‘Where do you buy water around here?’ He has an effeminate voice.
‘We sell water.’ Okay, that was a little bit too curt.
He comes over to our side holding a weathered green note. He is tall, not too and he has a slight build, with a haircut that makes head look like a polish toucher. His eyes look mischievous, clashing with that innocent dimpled smile of his.
‘I can't collect your money,’ I say after handing him the water satchet.
‘Aww... Why not?’
I don't like it when boys aww. It can be irksome. For some reason, it reminds of that guy in the bus, trying so hard and also in futility, to look cool.
‘Its bad. They won't collect it.’
I go back to getting the fly out of the show glass.
‘Typical Naija girl. Who is they?’
I shoot him a look.
‘Okay sorry. I'll get it to you later.’
‘Which later? Bros, please go and bring the money or return my water.’
He belches and says sorry, that the water is all gone. If only this boy knew how upset I was.
‘I don't like to talk too much o,’ I say warningly.
‘Calm down sis. I sell in this shop.’ he gestured to the new shop.
The fly finally goes out and I lock the glass quickly.
‘Congrats. My money please?’ I stand up and dust my knees and jeans. It's futile though, since all the ear dragging made it dirty and browned.
‘Wow. You sound and look irritated. I'm Efosa.’
‘Okay.’ His presence is bothering me now. It's a vague bother, but it's uncomfortable.
‘So... I'll go now. I'll pass you the money’ Then he goes back to his shop. Some moment later, his mother comes. She is a short limping woman with drawn in eyes and jutting collarbones. She is wearing an old pink sequin blouse and a fading wrapper. They look worn like she has been wearing it all her life. She looks seventy but something about her tells you she's younger. Her face has a way of telling how much hunger she had suffered, perhaps, still suffering. Not fleeting hunger, but a deep haunting hunger, the kind that sapped every form of hope.
When my mother returns, she starts asking the woman unnecessary questions.
‘Did you know the man who was here before died? My friend who used to sell here told me.’
‘Are your goods original?’
‘Is he your son? He must look like his father then.’
I am about to die of embarrassment when she finally pulls away to make some calls.
She's talking to my civil engineering brother, Destiny, she's calling him names like, the fire that burns in a father's heart.  Then she tells him of my insolence and stupidity. How my jealousy almost made me kill my own blood.
I almost want to scream at her when she ends the call.
I fret as we ride home and ignore my mother as she talks about Efosa's mother. Each thought of meeting my father fills me with overwhelming dread, I almost want to start crying.
‘Shes just some old hag. I sensed it the moment I saw her, that was why I commented on the boy's father. She probably doesn't know him again. Hag!’
When we get home, My father is sitting on one of our plump, overstuffed  armchairs in our stainless, glassy and esquisite sitting room. He is still wearing is day suit, he never seems to be out of suits and  he has crossed one leg over the other and he is swinging it slowly, ever so calculated.
‘Welcome,’ He says to us before I even get a chance to greet him. Fear has clouded my nostrils and my armpits begin to sweat in the air conditioned room.
My mother shoots him a worrisome look and leaves for her room, slowly. I dare not move.
He tells me to kneel down, his voice silky and free of any anger.
He gets up after I kneel and slowly unbuckles his belt.
The thrashing came quickly after that and my voice coarsed.
‘You are not to see Laju without going with either me, or your mother. Understood?’
I nod, still whimpering. He gets up and goes, his tailored suit jacket blowing behind him and his shiny shoes going clip clip on the tiles.