The rants of an antsy girl

23/01/2020

Thursday

The wind is howling outside my window when I wake up. Ebelebo tree branches graze my netted window to it's rhythms- a slight scratchy sound that is strangely soothing. The wind is so dry it feel like sandpaper on my skin and my nose hurts subtly from breathing in the dry air.
I am glad the harmattan season is coming to an end, but what is this?
I can hear my father downstairs, pacing the tiled floor, trying his supposedly polished accent on someone over the phone.
I remember last night and I stop trying to visualize what he might be doing.
A part of me is angry at him, very angry that it is almost as if it hurts. Another part of me wants to run to him and apologise, and beg him not to take me out of Sisi Onitsha's baking shop. Not to take me out of JAMB lectures. Not to restrict me from seeing Laju at her school. My life would be ruined if he has his way. Which he will eventually.
I pad softly down the stairs, wide and carpeted with the finest velvet. There is a wide railing at one side and a wall on the other. There are chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, too many of them enough to make the house feel cluttered. This is not so though since the ceiling is very high.
'Have a nice day. ' My Dad says conclusively. He is well suited and his big bald head is shiny in the morning light and his face grim.
He looks at me as I come down the stairs.
'Good morning Dad,' I say. I want to be angry with him but I am too scared to be.
'Ebiekutan,' He replies firmly, like I'm a business associate. I am a little annoyed. I get annoyed when he calls me that. He reminds me of his mother, the most unpleasant woman possibly in existence. She gave me the name.
He is a lot like his mother.
'It is good that you have woken up. Early enough to meet me.' He says in self dignified, sarcastic voice. He walks to the dining and I follow.
I regret coming downstairs with my nightgown, a short linen gown that barely goes past my knees; my Dad keeps giving me the side eyed evil eyes.
'The morning is not cold enough for you, eh?'
'It is.'
He does not say much on that again and he grabs the key off the table, hesitates a while and finally sits on his chair. He gestures for me to side at the chair opposite him.
He takes a deep breath before speaking.
'I want what is best for you Joan. This morning, I was speaking with your mother and I decided that it would be best if we helped you make a pathway in life. I love you very much and it devastates me to see you failing so much. Failure disgusts me.'
'I'm... I'm sorry Dad,' I say, bowing my head. I want to believe I truly am. I will myself to feel sorry. I ought to feel sorry.
'Anyway, I have business to attend to. Your mother wants you later at the shop.' He says and gets up. He stops at the door of the dining room and looks back at me, squinting his eyes like he's trying to remember something.
'The home tutor. I spoke to the person who was recommended to me. You will be meeting him on Monday,'
I go into the kitchen looking in the pots and that refrigerator. Our cook, Zita, comes in then. She is very slender and pretty but we don't really like her, my mother says she has malicious eyes and half of a normal person's brain. It influenced our relationship with her somewhat She also doesn't speak much.
'I no expecting to see you, Joan.' She says coldly. She doesn't seem to like me too, she uses a more pleasant voice when talking to my siblings.
'Yes. I stopped the baking lesson.'
'Hmm.' She says, and then. 'There is some bread in the cabinet there. I'm making Jollof for the evening.'
My spirits lift.
'Interesting.' I say, smiling slightly.
'What you mean interesting by?' She says, she is slipping on her oil stained apron that my mother has made mandatory for her.
'You can show me how to make it.'
She looks lost for a while, then it finally clicks.
'No, no. I not have the time. Your mother no need you in shop?'
I suddenly remember yesterday, Laju telling all those people that I was not a student of the school and the sight of Zita sickens me. I start out of the kitchen.
'Ah ahn. You din want to learn my Jollof cooking again?'
I ignore her and go back to my room.
My phone buzzes lightly as I sit on my bed. The bed I once shared with Laju. The bed on which we did midnight studies together.
Was her brain so big that she managed to get both our dream course? Well, it was her dream course and my parents dream course for me.
A text.

It's a pretty morning for self pity.

I stare long at the text. I begin to feel an uncomfortable fear, crawling under my skin.
The number is a private one and so I cannot even see it. I get restless and more uncomfortable when the winds become stronger.
My mother calls then and I jump in fright, my phone skids to the floor and the screen cracks a little. I pick the call finally.
'I need you here in the next thirty minutes,' She says.

...

Following the weird text, everything seems to creep me out. The man on the bus I took eating his banana with the skin on, the scary looking guys that where buying from my mother's shop when I came and now Efosa's unnerving smile.
He keeps smiling at me from the wooden barrier, like he's trying to reassure me about something but at the end, it just scares me the more. For a fleeting moment, I feel as if he had sent me the text, but then he doesn't have my phone number.
My mother leaves after a while, some friend of has just brought materials for her from Onitsha market.
'What for?' I had asked.
'My birthday! You forgot my birthday?'
I did indeed forget her birthday but I said.
'No. Of course not.'
Its awkward talking to my mother now. Since I went to see Laju, our conversations has been like someone was dragging chalk on a board.
'What!' I snap finally. I am tired of seeing him smile.
'I would call you an unpleasant girl, but I won't.' He said.
'You already did.'
'Do you know that honey is actually bee shit?'
This catches my attention and I look at him with lesser annoyance.
'Really?' I ask reluctantly.
'Yes. And do you know, fowls have the strongest beaks.'
'That,' I start saying. 'Is a big lie from the pit of hell.'
'Aha! I made you talk!' he says in elation.
I am smiling now. I cannot stop it.
'Congratulations!'
'So can I know your name finally?'
'Why?'
He groans.
'Women are extra.'
'I am not a woman. Yet.'
He raises a brow. 'Really?'
'Okay I'll tell you.'
A customer interrupts us. His mother sells stationary.
The customer is a grumpy one, probably not ready for Parenthood. He keeps complaining about the exorbitant prices of exercise books.
'Common book!' he spits and leave. Efosa apologizes as he stomps off.
'Why are you apologising?'
'Why can't I apologise?'
We make small talk and I eventually tell him my name.
'Joan.' He says, trying it on his tongue.
'Also, few people call me Ebiekutan. But don't call me that.' I don't know why I told him this.
'Isn't that a Yoruba name?'
'No. Itsekiri.'
'It is a nice name though, what does it mean'
'You will always have your family or more precisely, Family will never die. I don't want to always have my family.' I say dismissively. It's surprising that I'm saying this, that too, to him.
He laughs. 'I am sure you don't mean it. If names were wishes that came true, people will die to have yours.'
'I doubt.'
He is interesting to talk to and confident too, despite his effeminate voice.
As we talk, my mind wanders off and I'm thinking of why he is not in school.
'Your school hasn't resumed?'
'School?' He is a bit confused. 'Oh. School. No.' He says and everything gets awkward. Just before my mother comes from collecting the materials, I ask him.
'What would you do if you received a strange text?'
'Nothing' He simply says.
When I look at him in perplexity, he adds,
'This is Nigeria. You receive strange texts every time. Once one 419 sent a friend of mine her supposed examination results. We had so much fun insulting him.'
'Hmmm.'
'There are even many impersonations of the particular network you use and they send you texts every day.'
'Wow.'
'Here is my WhatsApp number. I really don't like to chat, I just view statuses.' I laugh at his matter-of-factedness and collect the piece of paper he is holding.
'Who knew that I would enjoy talking to you?'
'I'm fun to talk to, naturally.' He gives a dimpled smile and goes into the shop.
In the evening, after I send him a 'hi' on WhatsApp, he sends me an uninterested emoji and later remarks on how boring my status is. I post nothing other than fashion styles.