The rants of an antsy girl

13/02/2020

Thursday

Once in 2014, our school, university preparatory school, invited a motivational speaker over and one thing he said that I am still shocked that I remember is that every dark situation had their own lighter parts, every cloud had a silver lining.
Even this cloud, thick and grey as it, has it's silver lining.
At least, today, my Dad is not suya, and his shiny head is still intact.
Even if I am in the middle of many tongue trashing and my feelings are a mess now because of fluctuating emotions and strong waves of nostalgia washing over me.
Even if there are names being thrown at me, with edges so sharp they cut my heart deeply, seeing him sitting here is enough to make me smile a small smile, through the tears pouring from my eyes.
'You disappoint us. You shame the Ofortokun name! You don't deserve any of us!' My Dad says.
'I cannot still believe this, seven hundred and fifty thousand naira? To sell your family?' my mother asks, still filled with daze.
Another silver lining is the fact that some how, Laju has kept Efosa anonymous, she keeps referring to him as 'the person who sent the text.'
Apparently, they think I am trying to steal my mother's money because I am in a secret gang where we deal in illegal stuff like drugs. My mother strongly believes that I am into drug. It doesn't help that two days ago, I desperately craved for a stream of painkillers in my blood.
'You are demonized.' She says softly, as if trying to grasp reality. The standing fan beside the chair she is sitting on turns to me and blasts me with a wave of air as if to support her words.
I look at her, her crazy pattern boubou, her long head gear, shooting into the distance. Her big African earrings, her shiny toe nails, her glittering skin, like fresh honey in sunlight. The way she crossed one leg over the other, moving it slightly from side to side.
Her face, splashed with a comical expression of confusion.
'You are smiling? Are you really smiling now Joan? Doing drugs?' My Dad asks me, his eyes are piercing, still they assure me, give me the strength to absorb everything, everything including Laju's condemning look, so dignified in her poise because she had revealed my dark truth.
'I don't do drugs,' I say for the thousandth time.
'Joan. You took my iPad, ventured to transfer my hard earned money into your account, to sponsor your illegal doings?'
I exhale in frustration, 'I am not doing anything illegal-'
'Then what the bloody hell are you doing with such an amount. Don't we give you enough? Why did you steal the money?' My Dad interjects. Rude.
I imagine myself, telling them everything, even the texts.
Now, I cannot do that, I can only feel accomplished when I look at my Dad, even his big bald head.
But I am ashamed too and I don't know how it is possible; being proud and ashamed at once.
Instead of answering him, I sigh heavily. It is a grave mistake I realize, my Dad hates it when someone sighs to his questions. His inner beast, the one he keeps tame by being sarcastic, resurfaces.
He jumps up from his chair and slaps me.
A swift impact on the sore left side of my face.
I stagger backwards, my heel digs in on the floor at the right moment before everything can result into a fall.
Annoyed by this sudden and impromptu gift, my head protests and burst with a rhythmic aching, timed to the unchanging tunes of my heart.
I wince, the pain is so painful that it will be insulting on my part to describe it- because my words will underestimate it.
My phone vibrates in my pockets then. A text.
Tears obscure my view and I blink them away.
When I blink, the blurred edges of the house, the tip of Laju's pointy nose, becomes so sharp and and clear, clearer than I've ever seen anything.
I walk backwards slowly, slower by the moment.
Then I feel a surge of anger towards Laju.
'Since you have your perfect daughter,why don't you let me be? Stop questioning me and insinuating I do drugs. What if I did?'
But I did not say this, instead I choke on my tears and cry softly.
My Dad sits for a while and then goes upstairs, giving me the coldest look as he ascends the stairs.
'You are lucky I haven't ousted you.' He says.
'I'm sorry sir.' I say quietly, my heart beats quickening.
'People send their children away at the age of eighteen, I have allowed you to stay and continually shame the Ofortokun name. I will not have it any longer, any more slip, I'll kick you out.'
It hurts to breathe now, to know that I was doing all these for his sake and he spits bitterness at me.
My mother follows, throwing me a look that makes me shiver.
Then I go back and sit again, I bury my head in my palms and try to breathe well.
It feels like I have been running a marathon.
Then Laju clears her throat, and I remember she has been sitting there.
I look up to her face, it has the faintest hint of euphemistic disappointment.
'What happened to you, Joan? You were not like this. What happened?'
'You happened to me bastard! You happened to me! You came and suddenly I have a record to set, I have a competition, I even have to fight to be recognized in the house!' I shout, startling myself, and jump to my feet, gesticulating wildly.
Then in a subdued voice, I spit; 'I hate you Oritselaju. I hate you!'
Healthy contempt. I shoot her a smile and go to my room.

...

There is a mango tree at the back of our house, it is opposite the window of the guest room, but some times, the branches grow out so long and graze my window netting.
Last year, it produced it's first fruits and we got mild dysentery from eating so many of them.
I climbed the tree with Destiny which we threw to Laju to catch.
We got an overall of thirty mangoes.
Destiny wanted fifteen, and he got fifteen. I wanted nine but Laju insisted that six was a ridiculous amount to give her.
Destiny told us to share them equally, I ask him to drop his so we would share all if them.
He said he was a man and men deserved more.
I got angry and asked him why he thought so. Then I walked out.
Later on, Destiny apologized to me so I could run some errands.
But now, I think on it and I consider Destiny. How would it have been if he had failed JAMB? Would he have to work for his meals?
I think not.
He would continue to get his meals like he got his fifteen mangoes.
He always gets his way.

Efosa
I waited n waited yesterdy, I waited @ d shop, I waited @ first junction, I waited @ Ikpoba mkt, I called n called. Call me- Efosa

Efosa
Wats up? Did d txtr carry out his threat? Has ur daddy reached safely? Was he bombed? Pick my calls! Efosa

Efosa
I tink I ve called almost 20 times. I'm worried, call me. Efosa.

Seven other texts that explains how worried he is, how he cannot leave his mother alone at the shop because she is tired of him not helping. If my dad was bombed because nothing on the news. Saying he would come as soon as he gets the chance. He even calls himself an idiot for getting angry at me.
I'm getting tired of reading his texts but there is another one.
It's from the texter.

Bravo! Plan C.

...

Mr Akhere is looking smug, like he knows something only him knows, a prized knowledge that people have died for.
He is wearing a faded grey suit ensemble, the trousers to big at the bottom and too much length that it covers the back of his dusty shoes.
I badly want to ask him what he has against combing his goat dung hair.
He takes his seat on that old sofa he loves so much, the softest one among the lot.
'I hear you stole.' he says, his voice is rich with amusement.
'I did. So?' I retort. I am scared but it doesn't matter much.
He chuckles a bit. 'Such nerves for a failure like you. Seven hundred and fifty thousand? I am perplexed.' he shakes his head.
I breath in the air in the room. I love the smell always, old books, old things, childhood. Farther from the sofas and television set, there are many boxes and ghana-must-go bags. One of this days, I will look through them but not until I deal with the heavy darkness this room places on my chest.
'Let me open the door today' he starts to talk. 'Please.' I add quickly.
He looks like he is giving in and suddenly he bursts into a mocking laughter.
'Thief.' he says, ending his laugh.
Chemistry makes my head knot, especially the inorganic part. I do not still get why I have to do chemistry and study chemicals. It is the kind of thing Laju loves.
'Lets strike a deal,' Mr Akhere says out of the blue. When I do exercises, he flips through his texts absent mindedly, like he is reading but his mind is somewhere far off, I see it in his stone cold eyes.
I put my pen down, carefully on the spine of my notebook.
'You read fashion catalogs and watch YouTube tutorials and you don't talk about me, or tell your father what I do with the free time.'
I chew on my bruised lips, a fat meat now.
'Why should I agree to this deal? It doesn't even make any sense.' I say.
Then it strikes me, how does he know I like fashion designing.
'How do you know I like fashion designing?'
'Oh, you spoiled rich girl. I know.'
'So you are the mystery texter.'
He lets out a frustrated sigh and whips out his phone, which is as small, if not smaller than Efosa's. I'd rather have no phone than use something like that.
'What is this mystery texter you speak about? You asked me before and now again. Tell me, who is sending you texts anonymously.' he is sly.
'You should mind you business and do do what you're paid for. Teach Chemistry and physics.' I reply, equally sly.
His sly smile freeze on his lips and his eyes are so cold that I cannot imagine it colder.
'Do you accept my deal?'
'To hell with your deal!' I spit.
His face is hard now. He gets up slowly, checks if the door is securedly locked and pulls off his belt as slowly as he can.
I shrink into my seat. I can smell my fear, it smells like too much onions in one's food, undercooked.
'You will tell no one.' He says and smiles a crooked smile.
'Tell no one what?' Perhaps, if I sound defiant he will stop.
My brain switch off then, and he begins to whip me.
There is so much anger, and I don't know why.
I start thinking of My mother's money, and that he is my mother.
Tommorow, I will ask Kamaru to fix in a camera.