Cursed Daughters by Oyinkan Braithwaite - 11
As they were heading back to Ikeja, Monife spotted a hawker standing in the middle of the road with a puppy in his arms. The black dog turned its head in her direction and yawned. She felt something within her shift. ‘Ebun, slow down.’ ‘What? Why?’ ‘Just do it. And press your horn.’ The hawker, quic...
As they were heading back to Ikeja, Monife spotted a hawker standing in the middle of the road with a puppy in his arms. The black dog turned its head in her direction and yawned. She felt something within her shift.
‘Ebun, slow down.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Just do it. And press your horn.’
The hawker, quick to spot even a sliver of interest, was already jogging in their direction with the puppy tight in the crook of his arm. She waved him over to her side and wound down her window.
‘How much?’
‘Mo …’
She ignored her cousin and pitched her chin up at the hawker, awaiting his reply. She noted how he eyed her up and down, trying to work out how much he could get from her. She let him do his thing. He would underestimate her haggling skills and that was just as well. She was still reeling from the interaction with Mama G; she would redeem herself in this exchange.
‘Two hundred naira,’ he told her.
She scoffed in reply.
‘This one na pure breed.’
She cocked her head to one side. The dog was gorgeous, its eyes dark and knowing, but it was no pure breed. It was probably a cross between a Newfoundland, and … perhaps a German shepherd.
Ebun started to try to talk her out of it – there really was no room for a dog in their life; she didn’t have a job or any conceivable income; Ebun’s mum was afraid of dogs; Mo’s mum would see this as further proof that her daughter never thought things through, never planned, lived life by the seat of her pants. Monife ignored her cousin and Ebun, realising she was getting nowhere, stopped talking.
‘Uncle, e good say I born at night, but no be last night. This dog na mutt. How much you dey sell am last?’
‘Madam, this dog cost o.’
She sighed. ‘Okay. I can see you are not ready to talk to me. Ebun, let’s be going.’
‘Wait, wait na! Oya, how much you wan pay?’
‘Ten naira.’
His eyes grew to the size of saucers. ‘Ah! I no fit sell below one fifty.’ He repeated the words to himself in Yoruba, as if reminding himself of his boundary.
‘Uncle, you and me sabi say this dog na proper mongrel. Make I carry am for thirty.’
‘Thirty too small na.’
‘See, by next week this dog go big! Even that thirty, you no go see again.’
She was enjoying it, this back-and-forth. There was something thrilling about the banter, the chase; the little lies you dropped, the lies you heard. He said something about the dog having come from abroad, even though she knew he had probably encouraged two stray dogs to mate in the bushes.
‘Oya, bring seventy-five; I go add dog food join.’
She almost refused his offer, but he was frowning. She could sense he was beaten; and more importantly, she had no food for the dog. She chewed her lip, sighed and then nodded slowly.
‘Okay o.’ They would both pretend they were losers, though the hawker was probably getting more than he had expected, and she had spent less than she had been willing to pay. He pushed the wriggling puppy in through the window, dumping it unceremoniously in her arms. Her newest friend immediately peed on her. The poor thing trembled; but this was not the place to comfort him. She would take him home and then the work would begin. She would start with a good wash. She wondered what ticks and fleas might have made their home within his thick fur.
‘What the hell are you thinking?’ Ebun asked.
‘What?’
‘A dog? Seriously? As if our house is not mad enough as it is.’
‘Then he will blend right in.’
‘Our mums are going to be furious.’
‘Are they? Fan-tastic.’