Cursed Daughters by Oyinkan Braithwaite - 12

The Falodun house was in more of a hamlet than a town. One day, it would be as though the church, the shops, the modern three-storey houses had sprouted from the ground; but in those days, there were only two other homes on the road named after Great-Grandpa Kunle, and there were at least two plots of land between their home and their neighbours’.

As a result, the street at night was pitch black and silent – no lamplight, no foot traffic, nothing but the odd rat scavenging from the bins. The lights of the Falodun house were a beacon calling them home. Mo opened the gate for Ebun, the noise aggressive in the otherwise still air. Ebun drove the Beetle into the compound and allowed it to rest.

When Mo walked into the east living room, with the trembling dog swaddled in her arms, she noticed that her brother was quick to hang up the landline. He gave her an apologetic smile.

‘Sorry. I thought it was Mum. She keeps coming in here.’

‘Who were you talking to?’

‘Dad.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Did he call you, or did you call him?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘You know it does.’

He chewed his lip and shrugged. ‘He asked after you.’

‘Fantastic.’

‘You should call him.’

‘I’ll pass, thanks.’

‘Wait, is that a dog ?’

‘Nope, it’s a cat.’

‘Funny. What are you doing with a dog?’

Aunty Kemi entered the room then, smelling of vanilla. She was wearing a white shirt dress, which was a style she favoured, and her waist was snatched in with a green belt. Her lips and nails were ruby red, so Mo suspected a man was due to turn up and take her aunt out.

‘You look lovely, Aunty.’ And she did. She could have been mistaken for a pint-sized model from the sixties. Aunty Kemi changed her hairstyle every week; sometimes it was braids, sometimes she would throw on a wig, and every once in a while she rocked her semi-natural hair. This time it was pulled into a low ponytail and pinned with a bow clip. She wore a pair of black heels that gave her an extra four inches. She did a little spin for them and Tolu pretended to be shot in the heart.

‘I hope this man is good enough for you, Aunty,’ he said to her.

‘So long as his pocket is, that will have to do,’ Aunty Kemi replied. ‘Mo … are you holding a dog?’

Before Mo had a chance to answer, her mother appeared at the doorway of the living room. She looked drained, and Mo wondered if she was still consuming her ‘spiritual herbs’. In sharp contrast to her sister, she was dressed in a simple bubu, and had donned a black bonnet. She would spend the better part of her evening chewing tobacco, marking exam papers and thinking of the things she could have done to keep her husband.

‘Did he ask for me?’ Her question was directed at Tolu.

‘Yes,’ Tolu said. Mo couldn’t see his face, but she had heard his hesitation. So his ‘yes’ was really a ‘no’. Her mother would be able to translate this herself, if she wanted to.

‘Don’t worry, Tolu. I am working on it. Your dad and I, we will be able to patch it up. This only happened because of the curse.’

Mo rolled her eyes. ‘For God’s sake, Mum, will you stop?!’ Bunmi pivoted to Mo and began walking towards her. Mo stood her ground.

‘Who do you think you are talking to? And why are you carrying a dog?’

‘He is mine. I bought him.’

‘You did what?! Are you okay? You better take it back to where you got it from.’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘I am keeping the dog.’

‘Must you look for ways to frustrate me?’

‘I am not the one spending hundreds of naira chasing a man who does not want me.’

Mo felt the slap before she saw it coming. She couldn’t even have said how her mother closed the gap between them. It barely hurt. She took a step back and tried to soothe the puppy. He had started mewling.

‘Mum …’ Tolu began, but if he had more to say, it disappeared into the silence.

Aunty Kemi, their household mediator, cleared her throat. ‘Bunmi, she is not wrong. You are only forty-eight. And you have kept your figure. You can remarry if you want.’

Her mother turned and eyed her sister. ‘I am not you,’ she said. ‘I know the vows I made. And I hardly think chasing men up and down the place is the way forward.’

‘I have fun. They have fun. Is it not better than pining for a man?’

Bunmi sucked in her breath before saying, ‘You are practically a prostitute.’

‘Mum!’ Tolu shouted, but Aunty Kemi was already squaring up to her sister, a cobra ready to strike. ‘I did not hear you complaining when I paid our NEPA bill, and the water bill, and found money for groceries. But you, you want to sit on your throne and be judging someone. Then in the night, you will be following evil spirits.’

‘You will respect me, Kemi.’

‘Come off it! There is only three years between us.’

‘You think money gives you the right to disrespect me?’

‘I wasn’t trying to disrespect you! But now that we are on the topic, without money a person cannot even breathe.’ And then they were insulting each other in Yoruba, a deeper Yoruba than was familiar to Monife, whose understanding of her mother tongue left a lot to be desired anyway. She had spent her formative years speaking solely in English and had lost her connection to Yoruba as a result. Usually, Ebun would translate under her breath, but her cousin had made herself scarce as soon as they arrived home.

They were interrupted by a car horn just as Tolu was readying himself to get in between the two women. They heard it honk again – perhaps it had been going for some time; it was hard to hear above the chorus of shouting women. But eventually Aunty Kemi realised her date had arrived. She smoothed down her dress, threw her sister a final, contemptuous look and slammed the front door on her way out.

Her mother turned to Mo. ‘Monife, get rid of that dog. Tomorrow. Don’t make me tell you twice.’