Cursed Daughters by Oyinkan Braithwaite - 88

The cathedral was built in 1865, and was likely the only surviving architecture of that period in the heart of Lagos. It was a magnificent building, with stained-glass windows depicting the saints. The church was filled with ornate benches, and endless lamps. Historically, the Faloduns had attended this church, and Grandma East still worshipped there now and again. The songs backed by the organ were beautiful and haunting. The vicar preached of a hope in heaven; and then it was time for Eniiyi to take the stand and give her tribute, as Grandma West’s granddaughter, though of course she wasn’t; but the lines had been tangled for all of them a long time ago, and this was not the time to unpick the knots.

She spoke of a woman who was fierce but soft; who was heartbroken by the time Eniiyi had been born but who still had abundant love to share. And then they laid Bunmi – beloved mother, sister, grand-aunt, teacher – to rest in Ikoyi Cemetery, beside Monife. Eniiyi tried to ignore her discomfort, standing before Monife’s grave, but she felt as though a hundred ants were running up and down her skin. The grave was poorly tended – no wonder Monife would not be contained here. She had died at the age that Eniiyi was now. Eniiyi had turned twenty-five in the days since losing Grandma West.

‘You have to let me move on now,’ she whispered. ‘But either way, I am done being your vessel.’

She felt her phone buzzing in her pocket. It was a text from Zubby. He was at the cemetery. He was dressed in all grey, and she knew he would have thought about what the appropriate colour for the occasion might be. He was so beautiful.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I came to see my girlfriend. Who has apparently cut her hair.’ She didn’t know what to say. ‘You look good. Like an African goddess.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I heard about your grand-aunt. I wish you could have told me. I’m sorry. For your loss.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Eni … we are okay, right?’

And then her eyes were welling up with tears. He took her into his arms and just held her. She allowed them those few minutes, and then she stepped away from him.

‘Z, I think I need some space. I have a lot going on right now. I have to think.’

Home was strange without Grandma West in it, as if the house was missing a vital piece of its foundation.

She went in search of the remaining inhabitants. Grandma East was sitting on her chair. She looked tired, washed out. It was the first time in memory that Eniiyi had seen her grandmother without her trademark red nail polish. She went over to her and knelt on the floor, resting her head on her lap.

‘Ọmọ mi,’ her grandma said, placing a hand on her head and stroking her hair. They stayed like that till somewhere in the house she heard raised voices, her mother arguing with a man. Sango started to bark, but she could still hear the man’s voice clearly. It was Osagie.

‘When were you going to tell me?’ His voice was loud. She could barely hear her mother’s response. Eniiyi stood up and left her grandmother in the living room. The argument was coming from her mother’s bedroom. She prepped herself to go and defend her, but then she heard Osagie shout: ‘She is my daughter!’

She froze.

‘Oba, please. Calm down.’

Eniiyi opened the door to her mother’s bedroom. Osagie was pacing. Ebun saw her and blinked.

‘Is it true?’ Eniiyi asked.

Ebun sighed. ‘Osagie and I knew each other when we were kids. Then we reconnected after uni. We dated for a few months. It ended. That was that.’

‘That was that?’ Osagie repeated in disbelief. He turned as if in appeal to Eniiyi. ‘She broke up with me. She didn’t tell me she was pregnant. I had no idea that she had borne me a child. If I knew, I would have come to her; to you. I … I travelled a lot over the next decade, joined the air force, and when I later heard Ebun was a mum, I just assumed she had finally met a man she could love.’ He had been standing the whole time he spoke, gesturing with his hands and allowing the tears in his eyes to fall. Eniiyi found she could not look at him, so she stared at the floor. ‘I bumped into your mum last year at church, we reconnected and I realised I wanted … no, needed to be a part of her life; but she had said nothing of you being …’

Eniiyi stared at her mother, who did not break eye contact but who was also crying.

‘You let me think he was dead, or uninterested, or married …’

‘I wanted to protect you.’

‘From what?!’

‘Haven’t you heard? The men in our lives always leave in the end.’

‘What are you talking about?’ asked Osagie.

‘She is talking about the curse.’

‘Look at me, Eniiyi. I wanted to save you from the abandonment.’

‘I don’t believe that, Mum. I think you wanted to save yourself.’

‘I wouldn’t have abandoned you, Ebun,’ said Osagie, ‘if you had given me a chance.’

‘You may not have had a choice.’