Private Journals of a ‘Serious’ Lagos babe… in transit (11)
Life as we see it. Life as we know it. For religious people, we have it ingrained in us through preaching, and words from the holy books that our time on earth is just for a short moment. It is not forever. People have died eons ago and judgement day is not here yet. Is the time of their death not longer than the years they walked the earth?
Perhaps it is my menstrual cycle but I have been extra broody lately thinking ceaselessly about life and the whole essence of it. I have learned to take life as it comes no matter how painful it can be. To me, no pain is greater than that of a parent willingly abandoning their child.
My mother’s decision to up and leave for Kano on a whim and leave me behind in the process is something I will never understand and I have stopped trying to. And even though every Turaren wuta, every Bakhoor, and every Oud brings back a memory of her wrapping herself in a scarf or dressing up for an event. Even though the sonorous voice of Oumou Sangare reminds me of Saturday mornings with her as we clean the house. Even though I still speak traces of the language that was meant to be a code, our secret code. A language I willfully refuse to speak back to my father. I will always miss my mother. The last I heard of her, they said she relocated to Dubai, and painful as it is that my father’s sisters always assumed the worst of my mother and I defend her by being insolent to them. I never countered them as they unanimously agreed it was prostitution she was doing in Dubai. After all, to them, what kind of woman refuses to give birth to more babies for her husband? And what kind of a mother will abandon her only child and her marriage for no reason?
I see my mother in my eyes, I hated my hazel eyes for a long time. I see my mother in my moments of rage. A fleeting image of a woman with scattered hair threatening fire and brimstone looking every inch deranged and devastatingly beautiful. I curbed the angry side of me because I never wanted to be like her. That woman.
Lara often encourages me to find ways to get in touch. She told me it would be really easy to find her somewhere on the internet if she was there. I cannot bring myself to tell Lara my mother shies away from things like that. The mother I knew. I also never told Lara that I had called my mother during the extension program in my SS2. One of my fellow boarders at the school had snuck in a phone. That as I breathed on the other end too stunned to say a word after hearing my mother say ‘hello’ she had impatiently cut off the phone muttering something about scammers in Hausa.
I blamed my mother for my inability to learn basic feminine grooming tips. I still exhibit nonchalant behaviour till today. I could care less about attending events looking like something the cat dragged in but that would be over Lara’s dead body because fashion is her strongest forte.
My stepmother did all she could to make me love her, I believe she was trying to help me fare well and stop feeling the pain of abandonment but it was not the same. I have instead chosen to find pieces of my mother in other women and just suck up to it greedily till I no longer can. I am committed to a life of just comforting myself with qualities similar to my mother that I get from other people. Women.
Lara, Sandra, Tega in some ways have a special fondness in my heart because at some point they have made me feel the purity of maternal care. And it is to these women I owe my thanks to because I could have died during my office’s TGIF party. Now, let me tell you about it.
After Folake’s weird behaviour the other day, I mulled over what she said and the way she behaved. I thought of telling Lara about it but I remember she would often tell me not to think much of things like that. I kept it to myself. Another terrible mistake.
Lara happily counted down for me from Monday till Friday because she was excited that I got to go out to party.
‘YOLO. Put yourself out there. Let the world see all of these’ she gestured at me.
‘All of theseeeeee’ I mockingly pulled a model pose in the mirror before gesturing at my boyish body too.
Lara began prepping me for the party as early as 10 am. She washed my hair carefully taking care to work through the knots. Then she blow-dried it and twisted each section as soon as it was dry. When she loosened the twists and began to straighten them. I would cringe in fear whenever the flat iron came close to my hair.
‘If you don’t stop that nonsense I will purposely use it to burn your ear.’
I forced myself to maintain a steady posture after Lara’s threat. She deftly packed my hair into a doughnut ponytail when she was done and carefully laid my edges.
Lara giddily went under the bed when she finished with my hair and dragged out a box. Inside the box was a jewelry box.
She pulled up the lid to reveal several trinkets all beaming a brilliant shade of gold.
I tried to touch them but she smacked my hands.
‘Everything here is gold right?’ I blinked in surprise. She grunted in response.
I stared in disbelief as she gently lifted bracelets, intricately designed necklaces, pendants, and rings.
‘Are you getting married soon?’ I asked in bewilderment
She laughed, a long hearty laugh before she responded ‘As if….most of them belonged to my late mum. The full sets are from my mother. The bracelets, earrings, and studs are mine.’
‘They are lovely.’ I said wistfully. She handed me hoop earrings and a chain and closed the lid immediately.
Around 7:23 pm Lara was finally satisfied with how I looked. She had me decked in a Jean and a black silk top. She completed my look with one of her purses and shoes.
‘Oya turn around. Good! Toh, is the bolt here yet? It isn’t? Quickly come over here and let me snap you.’
Lara cleaned her phone’s lens and began to contort her body in different ways to get my angles. She accompanied me to the car when the driver arrived and told me to have fun.
I began to feel uneasy as the car maneuvered some of the bumps on the street as we drove away from the house. I chucked it down to anxiety but it turned out to be a premonition of things to come.
I shouldn’t have attended the #TGIF.
