Emotan did not like her Father very much.
He was loud, brash and petulant, only
showing more than a perfunctory interest
in her when she brought home good
grades from school; what he called the
‘fruits of his labour’.
Emotan’s mother was a beautiful paradox:
outspoken in one breath, and her Father’s
pushover in the next breath.
Emotan made it a point to date men who
were the opposite of her father. They
were fair and wiry where her father was
dark and stocky. They were emotionally
available where her father was distant
and manipulative. She had never seen her
parents be affectionate with each other.
Once, she saw her mother swat a
mosquito off her father’s arm. He had
shouted at her for hitting him, and her
mother visibly folded into herself.
He was also a talker, a Professor of
Economics at UniBen dissatisfied with the
system who loved to tell tales about the
past. From his stories of the Civil War, you
would have thought he had been a
General in charge of troops at the time,
when in actual fact he had been 10 years
old when the war had broken out.
Emotan had remained in Abuja after she
completed her National Youth Service to
get away from her parents, and had no
intention of moving back home. She was
caught unawares when her mother called
her first thing one Monday morning to say
‘Ogbebor brought another woman to the
house’. Emotan almost asked ‘Who?’,
because she had never heard her mother
call her father by his first name in her 25
years on earth.
Over the next few weeks, she endured
tearful phone calls from her Mother with
updates about how her Father was losing
his mind. Emotan was not sure what her
Mother wanted her to do. So she just
listened.
After three months the story changed: ‘I’ve
left his house. I’m at your Aunty Evarista’s
house’. Emotan knew then that she had to
go Benin to find out what was going on.
Her mother and her Aunt were close, but
they were very similar; both passive-
aggressive gossips. Things had to be very
bad at home for her Mother to choose the
Aunty Evarista option. A few weeks under
the same roof would be the death of both
of them.
Emotan took a day off from her job at an
Ad Agency and left Abuja for Benin on a
Friday morning in February. Her brother,
‘Mudia, picked her from the airport.
‘Welcome, Sis!’ he said as he hugged her;
she tried not to choke on the scent of his
body spray. He was 22 years old-a recent
graduate-and had the lanky build and
confidence of youth. Emotan tried not to
let her panic show as he manoeuvred
their Father’s ancient 504 through Benin
traffic. The car was obviously being held
together by the grace of God and with no
apparent shock absorbers; she felt every
bump on the road to their house on Wire
Road.
‘Aunty, welcome’. Emotan stared at the
beautiful woman who opened the door.
She realized that she knew the woman;
she lived a few streets away and was also
in their church. Emotan nodded and
walked in, her childhood home suddenly
feeling surreal with this strange woman
encroaching upon the space.
‘Where’s my Father?’ ‘He’s inside. Let me
call him’. Emotan watched the woman
walk into her parents’ bedroom.
‘Emotan? What happened?’ Her Father
emerged from his bedroom, frowning. He
was wearing his house uniform of white
singlet and black shorts.
‘Daddy. Why is Mummy not here? Who is
that lady?’
Emotan had never spoken to her Father in
such a direct manner, and she marvelled
at her own boldness. Her expression was
neutral, but she felt her toes curl in her
black pumps and sweat drip down her
back in her purple ankara dress.
Her Father sighed heavily. ‘Sit down’.
Emotan did as he asked, and he sat down
beside her, which was strange.
‘Well’. He cleared his throat. ‘Well, your
Mother and I seemed happier in the last
few months, but all of a sudden, she
became very difficult…so difficult. I asked
Ms. Ezomo to come and start taking care
of the house since your mother refused to
do anything anymore. After some weeks,
your Mother packed her things and moved
to your Aunt’s house’.
Emotan stared at him, and turned to look
at Ms. Ezomo who had just walked past
them into the kitchen. She was wearing a
blue wrapper and white blouse. Her
blouse was see-through; her white bra
was visible.
Emotan looked back at her Father, who
shifted his gaze from hers, looking
sheepish.
She was about to ask her Father what
kind of care Ms. Ezomo was providing to
him when her phone rang.
It was her cousin, Omo. ‘Sis, Good
Afternoon. Your Mum is ill. My mother said
you should come over now’.
***
‘You’re so fat now, how will any man like
you like this?’ was Aunty Evarista’s
greeting to Emotan when she got to her
house on Ekenwan Road. A few years ago,
it had been ‘you’re so skinny, no man will
like you like this’. Aunty Evarista was
consistent in her inconsistencies.
‘Good Afternoon Aunty’, Emotan said
through gritted teeth as she stepped back
from their embrace. ‘Please, where is my
Mother?’
‘She’s in the room. It’s good that you are
here. Come’. She turned around and
Emotan dragged her feet behind her,
admiring the patterns on her Aunt’s
kaftan but also wondering what was
wrong with her Mother.
***
‘I’m pregnant’.
Emotan stared at her mother blankly.
‘I’m sorry, what?’
‘I’m pregnant’, repeated her mother.
Many thoughts raced through Emotan’s
mind. Her mother was 49 years old, so
pregnancy was not impossible. But…her
parents were having sex? Those two
people? Seriously?
‘Mummy…I’m confused’.
‘Oh, my dear, don’t be’. Her Mother’s eyes
were unfocused, darting left and right, but
her skin was smoother than Emotan had
even seen it. With her unkempt hair, she
looked like a crazy person with good skin.
‘You’re an adult so you should know these
things…your Father and I had not been
intimate in almost 5 years, until recently.
Your Aunty said I should seduce him; that
maybe it would make him less angry with
me all the time’.
‘Evelyn, I said that you should sleep with
your husband; I didn’t say you should get
pregnant’ quipped Aunty Evarista.
Emotan’s Mother glared at her sister,
adjusted her wrapper on her chest and
then continued speaking. ‘I don’t want to
bring up a child with him again. I’m tired.
Osamudiamen will soon go for his Youth
Service. I have some money saved up. I’ve
taken indefinite leave from work. I will
rent a place. I’m even happy that he
brought that woman into the house…’
Emotan watched her mother make new
life plans whilst she stared at her,
dumbstruck.
‘I will move on with my life. Don’t worry
about me’.
***
Emotan felt sorry for her Father for the
first time in her life.
‘She’s pregnant?’
‘Yes, Daddy’.
‘Your Mother is pregnant?’
‘Yes, Daddy’.
‘I want to talk to her’.
‘She’s sleeping right now. I will ask her to
call you when she wakes up’.
There was a heavy silence, before he
finally spoke.
‘Okay, okay’. Her Father sounded like a
boulder had been dropped on his head.
Emotan ended the call and rubbed her
eyes, then she turned to look at her
mother seated beside her who was wide
awake, looking lost in thought.
‘Mummy, fasten your seat belt’.
‘Oh okay. Thank you my dear’. Her mother
fastened her seatbelt and then rubbed her
stomach, smiling.
The cabin crew on the flight to Abuja
were carrying out their final checks before
take-off. Emotan had impulsively decided
that her mother should come back to
Abuja with her to think things through,
and to avoid strangling Aunty Evarista in
her sleep. Her mother’s mood had
improved dramatically, and Emotan had
changed her own return flight from
Sunday to Saturday, and booked a seat for
her mother as well.
Emotan watched distractedly as their
plane taxied down the runway,
wondering what her Father’s reaction
would be when he found out that she had
absconded with his pregnant wife to
Abuja.
The End.
