OFF THE HOOK EP:2 The Confession
I finally got the courage to tap at the door, in feign of knocking. I knew she wouldn’t hear it, and deep down it felt as if I didn’t want her to. I exhaled and slumped my shoulders. But just as I was about to leave, my aunt, Aunty Ijeoma, bumped into me in her haste to take the big basket filled with fried chicken she was carrying into Mom’s room.
“What are you standing there for?” She asked in Igbo and quickly pushed the door open.
My mother was sitting on a stool, in front of her dressing mirror, admiring the work of the makeup artist on her face, but when she heard the creaking of her door, she turned.
She spoke with Aunty Ijeoma, something about the fried chicken and why she has to hide them in Mother's bedroom for safety from the thieving eyes and hands of Obieze, my cousin, and his friends.
When Mother could finally spare me a glance and noticed I wasn’t dressed, my hair wasn’t done, and neither was my face glammed. Her face dropped and the skin on her forehead became light furrows. She stood up and moved towards me with stretched hands.
“O gini (what is it)?” She asked softly and her voice carried every hint of motherly concern.
I opened my mouth to talk, but my words were held back by a gulp in my throat. I closed my mouth and tried again.
“I….” I sniffed and bowed my head, “I…” Two drops of tears fell from both sides of my eyes, “I don’t want to marry Elo,” I cried. I cried loudly that Aunty Ijeoma, who was squatting to count the fried chicken, stopped and stood upright.
My mother withdrew her hands from me and just stood there watching me while I soiled my face with tears and mucus from my nose. I couldn’t hold back, I couldn’t stop, no matter how hard I tried.
Aunty Ijeoma was kind enough to rush and shut the door when she perceived the scene that was about to start.
“You don't want to marry Elozonam?” My mom asked and I shook my bowed head in response and kept wiping my face with the back of my palms.
“And you think this is the right time to say it? What do you think this is? Reverse Hollywood? Where you just call off your wedding, your traditional wedding?” Mother scolded and I cried more.
“Chizoba!” Aunty Ijeoma’s voice rose with every syllable as she yelled my mom’s name. She came closer to where we were both standing and I could tell from the heat I felt from her back that was turned to me that she wasn't looking at my mom. She was glaring.
Aunty Ijeoma is my father's youngest sister and has lived with us since I was a baby till she married ten years ago.
She took me by the hand and led me to sit on Mom’s bed. She kept shuffling the sleeves of my overall, up and down, and going, “Shhhhh, ọ zu gwọ (it’s enough),” but I wouldn’t stop.
Tired from consoling me, she exhaled and let go of my arms, but she didn't stand up. She remained seated beside me, her hands folded between her thighs and her eyes looking at space, giving me a moment to myself.
Slowly, the tears stopped gushing and the mucus became easy to sniff back in. I was now whimpering. When Aunty Ijeoma noticed, she looked at me and smiled gently.
“Ị becha gọ (are you done crying)?” She asked, and I nodded.
She went over to where the basket of fried chicken was and picked a piece which she handed to me. I chuckled and collected it.
“Thank you ma” I said.
She rubbed my back, then lifted my chin with her one finger so that I could see the reassuring smile on her face that spoke millions of words and brought me again to tears.
Then she walked to my mom and said somethings I didn't hear before she left the room and shut the door.
Whatever it was she told mom, it got her to turn and move towards me. She sat down beside me, but wouldn’t look at me. Her spine was straight, aligning her body in an upright posture. Her eyes were fixed on the shiny yellow milk wall of her bedroom when she asked;
“Why?”
The monosyllabic question came out like forced air from her lungs. I looked at her, and all I could see were her perched cold shoulders and poised red-coloured lips.
“Mom,” I started but stopped to clear my throat upon realizing that all the sniffed-back mucus had clogged my throat, and my word came only as a whisper.
“Mom, Elo cheats” I finally said.
Her shoulders thawed almost as soon as she heard the words. She turned sharply to look at me with wide eyes and parted lips.
“He cheats!”, I repeated, but this time with a bitter undertone. As if I wanted it to hurt her. As if I blamed her for losing myself. As if saying, “You would have known if you cared to know why I locked my door and refused food for days. You would have known if you asked if I was happy with him instead of assuming he was the best one for me. You would have known if you were not in haste to marry me off”.
And just as if she saw through me and read my mind, my mother broke down. The tears ran smoothly down her cheeks, creasing her well-done makeup. Her lips trembled as she tried to find words.
Suddenly, she got up from the bed, stood in front of me, grabbed my hands, and lifted the sleeves of my overalls, running her palms through my arms. Then she lifted the hem of the overall that was sitting carelessly on my lap, parted my legs with her hands, and zoomed through my thighs.
“Mummy, what is it?” I pushed her hands away to stop her.
“Does he beat you?” She asked with raised brows that revealed a perfect blend of fear and sternness in her brown glistening eyes.
“No!” I answered immediately.
“Gwa m eziokwu (tell me the truth)!” She scolded.
“Mba (no)” I repeated.
She drew a breath, exhaled, and sat back down with her body bent over her knees and her palms holding her head.
I watched her. Half-pitying and half-waiting for what to do next.
When she sat back up softly, she asked, “How many times?”
I hadn’t kept count. The first one I ever caught him with was saved as ‘Secretary’ on his phone; there was the one from the late-night club, many of them, the one night stands, the one from his trip to Dubai, the “childhood friend” ...they were too many to keep count.
“I'm a man for Godsake! This is my nature” I remembered he bragged once. It was his closing argument when I wouldn't forgive him and went back home to stay with my parents. One of the times I had left my door unopened for days without a meal.
I shook my head now and said, “I don’t know,” my response to Mom, and a fresh batch of tears followed. I sniffed back to hold it in, but my heart was shattering. There was no holding back.
Mom wrapped me in her hands and kept saying “Ọ zu gwọ (it's ok)” as I cried.
But I couldn't stop until we heard the knocking at the door, accompanied by my father's deep voice.
“Bia Chizoba, gịnị na-ewe ogologo oge (come Chizoba, what's taking so long)?” He questioned angrily from outside the door.
We had lost track of time and almost forgot that guests were waiting for me to introduce the man I was to marry to them with a cup of palm wine.
Dad’s angry voice had startled us, but Mom was quick to act.
“Dede, anyị na-bịa (we're coming)” was her fast response.
“Unu a maara na ndị ọbịa na-eche? Ke mgbe anyị ga-emecha taa (do you people know that the guests are waiting? When are we going to finish today)?” Dad scolded.
“Anyị na-bịa, anyị na-bịa (we’re coming, we’re coming),” Mom reassured him.
I listened to his footsteps as he marched away from the door, and then I asked Mom, “Shouldn’t we have told him?”
“We should, and we will, but not now. Your father has a temper. You tell him now and he makes a scene”.
“When do I tell him then?” I was conflicted between making sense of what she was saying and doubting that she could trick me into marrying Elo even after what I’d just told her.
Her eyes wandered about the room as though in search of something. Her lower lip was hidden in her mouth and clenched by her upper lip. She was thinking.
When she was done, she held my wrist and said, “This is what we’ll do.”
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Hey there, you’ve just read the second episode of OFF THE HOOK. If you liked it, I hope you did, please leave a comment, follow, and give it as many claps as you think it deserves. 🤗
