She sat on the mattress and eagerly patted the spot beside her, indicating that I sit. There was no way I was putting my ass on that mattress, so I remained standing. I looked around in disgust. “Zainab, you need to leave this place, it’s not conducive.”
She shook her head and said that the uncompleted building was her home and she had been living there for the past seven years. I sighed and leaned against the wall. I kept glancing at her bulging stomach and soon, she started yawning and fell asleep.
I took my leave and went home, hoping to return there in the evening. When I reached home, I found my mother peeling melon seeds with a young fair girl. My mother grinned when she saw me get down the car. She began to praise me unnecessarily and call me every sweet name she could think of in the igbo language and I knew something was fishy.
As I approached her, looking tired, she tapped the girl’s shoulder and said, “Ezine, won’t you get up and greet your husband?” Ezinne, smiled shyly, lifted the tray off her lap and greeted me in igbo language, somehow avoiding eye contact with me.
“Mama, what husband?” I asked, without responding to the girl’s greeting.
My mother beamed and adjusted her wrapper. “You na.” She said then turned to admire the girl.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” She asked asked me. “In fact, Ezinne, stand up and turn around so that my son can take a good look at you.” My mother ordered. The girl rose, set aside the tray and shyly turned slowly while my mother exclaimed at the sight of her buttocks. “Chai Omalicha!” She folded her arms tightly against her chest. “Chai! Chike, can you see what I’m seeing? This was exactly how I looked in my prime before your father dried everything!”
To be continued…
© Angela Okoduwa
Mothers can be a handful sometimes