That very hot Wednesday night, yes it was hot. You packed all your luggage out of the house. Your Dignity was lost, you gave in to what the GEN Z version of feminism was or your version of feminism. You were not going to beg anybody, you beat your chest twice as you shouted ” EMI laye mi, EMI ti iya bi, ti o fi Oja aran pon”(I that my mother backed with beautiful clothing). You shouted into the quiet night as the hot breeze slapped your cheeks because your Mother did not use fancy clothing to back you.
You remembered how your mother told you the story of how your father abandoned her on the hospital bed because you were “black”. Yes, you were as black as charcoal that was how your father described you before he absconded. His other wives had always given birth to fairer babies but you came out black which was a shock to him. Your mother couldn’t abandon you too because you were her blood and as they say, blood is thicker than water. Her first child. Was her baby exchanged in the hospital? It never crossed her mind because she was dark too. Your father never knew genetics because you were his spitting image.
The doctor on duty had given your mother some thousand to buy some hand-me-down clothing for you. Your mother was asked to move out of your father’s house even though she was the last wife and his favourite. Your mother had raised you all by herself.
You had gone to complain to your mother about your husband’s lazy-ass attitude which was him not splitting the house chores with you after coming back from work. You had also refused to go back to work because your boss had corrected you about an error you made in the document you were asked to write. Your workplace was toxic was what you told your husband when you informed him you stopped working. He didn’t complain because who knew what you were going through at work?
” Yejide”, your mother shouted when you were almost renting her eardrum with all of your complaints. ‘You have to be patient and submissive, at the moment you need to still help with the house chores since you practically don’t do anything in the house, said your mother. Your mother reminded you that your husband wasn’t splitting the bills. Yet you sit at the TV all day.
‘I am a flower mama, I need to be nurtured and cared for. I am fragile’, you screamed back. You said so many things to your mother that day. You said you wouldn’t take nonsense as your mother did with your father, that you needed to fight back because your mother didn’t. You forgot that a child can never have rags as much as an adult has.
You had angrily packed out of the house when your husband refused to do his chores because it was his day of duty on the roaster.
You had stayed at home for a year and three months without any job. It is either you are watching the TV or going to the mall to buy junk. On that hot Wednesday afternoon, you argued so badly with your husband that he suggested you both visit a shrink.
You raised a fit because you thought your husband wanted to use you as one of his research projects.
Deep down you knew this wasn’t you, not what you wanted. You will leave and not come back. You weren’t going to beg because your husband was just too calm. You thought he was cheating on you but he was just a perfect young man, too good to be true. You are doing this just not to be rejected at the end of the day, the way your father rejected your mum. You are rejecting your husband first before he does you.
As the hot breeze slapped your cheeks again, it slapped some sense into you. You thought deeply as you quietly said to yourself, ‘Yejide, what exactly is the problem?’
What do you think her problem was? Sometimes we can be the source of our problems and be the solution at the same time. Lean not on your understanding.
