Dear Diary: My Confession (Part 2)

Mama said “Orimisan, things are still very difficult”.

She only called me Orimisan when I was in trouble, so my hatred for the name is understandable. I despised being called Ori more because of the memories the name carries. I shouldn’t get ahead of myself now. Many things happened between then and now.

She signaled to me to stand up so that she could sit on the only stool in the shop. She sighed heavily.

“Why won’t you be tired when that heavy man has been riding you?”, I clenched my teeth so the words wouldn’t come out. So I wouldn’t be sent back to my creator on a first class ticket.

“You know we stopped selling corns by the roadside?”

The question didn’t need an answer. I kept twisting the belt of my gown around my index finger.

“Ehn, Orimisan????”, mama roared, startling me “answer me when I talk to you.”

“Yes mama”, was what came out. I don’t have amnesia, was what I intended to say.

“It is not like your useless father came to give me money, neither did he care how we, especially you, are faring.

That was it. After all these years, it took me catching a lump of fat on mama to finally get that my father was a sperm cell without a tail. Mama said he is useless, a sperm cell without tail can’t swim too- useless. You get me?

Mama explained to me that Mr. Jayeoba was the one that gave her money to rent the shop and also, filled it up with the provisions we sold. Everything got clearer to me at that point: the 2 tyre rims that was used to support the kiosk at the back were supplied by him, so also was the crank shaft mama used to support the wooden doors after we locked it.
All made sense.

She didn’t have to tell me she was paying him back with her body. I was young, but not stupid.

“Mama, tell him to borrow us the money. I will pay him back”, I said as I kneeled before her.

“Mama please”.

My mother used the tip of the lemon green-turned-yellow ankara that had been her uniform since Pastor Koleowo’s wife gave her 3 years ago, to wipe my tear. I didn’t even know I had started crying.

“I will get you back in school soon”.

That was my problem with her. She rarely talked. She used to actually…too much sef. She always complained and cried when I was growing up. Everything irritated her. I was really scared of her then…every word I said to her made her scream. I learned to keep quiet.
Then, mama stopped talking. I was happy. One day, she tried to scream at me but her voice failed her. I realized it wasn’t that my mother stopped talking, she was too tired and sad to. I tried to be more vocal, to get her to talk about how she felt, but she got more quiet. I stopped trying.

“No mama. I don’t want school”, I shook my head violently. The watery mucus from my nose swiped across both cheeks.

“Lolade”, mother called calmly this time around, “sell milk to Kehinde”.

I knew that was the end of that conversation.

Days went by and nothing changed. Mama and Mr Jayeoba were more discreet about their “relationship”. I knew to never go home during the day. I changed my sleeping position, my leg now where my head used to be. My bruise also healed.

I resumed greeting Mr. Jayeoba only after he reported to my mother about how I used to avoid him. Nothing changed….not until one morning.

I had gone to pee at our bathroom which also served as our toilet. You just use a potty if you wanted to defecate. The familiar stench of the early morning urine greeted my nose.

I was almost done peeing when someone shook the door…you couldn’t knock or else the rusted roofing sheets would just tear apart. I was happy I was able to beat Mama Olomomewa and her battalion to it this time around. Just like the Egyptians’ plague, they left things worse than they met them.

I finished and stepped out only for a rotund woman to grab my wrapper.

“I knew it was you when I saw your chewing stick legs through the door”, she said pointing to the uneven gaping holes in the roofing sheet that made one of the walls of the bathroom.

“Take me to your mother”.

I knew who she was- Mrs Jayeoba. We called her Mama Mulika. She dragged my frail body into the passage. I was confused. I told her mama was asleep, but she continued dragging me.

“Open your door”, she said, surprisingly calm.

I wanted to open the wrong door but then, it was wiser to be more scared of her than mama. She could tie both of us into a fine twine.

Mama came out when she heard the noise and Mama Mulika expertly flung me and held mama at the exact position she held me. Before I could re-tie my wrapper, there was an audience. Mother and Mama Mulika were the wrestlers, I, the unfortunate referee.

Mama didn’t fight back; she would lose anyway. Mrs Jayeoba shook Mama so much that her loosened natural hair formed a centre parting.

“If you don’t leave my husband, I will put this thing on your head and grind your brain out”, she said as she turned her huge backside to the audience and smacked it.
I shuddered for Mama. That would give her a permanent headache.

The audience was entertained. Mrs Jayeoba was a drama queen. I bowed my head in shame. Mama said nothing as she dragged me in.

“Where will I get a new buba to replace this?” was all mama said when both of us were in the room.

Again, I didn’t ask questions.

Two days later, our kiosk had been replaced with nothing. The little provisions we were able to gather while Mrs Jayeoba’s hoodlums tore apart the shop was neatly arranged in the corner of our room.

Mr. Jayeoba suddenly became scarce. The few times we met, he was the one that avoided me. Such anti-climax.

Mama Mulika was not to be messed with. She fought to finish.

We resumed our corn-selling. This time, I persuaded mama to allow me learn hair-dressing at a shop in the morning while I hawked later in the evening. She said “OK”.

About eight months later, I was seated by Mama blowing the hot charcoal under the corns when a jeep parked just ahead of us. Mama quickly rushed up to go meet them. She always stood up for the “important” customers.

“Bring corn 200 naira”, the too dark driver shouted. His head shot out of the tinted window.

Mama packed their corn with extra sheets of newspaper and nudged me to put more corn on the guaze.

The back door opened and she handed the invisible man the corns. Mama then stayed a bit longer. She kept nodding really slowly and then, the frequency increased. I stopped paying attention and I didn’t know when they drove off.

Mama came back and threw a loosely wrapped wad of 200 naira notes of my laps.

“Mama”, I squealed, “where did this come from?”.

“The man”, mama pointed at the direction where they were packed as if they were still there.

“Thank God”, I said, with a huge smile.

“Ololade…”, Mama called and paused.

I loved this name.

“What mummy?”.

“The man likes you”.

“I like him too”, I innocently replied, without thinking, “he has blessed us”.

Mama did not smile.

XOXO

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Comments
37 Responses to “Dear Diary: My Confession (Part 2)”
  1. barr taiwo says:

    I knew there ws gon b a 3rd part, typical of 9ja movies, hope u dint d8 d jeep owner sha. Anonther mynd blowing episode from ma dr cum writer pall, kp it up dr dee

  2. baltimore says:

    Too much suspense jor 😦

  3. cassbaba noni says:

    Mr Jayeoba de really jayeoba ni sha. Chai. Chop and clean mouth toh badt

  4. Dee says:

    Kindly skip to the part where u’ll bang the man in the jeep.. save us the suspense.. and please make it as graphic as possible.. if possible.. use graphics

  5. Unclemicheal says:

    This is so *ghen ghen*

  6. Kemmiiii says:

    😦 Why the suspense? Not fair!

  7. 0laToxic says:

    Lovely writing. Lovely story. Perfect ending!

  8. desiree says:

    OMG!! I honestly hope d woman isn’t trying to sell her daughter off in marriage in returns for money…wat a cruel world!!

  9. malota says:

    Lol @naija movie comment, ^_^ part 3 please

  10. rinolee says:

    *sigh* Too much suspense 😦 Don’t worry, we’ll come back.

  11. @Frankices says:

    “…shook Mama so much that her loosened natural hair formed a centre parting.” Lol! That was a lot of shaking.

    So on point! Waitn patiently.

  12. awizii says:

    I. Really enjoyed this Deola! I’m looking forward to the next part. 😀

  13. awizii says:

    I can’t wait for the next one. This is so awesome.

  14. femiadigz says:

    What the f… (Opened mouth,jaw dropping).

  15. balakeeee says:

    Eer errrm, abeg how old is lolade? She don get bweast??

  16. TweetLoveDoctor says:

    Interesting. I must admit this catches my attention anytime I flip up my browser. Really interesting.

  17. Fred @frestoe says:

    NICE

  18. @ezinne says:

    Lmao. Nyc writting again D. But pls dnt let it get too long b4 ur frnds begin to refuse to read it

  19. anagazo says:

    im sure i wont like the third part 😦 this shud b published tho.. Karptivating..

  20. fisayo says:

    Part 3 part 3! Loll. I like, tho a lil typo and punctuation errors buh I luv ur work. D aristo begins abi (part3) loll.

  21. Shuga Ray says:

    LOL…wud have read this before u published †нє Part 3. Nice comments too

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