As I sit on the edge of the bed or rather, foam, I share with my ‘sister’, I find myself dreading another day of my life as I’ve come to know it. My life had become a horrendous cycle that is proving impossible to get out of. My 2 week stay in her aunt’s house had turned into a 2 month stay and at this rate I fear the better part of a year would be spent in this choky small house. Soon enough, I hear two sharp raps on the door followed by a threatening “wake up!!” like I can sleep in this house. ‘Yemi! Ranti!! Eji o!!’ my aunty continues on the top of her voice. My “sister” is soon out of the bed, grabbing the bucket of water in the corner and dashing out of the room. Now everyone wonders why I hate Yemi so much.
The water I had fetched yesterday, while Yemi feigned some ailment or other had been taken and now I have to fetch another bucket. This doesn’t make me a mugun if that’s what you’re thinking. Yemi is actually my step-sister, my step father’s daughter and this is her aunty’s house, seeing as my mother has managed to turn everyone in her family against her. This is practically Yemi’s house, and if you’ve met her aunt and uncle, you know there’s no way I’m winning an argument here. Not against their precious little niece. Bitch. I almost miss my mum. And that should tell you a lot.
No, I’m not going through the ‘rebellious teenager’ phase. Except I’ve been a teenager my whole life. It’s no secret that my mother is an ashawo or as she loves to call it a “feminist” out to manipulate and exhort money from the male race. The way I see it, being a prostitute represents everything feminists stand against. And you don’t have to stand in the streets to be one. How she had ended up with yemi’s father, a relative nobody, is still a mystery to me. My mother “found love” and now I’m suffering for it. Next time, or in another life, if that exists I hope she “finds love” with a richer man. Like my father, a notorious politician, who is happily married with three kids. Yeah, that makes me the unwanted child with the ‘other woman’.
Minutes later struggling into the house with a full pail of water, I silently curse the girl I was before this. The girl that had never appreciated a tap with warm, running water or a bathroom with a bath and heater. The things that she had taken for granted before or hardly even noticed were now things she was forced to live without. How could I, when all my friends had way more? The clichéd “you never know what you have until you lose it” applies so much to me right now.
Prostitute mother, politician father, evil step sister. My life is essentially like a typical, badly plotted nollywood movie, and it would have been funny, if I hadn’t been living it.