A Single Woman’s Dilemma – Eva’s Story (Part 2)

Read Part One yet? You can do so here.

People often say our families are the one set of people we are stuck with forever. In good and in bad, we must remain, and on some days, I understand this. Afterall, I want to believe God had a reason for putting me in mine. Then, there are other days, such as today, when the burden of being a member of the Iheonu family is a bit too much to bear.

I slowly get up from my seat, toss the napkin which had been on my lap and go on to do my mother’s bidding. Responding to her would only make things worse or even refusing her request will lead to an uncomfortable but expected interrogation when we got home.

I move to the first set of tables with my uncles and their families. Uncle Kingsley, the first son of my mother’s family is reclining on his seat, feet apart in his three-piece agbada drapped languidly on his tall frame. He is what you would call a perennial player, fun to be around but quite unserious. I greet him quickly, hoping to leave before he starts his inquisition, as I move to the back of his seat, to get to his wife, he catches my left hand and pulls me back. I let out an unconscious sigh. I can’t seem to catch a break today.

“Uncle, “ I start but he cuts me off.

“Eva baby, where are you running off to? Is this how you now greet your uncles? Your favourite uncle at that.” He said with a full grin on his face.

There is no doubt that Uncle Kinglsey must have been a handsome man in his hay day. With his full head of hair, even at 47, you can’t deny that he had a certain swag but age and probably life’s excesses had gotten the better of him. His face is well rounded with the undeniable double chin and of course, the huge mass under his chest, evidence of a taste for good food and drink – the universal stamp for most middle aged Nigerian men. I had always been drawn to his skin, a light brown color, almost like burnished gold. I know my mother used to lament the fact that the boys were all fair while the girls got my grandfather’s dark skin color.

I look at him but can’t help smiling even though I might not like the direction of this conversation.

“Uncle, you know I wasn’t running away. I was just trying to move past you to greet aunty.” I say, looking at his wife to give credence to my response. She gives me a tight smile, like she knows that I had been trying to avoid her husband and his careless words.

“If you say so. But what I want to know is when you are bringing the man for me to see and approve?”How old are you now, 25?” He said, still holding onto my wrist and looking intently at me.

I try to stifle another sigh. I don’t understand the obsession with marriage in my mother’s family. It just seems to be the beginning and end of every conversation. And now, Uncle Kingsley brings my age into the equation, he must know I’m over 25 since he would joke about being 20 years older.

With a smile plastered on my face, I take a deep breadth and respond.“Uncle, you will definitely be one of the first to know. In fact, you will be number two on the list. Right after Aunty Prisca.”

He burst out laughing at this. My smile is now genuine, there’s just something about his laughter. It’s full and infectious, and envelopes everyone around.

What’s so funny?” Says a voice from behind me. I know that voice, it’s one that often rings in my head, one I’ve heard so many times over the years, one that constantly reminds me of how I can be prettier, healthier and better.

I turn around to see Aunty Prisca in all her glory. She is wearing the family colors but you would almost not believe it. Her tailors must be secret slaves who weave magical designs for their goddess. At five foot five, she is the shortest of her sblings but you wouldn’t know it with the way she carries herself. Her dress drapes around her shoulders, with dark purple tulle around the swell of her breasts and intricate stones and lace(in purple and gold) gliding from her waist to the floor of the dress.

“Good afternoon, Aunty,” I say hurriedly after what had seemed like a long and awkward pause.

You look lovely,” I add with a smile (or may be a grimace on my face). She looks briefly at me, nods her head and returns her attention to her brother, almost like she will get to me once she is done with her brother.

Uncle Kingsley adjusts on his seat and finally lets go of my wrist. I immediately move to the side, closer to the back of his seat.

“It’s your niece. I was just teasing her.” “You’ve done a great job, Sis. Well done” said he.

He is looking at his sister, like he’s daring her to say more. Since my grandfather died, the relationship between Uncle Kingsley and Aunty Prisca has been brimming, a subtle power tussle. On a few occasions, there had been heated arguments especially when it concerned my granddad’s properties. Since Aunty Prisca is the eldest and used to getting her way, it had been a struggle to defer to her younger brother, which was necessary according to rights accorded to the first and eldest son under Igbo culture. I didn’t really blame her, those laws are so unfair and discriminatory against women, if only we could find some way to push back against them.

“Thank you.” said Aunty Prisca as she turns her attention to me.

“Evie, how are you?” said she in her clear and accented voice. Before I respond she continues.

“And why did you come in so late? Lynda had told me you wouldn’t be attending the church service so I had expected to see you at the reception, when we got here.”

I’m at a loss for words. I know nothing I say will absolve me from this obvious faux pas or family sin. I go the apology route.

“I’m so sorry, Aunty.” I had hoped to get here earlier.” I say with what I hope is the right amount of remorse. I notice her looking at my outfit. Her expression similar to my mum’s from a few minutes ago.

“You look well.” She said. While I’m still trying to make sense of her rare compliment, she dashes this.

“I invited Ikechukwu to the wedding, he is seated at the back with his parents.” She continues

She starts moving away from us and says something under her breadth, I think it may have been “…I hope something comes out of it this time.” It wouldn’t be beyond her to say something like this.

A waiter steps into view with a tray laden with plates of rice and chicken follows, he must have been standing behind her, waiting for direction. I watch her as she moves confidently around the tables, a queen in her own right.

As I had feared, Aunty Prisca had done it again. May be, I’m too sensitive or just not strong enough but her words and actions always hurt. Like my mum, she has filled my head with words that make me doubt my worth, my intelligence and even my ability to make my own decisions. It hadn’t always been this way. As I stood behind Uncle Kingsley’s chair, I couldn’t stop my mind from drifting. I quickly greeted everyone on his table and made promises to call his wife, Aunty Joy, later in the week.

Walking back to my table took longer than ever before. My legs just couldn’t take the necessary steps. It was a struggle knowing that I wasn’t even safe on that table with my mother there.

It’s days like this that I wonder, I wonder if all families are like mine. If they are also troubled by relatives who always interfere. Whose idea of meaning well goes beyond the reasonable or the necessary, who are so adamant to have their way that they wouldn’t even stop at the sight of spilled blood.

I know my heart is still scarred. It had been torn to pieces and for the last three years, I have been trying my damndest to put the pieces back together. Right now, it’s misshapen, an old lump hanging on for dear life. I can’t believe Aunty Prisca invited Ikechukwu. I wonder if my mum was in on this.

How could she have invited Ikechukwu after everything? She knew what had happened…

 

*This story is purely fictional.