Chapter I
I
They were starving, but it was too hot to cook. Mo had used her last bit of energy to pour water into a bowl for Sango, who was lying on the ground beside her with his tongue hanging out; she didn’t even have any left to fan herself.
There were too many of them in there sucking up the air—Ebun across the room from her in a spaghetti top and baggy jeans, Tolu and his uncombed hair seated in front of the TV with Oba, who was dressed as though he was heading for a job interview in a light blue shirt and silver cufflinks.
Dele was there trying to get her attention, and Golden Boy, who had her attention, was presently playing with her foot whilst pretending to be interested in what was on the screen.
If Oba and Dele went home, and Tolu and Ebun went…
elsewhere, there would be more room to breathe.
“Ebun should go and make food. She is the youngest,” Tolu suggested without peeling his eyes from the screen.
“How is that fair? You people are my ??gb??ns. You should be taking care of me.”
“She isn’t wrong, Tolu,” added Golden Boy. Ebun ignored his support. For some reason, she seemed to find his presence distasteful.
“Fine, let’s play for it. Rock, paper, scissors. Loser makes food.”
They all dragged themselves to the centre of the room.
Six fists. Tolu lost fair and square. But it was Tolu, so he simply shrugged and returned to his previous position, watching a match he had already seen.
She could not fathom what his various girlfriends found so appealing about him.
But he didn’t have to worry about a curse—he could afford to waste as many opportunities as he wanted.
Ebun muttered under her breath, stood up and stomped off to the kitchen.
Mo heard Tolu chuckle, but chose not to engage.
When Ebun returned, she was holding a plate with a leaning tower of sliced agege bread, and under her arm she carried the butter and jam.
It would have to do. The boys descended on the bread as if they were sailors lost at sea. GB managed to secure a slice for Mo.
Ebun used a napkin to help with the friction as she struggled to open the jar.
Golden Boy offered to help, but she rejected the offer and eventually Oba quietly took it from her and Mo heard the little pop as it gave way.
He gave it back to Ebun with a half-smile.
Mo waited for her to pass it over, but Ebun was simply staring into the jar.
“Pass the jam jo,” said Tolu.
“We can’t eat it.”
“Jam doesn’t spoil, Ebun.”
“No, it’s not that. There are ants.”
“What?”
Tolu leant over and grabbed the jam jar from Ebun. He looked into it and swore before passing it to Mo.
At first glance, the ants could easily have been mistaken for fruit bits in the jam, but no.
She could see the little ovals that made up their bodies.
They were all dead, sunk in the fruit conserve.
She shrugged, grabbed the knife, habitually switched it to her right hand, scooped out the necessary amount of jam and spread it on her bread.
“What the hell are you doing?” squeaked Ebun.
“It’s just protein.” Mo looked up. All the boys were staring at her, with various expressions on their faces, but she was only interested in Golden Boy’s, and he seemed…tantalised?
“They are ants, Mo,” Tolu said, stating the obvious.
She held Golden Boy’s gaze with her own as she sank her teeth into the bread, chewed and swallowed. There was a collective groan, but Golden Boy was laughing.
“Mmm,” she said, “delicious.” Tolu responded with a gagging expression.
“You are out of your mind,” her boyfriend told her. But his tone said he was turned on.
“You are eating ants?” Her mother was at the doorway.
She was dressed in a dark A-line skirt with a full hem and fitted hips; tucked into it was a pleated long-sleeved cream blouse.
Her braided hair was pulled into a bun and she carried an accessory that was more briefcase than handbag.
She looked every bit the schoolteacher; you could almost forget she was fond of chanting to Yoruba spirits in the nude.
“Well, not by themselves. There’s jam too.”
“What man will want to marry a woman that eats ants?”
“No man,” Tolu replied. Dele nodded in agreement, but GB winked at her.
“Good afternoon, ma,” he said, drawing her mother’s attention to himself.
“Oh. Kalu, you are here.”
“Good afternoon, ma,” the other boys echoed. Bunmi greeted them warmly, asking after their parents, before turning back to her daughter.
“Monife, instead of eating ants, go to the kitchen and cook.”
“But—”
“No buts. Ebun, help her.” She said nothing about Tolu joining them in their labour, which Mo did not fail to notice.
“And for God’s sake, send this dog outside!”
And with that, her mother stormed off, headed to some teachers’ conference, or PTA meeting, or something or other.
“I’m in the mood for beans,” said Tolu.
Mo bared her teeth at him; there were still a few ants between them. He recoiled and she laughed.
—
She didn’t go to the kitchen. Instead, she and Golden Boy snuck away from the group to the courtyard, where they spent the afternoon sitting beneath the iroko tree, enjoying its generous shade.
Time went far too quickly. Even though in reality it had been five hours; three since her mum had left the house.
And to make matters worse, he was travelling to the UK to take an engineering course that his father had insisted on; so really this was the last time she would see him for months.
Still, what was a couple of months? Six months into the relationship and she was more certain than ever that she was meant to spend the rest of her life by his side.
“I have to go, babe,” he said, standing up. In response, she grabbed the hem of his shirt; she would milk this time for all it was worth.
“Not yet, Golden Boy.”
He sighed, but let her pull him back down. “Will you never stop with this whole Golden Boy ish?”
“Why would I? Your skin is golden, your heart is golden, your wallet is gol—”
“My wallet? I don’t even have a proper job.”
“Your father’s wallet then.”
He chuckled. “I didn’t know I was dating a gold-digger.”
“Now you know. I’m here for the big bucks.”
“Ah, I’ll have to make sure he disowns me then, so I can test this love.”
“Then where will the money come from?”
“We will go and live in a face-me-I-face-you apartment.”
She laughed. “God forbid! Who will follow you there?”
“But I thought you said our love is special. You said, and I quote, ‘This love will survive anything anyone throws at it. It will survive curses, it will survive—’ ” She pinched him. “Ow! This one na domestic violence.”
She kissed his skin; it was already beginning to redden. Then she nibbled, and he sucked in his breath.
“Mo…”
“What?”
“You know what you’re doing. And I have to go. My mom will be home soon and she will raise hell if I’m not there.”
Monife frowned, though of course he had to go. Her own mother would probably be back soon. “Okay. What will you give me, before you go?”
He raised an eyebrow, but she maintained eye contact. “Fine. I shall give you my…” He patted his pockets, then pulled out his handkerchief. “My hanky.” She took it and held it to her cheek. “Am I free to go now?”
She pouted. “Is that how they say bye in your village?”
He pulled her to him and kissed her. It was as though he were trying to pull her being into his, they were so close. When he released her, she felt light-headed. And then he was gone.
Ebun must have heard the gate open and shut, for she was in the courtyard only a couple of minutes after Golden Boy had left. She found Mo on her knees before the tree, digging the soil with a trowel.
“What are you doing?”
“Burying Golden Boy’s handkerchief.”
“Why the hell are you doing that?”
“It’s an antidote against the curse.”
Her cousin rolled her eyes. “You just made that up.”
Mo shrugged, and continued her work. The soil was getting into her fingernails. She watched as an insect scaled her hand. She flicked it off with a finger.
“This is the sort of thing your mum would do.”
“This isn’t juju.”
“Then what is it?”
Mo didn’t have an answer for her cousin, and failing to get a response, Ebun left her side.
How could she explain the compulsion to hold something that belonged to Golden Boy, and then the subsequent need to bury the item, to keep it safe?
To her, it was simply a manifestation of her love. Maybe one day Ebun would understand.
She wasn’t even certain her cousin had dated before; the girl kept secrets as though her life depended on it.
She folded the pale-blue handkerchief gently, and placed it in the newly dug hole, then she covered it up and patted it till she was satisfied the soil looked undisturbed.