Chapter VII
VII
Ebun called a family meeting after Eniiyi had locked herself in her room.
The two older women dragged their feet. Her aunt claimed she had to finish cooking the jollof rice; her mother wanted to conclude her phone call; but Ebun sat in the living room, sipping a glass of water, until they both appeared before her.
“What is it you want to say?” asked her aunt.
“Please, sit down.”
The women looked at one another, but in the end, her mother gathered her voluminous bubu and sank into her armchair, while her aunt sat on the sofa and irritably rumbled in her bag for her snuff box.
They could not have looked more different, but Ebun knew they would band together if they felt threatened.
“Did you know Eniiyi has become convinced that she is Monife?”
“Haaa! Is that why you beat her like that?!” cried her mother.
“You beat Eniiyi? Why?” demanded Bunmi.
“Don’t. You can’t behave like you didn’t beat us in your day.”
“I don’t recall,” sniffed her mother.
“How will you recall, Mummy? It’s not convenient for you to recall.”
“Don’t talk to me like that! I am still your mother. èmi ló bí ?!”
Ebun sighed and rubbed her forehead with her fingers. This wasn’t going well. “Mummy, Aunty, have you been telling Eniiyi she is the reincarnation of Mo?”
They didn’t say anything, but her mother looked at her aunt and her aunt did not blink.
“Aunty?”
“What?!” cried Aunty Bunmi.
“Have you been telling Eniiyi that—”
“I only say she looks like her. It’s not a lie na. Moti is the spitting image of Monife.”
“That’s all you’ve said? That she looks like her aunty?”
“Maybe I mentioned once that some people come back to life…”
Ebun groaned. She wanted to throw herself at the older woman.
“Aren’t you making too big a deal of this, Ebun? What is really the harm?” Her mum’s voice was pleading, conciliatory.
“This is Eniiyi’s life. Her life. Not a shared one with a woman who chose to end hers.”
“You will NOT talk about my daughter like that!” cried Aunty Bunmi
“If you won’t face the truth, that’s your problem, not Eniiyi’s. I do not want her head filled with all this rubbish.”
In the corner of her eye, a movement. Monife was standing in the doorway. No, not Monife. Eniiyi. How much had she heard? Then Ebun remembered she had been speaking in Yoruba, and her daughter’s grasp of the language was still rudimentary.
“Eniiyi, come here.”
Eniiyi entered the room slowly. Their eyes met, but Eniiyi’s gaze was steely.
“Listen to me. You are not a reincarnation. You are you. And if anyone tells you differently, report them to me.”
“We are not trying to hurt her,” interrupted her mother. “We love Eniiyi as much as you do, Ebun. You are behaving as though you need to protect her from us.”
“I don’t want any more talk of reincarnation or of Mo.”
“You can’t force me to stop talking about my daughter. This is not even your house!” shouted her aunt.
“Perhaps I should consider moving out, then, and taking my daughter with me!”
“Ebun, relax. There is no need for all—”
“If you both refuse to respect my boundaries, then it is no good for me to be here.”
They were quiet. Her mother focused on her hands, her aunt on a wall. Then Eniiyi spoke. “I won’t follow you. You can go by yourself.”
“Eniiyi, don’t talk to your mother like that.”
“I wish she wasn’t my mother,” and with that, her daughter left the room.