Dreams fall apart...

Ojuolapeeeeee! Ojuloapeeee!
Maaaaaaa! Sheri the maid and I scream in response. We both look at each other, wondering who was gonna die this afternoon...

I get up and run to my mother as fast as my 11 year old legs could carry me, the housegirl in tow. As I approach mother, 'Ki le leyi' (What is this?) I take a precautionary step backwards, as i sensed what was next.

'se eti e ti di abi?... I said what is this?" mother asks warningly. Out of the corner of my eye, i catch a sigh of relief escaping sherri. She must have been thanking God for sparing her life an extra day... I had to think fast...

'It is my notebook, mommy', I said. My voice betraying the fear of what was to come. 'se nkan se e ni, i can see that it is a notebook' she reaches and grabs me by the ears, planting a lound, painful knock on my head... 'mo ni ki le leyi' I was crying at this point cos I knew shit just hit the fan. My mother had found my lirrule attempt at being a writer. Considering all the 'adult' material I had been filling my head with, I could only imgine my mother's shock in reading the first few paragraphs.

'I was writing a story, mommie' I said, sobbing.
'ehn ehn, o nko story... is that what i am paying for? Story?' She asks warningly
No response from me. You see, we learnt long ago to watch the kind of response to give my mother when she asks these kinds of questions. Your response might determine the magnitude of your punishment. This was however inconsistent. Mother could change the rules as she pleased. Not giving a response sometimes meant fueling her anger some more. I was wondering where my choice today would take me. The hot 'back hand' that i got next sure woke me up.

'awon ebi baba e ti bere abi... won fe ko ba mi abi' says mother.
I mentally roll my eyes, but my eyes better not manifest any rapid movements, momsie might slap them out my forehead.

I start to sniff.

'Okay, since you can't answer me, let me call Baba Alaye (the driver) to take me to Mrs Adedapo's (the assistant principal)house. I have to get an explanation from your English teacher today.'

I race after her and hold onto her skirt, bawling... 'mommie pleeeeaaaasssseeee' I knew that would be the end of my 'rep' if word ever got to school about my writing... well what I was writing about.

'...to ri omo kan o le wa koba mi... kini gbogbo rada rada yii, where are you getting all these bad thoughts from ehn... abi mo ma dare ke... what have i done to deserve this...' she starts to cry too.

I must warn that she sometimes has a flare for drama. she has to make most things about her. This was an example, but I wasn't thinking these thoughts then. I knew for sure that my mom would disown me that day if she could read my mind.

'Mommie, please... i am just trying to practise to be a writer...' I stuttered. This time around my mother whips around, knocking me back in fear. 'ki lo wi yen naa...? She asks. I dare not repeat myself. I avert my eyes and cower in the corner. She starts to rip the pages to my precious exercise book. I saw my dreams being taken apart as each little piece caught the wind.

'laiye laiye e, ma tun je kin gbo iru oshi oro yen mo... no child of mine will ever be a teacher. Have you not heard about being a doctor or lawyer or architect ni, abi iru omo wo lo fe ya na? look, if you ever have aspirations of going to America like your brother, you had better find something better to do with your life and stop writing all these nonsense storybooks. lo ja egba e wa' .

I knew I had to figure out a way to make her proud. I had to be like my brother no matter what. After my thrashing that night, as I cried myself to sleep, i begged God to make me just like my brother, that I was willing to do whatever it took and then some. The man upstairs must have been listening.