Still Waters

FIVE

Amara

"Eby, lower that music." I snap.

Ebere, my 20-year-old sister and her friend are making tiktok videos. They are twerking their booties to Wizkid's 'soco' and yes, they are busting the moves, but I am trying to sleep here.

I'm exhausted. I would have skipped church today, but mom wouldn't hear of it. I swear she gets holier as she gets older. So, after a long hyper, dramatic church service and handling family lunch preparations, I am trying to get some much-needed sleep but little miss tiktok celebrity and her twinnie had other ideas. It's annoying that I still share a room with my kid sister. I should have a place of my own, but my mom says I'm only moving out after I get married. I love my mom but she's so old fashioned, it's annoying. I don't think my dad cares much what I do. Sometimes he even forgets that I exist.

"Amy just use your ear plugs. We're almost done" Ebere says, laughing. I raise my head and give her my hardest glare. I am three years older than her and can still be a meanie if I want to. She gets the message. Rolling her eyes, she turns to her friend. "Lara, let's go to the common room."

I watch them go in their matching camouflage leggings and tank tops. They like to wear the same outfits and tell people they're twins. They are so delusional if they think that's believable. Ebere is short, light skinned and thick, Lara is tall, dark-skinned and slim. But everyone stupidly calls them twinnies...even me.

"Yeah, go to the common room" I mutter because I like to have the last word. "That's if Iya Ajoke does dot chase you away with her broom." I chuckle at the thought. I'm not a bad sister, but it is just funny imagining them running around with my angry stepmother close on their heels brandishing a broom. Now that will make for a good tiktok video.

Iya Ajoke is my father's first wife, and for some reason she feels she is the custodian of the common room - a large room built in the center of the compound apart for relaxing or receiving guests. With large windows, it is airy and perfect for enjoying the soft breeze in the evenings. My mom calls it Obi in her language, but since my father is Yoruba and all his wives are all from different tribes, we just referred to it as the common room.

Yes, my father, chief Olamide Badmus is a polygamist. He built three identical bungalows for all three wives while he stays in the main mansion. Some of my teenage or grown-up stepbrothers are allowed to stay in the mansion before they move out to their own place, but my mom insisted that Tobenna, my 17-year-old brother lives with us. Not that there was any animosity between the kids though. She's just overprotective. He is the reason I and Ebere have to share a room, since my mom has one room, and he has one. My father says placing his wives in different houses was done to keep the peace. It is true. When I was little, there was so much quarrelling between my mom and Iya Ajoke, and often over stupid things like kitchen space. So, he built them their cribs. Then the third wife came, and he built hers as well. There's no more space in the compound for a fourth house, so I think he's going to stick to three wives.

There aren't many polygamists around in this day and time, but my father thinks it a thing of pride to have 3 wives and 11 children. Iya Ajoke alone has five children. She must think childbearing is a competition. I wouldn't mind it much if my father met our every need. Then we wouldn't have to vie for the largest share of the Badmus cake. My father is not poor but he's a little stingy. He's the kind of man that likes to be petted and praised before he spends a kobo. His ego is larger than his tummy and trust me, his tummy is large.

Sometimes, I wonder what my mom saw in him in the first place. I wonder if the street rumours were true, that she was just a gold digger looking to upgrade her status. But lately, I don't care. My mom has mothered us in more ways than my father has fathered us. I hardly know my father. He's barely around. He's as much a stranger to me as he is to a random Nigerian reading the tabloids. My mom filled in for him when he was absent, and for that I respect her. She is a stubborn one. She likes to be respected and treated like a queen. She carries herself as such. She is still beautiful and back in the day, she had my father eating out of the palm of her hands. She knew how to get what she wanted without grovelling at his feet. Well, until the third wife came and stole his heart away. Now, my mother says that scheming and fighting for a man's attention is beneath her. I'm proud she has risen above her fighting days, and I mean that literally. The result - we don't have as much as we would like.

My father takes care of our education, feeding, clothing and gives a monthly allowance to all wives and children according to age or position. The amount has remained constant since I was fifteen years old. Did he forget inflation? And lest I forget, the allowances stop once a child gets a job, so I don't qualify. I'm not bothered that I do not get anything from him, I just wish my mother could get more. Thanks to her business of selling fabrics and my monthly contributions, we're doing okay. Other wives go behind closed doors to get their extras. Not my mom though. She's above that now, she says. I think it's her pride talking, but I understand it. I also think she's low-key bitter. She hates the third wife as much as Iya Ajoke hates her.

Enough of my crazy family though. I'm trying to sleep here. Snuggling further into the pillows, I begin drifting off to sleep when my phone buzzes. I feel for it and press the power button, silencing it. In 10 seconds, it is ringing again. C'mon, I was just starting to dream. I angrily accept the call without checking the caller ID properly.

"What?" I groan at Tobenna.

"Wrong timing?" drawls a deep voice, too deep to be Tobenna's. I pull the phone away from my ear to look at it because the voice is not familiar. I stared in shock at the name Tonye staring back at me from my screen. I gave him my number. And I saved his? Must have been some interesting talk we had.

"Is this a bad time?" He repeats, drawing me back to the present.

"Ughm, yeah, I was trying to take a nap." I yawn hoping he'd end the call. Why is he all up in my face? I had ignored his Instagram chats and now he is calling me. I feel like I am being stalked.

"Okay. Call me when you're awake. I'd like to open an account for my company and probably invest in a fixed deposit." He explains.

The word 'deposit' rings in my head like jingle bells, but I am still a little irritated at being woken up.

"I believe that can wait till tomorrow?" I say with slight attitude. I mean, it's the weekend. I am trying to rest so I can be strong enough to chase my cheese like a mouse tomorrow.

But hey look, cheese found you already.

The realization makes the tone of my next words much friendlier. "How about I meet you tomorrow so we can work on that?"

"Sounds great." He says. "Call me."

"Sure, I will."

That's how much a mouse needed cheese.

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