ÀṢÀKẸ́

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

                    I kicked off my cover cloth as I sprang off my bed. I didn't know what it was, and I didn't care, all my instincts told me was to run out of the room.

“Àṣàkẹ́! Àṣàkẹ́! Dúró, èmi ni” (Asake! Asake! Wait, it's me), a familiar voice spoke, as I was about waltzing out of the room.

“Màámi?”(mummy?), I paused for a while and tired to make a meaning out of the voice I heard, and the vague figure that sat on my bed; it was dark.

“AhHahahaha!” she laughed hysterically. “Mo mú ẹ!”(I got you!), she kept laughing. That was a first time, seeing her laugh that much. To be honest, that was a good scare, and it had a perfect timing with my nightmare. But, was she  here just to scare me? It was just past one in the morning! What was she doing in my room?

“Mo kàn ní kí n wá wò ẹ́” (I just wanted to check up on you). She seemed to have read my mind, as she answered all the questions bouncing around my head. I sat beside her on the bed, and there was an awkward silence, as we both stared at each other. I knew what she wanted, but I wasn't ready to give in. This must also be the reason why she was in my room at such time.

It was a tug of war between us the previous evening. She had tried so hard to extract the information surrounding the reason why I fainted when I discovered who my biological father was. Wasn't it enough that she was molested? I didn't know how she would feel knowing the same man who raped her was also after her daughter.

“Màámi” (mummy), I broke the silence, “mo ti sọ fún yín, kòsí ǹkankan” (I've told you, there's no problem).

“Rárá! Ǹkáń wà!” (No! There's a problem!), she replied at the top of her voice. She picked a right time for this discussion; bàámi wasn't home. For bàámi, it was one of those annual moments when he stayed back at the forest, searching for a good animal he could present for the upcoming festival. For me, it was him spending time with his second wife so she won't explode at us again.

I tried to convince her there was nothing, but she wouldn't take no for an answer. I had made up my mind concerning the issue, but when I saw how much concern and persistency she showed, a part of me wanted to tell her; afterall, she was my mother. My conscience at once reminded me there was another secret I kept from her, one I couldn't reveal on the justification of motherhood. After another round of silence and frustration, I was persuaded to let her know.

“Nk--” (Wha--)

“Mo ti mọ ǹkan tó ṣẹlẹ̀” (I now know what's going on), she interrupted.

“Ẹ mọ̀ọ́?” (you know?), I asked, followed by a large gulp.

“Bẹ́ẹ̀ni mo mọ̀” (Yes I know), she responded. I bowed my head in self pity.

“Mo mọ̀ pé gbogbo ǹkan tó ti ń ṣẹlẹ̀ lo rò papọ̀, ló fi jẹ́ ọ dákú” (I know you thought of all that has been happening, and that was why you fainted), she responded, with confidence that she knew the truth. “Àmọ́” (but), she continued as she reached out for my hands, “mi ò fẹ́ kọ ròó jù. Ṣo mọ̀ pé ìwọ nìkan ni mo ní” (i don't want you think too much. You know  you are all I have got). She gave me a tight hug. I felt worse, knowing I had to keep two secrets from her. Caught in the embrace of her arms, I stared at the little hole on my window, an opening for a little ray of moonlight. As expected, I had to try hard not to cry.

“Óyá, lọ sùn. Ṣo mọ̀ pé ò ń lọ ilé ìwé bó bá di àárọ̀” (Oya, go and sleep. You know you're going to school when it's morning), she said as she gave a prideful grin.

“Ó dàárọ̀ màámi” (goodnight mummy), I muffled among a loud yawn, tucking my legs in the cover cloth I had kicked off.

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