I was fifteen when Mama had my sisters. The Dibia said she’d have a long delay but no one had thought it was to be ten years after I had clocked five. Papa was unconditionally supportive. No one in the community ever waited that long before marrying another wife, but he never hid the fact that he wanted a son.
I could remember what Papa’s response and countenance was like when the news of Mama’s safe delivery was delivered to him. Papa looked like he had tasted human shits mixed with cow dung in his ofe nsala.
“Abomination! Tufia! Evils. The gods have sent me evils again. . . Onyemachi, my manhood has been crushed.”
Papa’s lamentation that day passed Prophet Jeremiah’s. I couldn’t help but wondered what it was like the day Mama gave birth to me.
Mama had given birth to female twins to the disappointment of Papa who wanted boys. I didn’t understand the extent of the hate until the night Mama returned home still very much sore and weak and Papa acted like a goat.
He made love to Mazi Mmelu’s second child on the same bed Mama was sleeping on with her arms around my sisters. The moans had woken her up and she was no longer herself after what she had saw.
That same night Mama had lost her mind leaving me to cater for my sisters who had only tasted the colostrum.
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