Even after cutting off her pinky finger, my sister never reincarnated — part 1
I will tell this story from the eyes of a 5-year-old me.
My younger sister was born in the year 2000. Having a baby sister was supposed to make me happy but it was the opposite. She took away my privileges as an only child and also cut my playtime in half. Before she was born, I knew no big sister responsibilities. The phrase ‘big sister’ didn’t exist in my world.
Being the only child guaranteed 5 Christmas clothes and matching footwear, home lessons from great tutors(do you know how rich and forward-thinking your parents must be to be able to afford a home tutor in the 1990s and early 2000s?), school shoes that are worthy of being borrowed for inter-school events even if I’m not participating, extra lunchbox and water bottle in case I get bored with the one I’m using. New term, new school shoes and bag. My dad made it a law and saw to it.
I always had cartons of foreign biscuits and candy to take as much as I wanted to school, for me and my friends (my mother dares not disagree or she will answer to the high chief called daddy)
My friends treated me like an exotic being. It must have been exhausting to have a high-maintenance friend like me, but I didn’t notice it. Or maybe I did.
I went to a friend's house to play after school one fateful day. I ditched home lessons to have more time for play. It was lunchtime when I got there and I immediately knew it was going to be awkward.
My friend's aunt called me to join Chiamaka (my friend) to eat immediately after I entered. Oh, Ogo, ukwu gi amaka. Join Chiamaka to eat and let me know if you guys want more, inu go? Okay Aunty, thank you.
She then disappeared into the hut kitchen to dish out the rest of the food for other family members.
Chiamaka brought another spoon for me with no enthusiasm at all. Welu ngazi — I collected the spoon and held it without scooping any food. Eat now or is our food not up to your standard? She barked. It's not like the food didn't look tasty. It's jollof rice with less tomatoes and more vegetable oil. The colour of the rice was pale yellow instead of the original orange jollof look. But that wasn't my reason for not joining in her dismeriment. My reason was that I never felt comfortable eating in other people's houses. They found it rude but I couldn't do anything about it. It became my reputation and not in a likeable way. Every time someone wanted to offer me food, especially at Chiamaka's house, she would immediately tell them they were wasting their time. And my mother never threatened to cut my stomach open when I ate in other people's houses, that was Chiamaka's thing. Her aunt always threatened to cut her stomach open if she ate from strangers but that didn't stop her. She would eat to her satisfaction and double her playtime so that her stomach will be reduced by the time she got home. I never felt how little I made Chiamaka feel. My personality didn't also help as I had more confidence than most adult. And I knew it too well but I didn't understand how to tone it down.
But all these experiences were threatened by the birth of Ngozi. She was fair in complexion, she took that from my dad. But not his quiet and peaceful nature. Ngozi was a menace. Till today, I've not seen a child that could match her vocal prowess. Her high-pitched cry could make anyone accuse you of child abuse. Oh, that girl tormented my life.
My mother didn’t make it easy when she would leave her with me to go to the market (Afor Ukpor). The market opens every four days — missing it was never an option. And taking Ngozi with her wasn’t an option either. Taking her would mean not achieving all that she could in the market as she would not allow you to sit or stand still. She wants to be tied on the back with a wrapper while you stroll up and down for her comfort. Your refusal to comply means bringing the heavens down with her not-so-angelic voice.
So, my mom makes me stay with Ngozi and take care of her while she's away. And, oh, did she despise me? She could feel my little frame and my inexperience and impatience with being a big sister and that provoked her even more. Like "Who the fuck handed me to this midget amateur? Then she would proceed to make my whole day a living nanny hell. She wouldn’t take food from me, instead, she would throw it in my face. Will not sleep. Will not let me back her, will not let me sit and carry her, will not let me keep her down. Oh, man. I survived those days with the help of neighbours who would come running when they heard her screams.
I would trade any kind of punishment rather than look after Ngozi. But how could I have known that it was the only memory I would have of her?
