by Ikechukwu Henry
The piercing sting jolts Adanne’s senses, eliciting a soft whine as she flutters her dress and bedsheet, rousing from her slumber like a startled bird. The source of her discomfort soon reveals itself—a determined ant, scrambling desperately for escape.
Summoning her resolve, Adanne confronts the diminutive intruder, expelling its fragile life with a sudden sneeze that smashes it asunder. The sting courses through her skin, driving her to scratch the most agonizing spot—just beside her thigh, where a childhood scar bears witness to her mother’s disciplinary tactics. Her mind wanders back to those bygone days, and she chuckles at her own youthful naivety.
She recalls how she invariably succumbed to her mother’s allure, just as she had that day the same enticement that lured her out from hiding spots when her mother uncovered her misdeeds.
“Adanne, come out now. I’ll not beat you,” her mother’s voice had resonated from beneath the bed frame she had concealed herself under.
But five-year-old Adanne had learned not to trust her mother’s words. The last time she’d emerged from her hiding place behind the compound blocks, her mother’s screams had filled the air, threatening dire consequences that would leave the whole community in shock.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she trembled, pleading desperately, “Mum, please don’t beat me,” her voice fragile, hands tightly clasped together. As the horse whip had struck, her vision was blurred, stars dancing above her eyes, the dress doing little to shield her from the pain, leaving zigzagging marks on her tender back.
“Adanne, I’m warning you. Come out now!” she had cried, but Adanne had resolved never to fall for her mother’s trick again, not even for the tempting fried rice she’d just finished cooking. Food could wait.
As she reminisced, hunger gnawed at her stomach, yet the suffocating air beneath the bed motivated her to crawl out for a breath of fresh air.
Silence prevailed, enveloping her like a cocoon as she tentatively emerged, scanning her parents’ bedroom. She plotted her escape route toward Mama Kemi’s room, seeking refuge until her father returned. With a quick glance out the window, she discerned no one in sight and dashed across to Mama Kemi’s room.
Adanne shakes her head, contemplating the absurdity of an ant constructing a miniature tent on her bed. She’s aware of the stray cockerel’s crow outside, perched on the grand mango tree at the center of their compound, where they all sleep at night.
“Ada!” her father’s commanding voice resonates from outside, loud and deep, the chewing stick still nestled between his lips.
She sighs, slipping her feet into her bedroom slippers. “Anụma abia biko, I’m coming, please.”
The morning dew causes her to shiver, and she steps outside to find her father beneath the mango tree, fully dressed, with the chewing stick still in his mouth.
“Whose turn is it to sweep the compound?”
Adanne scans the littered compound, filled with dried leaves, empty water sachets, and biscuit wrappers. “I don’t know, Papa,” she responds.
“Kedụ nke bụ imaghi? Which one is ‘I don’t know’?” he presses.
She merely shrugs.
“Ask Fatima or Abioye.”
“Should I ask Fatima or Abioye? When was the last time you swept since you returned from school?” she retorts, tugging at her pajamas.
He avoids her gaze, then warns, “Let me come back here and this place is still untidy. This house won’t contain all of us, including your mothers.”
Adanne rolls her eyes, resisting the urge to hiss, knowing that favoritism continues to plague her home.
Adanne stumbles upon the bench outside their bungalow, grateful that her father had constructed separate bungalows for his two wives besides her mother. The silence enveloping the building is unexpected, blending seamlessly with the chilly air, sending shivers down Adanne’s spine as she heads for the kitchen.
But her path is abruptly halted by a surprising sight. Her brother and step-brothers sit in a circle, a reddish porridge yam laid out before them. Beside her stepbrother Abdul, a bottle of Seven-Up drink and watermelon, both whole and sliced, glisten in the sunlight. Iyanda, her second stepbrother, has a large blue jug and a handle-less stainless steel cup by his side.
Her brother, Eze, notices her and beckons her closer, drawing the others’ attention.
“So, since nobody’s around, you guys are here enjoying, eh?” Adanne stands with a hand on her hip. Her father had married women from three major tribes, against his kinsmen’s advice.
“Ada, come and join us. We just started eating,” Abdul invites, winking at her. She chuckles, lightly smacking his back and taking a seat beside him.
As she savors her first mouthful of yam, she nods and exclaims, “Yummy.” Cooking can wait; for now, she must replenish her strength.
Adanne belches, a discordant note in the symphony of her family’s dinner. The sound from her stomach rumbles like thunder from within her as she takes the final shard of yam, a rambling melody of satisfaction and indulgence. She gazes at her brothers, sipping the seven-up drink slowly from handleless stainless steel cups, their actions akin to a ritualistic dance around the table’s center. Yet, a sense of weariness shrouds her like a heavy cloak, and the siren call of sleep hovers in her eyes. Adanne rises, her movements a delicate balancing act.
“Be careful, pregnant woman,” Iyanda teases with a mischievous glint in his eye. Adanne rolls her eyes in response, her irritation a fleeting thunderstorm, and she begins to lumber towards her room.
“Ada, when are you going to cook?” Eze, her elder brother inquires, his tone laced with curiosity.
She halts, turning to face him, brows furrowed like a distant mountain range. “You just finished eating minutes ago. Which food are you talking about again?” When Eze remains silent, she embarks on her journey back to her room, her retreat as graceful as a dancer’s final bow, fading into the cocoon of her dreams.
Adanne trudges her way outside, momentarily blinded by the orange tint of the sky as darkness gradually claims the earth. The rhythmic pounding of mortar and pestle reverberates through the air, like the heartbeat of the evening. Laughter, a chorus of voices, and the clinking of utensils compose the ambient music. Adanne’s gaze wanders toward their kitchen, where a plume of smoke dances into the sky. Her mother has returned, and Adanne has been ensnared in slumber’s tender embrace for hours. She wonders what sort of enchanted yam concoction her brothers and step-brothers might have prepared to lull her into such a deep sleep. With purposeful steps, she makes her way to the kitchen, where her family has gathered in a haphazard formation, as if in anticipation of a grand spectacle.
Behind Abdulkareem, her stepbrother, Abioye and Fatima sit, their eyes glued to his phone, an electronic oracle guiding them through its digital realm. Iyanda and Eze collaborate in the rhythmic choreography of pounding Cocoyams. Adanne strides toward Abdul, sneakily peeking into his phone, only to discover the luminous glow of a captivating movie.
“Ada, you’re awake?” Fatima quips, a note of playful sarcasm in her voice. Adanne scoffs lightly, her response a subtle brushstroke on the canvas of their banter. She then makes her way to the threshold of the kitchen. Before her, a congregation of her mother and stepmothers congregates around a blazing hearth, their figures silhouetted by the dancing flames.
“Good evening, Mama Kemi and Iya,” she greets her stepmothers with a reverent genuflection. Adanne nestles beside her mother, gently tugging at her dress. “Mummy, good evening. I forgot to start the cooking earlier,” she confesses, her words like offerings laid before an altar of understanding.
Her mother remains silent, a portrait of stoic resolve. Adanne’s mind meanders back to the vivid stories her mother had woven regarding her father’s early marriages. Tales of how his kinsmen had painted a vivid tapestry of consequences if he dared to wed women from tribes other than his own. His stubbornness, a shield forged in the fires of defiance, had defied the snickers and scorn of others, until he had married his second wife, Adanne’s mother. People might have assumed he would cease his matrimonial conquests after securing a wife from his tribe, but he had ventured further, taking a beautiful Hausa wife, thus amassing a trio of unions that irked his family.
Adanne beams inwardly, her heart a fluttering butterfly of pride as she surveys her surroundings. The serenity and unity that grace her family, like a crown upon a noble head, have left outsiders bewildered. They struggle to fathom how such harmony thrives within her familial fold, like a well-tuned symphony conducted by destiny itself.
Ikechukwu Henry(he/him) is a Nigerian Ìgbo writer and an aspiring student who loves to explore the adversities and darkness of human minds, how it works, the secrets the world isn’t telling him, of human interactional behavior and his surroundings, along with his fervor for books and movies. His hobbies include but are not limited to reading, stuffing through websites for Kdrama/Cdrama movies/series or browsing about the latest magazine to submit to. He’s a myth enthusiast and loves to read books or acticles on them especially Greek mythology and when he’s less busy, he can be found beta reading for new writers. He was the Ro-novella Writing contest First Edition 2022 first runner-up, 2024 PROFWIC Valentine’s Day Writing Contest Shortlisted and was Longlisted for Sevhage Prize For Short Fiction 2023. His works have appeared on or forthcoming in Kahalari Review, Afrihill Press, Swim Press, The AfterPast Review, Icreative Review, Synchronized Chaos and others. He tweets at @Ikechukwuhenry_.