Chapter 27

I get a call from my mother on Monday afternoon while I am discussing the restocking timeline with Joe. “Please excuse me, Joe. I need to take this call.”

“Sure,” he says and gets on his feet promptly. “Let me know when you’re done.”

“Of course,” I assure him. As soon as he leaves, I answer my mother’s phone call. “Hello, Mama. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Uzezi my dear,” says Mama amiably. “How are you?”

“I’m… fine,” I reply, unsure. I don’t expect my mother will be sounding this friendly after how our phone conversation ended on Saturday. Typically, my mother gets to say the last word and if it is established that you have offended her, she would sulk for days and give you the silent treatment, and then when she is finally ready to speak with you, you must apologize profusely before any conversation can begin. However, she appears to be breaking her own protocol with this friendly greeting when I haven’t even apologized yet.

“And the twins? How are they?” Asks Mama, still in that weird cheerful tone.

“They’re fine. Are you ok, Mama?” I ask cautiously.

“Of course, I’m fine. Why won’t I be?” She snaps at me. “Are you at work?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Good, good. How’s business?”

“Fine. Everything is fine.”

Pause.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that your business is thriving,” Mama continues. “And I hope that you will continue to make lots of sales in Jesus’ name.”

“Amen,” I reply dully because I can already suspect where this conversation is heading. If my mother is letting me off the hook so easily and being overly nice to me, it can only mean one thing.

“I need your help, Uzezi,” she begins in her most sorrowful tone. “You know I wouldn’t ask if I had someone else to help me out. I know that right now, you’re mostly the one responsible for the care and upkeep of your children, so of course, the financial burden on your shoulders right now would be a lot, but please I really do need your help, dear.”

I suppress a groan of despair and instead encourage her to continue her humble speech. “What is the matter, Mama?” I ask patiently when she didn’t continue her tale.

“Well, you know the group I belong to in church, the Christian Mothers’ Group, we will be having our 10th anniversary by the end of this month. You know how these things work, dear. We were asked to make donations towards the event, of which I have remitted mine as the Lord gave me the power to do, but the only thing remaining now is the outfit for the day. We are all expected to wear the same outfit on the day of the event, and I am yet to purchase mine, and the anniversary day is drawing close at top speed.”

“I see,” I reply dryly.

“Your father hasn’t gotten his pension payment for last month, so he is quite broke right now. And me, I used my last salary to sort out Onome’s hospital bills when she fell ill recently, and you know your little brother, Jite, is always in need of money to buy one book or another in school. He makes it seem like the rest of us didn’t go to university too. He’s eating up all of our money here. So, you see, dear, I have nobody else to turn to for help except you.”

I love my family, but sometimes, I just get so tired of the unending black tax that keeps popping up no matter how much money you give to them. Aside from that, this is a clever way for my mother to guilt me into giving her what she wants, whether I can afford to or not, because to her, this is my way of redeeming myself and apologizing for offending her last week.

“Ok, Mama. How much is the money?” I ask wearily. I don’t even have the strength to argue or give excuses.

“It’s just 46,000 naira,” says Mama excitedly.

An imaginary bell suddenly tolls in my head loudly. “What? 46,000 naira for an outfit? Will Jesus descend from heaven on that day to attend the event or why exactly do you need to wear a dress of that price? That’s like nearly half your salary!”

My mother works in the public health sector as a nurse, and the gross salary isn’t so exciting but there are a few benefits that she enjoys for working as a government employee. However, the downside to working in the public sector far outweighs the benefits. My father is a perfect example; after spending much of his adult life working for the Nigeria Railway Corporation, he has to continuously struggle and sometimes beg to receive his monthly pension allowance even though the amount is meagre.

And then here is my mom, planning to lavish almost 50 grand on an outfit that she may only get to wear a few times before relegating it to her ‘wedding box’ which serves as an archive for clothes she no longer wears but does not want to give away.

“Please, don’t insult me, Uzezi,” she says crossly. “Do you think I’m stupid? Is it every day that I buy clothes worth such a huge amount of money? Why are you so judgmental?”

“I’m not being judgmental, Mama. I mean, seriously! Don’t you think that money is a lot for just one outfit? What the heck is it made of anyway?”

“Voile,” she says icily. “It’s called voile lace and it’s the trending material of the season. That’s what’s in vogue right now. If you are a woman of my age and you don’t own at least one voile lace in your collection, then you should cover your face in shame.”

“So, you’re buying this for the sake of a trend?”

“No, Uzezi. I am buying it because I want to wear a uniform look with the rest of my friends in the CMG in church. I am the executive secretary of the group, for heaven’s sake! Not wearing that cloth is not even an option for me!”

I bite down a sharp retort and instead say, “Ok, Mama. I’ve heard you, but you will have to wait for a week or so before I send the money. I’m in the process of restocking some merchandise in my store right now, so I won’t have much cash left over after that. But hopefully, if we make good sales in the next one week, I’ll definitely have enough money to send to you. Is that fine with you?”

“No, Uzezi. That is not fine with me,” replies Mama coldly. “I need to get that attire today and I cannot wait for a week or so, as you have said. Have you no sense of urgency?”

“What will you have me do then? I can’t afford to give you 46,000 naira right now.”

“Well, don’t you have anyone you can ask for the money? You know, like a loan or a favor?”

My brain refuses to accept what my ears are hearing. “I beg your pardon. You want me to go and ask someone for 46,000 naira or take a loan for you to buy a one-day outfit? Really, Mama?”

Mama scoffs irritably. “Oh, please stop with the theatrics. Can’t you ever stretch yourself beyond limits for your family for once? Stop being so selfish, Uzezi. You’re not suffering, and I know you can afford this money that I’m asking for. Why are you doing this to me?”

“Mama, you’re being ridiculous! I have never stretched myself beyond limits for my family? Who paid for Onome’s school fees until she graduated from university? Who is the major financial contributor to Jite’s school fees and upkeep? How many times have I sent money to you and Papa to make up for the months that you didn’t get your salary and pension as at when due? Do you know how tough it is for me now to be solely responsible for myself and my children? And on top of that, you want me to shell out nearly 50,000 naira just so you can look pretty in church with your friends. Seriously?”

Mama is silent for a few seconds before speaking again. “Ok, fine. I’m sorry. Maybe I exaggerated a little, but my dear, I am very desperate. Please don’t let me be disgraced amongst my peers. Why don’t you ask your boyfriend to help you with the money? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind; it’s going to be like taking a drop of water out of the sea. Trust me, he won’t even notice that money left his account.”

“My boyfriend? Which boyfriend?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“Oh, don’t act coy with me, Uzezi. Your billionaire boyfriend, of course. Go on, ask him for the money. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“Wow, Mama. Wow! You amaze me. Aren’t you the same person who was berating me for getting into a relationship after my divorce? The same one that called me a woman of easy virtue, and now here you are, telling me to ask for money from a man I barely know. I’m sorry to break your heart, Mama, but I won’t do it. I’m not a shameless person.”

“So, I am shameless?”

“I don’t know, but you telling me to ask for money from an acquaintance is very inappropriate and I expected you to know better.”

“Good Lord! You always look for a way to blow little things out of proportion, don’t you? Very well, then. I’ll find my money elsewhere. Thanks for not helping.”

“Whatever,” I roll my eyes after hanging up. The audacity! My mother can be such a handful at times, because what the heck was that phone call? When did my mother become like this? When did she become so superficial and utterly selfish?

Times have always been tough for my folks right from my teenage years, which was around the time that I understood the financial situation of my family. Having parents who both work in the public sector in this country without side hustles is a definite recipe for a life of poverty and struggles. From my days in the university, I had learned to fend for myself, doing menial tasks and selling knick-knacks just to get by, and then share whatever is leftover with my family. Taking care of them after I graduated from the university and nailed my first job, came easily too. It was expected and I lived up to the task to the best of my abilities. Now, more than a decade later, my mother is still leeching off me and doing so shamelessly, and with such a sense of entitlement, it’s so embarrassing.

A knock on the door rouses me from my mood reverie. “Yes?” I ask.

Joe pokes his head through the open door with a wide smile on his face. “Hey, boss. Are you done with your phone call?”

“Thankfully, yes,” I reply with a grin. “Ready to take inventory for restocking?”

“Actually, no,” he says with a mischievous smile. “Someone’s here to see you.”

“Who?” I ask, puzzled.

His only response is a cheeky grin and a playful wiggle of his perfectly shaped eyebrows.

I squint. What game is Joe playing? Who is here to see me and why is he so excited about my visitor, anyway?

A lightbulb goes off in my head and my heart suddenly starts racing. Could it be who I think it is?

“Who is here to see me?” I ask Joe almost breathlessly.

“Why don’t you come and see for yourself?” He replies.

With my heart hammering wildly in my chest and my stomach twisted in tight knots, I exit my office wearing a shaky yet hopeful smile on my lips.