When Father Was In Charge
Nnedimma Okoli
©
Copyright 2024 by Nnedimma Okoli
|
Photo by Kevin McCutcheon on Unsplash |
I
was seven when my mother travelled from Awka, where we lived, to
Abuja for a job interview. Father was to take care of us for the two
days that Mother would be away. This had never happened in the past;
having our father take care of us for a complete day without our
mother being there to direct and order things. It had been Mother who
always cooked in the house, it was she who bathed us, who made sure
the house was in order. Mother was like that umpire that watches over
every moment, ensuring that everyone played by the rules.
My
two brothers and I were happy to be home alone with Father. We were
excited. If you asked us the parent we liked better, our little minds
would easily have chosen our father. We wouldn’t have thought
about it twice.
We
had enough reason to be happy. For one, Father had never punished us,
no matter what it was we did wrong and how hard we provoked him. It
was always Mother who disciplined us. Father only talked, and even at
that, he always spoke softly—like a composition played on a
distant piano. We behaved as we pleased around him. We could turn the
whole house upside down, ride on his back all we want, and even
flaunt some of Mother’s house rules. Those rules that ensured
we were well behaved. We knew Father would never punish us. It was
common for us to hear Father tell us to stop acting in a certain way
because Mother would soon be back home.
I
remember one particular day when the three of us were playing with
Father and the sitting room was in a state of disarray. We heard
Mother’s car horn indicating that she was back, the next words
we heard were… “Arrange the house fast before your
mother gets here”. That was typical of my father, and our three
innocent minds loved him that way, more than we loved our mother. We
always thought Mother was not kind enough for not allowing us do as
we pleased.
Presently,
Mother left for the interview and we had two whole days to spend with
Father. Two full days! It felt like these two days would be like
going to Wonderland and having to do all the fun things I’ve
ever dreamed of.
So
the two fun days began. That first day, I remember jumping on my
parent’s very springy bed for more than an hour. I flung the
bed-spread away to the floor and kept on jumping. When I was done, I
told Father I wanted to leave the house to visit my friend in the
neighbourhood. Mother would have asked me to wait till weekend. But
Father, being who he was, obliged and dropped me off. I played the
whole of that day to my fill before returning back home. It was one
of the good days a seven year old could ask for.
I
knew my brothers had been off to their own devices as well. I wasn’t
sure how they spent that first day but when I returned to the house
that evening, it was a mess. Clothes and toys were scattered
everywhere. I saw crayon marks on the walls; Mother would be mad at
this. The free day wasn’t enough for my brothers, I still saw
them running around and do as they pleased even at night.
I
did enjoy my day, but the more I stared at the state of the house,
the more I became uncomfortable. When I looked at Father, he was
sitting on his reading chair and staring at us like he was at a loss.
He seemed to be at a loss. I waited for him to ask us to get to work,
but that order didn’t come. I waited some more, but it seemed
the more I waited, the more he looked to be at a loss. So I set to
work, arranging the house. It was easy to do. Mother had made me do
so on several occasions. As I put things in order, I saw the
expression on Father’s face begin to change. I couldn’t
find that lost look on his face anymore. I arranged the house, tried
to clean off the crayons from the walls the best I could, then I saw
myself suddenly taking the place of Mother. I just acted like her
without knowing why. I made my brothers join me in the chores of
getting the house in order. Father was smiling now. I saw his smile
widen and I did more.
The
following day was less dramatic. I didn’t jump so much on my
parent’s springy bed. I jumped a little, then got down and
arranged the bed sheet and pillows the best I could. I also tried to
control how wild my brothers played. There should be some order in
the chaos. In spite of that, we all went to bed when we wanted, not
by 8:00 p.m. that Mother ruled. We also asked and got more candies
than we were allowed to have.
The
two days was soon over. Mother returned and we welcomed her back. I
watched the face expression of my elder brother and the way he hugged
her absentmindedly and knew he wasn’t happy. He had played the
outdoor ball inside the house and Father never rebuked him, he had
jumped on the cushions while we watched the television and no one had
stopped him. All his excesses would end now that Mother was home.
I
had missed Mother particularly because I realized that even though
she disciplined us when we acted wrongly, she was soft in her own
way. So I hugged her tight instead. I had missed hugging her. I
missed how she brushed and styled my long curly hair every morning.
I
took the things she brought back from her journey into the kitchen
and rummaged through the bags. I knew nothing interesting would be in
them. Mother never bought us candies and chocolates since she
believed we got more than enough from Father. She claims she doesn’t
want any of us to have problems with our teeth. Not surprising, the
bags were filled with fruits and vegetables, it was why my elder
brother didn’t bother to take the bags to the kitchen.
I
looked at Father as he hugged Mother after we were done with our own
hugs. I saw his face. I knew he was grateful that Mother was finally
back. I understood his face and his thoughts at that moment. Father
was glad that Mother was back. He needed her around for the role she
played. I understood him too, there should be a balance in
everything.
“Hope
they didn’t give you much trouble?” Mother asked Father.
“They
did not, we played most of the time,” Father answered.
“Yes
mummy. We played a lot, even past our bed time,” Chidi, my
younger brother said.
Mother
didn’t seem happy about this news, I knew this from the unhappy
side eye she gave Father. I also knew she would raise the issue with
him when they were alone in their room.
“Mummy,”
my elder brother called. “Father can cook more than you, all
the food he cooked were very sweet.”
Mother
was visibly surprised at this. “Really? I didn’t know you
could cook that well, honey. Maybe you should cook tonight, I need to
taste your food as well.”
Father
laughed. “Don’t mind him please, I only cooked the best I
could.”
“And
it was sweeter than all mummy’s food combined,” my elder
brother said again. “Maybe daddy should really take over the
cooking.”
Father
protested again and the matter was settled faster than I thought.
Mother would continue cooking for us. In all, I knew it wasn’t
much of an argument. Mother loved to do her daily kitchen magic, she
wouldn’t leave the cooking for someone else to do. She loved
doing it.
That
evening, after Mother had narrated to us how her journey and
interview went, she went into the kitchen to prepare dinner. The rest
of us were in the sitting room watching cartoon on the television
when we heard a loud scream from Mother. In a matter of seconds, we
found ourselves in the kitchen with her.
“What
is it honey?” Father asked, getting behind Mother as she kept
staring into the kitchen cabinet. Father’s gaze were all over
Mother, looking over her to make sure she was fine.
Mother
looked at my elder brother instead, “You said daddy’s
food was very sweet?”
“Yes
mummy,” he answered. “Sweeter than yours.”
“What
and what did he cook while I was gone?”
“He
cooked beans, rice and breadfruit.”
Still
looking into the kitchen cabinet, Mother screamed again before
turning to face Father. “Honey, the food ingredients are either
finished or almost finished! You cooked three meals with all of the
food condiments in my kitchen?”
Father
slowly shifted away from her and only stared back.
“That
is food poisoning! It is not good for their health and yours as
well.”
Mother
left the cabinets alone and slowly sat down on the kitchen stool. She
seemed exhausted, both mentally and physically. After a while of
carrying her head in her palms and keeping us all in suspense, her
announcement came, “There will be no dinner tonight, every one
of you will have to take bitter leaf water to cleanse the toxins in
your body. And if you are hungry enough to want to eat something
tonight, I brought home some pineapples, bananas and pears.”
Our
protests fell on deaf ears.
We
were back to living with rules. Somehow, I liked living with the
rules.
Nnedimma was
born in Germany, grew up in Nigeria, and currently lives in Canada.
Her short stories have been published in the International Human
Rights Art Movement Magazine and elsewhere. Her story was chosen as
one of the six finalists for the Barry Hannah Prize in fiction. She
is working on her debut novel.
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