TARA
Tara: Hey, mamas! Any plans for Mother’s Day?
Cleo is typing…
Cleo: Nothing yet. What are you thinking? And I hope it doesn’t involve the kids. 😣
Tara: No idea yet. Maybe we should brainstorm together when next we meet?
Esther is typing…
Esther: Hopefully, something I can film for my YouTube channel.
Tara nearly sent the eye-roll emoji. Every time they met, Esther came not just with her diaper bag, but also a tripod and lapel mic, always ready to mine the experience.
They hadn’t known each other that long, maybe three months, and maybe she was old-fashioned, but she didn’t think it was okay to assume near-strangers wanted to be content.
Since the Starbucks incident with Farah, Tara had been wary of going out. She’d told Jem the story when she got home that day, and he’d made all the right noises; sympathetic, understanding (he was a good man, really), but she hadn’t felt seen. Not fully.
She’d still been trembling with annoyance when she got into the car, and in the end, she’d thrown out the coffee because she couldn’t stomach it.
It amazed her how becoming a mother turned her into public property, how everyone suddenly had an opinion on what she should or shouldn’t do. Even men.
She’d sent a voice note to the group chat about the encounter, hoping for some solidarity.
Cleo had been appropriately outraged, saying all the right things about people needing to mind their business, how every mother knew best.
Esther hadn’t said anything, just reacted with a teary emoji, and Tara wasn’t sure what it meant.
Was Esther sad that it happened, or sad that Tara thought drinking a macchiato while breastfeeding was okay?
She hadn’t bothered to ask because she didn’t want to make a big deal out of things, but she realised that ever since she became a mother, little infractions took up oversized space in her brain.
She had to constantly remind herself: It’s not a big deal. Jem didn’t mean she was overeating. He wasn’t calling her fat. Renewing her gym membership was an act of love… wasn’t it?.
Her phone buzzed against her palm.
She was sitting on the living room floor, surrounded by mounds of clean laundry. It was Saturday, and Jem had taken the girls out for a walk (a hike, more like). He had suggested they all go together, but Tara knew how much she could get done with just one hour of quiet. Plus, they’d agreed she would slowly relinquish some control and let him parent.
The screen lit up with a call from her dad. It was nearly 8 p.m. in Nigeria; his usual window for catching up.
“Ek’ale, Daddy,” she greeted, swiping up.
“Omotara, ba wo ni?” his voice was gentle yet cautious.
“I’m fine, Daddy,” she said.
“Erm…and your babies?”
Her babies. He had never once called them his grandchildren, and that stung more than she wanted to admit. It bothered her more because her mother had stopped speaking to her after she’d had the girls. It was an open wound for Tara, especially because she and her Mum had always been close. So, to go from speaking thrice a week to not speaking at all, especially when she was in the throes of postpartum? It was like rubbing salt on an open wound.
And every phone call from her dad reminded her of her Mum.
“They’re fine, Daddy. They went out with…their father.” She said, folding a tiny onesie into the pile beside her.
“Er…how old are they now?”
He spoke like a man under surveillance, afraid to give or receive too much information. Her mother must’ve been close by.
“Five months,” she said. “How’s Mummy?”
“She’s well. We just got back from church. Your brothers went back to school yesterday.”
Ah, yes, her twin brothers, the children of her parents’ old age, had, after they’d come to terms with the fact that they might only have one child.
“That’s…good. I’ll try to send some money soon.”
“No. There’s no need for that. We are okay. God is taking care of us.”
Translation: we won’t take money from you or that man with whom you’re living in sin.
“Do you…Can I…is Mummy okay?”
Tara stumbled through the words when all she wanted to ask was if her mother was getting closer to forgiving her. Was she softening? Was she ready to speak to her again?
Her father sighed, “Omotara, you know what you need to do.”
Yes, she needed to finagle a marriage proposal from Jem and make things official.
“I’m trying, Daddy. I’m trying. But it’s not easy when you and Mummy don’t want to even get to know him. How can he want to marry me if my family won’t even speak to him?”
“That’s what happens when you put the cart before the horse, Omotara. You lose your power. Now you have children with him, what do you have to bargain with? Why should he marry you?”
Indeed, why should he?
“You went to Canada and forgot all your morals, all the things we taught you, you went there and let them corrupt you. You forgot God.”
“Daddy, please.”
It was the same conversation every time. And every time, it chipped a little more at her heart.
Sometimes she thought about ignoring his calls, but couldn’t bring herself to sever the only line that still led back to her mother.
When she’d first met Jem, she’d been so hopeful. She’d told her mother about him right away, answering all her questions:
What does he do?
He manages a grocery store.
As in?
His job had been the first red flag for them because, God forbid, anyone who worked in a grocery store could have anything good to offer. A grocery store manager wasn’t exactly ideal son-in-law material.
He’s the manager, Mummy. He’s doing well for himself.
Is he born again?
They don’t really do…that here.
They don’t do what? Is being born again now a Nigerian thing?
No, I mean…he’s been baptized.
Meaning?
He knows God.
She wasn’t proud of how much she’d stretched the truth. Jem had been baptized…as a baby. Did he know God? He knew about Him. But he wasn’t religious. Not like her parents expected. But after three years in Canada, and too many failed Christian dates, Jem had been a breath of fresh air.
Where is he from?
Em…Canada.
He’s oyinbo?
Yes Mummy.
Tara’s mother had been silent for a bit after this news was shared. Her mother had likely been calculating, balancing cultural clashes with bragging rights. Oyinbo men were good on paper, but there were cultural differences (will he like ewa agoyin? Would he bathe twice a day?)
Did you pray about it? About him?
I’m still praying.
Tara had not prayed about Jem mainly because she was scared of what God would say. She knew she was falling for him already. Did she really want God’s disapproval?
At first, her mother seemed okay. Hopeful, even. Tara had kept things vague but positive.
Jem was fine. Jem was working. Jem wanted to speak to them soon.
She didn’t begin properly lying to them until he asked her to move in with him.