The Secret Lives of Baba Segi's Wives (7 page)

W
HEN A PLAN DOES
not go right, you plot again. One day you will get it right. One day you will be able to damage the person who hurts you so completely that they will never be able to recover. I have told Iya Segi this on several occasions. I keep telling her that we need to find a permanent solution but she does not have wisdom. She says we should continue to humiliate Bolanle until she runs away. “Let us cut her feathers,” she says.

Well, the bird has shown that she can fly without feathers. I knew we should have gone for her throat. We should have bled her into a hole in the earth!

Yes, I said finally. I have suffered too much in my life to let that rat spoil it all for me. So what if she is a graduate? When we stand before God on the last day, will He ask whether we went to university? No! But He will want to know if we
were as wise as serpents because that’s what the Bible says we should be.

If we let Bolanle ruin us, then we would all have failed before God. I reject failure in Jesus’s name. I will not fail. The prophets in my church have seen that this rat has an evil spirit. I can’t say God has not revealed it to me too. He shows Himself to all who serve Him in spirit and in truth. I’m glad Iya Segi has come round to my thinking. She has now seen that we need to do something. Now that Baba Segi has decided to take the rat to the hospital, time is short.

When Bolanle first arrived, I scrubbed Bolanle’s tongue with bitter leaf! Ha! I made her understand who was in charge of this house. I showed the sting of hot peppers. If she comes to this world again, she will run if she hears the name Iya Femi.

Let me tell you one of the things I did. Laughter kills me when I think of it. I don’t think she had been with us for a year when Baba Segi asked me to make
aso ebi
for the entire household. The neighbor’s birthday was in two weeks time and he wanted us all dressed in the same fabric from top to bottom. “I want you all to look like queens,” he said. I looked at him and wondered why, if he wanted wives that looked like queens, he married a woman like a toad and a scrawny rabbit that nibbles at Bolanle’s burrow.

And that Bolanle! Is that his idea of a queen? Being a graduate does not make you beautiful. I know true beauty. And it is in pale yellow skin. I was born darker than this but I use
expensive creams to make my natural beauty shine. I take my nails to a proper nail studio. I buy good makeup, unlike that Bolanle, who wanders around with her face as haggard as a sack. Ha! Queens indeed!

Anyway, on the day I went to collect the clothes, I came out of the house and heard Bantu’s “No More No Vernacular” screaming from giant speakers on the neighbor’s fence. I danced into the pickup, leaving the entire family waiting in the sitting room.

The tailor’s store was only twenty minutes away but I stopped at a few places. By the time I got home, even my sons were sweating from anticipation. I rushed into the sitting room, arms laden, and surrendered the pile of clothes to the stool by Iya Segi’s feet. The witch sniffed the air around me. She must have picked up the scent on my thighs.

I heard Baba Segi’s voice. “I was waiting for the tailor to put finishing touches to your clothes,” I said. “Would you have preferred it if I came home without them? It is wonderful that we will all be dressed the same!”

Ha! Sometimes I wish I could pat myself on the back. My cunning knows no bounds!

For a few moments, Iya Segi stared at the outfits. The children couldn’t conceal their impatience. “Mama, the clothes!” Akin pretended to cough as he spoke so his mother wouldn’t think him wayward.

Iya Segi cocked her head with interest before reaching for the pile and placing it on her lap. The witch touched all the clothes before anyone, as if she wanted to render them
secondhand. She fingered the plastic buttons and touched the threading before giving each outfit to its respective owner. One by one, everyone stepped forward to collect their outfit. Iya Segi told Iya Tope to drop Bolanle’s clothes by her bedroom door. She said everyone should return to the sitting room in thirty minutes so we could set off to the party.

I got dressed quickly and headed to the sitting room so I could see everyone come in. Iya Segi caught me in the corridor as she came out of the bathroom. She ran her eyes over my outfit. “Such beautiful gold thread! Such fine sequins!” she said. Her throat was thick with fury.

“The tailor said he ran out of sequins when he started to sew yours. He said the girl who sold them to him was in confinement. But if you want, let us exchange. I’ll wear yours and you can wear mine.” I even started to unzip my blouse at the side. Ha! She would be lucky if she could fit just one of her breasts into my entire blouse. She hissed and turned into her bedroom.

Baba Segi joined me soon after to inspect us the way he always did. As the children walked in, he looked with pride at the parade of red stars against royal blue. He nodded as his eyes went from face to face.

Iya Segi soon waddled in. Her dress resembled a pillowcase with long sleeves and a ruffled collar that extended all the way up to her ears. That neck of hers is an embarrassment. If she always wore clothes with high collars, maybe she would eat less. Maybe she’d stop grunting like a pig when she eats.

Iya Tope, for her part, looked no different from her three
daughters. Did she not behave like them? Was she any cleverer than they were? I told the tailor to sew the skirt two sizes too big, and her blouse baggy and without darts. The neck gaped and slid off one of her shoulders. As usual, she didn’t say anything; she was more concerned about Bolanle, who had just emerged from her bedroom.

Bolanle’s outfit looked like it had been knocked together by a roguish hand. To be honest, I sewed it myself. I watched the tailor on a few occasions and made the skirt from the discolored ends that he did away with. Instead of the square meter that the rest of the wives received as headgear, Bolanle’s head was bound by a bright purple strip of cloth about eight inches wide. I don’t even remember where the cloth came from. Her face was bland as if there wasn’t a single thought in her head. Who knows what the lizard was thinking! Everyone stared at her. Iya Tope drew her palm to her lips but Iya Segi’s eyes began to twinkle. Ha! I knew she would like it!

My husband finally asked me to stand up. You can trust me. I gave him the queen he asked for. My skirt was fitted and the slit rode just above my knee. My blouse was adorned with crystals and the darts shaped my figure and lifted my breasts. I was well accessorized too: matching court shoes and bag; coral beads on my wrists; and a large, gold crucifix around my neck. It was a good day.

Back to the present problem: Iya Segi and I decided to meet on our own after the rat head incident.

“That stupid Iya Tope ruined it all!” I said.

“Let us thank the gods that she did not tell Bolanle
beforehand. I thought she would drag Bolanle to her bedroom to breastfeed her! Iya Tope’s foolishness could start a village war. The only chance we had was to be united. Now see how Bolanle marches about the house gloating.” The stone in Iya Segi’s throat was traveling up and down like a man’s. “Iya Tope is like the demon who accused the gnomes of mischief. He woke up to find his sword inside his own belly and there was nothing he could do! Nothing! He lay in the forest with his blood clotting at his side, too weak to stand, too frail to shout.”

“Iya Segi, forget about Iya Tope! Let us take care of this matter ourselves. We have the wisdom and the strength. Between the two of us, we can restore this home to what it was.”

“You have spoken well, Iya Femi. You have spoken the truth.”

T
HE BLOOD THAT RUNS
through the daughters that Iya Tope brought into this home of mine is dirty. Her children are sickly. Not long after Bolanle arrived, Iya Tope sat in the sitting room looking for pity. She likes to sit around the house plaiting her daughters’ hair like a beggar in the marketplace. Motun had a fever that morning and Baba Segi insisted that she stay at home. When the other girls heard that they would be separated from their sister, they sobbed and wept. The middle one, Afolake, strained and wriggled in her seat. Tope begged to stay at home so she could look after her sisters. I do not tolerate such rubbish so I told the older two I would whip them all the way to their classrooms if they did not get into the bus.

“I don’t understand these children of yours,” I told Iya Tope. “The affection they have for each other has become unhealthy. They are like forsaken triplets lost in a forest.
Kruuk
.
Each unable to survive without the others. They want to eat from the same plate, wear the same hairstyle, speak with the same voice! Will they marry the same husband?”

After dropping the children at school, I returned home to find Iya Tope in the sitting room. As I stepped onto the veranda outside, I heard Bolanle asking Iya Tope if the child was better.

“Much better, thank you. I swathed her in a wet cloth for about ten minutes. My children do not cope well without sleep. They scratch their heads all night. Look!”

As I entered, Iya Tope was parting her daughter’s hair with the wooden comb to reveal a line of scalp that was scabby in parts and freshly clawed in others.

“I have hair cream that is good for dandruff. Let me get some for you,” Bolanle suggested.

“Iya Tope, why are you begging for hair cream?” I asked. “Are you not satisfied with what your husband gives you that you now have to scrounge? You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“
I
offered,” Bolanle said.

“I am the one you should come to when you are in need! In fact, I think Baba Segi should hear of this ingratitude!”

“I did not ask for hair cream so there is nothing to tell Baba Segi.” Iya Tope reached behind her daughter and produced a container with nothing more than a smidgen of cream in it.

Iya Tope shifted a fraction of an angle in her seat; it was clear she was no longer receptive to Bolanle’s company, or her
conversation. She busied herself with her daughter’s hair and said nothing. Bolanle noticed it and left the room.

It is important that the wives know their place in this house. They must know what they can and cannot do. They must remember that I am the only one who can do business, not that they’ve shown a desire to—Iya Femi has sworn never to do another day’s work in her life and Iya Tope doesn’t have a head for trade. What am I saying? She doesn’t have a head for reasoning!

I had to use all my wisdom to force Baba Segi’s hand. After giving birth to Akin, my second child, a son for that matter, I knew the ache in Baba Segi’s balls would subside. That’s when I made his head spin with worry.

It started with the sighing. I would lie next to him in bed and sigh. He didn’t seem to take notice so I’d sigh, sit up and shake my head hopelessly. I had to do this on several occasions before it finally occurred to Baba Segi that he may not be a perfect husband if his wife is saddened. Men are like that. They think they sit in the center and the world turns around them.

When he inquired what was causing my distress, I told him it was nothing and blew my nose into my wrapper. After a few weeks of this, I took to crying. I thought thinking sad thoughts would bring tears to my eyes but I found I couldn’t evoke any. It was as if my mind had decided that my life had been without adversity. I had to use onions—my hands always smelled of them anyway. One night after Baba Segi had climbed off me, I smeared my eyeballs with onion juice.
Baba Segi couldn’t take my sniveling; he sat up and turned on the light. “What is it that has twisted your insides, my wife?” There was both weariness and earnestness in his voice.

“It is nothing, my lord.” The time was not exactly right.

“That is all you say! Nothing! Nothing! Nothing! Yet you weep like a mourner!”

“It’s nothing.” I cried silently so I would not wake my children in their cots.

“Is it the house?”

I shook my head.
Almost
.

“Is it me? Is there something you want to do?”

“My lord, my hands itch for work.”

“Work? Are your hands not full with the children you are taking care of?”

I dropped to my knees and told him of my wish to have a small stall where I could sell sweets wholesale, interact with other women and learn of new recipes, the best household detergents on the market, better ways to please a husband. I slipped it in when I noticed each blink weighed down his eyelids longer than the one before. “I also want to attend driving school.”

He raised both eyebrows and widened his eyes.

“I will be able to take my children to day care without them sweltering in the heat like poverty-stricken orphans.”

Shutting his eyes tight, he stretched up his arms and yawned. He lay back down, slid his bottom down the bed and covered himself with a sheet. When he’d sufficiently burrowed into his pillow with the back of his head, he asked, “If
I permit you to do these things, will a man be able to sleep in his own house?”

“Long and soundly, my lord. Long and soundly.”

Within months, I informed him that wholesale sweets were no longer lucrative and that a wise woman had advised me to try selling cement. A few weeks later, this same mysterious woman (who lived her life for her husband) advised me to extend my stall and build a proper shop. Before the year had run out, I was talking of a second shop, but only so I could be nearer to the children. Men are so simple. They will believe anything.

“Does your friend approve of this?” Baba Segi asked as he undressed one night.

“Which one?” I asked before thinking, but corrected myself quickly. “You mean my friend from the market? Did I not I tell you that she died?”

“Died?”

“Yes, just like that. She just…er…slumped and died. The lucky woman has departed this world of sin and strife.”

“This is very unfortunate. Did you attend the funeral?”

“You forget that I have two children and a husband to look after. She was a Muslim so they buried her the day after. Let us pray the wind that carries her soul to heaven will be a gentle one so that the journey will be without turbulence.”

That is how I started my business. And that is how I learned to drive. Men are like yam. You cut them how you like.

One day, about three months after Bolanle arrived, I was in the sitting room, counting my money. I wouldn’t usually
be at home at this time of morning but I wanted to rent a new shop space, and the previous owner demanded payment that afternoon. I had shops in most of the major markets—Mokola, Dugbe, Eleyele, Sango—but I wanted to have one in Ojoo, too. Rather than rush to the bank and endure hours in the queues, I decided to take from the stash I hid under my mattress at home, to save time.

The banknotes were old, crumpled and dirty but that has never bothered me. I sat in one of the armchairs and crammed a stool into the little small space between my knees. I handle money with great affection. I like the feel of it on my palm so I turned each note meticulously until I could see the man in all of them.

I didn’t know that our stray hen had brought friends until I heard them rattling down the corridor. I pulled my skirt over the stool. They greeted me and I greeted them back. “I hope we will see you again soon,” I said. I meant to address both visitors but I couldn’t stop my gaze from returning to Yemisi. As soon as the door closed behind them, I jumped out of my armchair and looked through a hole in my clenched fist so I could see Yemisi’s perfect form. Ah, if only desire didn’t always carry trouble on its back. Now is not the time, I told myself. There is a time for everything.