CHAPTER 3 – “THIS FAMILY CALLED MINE: COLOUR US UP”

©️ Opeyemi Akintunde

“Mo’, how are you?” Adewale’s caring voice came through the phone. The way he asked “how are you?”…it was laced with so much genuine concern, I could feel it through the phone.

“I’m not sure,” I replied softly. “I don’t know how to feel. I’m torn between anger, loss, grief… and other emotions I can’t even put into words.”

“I understand. Be strong. Look on the bright side…we’re both orphans now,” he added, trying to make me laugh.

His biological father had died under mysterious circumstances when he was five,  this was shortly after my father discovered that Adewale wasn’t his biological son. My mother passed away much later…ten years ago. In that way, Adewale became an orphan before me, even though he was technically my stepbrother.

“How are your sisters?” he asked. I smiled faintly at his attempt to keep the peace. He never really had a good relationship with them. He tried to bond with them in the past, but it never worked. The hate was too loud. He had left home early because of it.

My mother had protected him; absorbing all the insults hurled at her by my father and his second wife for having an illegitimate child. When Adewale turned 19, she encouraged him to leave. Just a few months after he left, she died. That was when the real suffering began. I was 25 at the time. Our firstborn, Setemi, was 30. Morayo was 28. Pamilerin, our baby, was 22. The house became unbearable for us girls.

The memories surged like a flood, but Adewale’s voice brought me back to the present.

“I’ll send you something small to buy ice cream for yourself,” he said warmly. “Father is gone. Don’t lose yourself too.”

“Are you coming?” I asked, still hoping that…illegitimate or not…he’d show up for the family and join us to Mourn…

Mourn, I repeated the word in my head, questioning its relevance.  Were we really meeting to Mourn?

Just then, Adeori and two of his drug-using friends stormed into the kitchen, noisy and excited.

“The only sister I genuinely love!” Adeori said, rushing toward me and giving me a hug that nearly choked me. He reeked…a cocktail of sweat, weed, alcohol, and cheap feminine perfume.

“Okay, your brothers are around. I’ll talk to you later,” Adewale said, clearly hearing the noise through the phone speaker.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t taken the phone off speaker, and Adeori heard Adewale’s voice.

“Is that Wale… the illegitimate?” Adeori sneered. “Don’t bother coming. You won’t get anything!”

I tried to end the call quickly to avoid more drama, but Adewale wasn’t done.

“Wait, Mo’. Let me respond to him.”

Then, his voice sharpened like a blade.

“Adeori, coming down there to share the crumbs your father left would be greedy of me…because I’m already too blessed to fight for crumbs. Sorry about your loss. Accept my condolences.”

It hit Adeori squarely.

Before he could recover, Adewale added to me, “I’ll talk to you later, Mo’. Stay safe…and sane.”  He said emphasizing SANE.

He hung up.

“Pride,” Adeori scoffed. “On top that small tech company he owns.”

“Small tech company that got him listed on Forbes 30 under 30?” I retorted, my sarcasm slicing through the air. “Small indeed….Accept the truth AdeWale is BIG”

A bottle of champagne had somehow found its way into Adeori’s hand. He lifted it dramatically.

“Marcus! Gbadebo! Let’s celebrate and mourn….cheers to the death of my rich father, whose children have been struggling for years. It’s time to divide the family cake! And as the real heir, I get the largest share.”

“Adeori, Morayo will be here soon,” I warned. “I suggest you don’t start with this.”

Morayo, my immediate elder sister, was a force. The definition of a man in a woman’s body. Though our mother didn’t have a son, she gave birth to Morayo. She was the one who had the guts to confront our father directly.

But don’t get it twisted…when I say she left home early, I don’t mean at age 18. No, we were still living with our father post-university because there were no jobs. When Mom died, Setemi …our eldest; was a first-class graduate who had resorted to hairdressing at 30, after endless failed interviews.

Morayo had dropped out of school because of poor grades. She started “hustling”; sleeping around to provide for the family even while our mother was alive. After Mom died, she left home. Setemi and Pamilerin were furious, claiming she abandoned us when things got worse. But honestly, she just couldn’t take it anymore.

Word on the street was that she had now become a full-blown prostitute. Our father didn’t spare us from that rumor. He cursed us, day and night. Sometimes, I wondered if those curses were why our lives had turned out the way they had.

“Ehn ehn, and if she comes and I say it? What will she do?” Adeori challenged me, clearly trying to let me know that he wasn’t afraid of Morayo anymore.

As kids, Morayo used to beat him up whenever our father and his wife were away. She terrorized him so much he couldn’t even report her.

“It was just advice,” I replied, as always avoiding trouble.

But I knew Morayo would blow up…not just at his words, but at the presence of his two friends who had tagged along. This was supposed to be a family meeting.

Just then, I heard the sound of another car pulling into the compound. The wheels crunched the gravel in a familiar way.

My heart jumped.

My worst childhood nightmare had arrived.

Tobe.

To be continued…

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