Anonymous Gift

"No. I am not expecting anything. Maybe ask Asuquo" I reply as I push burnt coals into the local firewood stove. The flames swell, raising heat that forces me to retract.

As I uncover the pot, pictures of the anonymous gift replaces the colorless soup boiling in early stages.

Couldn't help but wander who is the lucky receiver?

It couldn't be Emem, the last born who is also married. His wife, Maureen didn't seem the mischievous type who would prank the family.

As for Asuquo the first fruit, I don't know of any girl he was currently seeing that warranted such tricks. He was single like me, and a steady victim of emotional blackmail from our parents, like me.

Today is definitely not the day for sad stories so mouth sealed. Instead I will reveal why I am a bit thrown-off by the surprise package.

Firstly, the only things we expect on Christmas days are Humans.

I'm talking double-decked, heavily made-up, sweaty, gold-jeweled humans, who spill out of church service, hungry but masked in wide smiles.

Secondly they are not supposed to show up till after midday. It is the unwritten constitution of the Southern Nigeria family. 

In that constitution, family members are expected to have returned home days before Christmas. Shopping spree done. Exchange of gifts carried out at Christmas dawn hence anything gifting was completely out of the way.

What seized our attention was the pounding of yam to make for a smooth 'swallow', and the ceremonious preparation of the goat-meat-white-soup. The Christmas Lunch of the elites.

In many cases, I argued the purity of my family. I mean, I know many families where Christmas chicken and jollof rice was the staple, undebatable Christmas meal. My family on the unconventional side chose an animal completely off the crow tribe to commemorate the most anticipated birthday celebration of the year. I have never felt more alien in my entire existence during the time.

I turn the bubbling soup and taste it. Good. Time for thickening. I cut a piece of the already pounded-yam pulp, flatten it and place it in the pot. I cut another piece.

"Asuquo, have you made sure this is not from your numerous girlfriends" Big Aunty's voice reverberated round the house.

I chuckled. If only Asuquo could discern the many faces of trouble... Hmmm.

"No Aunty. Why can't we just open it to find out"" Asuquo deflects the question quickly. He knew the personality of his Big Aunt as much as I did. My guy.

"No oo. We are not opening something we don't know whose owner it is, neither the sender. Abasi akan (God forbid). That is how they killed the generals in our time oo. Letter bomb. Now gift bomb" Big Aunty exclaims holding the box like animal dung.

The only living sister to Grandpa. Her clinch-nature had squeezed life so hard, death feared for itself.

The irony is she still had the mind to hold the little brown box despite her rumbling railings. Her fear, always performative.

I began serving hot soup into different bowls, observing a subsection of the constitution that gave Head of family right to the head and chest of the goat meat, when a sudden thunderous "EVERYONE REPORT TO THE LIVING ROOM NOW" echoed round the house.

"Ehm Daddy I'm still--"

"Drop everything and come" The voice repeated.

I cover the pot, return the empty plates to the rack and cover the already served bowls.

The roaming kids were the first to arrive. I envied them. For all they cared, this could be another distribution of sweets|goodies from grand-dad.

Dad sends the kids away and leans on his favorite chair. Not sitting means trouble.

My brothers arrive. Asuquo first, then Edidiong with wife,Maureen. Grandma sits on Grandpa's chair while Big Aunty guides the net like security. She ducks her face underneath her umbrella palm to make sure no one was coming.

I didn't know when I chuckled.

And boom dad caught me. "What is funny" 

"Nothing" 

"You're answering me" Am I to feign dumb mbok

"You don't know it is your husband that should be answering me" Na wa. Anonymous gift turns single-shaming saga

"Don't you know I'm supposed to be shouting at a child from your womb" Why shouting tho... Why can't you just love them. Why should I be in a hurry to let my kids spend time with you?

"Ekanem..of yesterday is married" lol too much information.

"And she is recently divorced" I hold his gaze.

"It's a lie" Big Aunty dashed from the gate.

"No lies Big Aunt. The problem is they don't celebrate divorce the way they do weddings" I yawned.

"Look at the abomination you are defending" My mother finally lends her voice.

"mommy what I'm doing is different from abomination"

"Keep your mouth shut" Father intercepted.

"You talk divorce more than marriage and I am beginning to wonder if I gave birth to you"

"You didn't"

"Evelyn!" Big Aunty is close to me now.

I don't move at all. The silence is deafening. Clock is ticking. Ticking away the blackmail and bully. Ushering in bravery and doggedness.

"You're not ashamed--" His voice is a broken pitcher now.

"I am not. ashamed Daddy. What is there to be ashamed of. My inability to find a man... I thought the man did the finding.. what is this marriage responsibility set on the shoulders of women. Why are men exempted"

I look around to the joined lips of my family.

"I mean why is Asuquo exempted"

"Asuquo is not exempted" my mother cuts in.

"Well he doesn't receive half the insults I receive in this house. I mean we are here to find the owner of a mystery gift and yet it turned out to Evelyn's singleness and Evelyn's barrenness.

"God forbid you are not barren my child"

"Mom let me finish. Infact.." I dash off to the kitchen. Fetch a knife and slash the box open.

A petite red Christmas card falls off alongside bright red tickets to Wole Soyinka's stage play : The Lion and The Jewel..

Big Aunty rush to the items but I block her with my arm.

I stare at my Dad... Thinking, deciding, analyzing...

Before I tear the tickets into shreds. I turn a piece to Big Aunty..

"Merry Christmas fam" I walk out.

She looks at the tickets and observes inscriptions : Paid in full: Evelyn.

She coughs out the pain.