AN UNCOMFORTABLE THANKSGIVING CONVERSATION

 

Thanksgiving at Auntie Moji’s house was lit. As much as I enjoyed going to her chaotic household as ‘the millenial auntie”. The one with a doctor’s salary, no kids, no drama, there was a low-key sense of dread as I got ready to go to her house.

A Nigerian household during the holidays was full of drama, aunties and uncles asking awkward questions, the kids running around, for me it was mostly the awkward questions for me. Some aunties would sit and brag about their kids' accomplishments, making other kids feel like they had not done much with their lives.

I could smell the Jollof rice as I walked into the house, and worried my fur coat would catch on the smell of the food. I hated homes with open floor kitchens like mine. The smell stayed on everything, and Febreeze was my best friend.

“Kemi, come over here, we have a question for you?” my mom called out as she spotted me walking in. I stared at the four aunties who sat with my mom. Auntie Moji, the hostess, was my mom’s younger sister. Auntie Bilkis was their cousin, Auntie Liz, a neighbor who had become family. I felt like I was walking into a den filled with lionesses. I walked slowly past the chaffing dishes filled with food well displayed on the counter.

“Kemi, you look so beautiful, dressed like a true American,” Auntie Bilkis said.

Of course, I was American, I was born in Manhattan. How else was I supposed to dress? I knew my outfit was hot, I had on a short brown skirt suit with long tights and boots, a fur coat and pill box cap on my head. If I had to say, I was the finest person in the room.

I smiled.

“Thank you,” was all I managed to say.

“So when are we meeting your future husband, Lolade is getting married next summer, and all these aunties are in charge of planning.” My mom chirped in a friendly tone.

Lolade was Auntie Moji’s first child, she was three years younger than me. She was a pretty good kid who had fallen in love with a white boy from Atlanta. I was not expecting her to get approval for dating outside our culture, but I guess her mom was more obsessed with planning a wedding than knowing if both were truly compatible.

“Not anytime soon, I am not bringing anyone home,” I replied.

“Why?” My mom asked, raising her eyebrows.

“You don’t want to bring a man home, my nephew is single, I will hook you up,” Auntie Liz replied.

Auntie Liz seemed to have more nephews than children. I was not interested in her family. I didn't know how to tell my mom that she was not truly living her life, because she gave up her dreams because of my dad.

My father, the rolling stone.

“I don’t want to get married.” I replied.

The room was silent. Aunt Bilkis had gone to make a plate of food for herself and stopped dead in her tracks.

“Don’t say that, I got married, you will get married.” My Mom said. I knew what I had just said truly hurt her.

“Mom, I don't want to get married, neither do I want to have kids.” I replied.

My mom looked at the other aunties in disbelief.

“Are you bewitched? My mom asked, tears were forming in her eyes.

“Is this some feminist movement I am sensing? “ Auntie Moji asked.

I began to wonder if marriage was the end goal for all these women.

“So you just want to end your lineage with yourself?” Auntie Liz asked, eyeing me up and down.

I sighed. I realized I had to choose my words carefully. I was having an awkward discussion with women who continued to dwell in failed marriages to save face.

Women who suffered as their men went out with younger women.

Women who married men with secret families.

Women who married men who beat them or raped them instead of having sex.

They stayed in marriages to keep the status, it was not because the marriage had benefited them. I didn’t want that for myself.

After my last break up two years ago, I had to go to therapy. Nigerian men will stress you, and this one almost killed me. I valued peace of mind over quarreling, over manipulative behavior, over the women who called or sent messages at odd hours. I just wanted to be happy, was it too much to ask? It was in my solitude that I realized that happiness was an inside job. I functioned better at work, I traveled solo, planned dinners and brunches with friends. I had an amazing life. I had a great paying job, I could afford to buy whatever I wanted. I didn’t need a man to do that. My mom was not so lucky. She endured my father’s narcissism for years. She worked hard to give my brother and I the life we deserved.

“You are selfish, Kemi, you are very selfish,” My mom said.

“Mom, I am not selfish. Your marriage didn’t quite serve you the right way,” I told her.

“Keep quiet, or else I will slap lightening and thunder out of your face,” my mom retorted angrily.

I should not have said that, but I didn’t like being ambushed and made to make stupid choices to please them.

“I am sorry, I should not have said that, but I like being part of the 4B movement,”

There was a look of surprise on their faces. They were clueless.

“What is 4B?” Auntie Bilkis asked.

“Some Korean nonsense,” my mom replied.

“It’s not nonsense Auntie Bilkis, it is no sex, no dating men, no marrying men and no children with men.” I replied.

Auntie Bilkis raised an eyebrow and shook her head in disapproaval.

“No Kemi, a beautiful girl like you should end up as a very rich wife,” Auntie Bilkis said.

“I can be rich on my own,” I replied with a smile.

“What will people say Kemi? My own daughter failed to find a husband?” my mom shrieked as she clutched her chest.

“I don’t care what people say. This is the life I chose, I am happy.” I told my mom.

Auntie Moji sighed.

“I hope you don’t use a vibrator at night after telling yourself this rubbish in the daytime.” Auntie Moji said rolling her eyes.

I said nothing in response, because I didn't think the comment was necessary.

“You don’t understand how I feel, I hate rejection and heartbreak, after the break up with Ola, I decided to stay single.” I replied, my voice cracking.

“Ola is married, you need to move on,” my mom replied.

“Good for him, and I have moved on, but I am not getting married.” I replied.

“Let us find you a real man,” Auntie Liz said.

“No thank you,” I replied firmly.

My mom began to cry. I didn’t expect that one playful question would bring out the seven emotions she had. It crushed me to watch her cry.

“Kemi, I need you to have a rethink,” my mom said in a soft voice amid her tears.

There was nothing to think about. When I found a community of people who felt the same way as I did, it became a much easier task to make the decisions. I didn’t want to be identified by the man I was married to.

“Mom, thank you for your concern and advise from all you ladies but I cant live my life pleasing other people,” I replied. I stood there watching the women who knew I was right, but they wouldn't say.

My cousin Lolade walked in.

“Kemi,” she screeched as she ran towards me and gave me a hug. Tears began to form in my eyes. Here was Lolade, who was not grilled because she had fulfilled

the terms and conditions of every girl her age, marriage. I read my terms and conditions, I was going to live life on my own terms.