My chin hurt from smiling, as I chopped the okro gently all I could think about was how disgusted I was with myself. For how long would I continue to live this lie, this charade.
I glance at my mother wondering what she would think of m if she knew I wasn’t what I pretended to be. Should I tell her and finally be rid of this burden, this secret that haunts me many a night. This was me and if she really loved me she would accept me the way I am. I know it is going to be a very hard pill to swallow, but she’s gonna swallow it alright. It wasn’t my fault I was born like this, I have only just realized it. For so long I have been pretending now was the time to finally come out of the closet.
Mummy: Yes laide!
Laide: Mummy! I don’t even like cooking sef.
Mummy: Leave this minute! I can’t even look at you.
Laide: But mummy!
Mummy: I said leave!
Okay she didn’t add that last bit about me leaving…but the look of horror on her face was frightening, an awkward silence ensued. You would think I told her I was gay or I was into transvestite midgets.I felt bad and tried to say something to ease the tension.
Laide: it’s not that I hate cooking or anything, you know, if we had one of those massive kitchen’s on MTV cribs with a TV and all I just might like cooking…all hope isn’t lost.
Mummy: (Without once looking at me) Oniranu! If you hate it, you hate it she said with a tinge of disappointment in her voice.
More awkward silence.
I actually think if I old her I was into transvestite midgets she’s have taken it better.
Just disown me now and get it over with, will u?
She became really snappy afterwards and when I asked her what to put in the soup she shouted at me and gave me that look- oh it was a horrible look.
Take a chill pill mumzilla.
I men this is hard for me too, I feel bad enough that I am not the girl she wants me to be, I mean I can cook but I just don’t enjoy it,I know I am supposed to because I am a GIRL, I don’t know ugwu leaf from poison ivy, I mean I say stuff like “Chicken omi-eran” (Chicken meat water), I have to be true to myself. I thought about telling her I didn’t even like baking but that would be too much for one night, her blood pressure was high enough.
I felt sort of relieved you know, I could finally take off those cookery books off my window sill and probably burn them, and quit acting like I am interested in being in the kitchen when I’d rather be on the couch watching Grey’s anatomy or a Man.u match but most especially I can quit pretending I like watching BBC food…