Mystery In My House

One of the reasons why I despise living at home, with my family, is because of our number. There are nine of us, a couple of parents, Six siblings and I.
Our house is a two-storey building, with a back yard that has not seen a lawn mower in ages and a parking space, in front , occupied by a car we do not own- our two cars are parked else where.

My first few months,in 2010, in this house were not the best of months even though I wished the family union my father anticipated went according to plan. For almost Eight months, I would wake up daily to a filthy and noisy house. As soon as I stepped out of my room, I would have something to complain about as I descend the stairs.

Then the view of my bathroom, which I share with one of my sisters, would disgust me and make me want to cry. Her clothes would be flung on the floor, and there would be make-up stains everywhere in the bathroom from the mirror, to the slab. And God was the sink messed with toothpaste and foundation oil.

I'd get more furious as I stormed into the living room to give out to my siblings only to find the place like the control room of Mr. Mad. Papers squizzed and scattered about the place, the table taking the place of the chair. It was total chaos in my living room daily.

Head east, then my living room leads into the kitchen where the fridge would be left ajar and the bin bag refused to have dirt thrown in it and would rather be surrounded by dirt- a decision my siblings could have made for the bin bag.
The sink would be filled with plates and left overs that looked and smelled like products of a fortnight ago. You would not believe I washed the dishes before I went to sleep the night before. Even I would think I must have washed in my dreams.

I tried not to get mad, and just clean up after my siblings who find themselves to big to do house chores and boast to their friends that they don't know how to cook as if it's the best quality to find in a girl. But I couldn't handle it all on my own, thirty minutes after I washed the dishes, cleaned the living room and cooked the food, it would look like I did nothing at all. The food would be gone and the sink would be filled with plates and marshy left overs as evidence to prove that I cooked. Oh and by now, the visitors' toilet which is located in the kitchen would have looked like it had more visitors in a day than it would in a year. The feaces filled water closet would be surrounded by dirty toilet papers.

You'd be wondering where my parents  were during all these. Well, in bed waiting for break fast. That's where they would be. And when my dad would come down stairs probably thirty minutes after I cleaned up, he'd give out to me about the dirty house being that I am the first child. My dad would get so furious, he'd start scrubbing the floors and walls all by himself. And that got me Madder!

Now let me give some of my siblings credit or justice. So with no names mentioned, I will refer to them according to position in the family.

Second born boasts that she doesn't know how to cook and isn't bothered. you can't tell her what to do because before I came, she was the first child. Oh yes, she can make noodles, oats and hot water. She eats and doesn't wash her dishes. what she knows how to do best is to clean every nook and cranny of the house only when our mother is there.

Third born cooks, she cleans up after second born most of the time. I can give out to her because she understands. So, that means I can make her wash once I find the sink filled with plates agian. She doesn't like the fact that I tell her what to do while I couldn't do the same with second born and they are just a few months apart in age. She likes to do things in her own time too.

Fourth born is the one who was assigned to do all the chores after I left the house to go to college. He had to wash everyone's dishes and clean the house. He's 12.

Fifth and Sixth born were the ones I used to really yell at for dirtying the house because they were the youngest. But a realisation I had over the past few days has made me to decide to write this.

Seventh born has not even started talking.
So I left the house and chose to study at a college many hours away from home because I couldn't stand daily living in that house. I didn't like that I got mad every minute. I didn't like that I started concluding that having children wouldn't be in my To-Do list.

Within that one year, I only came home twice, maybe thrice. And everytime I came home, it was the same. the bathrooms were dirty, the kitchen was sticky and the bedrooms were a disaster. The only exception was my mother's presence. whenever my mom was home, the kitchen was sparkling because she cleaned it every minute and that made me angry.

I get angry when elderly people clean the house and the young ones are just sitting down playing away like nobody's business. And I feel guilty because I'd also be part of those young ones seated. I don't have the guts to go to her and relieve her of her chores. That's just not me. I hate company when I am cooking most especially and I would never come to assist you if you were cleaning or cooking. The least I'd do is find a spot to clean without asking you if I could help.

Anyway, fast-forward to the day I was finally moving back home- I had already finished in college. My whole family went on holiday except my father, and the house was at peace for both of us, especially me.

I hardly had anything to clean for three days after first clean up. For the whole week that my family traveled I didn't have to clean the living room and the only things I had to do was cook and wash dishes. So I started telling myself how right I was about my siblings being the ones who disorganise the house.

And as soon as they returned, they proved me right. The house was in total disarray again, though it wasn't as annoying as last year. This time I did the cooking and cleaning and tried to maintain a clean house by trying to just clean up and tell the younger ones (fifth and sixth) to clean up whatever filth they create.

So now, my mother and both the second and third born have been away again for a few days and surprisingly the house is not looking bad at all. My living room is constantly clean and the kitchen is neat. Even the toilet I washed over the weekend is still sparkling.
My remaining siblings (4th,5th & 6th) wash their dishes without any hassle. 5th born even made pizza for my father and cleaned up after herself. I made breakfast for them this morning and nobody told them to wash their plates. They just did!

I don't know if it's my constant yelling that has paid off and is now maintaining a clean house or I accused the wrong people of messing the house up i.e 4th, 5th & 6th born.

But one thing I know is that whenever my mother is around, 5th and 6th born use that opportunity to do whatever they want, however they want it . They get very naughty.

I really do wish the house would just continue to be this clean. But I fear that once the rest of the family returns and we are complete again.. The house will result back to Mr. Mad's dwelling.

MY FIRST YEAR IN SECONDARY SCHOOL

I first learned about abortion when I was almost 10. I had just begun my first year in secondary school.
 I learned that our seniors- who were around the age of 14 and 16- had series of abortion after getting the results of their “improper acts” with the boys.

The boys’ hostel was a good distance away from ours. The so called strict security system did not stop the boys from jumping over the fence and creeping into their girlfriends’ room. They threatened the juniors not to utter a word or we’d experience hell on earth.

The senior girls too were “bold”; they’d squeeze themselves through the opening of our rusty gates and go off with the boys.

One cold morning in the court yard, the dew was just settling and our bath water was almost ice- in our hostels there was nothing like air conditioning for hot weather conditions not to talk of heater on a morning like this one.

The house mistress buzzed us up to get ready for the day at 4:30 am. Being first year students, we were the first batch of girls to have a bath every morning. 

The courtyard was facing an array of rooms- rooms one to six.  My roommates and I just had to walk out of our room, jump over a tiny gutter and we were in our court yard- our open bathroom without a roof, tub, shower or tap.

My friend Oyin was first to see a small pool of blood on the floor, some part of the blood was thick you’d think it was some internal parts of a chicken.

 We didn’t know whose blood it was or how it got there because hours before 4.30am, we all in the hostel were supposedly asleep. Was it Lady Koi-Koi - the ghost lady in red and black jacket, hat and shoes who haunted our school every night?

We didn’t know and we did not really worry until Christina, a first year repeater, told us that a senior must have aborted a baby.
 We were shocked and could hardly believe her but she convinced us and even assured us that we’d see more of that. We spent the better part of our bath time staring from the blood to Christina as she told us how the seniors killed their unborn babies.

“It’s easy! You’ll get a pail handle or an iron cloth hanger- the pale handle is better sha (Sha is a Yoruba word often added to the end of sentences for emphasis)” she started.

“You’ll straighten it and then insert it inside your vagina, you push it in, and in, and then you’ll hang the womb with the little curved part, and then jack it down and out!” She explained with a demonstration of her hands and imaginary pail handle; and the force with which she yanked out the imaginary womb was the scariest I had ever seen.

This was the trending topic among us first year students that day, and we wondered out loud how people would kill innocent embryos.

In retrospect, what could a 14 year old girl, in Nigeria, 1999, know about sex not to talk of abortion?