I SAW MY GRANDMA TÚRN INTO A CÁT AT NIGHT
My name is Kpokuechukwu. I'm the only son of my father. Or rather, I'm the only product of an intertribal union of an Igbo man and a Yoruba woman. According to my mother, she'd been childless for 8 years and had experienced 3 m¡scarriages before I was finally born. So she called my name Oluwasindara .
My parents and I used to live in the faraway city of Lagos. But one December when I was just six years old, we traveled down East to celebrate Christmas with grandma… And that was it, we didn't return to the city
Before we embarked on that journey, there was this particular dream I usually have, of a cr££py old woman scaring me. Sometimes she will throw me into a stream, thr£atening to drown me, other times she will be chasing me around a forest with either a long knife or a tongue of fire. Such a night, I will wake up sweating and crying. My mom would be there to comfort me. She would apply some ointment on my forehead, muttering silent prayers. It's as a result of these repeated occurrences that I started sleeping in my parents room. . This story belongs to Joy Ifunanya.
One Thursday evening in October, mummy was helping me do my homework in the dining room when dad walked in and told her to start making preparations.
“We shall be celebrating Christmas in the East this season”. He announced.
I was overwhelmed with excitement. I'd only heard about the village, but never really visited it. During holidays, mom usually takes me down to Badagry to stay with her elder sister who had 4 grown-up children. Although I do enjoy my times with them because there, everyone pampers me, I think traveling to the village will be more fun.
I have heard fascinating stories about the rural areas from my friends at school who were privileged to visit their hometown every holiday season. They won't stop talking about how they swim in their village streams all day long, how they go out to watch masquerade, how they go palm kernel hunting, snail hunting, crab hunting and a lot of other adventures. More interesting was how children would gather round the fireplace at night to listen to interesting folktales from the elderly women. I have been hoping to have such an experience one day.
So when dad made that announcement that evening, I couldn't control myself. I lifted my hands in the air..
“Yeah, I'm going to see grandma!”. I
Daddy smiled and patted my back. However, mummy didn't seem nearly as excited. In fact, she looked rather apprehensive.
“Dave, I'm not going to the village with you”. She asked.
Daddy frowned at her.
“Why? We haven't been to the village for ages” He asked.
“Are you asking me why? How do you even want me to travel all the way to the East in this condition?” She quarreled.
At that time, I wasn't aware that she was weeks pregnant.
“I know, dear. But trust me, you will be safe. Nothing will go wrong, I promise”. He said.
“I am still not going. I won't be traveling like this”. She insisted.
“Wuraola, I am traveling this December, I missed my mother, it's been five years. Don't you understand?”. Daddy said.
“But I'm not stopping you. I just said I am not going. That doesn't mean you can't go and see your mother”. She argued.
Daddy heaved a sigh, sat down on the chair close to her and held her hand. He then lowered his voice and began to talk to her. Though I didn't understand what he was saying because he was speaking Igbo language (I was only fluent in Yoruba language), I knew he was trying to persuade her, to make her see the reason she should embark on that journey. I watched them, my heart filled with silent.prayers that she should concur because if Mummy won't be traveling to the village, I won't be traveling either. I'm sure of that.
It was during the weekend when Mom and I were visiting her sister in Badagry that I discovered her major reason for not wanting to travel with us.
Her sister and her friends were gisting in the living room by the time we came. When Mummy announced about the intending journey to the East, her sister's reaction was intense. She seemed really upset.
“What is wrong with your husband?”. She raged. And in order to carry her friends along, she began to recount the events that transpired long before I was born.
Since no one asked me to escused them, I sat there in their midst, listening attentively and watching their lips move.
I learnt that my grandma never liked my mom. She had wanted to be the one to choose a wife for her son, HER ONLY SON, from amongst our people. But my daddy did not only reject Mama's choice, but went ahead to bring home a woman from a different ethnic background.
“Mama, this is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. Her name is Wuraola”. Daddy had said the first day he brought mum home.
“Eka aso, Mami”. My mummy had greeted, prostrating before Grandma.
Grandma's eyes turned red with rage.
“Over my dead body would my only son marry onye ofe mmanu”. Grandma had responded. She couldn't even hide her feelings.
NOTE:. OFE MMANU IS THE IGBO MAN'S NAME FOR YORUBA’S OMI OBE AND EWEDU SOUP. NO OFFENSE
But despite his mum's disapproval, daddy went ahead to marry my mom. Nobody in my father's family agreed to see reason with her. This made her h@tred of mom very strongly. So strong that she was absent during their introduction and traditional marriage ceremony.
A few weeks before their wedding, dad and mum traveled to the village to make peace with her. They knelt before her and apologized for getting married without her blessings.
She accepted their apology, and promised to attend their wedding, but with a strict condition.
“Your wife will stay back here with me for some time after the wedding”. She had told my dad.
“Hmmm, it won't be possible”. Dad said.
They returned to the city 2 days later and did their wedding without her. But barely two weeks later, they found themselves back in the village… Dad's business has collapsed.
“Nwanyi ofe mmanu bû bádluck bia n' uloa(This Yoruba woman came with bádluck)”. Grandma would taunt dad.
But dad didn't take her word to heart. Even when Mom started having a series of m!scarriages, and grandma wouldn't stop bothering him to take a new wife, he refused to give up on mum.
“You're my only son, Onyekachi. The nwanyi ofe mmanu you married is bárren! Why don't you marry Akuabata, and start giving me children. I'm not getting any younger”. Grandma would always tell him.
It wouldn't end there, she would go ahead to bring the akuabata home to do chores for her. The lady would be parading the compound in a skimpy skirt or gown. Grandma finds pleasure in making mum shed tears. She neither eats her food nor allows her to touch her belongings. Once she returned from the farm and noticed that mom was cooking soup with her pot, she got really angry, stormed into the kitchen, set the pot down from the fire, and threw the soup on the ground.
“Ahh! Mami?”. Mummy exclaimed.
“Mami micha gi onu there! Ekwensu!”. Grandma cμrsed.
With that, she went inside and came out again with a hammer and nails with which she pierced the pot in several places before flinging it into the bush.
Morning and night, mom would cry, but my dad would always be there to comfort her. It was after six wásted years that uncle Tunde, my mummy's elder brother who resided abroad, remembered his sister.
It was him who sponsored them financially. They left the village, back to Lagos, and started afresh. With time, things began to normalize, and that was when I came into the picture. Mom's pregnancy journey wasn't easy, she was hospitalized thrice due to threatened m¡scarriages. However, with Divine intervention I was brought into this world, a year after they returned to the city.
**********”*******
Though I feel sorry for her, hearing all these stories about mom's mystery didn't deter me from wanting to visit the village. In fact, my excitement only grew stronger. I was still eager to experience village life and make new memories. I couldn't wait shåre my own village experience with my friends. Thankfully, at last, Mummy agreed to the journey.
Then came D-Day. It was on December 20th. Very early in the morning, we set out for the East in my dad's car. Myself and my parents, with one woman and her infant son. The journey was tiring. I didn't imagine it was going to be so.I sleep and wake up occasionally and still find ourselves on the road. At one point, I began to cry.
“The masquerades in the village will b!te you if they see tears in your eyes”. Mom said.
I stopped crying instantly and wiped my tears. As the evening drew in, we continued driving until the woman and her son dropped off at a junction. We then turned onto an untarred road, which seemed to stretch on forever. This story belongs to Joy Ifunanya.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we drove into a wide compound and halted in front of a thatched-roofed bungalow. An old woman was sitting by the side of the wall, picking something from a calabash on the ground in front of her.
“Here we are!” Daddy announced.
“Village?” I asked, excitement building inside of me.
“Yeah! Grandma is here”. Daddy said, pointing towards the old woman.
By now, the woman had looked up from the calabash and was staring at our car.
“Grandma!”. I screamed out excitedly, and without waiting, I threw open the car door and leaped out
“Grandma, grandma!”. I chanted as I ran towards her.
But as I drew closer enough to behold her face, my feet seemed to freeze of their own accord. A chill rippled through my body, raising goosebumps on my skin.
Grandma was the same woman who had haμnted my dreams….
Typing 2………..
Please, shåre
#Story from Joy Ifunanya's story room.
I SAW MY GRANDMA TÚRN INTO A CÁT AT NIGHT😳
My name is Kpokuechukwu. I'm the only son of my father. Or rather, I'm the only product of an intertribal union of an Igbo man and a Yoruba woman. According to my mother, she'd been childless for 8 years and had experienced 3 m¡scarriages before I was finally born. So she called my name Oluwasindara .
My parents and I used to live in the faraway city of Lagos. But one December when I was just six years old, we traveled down East to celebrate Christmas with grandma… And that was it, we didn't return to the city😭
Before we embarked on that journey, there was this particular dream I usually have, of a cr££py old woman scaring me. Sometimes she will throw me into a stream, thr£atening to drown me, other times she will be chasing me around a forest with either a long knife or a tongue of fire. Such a night, I will wake up sweating and crying. My mom would be there to comfort me. She would apply some ointment on my forehead, muttering silent prayers. It's as a result of these repeated occurrences that I started sleeping in my parents room. . This story belongs to Joy Ifunanya.
One Thursday evening in October, mummy was helping me do my homework in the dining room when dad walked in and told her to start making preparations.
“We shall be celebrating Christmas in the East this season”. He announced.
I was overwhelmed with excitement. I'd only heard about the village, but never really visited it. During holidays, mom usually takes me down to Badagry to stay with her elder sister who had 4 grown-up children. Although I do enjoy my times with them because there, everyone pampers me, I think traveling to the village will be more fun.
I have heard fascinating stories about the rural areas from my friends at school who were privileged to visit their hometown every holiday season. They won't stop talking about how they swim in their village streams all day long, how they go out to watch masquerade, how they go palm kernel hunting, snail hunting, crab hunting and a lot of other adventures. More interesting was how children would gather round the fireplace at night to listen to interesting folktales from the elderly women. I have been hoping to have such an experience one day.
So when dad made that announcement that evening, I couldn't control myself. I lifted my hands in the air..
“Yeah, I'm going to see grandma!”. I
Daddy smiled and patted my back. However, mummy didn't seem nearly as excited. In fact, she looked rather apprehensive.
“Dave, I'm not going to the village with you”. She asked.
Daddy frowned at her.
“Why? We haven't been to the village for ages” He asked.
“Are you asking me why? How do you even want me to travel all the way to the East in this condition?” She quarreled.
At that time, I wasn't aware that she was weeks pregnant.
“I know, dear. But trust me, you will be safe. Nothing will go wrong, I promise”. He said.
“I am still not going. I won't be traveling like this”. She insisted.
“Wuraola, I am traveling this December, I missed my mother, it's been five years. Don't you understand?”. Daddy said.
“But I'm not stopping you. I just said I am not going. That doesn't mean you can't go and see your mother”. She argued.
Daddy heaved a sigh, sat down on the chair close to her and held her hand. He then lowered his voice and began to talk to her. Though I didn't understand what he was saying because he was speaking Igbo language (I was only fluent in Yoruba language), I knew he was trying to persuade her, to make her see the reason she should embark on that journey. I watched them, my heart filled with silent.prayers that she should concur because if Mummy won't be traveling to the village, I won't be traveling either. I'm sure of that.
It was during the weekend when Mom and I were visiting her sister in Badagry that I discovered her major reason for not wanting to travel with us.
Her sister and her friends were gisting in the living room by the time we came. When Mummy announced about the intending journey to the East, her sister's reaction was intense. She seemed really upset.
“What is wrong with your husband?”. She raged. And in order to carry her friends along, she began to recount the events that transpired long before I was born.
Since no one asked me to escused them, I sat there in their midst, listening attentively and watching their lips move.
I learnt that my grandma never liked my mom. She had wanted to be the one to choose a wife for her son, HER ONLY SON, from amongst our people. But my daddy did not only reject Mama's choice, but went ahead to bring home a woman from a different ethnic background.
“Mama, this is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. Her name is Wuraola”. Daddy had said the first day he brought mum home.
“Eka aso, Mami”. My mummy had greeted, prostrating before Grandma.
Grandma's eyes turned red with rage.
“Over my dead body would my only son marry onye ofe mmanu”. Grandma had responded. She couldn't even hide her feelings.
NOTE:. OFE MMANU IS THE IGBO MAN'S NAME FOR YORUBA’S OMI OBE AND EWEDU SOUP. NO OFFENSE
But despite his mum's disapproval, daddy went ahead to marry my mom. Nobody in my father's family agreed to see reason with her. This made her h@tred of mom very strongly. So strong that she was absent during their introduction and traditional marriage ceremony.
A few weeks before their wedding, dad and mum traveled to the village to make peace with her. They knelt before her and apologized for getting married without her blessings.
She accepted their apology, and promised to attend their wedding, but with a strict condition.
“Your wife will stay back here with me for some time after the wedding”. She had told my dad.
“Hmmm, it won't be possible”. Dad said.
They returned to the city 2 days later and did their wedding without her. But barely two weeks later, they found themselves back in the village… Dad's business has collapsed.
“Nwanyi ofe mmanu bû bádluck bia n' uloa(This Yoruba woman came with bádluck)”. Grandma would taunt dad.
But dad didn't take her word to heart. Even when Mom started having a series of m!scarriages, and grandma wouldn't stop bothering him to take a new wife, he refused to give up on mum.
“You're my only son, Onyekachi. The nwanyi ofe mmanu you married is bárren! Why don't you marry Akuabata, and start giving me children. I'm not getting any younger”. Grandma would always tell him.
It wouldn't end there, she would go ahead to bring the akuabata home to do chores for her. The lady would be parading the compound in a skimpy skirt or gown. Grandma finds pleasure in making mum shed tears. She neither eats her food nor allows her to touch her belongings. Once she returned from the farm and noticed that mom was cooking soup with her pot, she got really angry, stormed into the kitchen, set the pot down from the fire, and threw the soup on the ground.
“Ahh! Mami?”. Mummy exclaimed.
“Mami micha gi onu there! Ekwensu!”. Grandma cμrsed.
With that, she went inside and came out again with a hammer and nails with which she pierced the pot in several places before flinging it into the bush.
Morning and night, mom would cry, but my dad would always be there to comfort her. It was after six wásted years that uncle Tunde, my mummy's elder brother who resided abroad, remembered his sister.
It was him who sponsored them financially. They left the village, back to Lagos, and started afresh. With time, things began to normalize, and that was when I came into the picture. Mom's pregnancy journey wasn't easy, she was hospitalized thrice due to threatened m¡scarriages. However, with Divine intervention I was brought into this world, a year after they returned to the city.
**********”*******
Though I feel sorry for her, hearing all these stories about mom's mystery didn't deter me from wanting to visit the village. In fact, my excitement only grew stronger. I was still eager to experience village life and make new memories. I couldn't wait shåre my own village experience with my friends. Thankfully, at last, Mummy agreed to the journey.
Then came D-Day. It was on December 20th. Very early in the morning, we set out for the East in my dad's car. Myself and my parents, with one woman and her infant son. The journey was tiring. I didn't imagine it was going to be so.I sleep and wake up occasionally and still find ourselves on the road. At one point, I began to cry.
“The masquerades in the village will b!te you if they see tears in your eyes”. Mom said.
I stopped crying instantly and wiped my tears. As the evening drew in, we continued driving until the woman and her son dropped off at a junction. We then turned onto an untarred road, which seemed to stretch on forever. This story belongs to Joy Ifunanya.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we drove into a wide compound and halted in front of a thatched-roofed bungalow. An old woman was sitting by the side of the wall, picking something from a calabash on the ground in front of her.
“Here we are!” Daddy announced.
“Village?” I asked, excitement building inside of me.
“Yeah! Grandma is here”. Daddy said, pointing towards the old woman.
By now, the woman had looked up from the calabash and was staring at our car.
“Grandma!”. I screamed out excitedly, and without waiting, I threw open the car door and leaped out
“Grandma, grandma!”. I chanted as I ran towards her.
But as I drew closer enough to behold her face, my feet seemed to freeze of their own accord. A chill rippled through my body, raising goosebumps on my skin.
Grandma was the same woman who had haμnted my dreams….
Typing 2………..
Please, shåre 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏
#Story from Joy Ifunanya's story room.
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