Project 9ja Mag The Revolution. 1st Edition | Page 48

Project 9ja
Toxic
An opaque tale of woe of a toxic relationship. A dance
right on the thin line stretched by the dual ends of love
and hate. Meet my mother.
My mother is the most beautiful person I've ever laid
eyes upon. Being attracted to her comes as easy as
breathing to a healthy man. She is curved and arched in
the right places, thick and dense where it matters and sparse only where necessary. Everything about
her form is deliberate and artistic. She is an embodiment painters desire to portray but fail at, not for
lack of skill or dexterity, but because her essence is ineffable.
Charm is deceptive, beauty vain. This I learnt at an early age, and to expect cruelty from Mother. Do not
gasp just yet, follow the tale. My mother like most desires to be loved and shown affection by us, her
children. But strangely, she has for a long time been unable to return a fraction of one child's love. We
were raised to believe that if you love Mother, work for her, make her happy and not break her rules,
she might and only might, spare you her wrath.
Mother could applaud you for being a honest and yet not defend you when one of the older siblings who
lives for bullying and hoarding, beats you up for being ‘good’. She is nonchalant and could let a score of
her children lie dead in a pool of their own blood without qualms. It's like Mother never cared for our
lives, maybe because she thinks we’re so many, plus she's still giving birth.
Mother handed over all of us that were born from her 30s, to the incapable and callous care of our
older, cantankerous siblings. They refuse to feed us and when they do, we rave and roll in appreciation.
Need I mention that we're not poor, as a matter of fact, Mother is one of the wealthiest women on the
continent. Now you wonder how real my story is, because it's almost impossible to reconcile my
exiguous recount of life, the copious amount of children my mother has and the unfathomable fortune
we have.
Let me get you up to speed. Mother felt since she has a lot of children, she could as well hand over the
affairs of the household to the older heirs, trusting that once they also begin to age, they'll pass it on. To
say our mother is poor at administration would be an understatement. She casually handed us and all
her fortune to the ‘grey and irascible gang’. These are not your regular ‘older siblings that torture you
for fun and yet remain affectionate’. No, these ones are a part of our family that have lorded over us all,
so much we hold them in higher regard than mother. What hurts is that some of us die,
literally die of hunger because they ‘forgot’ to feed us. Others squabble, fight, hurt and
kill each other but the coterie are too busy ‘settling’ feuds and ending each other’s
pilfering to notice this or even respond. What could be worse than the neglect of a
mother and the abuse of caregivers? Probably something you're experiencing, but
this is also a terrible state to be in.
Mother is awesome, even though more than half the time, I believe she doesn't
love me. I cry myself to sleep at night because these days, the fights are
becoming more frequent and we seem to condone them. No one truly really
wails, not even mother. We just sob quietly hoping the pain ceases. I love
her deeply though she neglects me and has virtually nothing to say
when I'm hurt or hungry. I want mother to be happy even if it means
me fighting the coven of the hoary and choleric. I may not win, but
it's worth a shot. She has taken ill and I fear they are responsible
for poisoning her. I don't know if my love can save her, I know
hers didn't. But I'll love her anyway, even when it hurts.
Meet my mother, her name is Nigeria.
M o t h e r
Ballie
  BALPOLAM IDI
page 48