ning to throw away, into the freshly cooked broth. I knew they would notice that the mixture tasted a little off, but I was counting on the guilt

isappointed that Akin refused to touch the food. When they complained that they would have preferred mashed yam with vegetable stew and dried fish, I ignored Akin's glare. On any other day, I would have gone back to the kitchen to mash the yam. That afternoon, however, I felt like telling them to get up and mash the yam themselves, if mashed yam was what they really wante

ow long the visit would last, he had not bothered to arrange with the taxi driver who had driven them there to come back and pick them up. He had assumed, as relatives often do, that Akin would take responsibility for taking them home. Soon it was time for Akin to drive them all home. I walked them to the car, and Akin, jingling the keys in his pants pocket, asked if everyone was okay with the route he intended to take. His intention was

what's so unusual about that? Do all your relatives have bathrooms in their homes? Don't they shit in the bushes or in dunghills?" I shouted, throwing the plates into the metal sink. The sound of the dishes breaking was followed by silence. One of the plates split in half. I ran my finger over the broken rim. I felt it cut me. My blood stained the jagged edge. "Yejide, try to understa

ted me." The anger in his voice shook me, offended me. I had thought the trembling of his body meant he was nervous-it was usually like that. I had hoped it meant he was sorry, that he felt guilty. "You brought a new wife into this house and you're the one who's angry? When did you marry her? Last year? Last month? When were you planning on telling me? Huh? You son of a-" "Don't say that, woman, don't say that word. I

any better, Funmi didn't make it to the bush in time. She soiled her dress." I didn't feel better. I wouldn't feel better for a long time. I was already falling apart, like a hastily tied scarf that comes loose and falls to the floor before its owner notices. 3 Yejide was created on a Saturday. When God had enough time to paint her a perfect ebony. There was no doubt about it. The finished work was living proof. Th

t look away like I expected, so I sat up straight. She looked me up and down, assessing me, but it wasn't enough that she smiled at me before turning back to the movie