For reasons that may be explained another day, my mother went through a phase where she decided going to one church was not enough. My poor brothers and I found ourselves going for 6am Mass and then trekking to the opposite end of town to what we Nigerians call a white garment church (WGC).

The church was interesting. Most of the service was conducted in Yoruba. I’m not Yoruba. To be fair to them, they often had a translator to translate the sermons into English. Given that the English still sounded like Yoruba, they shouldn’t have bothered.

We didn’t like this second church. Not only was it FAR from our house, the services lasted for an eternity and on the days my mother woke up on the wrong side of the bed, we had to wear the white dress thing too! We just didn’t get it. Wasn’t one church enough?!

My brother G was always the brave one. One Sunday morning we arrived at WGC cranky as can be. We were hungry and tired and G decided the time had come to put his foot down. B and I grudgingly got out of the car but G sat tight. My mother had gotten out and was talking to someone so she didn’t immediately notice he had locked himself in the car.

I stood well away. Blood was about to be shed.

‘G, get out of that car now!’

No response.

‘Am I not talking to you? Get out from there before I lose my temper!’

No response.

‘G, what has come over you? Get out now!’

‘Mummy I’m not coming down.’

 To my astonishment she turned around and headed into the church.

Ah, I thought, no blood? I can do this too.

B and G went away to boarding school so I had mummy all to myself. As had become the norm we headed from Mass to the WGC. That day I decided it was time to try my luck. As soon as my mother got out of the car, I slammed down the lock on her door. The central lock kicked in.

Aha! Today me too I’m not going inside that church.

‘MEE, what do you think you’re doing?’

‘Mummy I’m not going inside.’

My face was set like concrete. I needed the attitude to match the words.

‘You’re not going inside ehn?’

Before I could respond I heard the locks opening.

Have you ever been knocked before? Actually, not knocked, konked? My head was on fire!

‘You will tell me when all this nonsense started. Konk’

‘You are now too big to listen to me ehn? Konk’

‘By the time I finish with you, you will tell me who gave birth to who. Konk’

She grabbed me by my ear and dragged me into the building.

‘Ah, madam, ki lo n sele? What is happening? Ejo ma, e rora. Take it easy.’

Heeding the plea of the good samaritan, she flung me by my ear and said in the calmest of voices, ‘try this nonsense again and see what will happen to you.’

I never did.

xxxMEE

I have a surrogate big sister. Technically she is my aunt but growing up, she was the sister I never had. Sometimes I didn’t like her. She wouldn’t let me borrow her clothes, she’d scold me and most annoyingly, she had no qualms embarrassing me in front of my friends.

I have no idea where she went but on her return home one day, she arrived with a 1Litre carton of apple juice. Now I’m in England, apple juice is not a big deal but back then in Nigeria, it was. I begged her to put it in the freezer so we could enjoy it cold. She refused. She locked it up in her wardrobe. Miser.

Weeks went by and still she refused to open it. One day my begging turned to anger. Who turns apple juice into a souvenir? Was it not made to be drunk? If she wasn’t going to drink it, that was her problem. I would help her.

I didn’t dare open the carton. I had a better plan. At the time she was doing some biochemistry project at university that involved syringes and needles so she had a few lying around her room. I adopted one of each.

I grabbed a glass, inserted the syringe into a corner of the carton and began to extract the apple juice. After I had extracted enough to fill the glass, I returned the carton to her wardrobe. I put the glass of apple juice in the freezer and waited for it to chill.

Apple juice has never tasted as good.

I waited for her to notice. She didn’t. A few days later, I repeated the exercise. Again, she was none the wiser. And so I continued till I had emptied the carton. Mission Accomplished.

A few months later, we were playing dress up in her room when she decided the time had come. ‘Let’s drink that apple juice,’ she said.

Oh, now you want to drink it?! Smirk.

The look on her face when she lifted the carton was priceless. The seal was intact, there was no evidence of leakage, no obvious punctures. I was good.

‘Could it have evaporated?’

‘These rats have started again. We need to fumigate this house.’

She looked so confused…and so did I. What on earth could have happened to the apple juice?

Now you know Aunty, now you know.

xxxMEE

I have two brothers. We’ll call them B and G.

G went through a phase in our childhood where he never told a lie. It wasn’t so much that he was good, he was just fearless. B and I on the other hand weren’t so brave. One Saturday afternoon my mother unveiled a packet of HobNobs. After giving us our approved rations, she lined us up, told us in no uncertain terms not to touch the rest of the biscuits and left the house.

A few hours later I found B hiding in our bedroom, his face covered in biscuit crumbs. ‘I’m not there o!’ I shouted at him. I didn’t think he would get caught though. Surely my mother wouldn’t notice if one or two were missing? I plunked myself down in front of the TV and forgot all about B and his misdemeanour. Fast forward a few more hours.

‘B, G, MEE, COME HERE NOW!!!’ Oh oh, Mummy was back. We sprinted to her room dreading the plight that awaited us. ‘I’m innocent,’ I kept thinking, ‘I’ll be alright.’

‘Who ate the biscuits I left in my drawer?’

Straight to business. She wasn’t playing.

‘Mummy it wasn’t me,’ we all chorused.

‘I’ll ask you again. Who ate the biscuits I left in my drawer?’

‘Mummy I don’t know,’ we chorused.

‘G, was it you?’

‘No mummy, it wasn’t me.’

‘You can go. I know you don’t tell lies.’

Huh?! I thought to myself, that simple?

‘MEE and B, if one of you doesn’t confess I will flog you until you turn black and blue.’

Silence. What can I say, I WAS a loyal sister. I now know better.

‘You don’t want to confess ehn? Okay, I will deal with you.’

Before we could plan our exit strategy, she picked up her koboko and the flogging began.

‘Who ate the biscuits ehn, who ate the biscuits?!’

With each stroke the pitch of her voice went up a notch.

‘Mummy it wasn’t me!’ I wailed.

‘I will not have children who tell lies. Today you will learn how to tell the truth.’

Unable to bear the agony anymore, my brother cried out,’ I ate six and gave her four!’

YOU WHAT?!?!?!

‘B, you gave me what?! So you even ate everything. Why are you now lying?’

My mother focused all her attention on me.

‘Your brother has confessed and you are still lying. You are still lying.’

I’ve never been flogged so much in all my life. When B saw that my mother was willing to go for the grave, he fessed up.

‘Mummy I didn’t give her any, I ate it alone.’

With those words I escaped premature death.

I still haven’t forgiven you. Watch your back B…and you too Mummy!

xxxMEE

I love singing. In the shower, in bed, at work, on the streets, mid conversation…I can’t seem to stop myself. I’ve wound up many a friend with my incessant singing. They’d be talking to me and I’d be humming. It’s not that I’m not paying attention, I‘m just a dab hand at doing both things simultaneously!

It was the summer of 2000 and the song ‘Breathless’ by the Corrs was all the rage. I knew every word, every beat, every musical accompaniment to it. I was addicted. I had it playing on repeat at home till my entire household revolted. Haters. I didn’t let them rain on my parade. I stuck the CD in my Discman and kept feeding my addiction.

One fateful afternoon I went shopping with my mother. As was the norm in my teenage years, we had yet another argument on the way home. I was walking behind her to create more than just an emotional distance between us. I wasn’t going to let her get me down.

‘Go on, go on, leave me breathless.’ I started to sing, my strides matching the tempo of the song. I must have sung the line a million times because the next thing I knew I felt the back of her hand connect with my cheek. Like my people would say, she wozed me!

‘Go on, go on,’ she mimicked, ‘ shut up and let me hear word my friend!’       

At the time it wasn’t funny but now, I can’t think about the incident without cracking up. The song has never sounded the same to me.

MEE