TWISTED

I had literally just driven around town in search of some asparagus to prepare a special gourmet vegetarian meal for my family, and had just arrived at the estate gate when I received a text message on my phone. At first I was reluctant to get the phone, but when the gateman was taking forever to answer the gate; I decided to give it a look.

It was from my son’s school and they wanted me to appear as soon as I could to sort out a few things.

What is there to sort? I scowled in annoyance as I read the remainder of the message.

If driving from the mainland to the Island in search of a handful of vegetables which I eventually didn’t get to buy didn’t tick me off, I think the mere thought of having to drive all the way back to my son’s school certainly did. What was more annoying was the fact that the school didn’t state a specific reason for asking me over.

I tried getting through to Deolu – My Husband, to intimate him of the situation at hand but I couldn’t reach him on any of his phones. All attempts to also get through to the schools administration was also in vain as no one answered the phones. While all this was going on, the estate gateman Baba Yinka had opened the gate for me to go in, but in my paranoia state I could only just sit in the car and watch him shut it back. I then reasoned there was no point driving in and driving out later when I could do everything I had to do at once. So I turned my car around and headed to ST Augustine Memorial College which my son attended.

Oh the sacrifices of a stay at home mother.

 “Oga Madam, gooraftoonoon, dis one wey you come by this time wey school never close, una wan donate anora tin to us” – The gateman yelled out as I drove into the compound, at that time I could care less about his mischief.

I got out of the car, wrapped my hair into a pony tail, grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and then went straight to the principal’s office.

The principal Mrs Kofoworola Doherty and I go way back university days but have not particularly been best of friends - basically because she had a better dress sense and had this almost perfect Queens English accent that drops me off the edge each time she utters a word.

Her secretary, who was normally cheerful and friendly around me, had all of a sudden gotten the chills and was sort of laid back in her response to all the remarks and pleasantries I doled out to her that afternoon. I assumed it was that time of the month for her and so didn’t question her motives for doing so.

“Good day Mrs Famoroti”. A voice called out behind me as I signed in to the visitor’s book.

“Good day yourself Kofo” – I turned around and responded.

“Sorry I had to get you here on short notice; I just thought I should bring something to your attention”

“It’s nothing; anything to make sure my boy is doing fine.

“This way please” – Pointing in the direction of her office as she led me in.

“Coffee, Tea, Biscuits?” She asked in that her Queens English accent I’d always been envious of.

“No thanks, I just want to know why I’m being summoned here” – I replied, while adjusting into a more comfortable position on the leather seat.

“Very well then”.

She dragged her chair forward and leaned in towards the table, clenched her fists towards her chin and stared at me for a little over thirty seconds. I was starting to get a bit tense. .

“During a random check of all the students to ensure they don’t have any contraband items with them, we found some pornographic magazines in your son’s bag, a pack of cigarettes and a match box. All the school counsellors have quizzed him about his involvement with these items, but to our amazement he is yet to utter one word. Normally we would have suspended him the minute these items were found on him because this is a Christian school and we try to uphold the holistic values upon which it was established but we decided to bend the rules on behalf of your family because of how important your donations have been to this institution”.

Why does he keep doing these things? What do other mothers do for their children that I don’t do for mine? Why is this boy being ungrateful and unappreciative? With everything he sees me going through in his father’s house, is this how he plans to pay me back? This is the same child that has refused to pass his SSCE, he’s the one who spent his tutorial fee hovering from one game house to another and he’s still the same one that was caught molesting a female student and forcing her to play with his penis. Oh God what kind of child have you given me? I don’t deserve any of these. - I soliloquised, as tears rolled down my face.

“Wipe your tears, it would all be fine” – she sighed, handing me a box of tissues.

“Can you send for him please?”

“Certainly”.

She placed a call to her secretary to go get my son from the counselling unit where he had been remanded all morning since the items were found on him. And while I waited, all I could think about was how to explain things to his father.

Just when things were starting to look good for us as a couple.Hmmph

Then the secretary led my son into the office, and for the first time in seventeen years I looked at Tola and resented him. He leaned on the wall - plain faced, hands in his pocket, no emotion whatsoever and at that point it felt like I had lost him. I didn’t know whether to smack the hell out of his face or just walk out. But I chose not to let my emotions get the best of me.

“Tola, do you want to kill me? What is it with you, are you the only child? Why is it you that everybody is always complaining about? I don’t want to bury my child and I don’t want any child to bury me now, but listen the day you die because of your irresponsibility and waywardness, we would bury you, mourn you for a while and after that everybody moves on with their life”.

He looked me in the eye, mumbled a few words and looked the other way. I immediately looked at Kofo and her facial expression said it all - I had failed as a mother. In a rage of anger, I picked up the perforator on the table and threw it in Tolas direction. He weaved it but I cannot say same for the notice board behind him as it was shattered to pieces.

“I’m sorry about the board; I would get it replaced as soon as possible” – a depressed and frustrated me pleaded.

“It’s alright Gbemi, just take your son home and try to fix things up ok, and he is free to take the week off school too.”

“Are you suspending him?” – I cut into her statement

“No we are not; I just feel it is in his best interest and in the interest of the school that he takes a break. If something like this happens again, then we would be forced to extend the long arm of the law towards him”.

“Thanks a lot Kofo, I appreciate it”.

We left the office soon after and were just making way into the reception when I landed two deafening slaps on his face. One for bringing contrabands to school and the other for making a fool out of me in the presence of the principal.

“Now would you go and bring your bag and meet me at the car park or you’d need me to slap you all the way to your class to go get it?”

He mumbled some words again and as I moved in to slap him, he cried out - I’d go and get it, I’d go and get it” – good, now meet me at the car park in five minutes.

He came back in almost a jiffy and we began the ride back home. All my thought as we rode through the Island traffic bothered around what to do to curb this incessant irresponsible behaviour of his and somehow I had started to question my parenting skills. Then halfway through I decided to ask him where he got the magazines and cigarettes from. He was hesitant and I could see the fear in his eyes. And then he looked up and said “They are daddy’s”.

“Are you mad? Are you accusing your father of smoking and watching pornography?” I halted the car at the next petrol station and right there, inside the car, I beat him as hard as I could. He kept shouting and crying “It’s for daddy, it’s for daddy mummy....I swear. I took them from his room”. But there was no stopping me, I was engulfed with anger.

How would you say the man I married for over twenty years now is into cigarettes and pornography and I don’t know? It took a number of the petrol station attendants to stop me as they kept banging on my side of the window.

When I was calm, I ignited the car engine and continued the drive back home. I didn’t say anything to him and neither did he, but somehow something inside me wanted to believe him. I had never had a reason to question my husband’s movements in twenty years but his constant late nights and lack of concentration during sex were starting to give me concerns. I decided not to speak to him yet about Tolas issue until I did some investigation of my own. I was asleep when he got back home that night and also the night after, but I managed to stay half awake the third night.

He got home late as usual, took his shower and then I noticed he was pacing around the room. He seemed a little uneasy. Then he came to my side of the bed and waved his hand in my face as if to ascertain whether I was awake or not, I didn’t flinch. He waited a few minutes before bringing out a briefcase from the top corner of the wardrobe. He opened it and brought out some papers. Then something fell off and made some noise, he was jumpy and all over the place but I still didn’t move an inch. He took the papers, picked whatever it was that fell to the ground and creeped to his side of the bed. I laid there for a few more minutes until I started to hear him moan, softly at first – oh no he can’t be masturbating. I got up and turned around immediately and there my husband of twenty years laid, his penis in one hand, a magazine on the other and a lotion on the bed.

“Deolu what is this nonsense you are doing?” – I turned on the side lamp and snatched the magazine off his hand. Alas, my husband was masturbating to gay pornography.