Lucky you, your father is a chauvinist,
Your worth is equivalent to a well-made pot of soup and there is no, I repeat no excuse for not mastering the “art of making the devil’s look alike a.k.a Amala”, because your mediocre knowledge of Eba and Semo does not guarantee you a husband in the future.
“Kìni íwùló ẹ́yin obínrin mèjí nìnu ilè tì gbogbo ilè bà tì bàjẹ̀ báyii”, shey you will rest, it’s just one unwashed pot.
“We are hungry”, ladies, resume your station!
You’ve made the food and you are trying to rest from the cooking marathon you started at 5am but how dare you?
You haven’t served the food.
Come and serve the food!, bellowed thin, tall and useless number 2.
“Ọmọ bàbá ẹ̀” indeed.
I’m sharing the bread for everyone. The bread knife is crying not because it has to cut down a heavy loaf of bread but because it's crying to quench its hunger or maybe it’s my hands crying to spill some familial red liquid.
Take a good guess.
My anger is childish, keep your emotions in check and man your station after all you belong in the kitchen.
Change is a foreign word because who can convince a tyrant otherwise, only a fool who wants her ear to bleed.
Luckily, I’m not that fool.
My ‘favorite’ quotes,
Food is the quickest way to a man’s heart, my interpretation?
Wọ́bíà ló máa pa ẹlẹ́bi".
I wrote this poem last year during a period when I was frustrated and exhausted by my reality, particularly the dynamics within my family. As I grew older, I began to realize how accustomed I had become to a system that conditioned my sisters and me to absorb chores, expectations, and hurtful words without complaint.
I felt betrayed by both my parents and my brothers. What unsettled me the most was the realization that we had normalized that treatment for so long. And, as expected, the tension did not simply disappear. Arguments and repeated disappointments led to difficult conversations and even harder questions.
Questions about knowing better, especially after growing up surrounded by women. Questions about value and worth in the eyes of people you call your own. Questions about whether these experiences would eventually damage our relationship as a family.
Ultimately, not every question has an answer, and not every answer needs to be spoken aloud. Over time, I learned to manage my expectations in order to protect myself from constant disappointment. Like Fareedah would say, “I never appointed you to get disappointment.”
At one point, I went on a long rant in a group chat with friends about cutting my brothers off completely because I genuinely felt like I could not take it anymore. One response in particular annoyed me:
“Take what exactly? You know you can’t spend your life trying to change people you have no control over.”
At the time, I did not want advice; I simply wanted to be angry, just having a rant. But eventually, I understood the truth in what was said. I could not change people, only my expectations of them.
I ended up reconciling with my siblings and I forgave them in a quiet corner of my heart. It's still very techy going about our relationship but I handle my own well and manage a good relationship with them.