Oh the joy of womanhood; except it is not my joy. At present I am in that little corner of my room, where I always go to indulge my literary fancies especially with choice author Jane Austen and her ever romantic plots; when 'mammy' walks in, takes a glance over through the length and breath of my room before fixing her fierce gaze on the human huddled in one corner with a book on her lap.
Immediately I scrambled up, discarded my book for the time being and with as much seriousness as I had attended Jane Austen, I now applied in putting things in place; instantly the clothes disappeared from the bed and appeared in the wardrobe, books stood, neatly packed in book cases and the make up I had toiled with all afternoon had to be kept in place. But as soon as I heard the door close, I let the bedspread already in mid air drop from my hand and very quietly I continued my Jane Austen.
It has always been like this, especially the weekends when 'mammy' comes home from her station. The announcement would ring like a bell in our house 'mummy is coming today o!' And as if on cue, we all leave whatever it is we are occupied with and instead concern ourselves with the appearance and state of the house . It is not unusual to catch me in the act of surveying a room time and time again, intensely making note of what is and what is not in place, what needed to be removed and what should be put back from wherever it was removed from, all for 'mammy's grand entrance. If not, prepare yourself for a tirade of lectures on the duties of a woman, and the ever occurring phrase "like it or not , you would be a wife and a mother soon".
In all honesty that 'wife' word scares me. Believe me dudes and dudettes when I say I love marriage, everybody does and yes I do talk about it for hours with girlfriends and of course I have my dream wedding on ink, but the thing is, that domestic aspect intimidates me. I do my things with patience (my time and my pace). I hate waking up 5a.m; I am in a lustful romance with my bed (say what you like), I don't fancy the obligation of constantly visiting the kitchen to prepare meals, hey I can eat once a day or feast on snacks, as long as I avoid that kitchen as much as possible. Must we eat three times a day sef, wetin?
And then I already have a time washing my basket of dirty clothes only for him to add his own and those of the small chickele pikins.
Now tell me that load of office shirts is not for my ironing pleasure?
Laugh out loud, forget the things I say I know the truth and I can't run from it, and as 'mammy' is fond of saying 'you should have told God to create you as a man'. So look left, look right, turn around and sit down, domesticites is the joy of womanhood.
It has always been like this, especially the weekends when 'mammy' comes home from her station. The announcement would ring like a bell in our house 'mummy is coming today o!' And as if on cue, we all leave whatever it is we are occupied with and instead concern ourselves with the appearance and state of the house . It is not unusual to catch me in the act of surveying a room time and time again, intensely making note of what is and what is not in place, what needed to be removed and what should be put back from wherever it was removed from, all for 'mammy's grand entrance. If not, prepare yourself for a tirade of lectures on the duties of a woman, and the ever occurring phrase "like it or not , you would be a wife and a mother soon".
In all honesty that 'wife' word scares me. Believe me dudes and dudettes when I say I love marriage, everybody does and yes I do talk about it for hours with girlfriends and of course I have my dream wedding on ink, but the thing is, that domestic aspect intimidates me. I do my things with patience (my time and my pace). I hate waking up 5a.m; I am in a lustful romance with my bed (say what you like), I don't fancy the obligation of constantly visiting the kitchen to prepare meals, hey I can eat once a day or feast on snacks, as long as I avoid that kitchen as much as possible. Must we eat three times a day sef, wetin?
And then I already have a time washing my basket of dirty clothes only for him to add his own and those of the small chickele pikins.
Now tell me that load of office shirts is not for my ironing pleasure?
Laugh out loud, forget the things I say I know the truth and I can't run from it, and as 'mammy' is fond of saying 'you should have told God to create you as a man'. So look left, look right, turn around and sit down, domesticites is the joy of womanhood.
Author: Ebare Ebose for Eric Mbogu's Blog.
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