Shonda was a fool. A beautiful fool with the way she walked around the house flaunting her shiny white teeth, her pure white skin that made almost everyone who say her call her Oyibo, even if she wasn’t, and her long bright orange virgin hair that she never allowed us play with, stating that only her mother was allowed to touch it, and the fat that accumulated on her chests, growing into breasts that we all so wished to have. She moved through the house making a fool out of everything with her beauty, thinking she was better than all of us with her stupid carrot hair that reached the middle of her back whenever Mummy used the hot comb on her hair, and the air of innocence and submissiveness she carried herself with whenever Mummy was around, and the way she spoke to us so condescendingly, as if we were stupid children she had been forced to care for. Which is why when Tommy raped her, I was not surprised. She had been asking for it ever since she stepped foot into our house. 

Shonda was Aunty Adebayo’s daughter. Aunty Adebayo was mummy’s sister who had travelled to America for work and left Shonda—my cousin- with us, to spend the summer break. Mummy had announced it to us one evening during dinner when there was no light and the solar panel lights shone dimly around the dining room, illuminating what it could of our dinner of indomie, bread, and the soft drinks mummy had bought earlier on. My Fanta seeped down my throat, chilling my tongue and landing with a gaseous feel in my stomach, as Mummy asked us if we remembered our Aunty Adebayo, who we hadn’t seen in a few years, and then her oyibo daughter, Shonda. I rolled my eyes at that, and luckily, because of how dark it was, she didn’t notice it.

“Carol White Shonda?” My older brother, Tommy, had asked, making all of us laugh. It was an old joke from when we were in Primary School. As usual, Shonda had been making yanga with her long hair—flipping it around during break time and telling anyone who asked that she was exercising her hair to make it stronger. As she was flipping her hair around, running around and shaking like a mad woman, she had mistakenly pushed a Primary 5 girl, Marilyn, to the wall, and had continued moving and shaking as nothing had happened. Angry, Marilyn had started shooting insults her way, ending with “you this carol white bitch”. The name had stuck to Shonda throughout primary school, and I always thought it served her right for being so pompous, while at home, we had co-opted a friendly version of the term. 

Mummy kissed her teeth, showing her disapproval, but if the lights were bright enough, I would have sworn there was a hint of a smile tracing the end of her lips. We had all laughed at Carol White Shonda then, before Aunty Adebayo spoke to Mummy one day and told her we were causing Shonda “emotional distress”, as if she did not cause us emotional distress with the way she flung her hair up and down and acted like she was better than everybody because of her stupid white skin. 

“She’s coming to stay with us for the summer break. All of you should be nice to her, okay? People change, and so should you all.” Mummy stated calmly, wagging a finger in front of my face, then Tommy’s, and then Isabel, my younger sister. We nodded in the positive. Yes, we would be nice to her. Yes, we would not call her Carol White Shonda (“at least to her face”, said the tiny pinch on my elbow Tommy gave me under the table). And yes, we would make her feel welcome. 

Mummy smiled. It was settled. Shonda would be joining us for the two-month summer vacation, and she would be coming in by air next week Tuesday. Fancy. I had never flown on a plane, nor had I had reason to enter a plane. I had never left the walls of Calabar, but I enjoyed listening to Mummy’s stories of when she was younger, when her parents took her to London, Paris, Vienna, Canberra, and all those wonderful places in Europe for summer holidays. I didn’t dare ask why we never went since she used to go there when she was younger. Tommy had told us that the one time he had asked, she had stated plainly that we were too poor to afford flight tickets to Europe. Then, I had believed he was lying. Tommy always lied about stupid things, which was why he was always flogged at school, so he was probably lying about this too. Plus, we weren’t poor. At least, then I didn’t think we were poor. We had a large six-bedroom house that had been a gift to our parents when they got married; we all went to the nearby Primary School, and Mummy had a Volvo that, every Saturday afternoon, we scrambled into to go to Chicken Republic, or Crunchies Plus. So, there was no way we had to be poor. There were people, even my classmates, who had it worse than us. 

As the years passed, I began to believe Tommy hadn’t been lying all along when he had said we were poor, when slowly, I watched us lose all the comforts that had become staples in our house. I watched in silence as the large crates of eggs vanished from our fridge, and we ate our breakfast with butter or nothing; the bottles of soft drinks we always had on stand-by faded from crates of drinks to one, two, or three; our Maryland, Famous Amos, and Skittles faded into Oh!, Parle-G, and Fibre; our Saturday outings reduced to once-in-a-while events, and how quickly our house faded into disrepair that Mummy never had enough time nor money to get fixed, therefore turning Tommy and me into makeshift carpenters and plumbers anytime something went wrong.

I was jealous of Shonda before she even arrived. Because her mother had gone to America, and Mummy explained that she couldn’t follow her mother because it was a work visit, and not a holiday visit, I imagined Shonda would walk into the house speaking spri spri, and start telling us all about her time in America, which I, nor anyone, would want to hear about. So, I decided that when Shonda came to the house, I would be polite to her, as I had promised Mummy, but I would not play with her. I didn’t need to play with her anyway. She was my cousin, not my friend. 

Mummy bought fuel for the generator on the way to the airport. There hadn’t been light in two days, and our solar panel carried only a few bulbs and the fans in the parlour. Mummy explained it as a welcome gift to her. It was also our first time going to the Margaret Ekpo International Airport, and I wondered if I would be able to watch a real-life plane take off, instead of always seeing them when they were far gone and up in the sky, like I did when we were at home. Unfortunately, when we entered the airport, we could only stand at the arrivals section, as we watched different kinds of people pool out with their luggage, straight from the plane. I took in a deep breath, swallowing the way the plane smelled, and imagined the plane behind the walls separating the arrivals from departure, waiting to take off again. We waited for a few minutes that seemed like forever, choked with anticipation and dread, until Isabel squealed and pointed to the orange halo of hair that stood out in the midst of the arrivals crowd. It was Shonda. I bit my tongue and braced for impact.

The first thing Shonda did when she noticed us was squeal. Then she dropped her bags flat on the ground and ran to hug us, hugging Isabel first, who stayed too long in her arms—what a traitor-then Tommy, whose cheeks she kissed twice, then me, and finally, Mummy.

“It’s so great to see you all! It’s been such a long time!” She squealed as she hugged us again. She picked up Isabel and hugged her the most, commenting on how taller and bigger she was than the last time she saw her. Mummy patted her on the back again and hugged her, asking her how she was, how everything was back at home, and if her mother had reached safely. She answered everything with a bright smile, as Mummy commanded Tommy and me to pick up her bags and take them to the car. 

I kissed my teeth when Tommy and I had moved away from them, as I took one side of one of her bags and began to balance it to place on top of my head. The bag was heavy, and I wondered what it was that she was packing for two months that was so heavy. I hoped she knew that she was coming to visit us, and not visit Calabar, for all the packing she had done. There was no money, and nowhere to go out to; Mummy had been saying. So, what was all this heavy load for? Did she think she was going to America? 

“You idiot, it’s a rolling bag. You have to roll it.” Tommy said to me. 

“I know. I was just checking how heavy it was.” I retorted, to cover up my stupidity. I dropped the bag on the floor, searched around for the handle, as he did, and rolled it outside to the car. Mummy, Isabel, and Shonda were already inside the car, laughing at whatever story Shonda was telling them, and I suddenly felt dizzy.

“Watch how you’re walking na.” Tommy pushed me away from him as he opened the boot. I flinched at his touch, and waited for him to drop his bag inside, so I could drop mine. I closed the boot afterwards, then we entered the car. 

“Aunty, your house really hasn’t changed ever since then.” Was the first thing Shonda said when we got home. I scoffed and rolled my eyes. Who did she think she was? Could she give us the money to change the house for her? What a silly ingrate, I thought, as Tommy and I dragged in her stupid, silly, heavy boxes. Mummy laughed, her small, short laugh that always meant she had nothing polite to say, and asked Shonda if she would like to see the rest of the house. Shonda nodded and followed Mummy to the kitchen, with Isabel at her toes, trailing senselessly behind her. 

“I wonder who she thinks she is, coming here to talk rubbish about our house,” I said out loud. Tommy rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Together we took her bags to the spare room where she would be sleeping. Mummy had made Isabel and me clean the room and arrange the bed for her, so the room smelled strongly of detergent and air freshener. Mummy called Tommy downstairs to on the generator, “for Shonda,” she had added, smiling at the leprosy-looking child. 

For lunch, we had fried rice, stew, and fried chicken, with soft drinks to go, and I was angry because Mummy had let Shonda take the only Fanta that was there. Everybody knew that Fanta was my drink. Whenever Mummy bought drinks for us, everyone knew to keep the Fanta for me—even Mummy, so I thought it unfair that when we had settled down to eat, and Tommy had dropped the drinks on the table, when Shonda picked up the only Fanta in the mix, Mummy had not corrected her and told her to give the Fanta to me. Instead, she had given me a stern look and passed a green bottle of Sprite to me. All the while, Shonda spoke about her fancy school in Lekki. Told us about her friends that no one asked about, her status as the Hairstyle and Sanitation Prefect, her last summer in America, and her mother’s work. Everyone except for me stayed glued to her, listening attentively to every word she had to say. Even Tommy was listening attentively, and for this one time, I was grateful for that, as his hands didn’t wander under the table and onto my laps this one time. 

When we were done with lunch, Shonda offered to wash the plates, but Mummy wouldn’t have it. I would wash them, she told her, since it was my turn to wash plates today. I wondered, but didn’t dare ask, if, since she would be living with us now, her name would be added to the washing and cleaning roster. She pretended to try and persuade Mummy further, to show that her mother had taught her well, by insisting to wash the plates regardless, but Mummy would not have it. She stopped after a while and left me to the dishes. I wondered if she even knew how to wash plates. Maybe she was only doing all that so Mummy would think highly of her. I was sure that she didn’t even have to wash plates in her house. Perhaps she had a dishwashing machine, or a house help that did the washing for her. I washed the plate, spoon, and cup that she used last, and made sure to wash them without a sponge. 

In the evening, fuel had finished, and we were back to the solar light. Mummy had apologised to Shonda in a laughing manner, while Shonda assured her that she didn’t mind it. We were playing Scrabble in the dining room when Shonda suddenly announced that she had forgotten something and wandered away to her room. I took the opportunity to peep at her letters, and smiled to myself. Her next move was going to be awful. She had only consonants. 

She came back to the dining room carrying her box in her hand as I had done earlier. With a loud thump, she dropped the box on the floor and opened it. “I brought a little something for everyone.” She explained, and when she opened the box, my eyes bulged in surprise. 

She had brought all sorts of sweets and biscuits for us. They were from America, she explained. Her mother had sent them down for us. Like a magician dipping into his hat to bring out tricks, she continued bringing out rows of biscuits, chocolates, and sweets, and our Scrabble game was long forgotten. Mummy smiled and joked about Aunty Adebayo wanting to give all of us diabetes, while Isabel jumped up and down, squealing thank-yous, as she burst open packets of biscuits and ate everything. Even I stood up to thank her. I wasn’t talking to her, but being polite, as I said I would; I reasoned it, as I picked up a green bag of Doritos, opened it, and crunched on the spicy snack. I almost started thinking that maybe, maybe she wasn’t so bad after all, and that people really could change, as Mummy had said, until she asked me to plait her hair.

“Eh?” I asked to confirm. She nodded, yes.

“Which style can you do? I want to do suku with base, but anyone you can do will be fine.”

I told her I could only do all-back, even though at school, I plaited all my friends’ hair, and in the different styles we were told to do for the week. She untied her scarf in front of us, releasing in one swoop the large bundle of hair she had wrapped under the scarf. I went green with envy as she ran her hands through her hair, detangling and stretching it out. 

“Will you be able to plait my hair?” She asked.

“Eh?” I asked again. 

“My hair. Will you be able to plait it? Is it too long for you? Too thick? Whenever I go to salons, they always tell me to relax my hair so it can be fine and silky, and easier to plait, but I don’t want to. I like my hair like this. Plus, if I want to straighten my hair, I’ll just use a hot comb. In fact, I don’t even like relaxed hair like that. Virgin hair is better.” I said nothing, but twirled in my hands my neck-length relaxed hair and nodded yes, that I could make the hair, and yes, I would make it after dinner in my room for her. She smiled and told me thank you, and Mummy patted my back and whispered in my ear that I should use this as a bonding opportunity. I rolled my eyes. I did not want to bond with her. I wanted her to leave. 

“Do you like it?” I asked, handing her a mirror so she could see the full thing. She stood up and turned around, analysing the front, middle, and back of the all back, feeling the rows, and stretching out the parts she felt were too tight. As she turned, I envied the way her braids moved with her, swinging left and right with her every move. Even my hair, with all the relaxers I applied to it, didn’t move that much. It always stood in one place, stagnant, and a rust-gold colour, even though the little girls on the sachet relaxers had promised shiny and silky hair.

“I love it! Thank you!” She exclaimed. I said she was welcome, and stood up to wash the creams and oils from my hands. When I got back to the room, Tommy was lying down on the floor gisting and giggling with Shonda. I frowned. It was late, and I wanted to sleep. I said nothing and listened quietly to their conversation until I fell asleep. 

The next day, when Mummy came back from work, she announced that we were going sightseeing, to show Shonda how much Calabar had changed ever since she had last been here. Mummy mapped out the places we would go to: Crunchies Plus to buy bread and ice-cream, Jason’s pizza, Happy Food for pastries, and then the Cinema at Marina Resort. While I was excited that this was happening, I hated the fact that it had to happen only because Shonda was around. 

“I wish Shonda would be around every time!” Isabel exclaimed, and everyone except for me laughed. We all dressed up and piled inside the car, and on the drive, Mummy pointed out places to Isabel, asking her if she remembered them, and telling her who lived there now. My head started to ache, and as the drive accelerated, I began feeling more and more dizzy. I needed to vomit.

“What’s wrong with you?” Tommy asked, nudging my waist. I said nothing and looked ahead to Mummy and Shonda in the front seat, still talking, laughing like all was right in the world. Isabel was by the window laughing too, butting into their conversation when she could. None of them paid any attention to me, nor to how Tommy’s hand, like muscle memory, snaked its way around my waist and into my trousers.

“I’m fine,” I said, too loudly, so it caught Mummy’s attention through the rear-view mirror. She raised an eyebrow as if to confirm my position, and I wish terribly that she could see that I wasn’t, not at all. 

“So… tell us more about your school,” Tommy asks Shonda. He shifts his chair closer to hers and wraps his arms around her, smiling lovingly down at her. It is the same hand that he used on me. We’re inside Happy Food and Mummy, and Isabel and I are scanning the rows for what we should buy. The heavy smell of pastries baking wafts through the air and stings my nose. The bakery is empty save for us and the worker behind the counter, taking down notes of Mummy’sorders. Isabel loudly reads out the names of every pastry she came along, followed by “Mummy, can we buy this one?” and Mummy ignores her. She had taken requests earlier, and I’d asked for the lemon-flavoured cake with icing on it. Shonda had smiled, thanked Mummy, and told her that she would be fine with whatever cake she picked for her.

“I think I’ve already mentioned all there is to mention about my school. Anything more, and you might as well just enrol next term.” Shonda replied. Her face was pin straight, contrasting Tommy’s smiling one. All the while, I held vomit in my throat and uneasiness between my legs. There was no toilet around.

Tommy laughed. “Just trying to make conversation, cuz.” 

He patted her back, and her face didn’t move. On her shoulder, his fingers crawled up and down, poking her neck, twirling the ends of her hair, and picking at the bits of her baby hair that I was unable to fix into the braids. All the while, he was smiling at her, as he had suddenly found something so interesting about her, something no one else could see, and I noticed her face change from a bright yellow to a hot red colour at his touch. I wondered if she was enjoying it, if she liked his touch, because she sat still and said nothing, even when he drew his chair much closer, and his face sat only within a few inches of her face. 

I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t watch what was unfolding before my eyes. I stood up and burst through the doors, and violently they swung open and closed. I went behind our car, bent down, and everything I had eaten earlier fell cleanly out of my throat. I heaved, and heaved again. Each time, more food came out, until nothing more than slimy saliva traced the inner lining of my cheeks and I felt weak and empty. My stomach growled, and I wished for Mummy and Isabel to come out of the bakery, arms loaded with cakes and pastries. I stood up and turned around to find Shonda staring right down at me, her face bright red, and her eyes puffy from tears. 

I opened my mouth to say something, to ask what happened, but she completed my thought for me.

“He raped me.” She whispered, and I almost didn’t hear what she had said. 

“Eh? What did you say?” I asked, for a confirmation that I had heard wrong, even if I knew I hadn’t. 

“He raped me. Tommy raped me. Yesterday night when we were talking. You had gone to sleep. I was telling him about my mum’s trip to America when he started touching me and then he—”

I didn’t need to hear the rest of the story because I knew the plot all too well. Shonda continued talking, but her lips moved, and no sounds came out of her mouth. I stared plainly at her. Her with her orange hair that rested calmly on her back. Her with her white teeth that looked like the woman’s teeth on Maclean's toothpaste. Her with her red face like the Indians from Peter Pan. 

There was no wonder to what Tommy could’ve seen in her. I remembered listening to Tommy and his friends talk about the children they wanted. Tommy had mentioned that he would specifically marry an oyibo girl, so their children would be half-caste, and have long curly hair and olive skin, like some of the women we saw on TV. Shonda was not an oyibo, but she came close enough. I wondered if he had thought about that when he was doing it to her, or after he was done. 

At least, it was easy to see why Tommy would do that to her. What I would never understand was why he would do it to me. I was no oyibo; neither was I as fair as Shonda. My skin was as black as a burnt pot, and my natural hair, when my hair was still virgin, wasn’t even long. I didn’t even have breasts, talk less of breasts as big as Shonda’s own. My breasts only peeked a little, to the point that Mummy saw no need to waste money on bras for me. I still wore singlets,and she always comforted me with the thought that they would come when they wanted to come. But still, Tommy had, for the longest while, picked me, and done it to me. Now he had done it to Shonda too. I looked back into the bakery, where he was still sitting, now with Isabel on his lap, eating something, and wondered if he had done it to her too. I shut my eyes tight and tried to sweep the image away.

“—and I could get pregnant, and, then…” Shonda trailed. I blinked back into reality at the mention of a pregnancy. 

I had gotten my period only two years ago, and when Mummy had been showing me how to use a pad, she had told me I was a woman now, and that if I let anything happen to me, I could easily get pregnant and bring shame to the family. In a Home Economics class sometime later, I’d learned that there were ways to avoid getting touched with pregnancy. But that was irrelevant now. I felt my mouth go dry, and bile rise up my throat. If Shonda could get pregnant, then so could I, I imagined. I looked down at my vomit piled just at my feet and looked back at Shonda. She looked down, back at me, back down, and again at me, and her mouth began to form a knowing ‘O’ shape, as a sharp realisation hit us both. 

“Did he ever use protection with you? He never uses it with me.”