Working Mum.


Amarachi frantically perused at herself in the mirror to make sure her face was evenly spread with the baked powder sitting mouth-open on her hand. She turned to grab her wig, she combed it with the pink sparsely toothed brush and flung it over her head. The wing’s curly tip bounced excitedly as Amara slid her hand to slice free the curls.

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Next, her shoes, the once that just arrived last week from her online orders, Irenee-ankle Steve Madden – amaranth pink. Her V-necked black lace top tucked in the high waist Bunnies-Fairy skirt. Black, like the top, but for the green, and pink floral prints around the flare end.

Amara now sat in front of her dressing mirror, the glitters on her silver earrings sent parallel rays to the mirror, the latter obediently reflected the rays into Amara’s eyes as she meticulously shoved it in her ears.

“How do I look Eddy?” she said half smiling as she reached for her Cyclamen Kate Spade bag.

Edward lay on the bed facing the roof. His legs crossed, same as his hands caring his head. The bed spread covered but half of his unclad body. Displaying the trio couple of ridges sitting on his abdomen – six packs, they call it. He gave Amarachi no response.

“Should I use this or this?” Amara asked again, regardless of his aberrant taciturn.

Her left hand held a silver chain with a shiny pendant, like those of her hearings, while her left hand displayed a round black lace-made necklace, like those of her dress. Edward thought the lace necklace looked like a dog’s chain, but for the diamond-like pendant suspended at the middle. Do not dog chains too have such pendants? Whatever.

Edward gnashed his teeth tight in an attempt to keep his tongue locked. He intended to keep up the muteness but the scenario turned to be more than he bargained for.

“Maybe you should ask the children.” He stoned a false smile that lasted only for one-quarter a second.

Amara paused half way. She was about administering a good dose of perfume under her left armpit. Edward’s words seemed to have electrocuted her hands in the air. After processing the words she turned to face him slowly.

“They are sleeping Edward, it is a few minutes past 5,” She said in a low voice. “Why did you even bring up the childre…” she fixed the puzzle. He is getting into the topic again.

“Why shouldn’t I bring the children into this?” Edward pushed himself out of his lying state and the bedspread lost its job of covering him, he was now as plain as Adam was in the garden. “Tell me, when was the last time they saw their mother? Tell me Amara!” He backed as the anger spice in his voice tend to be rising at crescendo.

Amara folded her arms, her face wore the remorseful look of a six year old being scolded.

“Today is Daniel’s debate in school, will his mother be there?” he asked rhetorically and smiled again – false smile. He studied the look on Amara’s face. “Oh, you didn’t even know! How will you know? When all you care about is your work. Your career come before your family. Official assignment come before your spiritual and social duty as a mother to your children.”

Amara knew at this point that he meant not to elude her role as a wife. His recent excessive bed-energy and incessantly protuberant undergarment confirmed that.

“You leave your maternal duties to Shadiat. Shadiat does this, Shadiat does that.” He continued. “Who does that? Who leaves her responsibilities to the house maid? Oh! Or should I also marry the house maid?

There it is, Amara told herself. Her heart stole a silly smile – no, a grin.

“You should be a wife and a mother, Ammy. Let your career be secondary.” Said he with intense emotion and low pitch.

The sound of her pet name broke Amara. She hasn’t heard him call her that since he stated complaining of her working-mum status. She sat next to him. Close enough for them to share a chemistry, but cautious of her dress.

“Honey I thought we’ve been through this. I thought you were comfortable with me being a working-mum?”

“I was.”


“Yes. I was, when you were a working-mum. Now you are a working-worker. There is no mum in your status anymore. Which mum doesn’t see her children throughout the week?”

“I …”

“As if that is not enough, you take stupid, dumb ass official trips at weekends when you know that’s the only time the kids have got to be with you.”

Amara waited some seconds to be sure he was done talking.

“Ok, I know it’s been hard but baby, it’s for our good I am doing all these.” She tried to cup his chin in her hand but up went he with rage, just as soon as his brain was able to comprehend her words.

“Who’s good? Tell me, who’s good?”


“Did I tell you I needed help providing for the family? Is it not enough that I get ridiculed in the office for being the wife of this family? Need I mention the rumours going around the church about us?”

Silence. Amara swept her left hand on the right arm, as if to wave cold away.

“You are doing this because of your selfish interest. To boast to your God forsaken feminist friends of being in charge. You think I don’t know?”

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“Bloody hell!” Amara got on her feet. “Excuse me!”

“Excuse you!”

“Watch it Akule!”

Shock slapped Edward from all four cardinal points. Silence ate the first few seconds after the bomb. “You call me by my Last name now?” his head nod severally, involuntarily. “This is what it has gotten to?”

Amara now backed him, looking at the dresser, not wanting to give her action a second thought. Though it knocked on the door of her heart, no ‘who-is-that’ did she give.

“You have really grown wings hehn! I let it. Haa! I blame you Edward.” Silence again. “I blame me.” He walked to the dresser, violently pulled out a short. He put it one, grabbed a shirt, and headed for the door.

“I hope I won’t come home one day to see a divorce paper?” Edward spat. His countenance broken, awe still dangled on his face.

Amara turned 180 degree, away from the door, or away from Edward.

6:03 am. “Shit!” she cursed, reached for her Prado key, and off went her. She knew at the back of her mind that she was never going to beat the notorious Lagos-morning traffic by this time – not for one who lives on the island and works on the mainland. Going late for work frightens her.




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