"Daddy, I'm hungry..." Arinze said in his little sing-song voice. I looked up from where I was seated chatting with Habdul to see Arinze in a faded yellow polo and no shorts. The polo was a hand-me-down from Buchi, my eleven year old immediate younger brother.
Our father didn't even look at him. With his eyes still glued at the television, he asked, "Didn't you just eat?"
"I did... But it didn't even reach the bottom. Nenu afo m, o pere mpe. Look at my stomach, it's small. I'm still hungry. I told mommy and mommy said that I should tell you. See, my stomach is making noise like your car. Kporrro!!!" Arinze said.
A smile tugged at my lips. Seems like my parents are at war and five year old Arinze had become the unfortunate emissary of conflict.
Daddy looked away from the television and gazed at him. "Well, you'll do well to go back and tell your mother that she has the duty of feeding us in this house. I'm not about to go into the kitchen and dish out food whilst she - the woman - is in the house." He then returned his attention to the television where NTA was showing a documentary on clay pot making. Our cable subscription has ended months ago and Daddy has refused to give us money to reconnect the service. Hence, we've been cursed with watching NTA, the only free-to-air channel on the blasted cable network. Bola has crammed all the ridiculous songs they use for advertisement. That's goes show you how long we've stuck in hell.
I knew what was going to happen. I've learnt my parents well enough to know how this will play out. Like thunder without the fore bearing lightning, Mom appeared in the sitting room. It's times like this that I think that she's a witch. One minute she isn't here, the next she is. There's no way she could have walked from her room this fast. She had been eavesdropping behind the curtain. "Magnus Odina, na wetin you talk? Na my job to prepare food for this house, ba? Do I harvest the food from which farm? Or am I supposed to conjure it from thin air? Isn't it your job to give me money for things like that?"
Daddy didn't say anything. In fact, typical to his nature, he didn't give any reaction to make us believe that he's heard someone talk. Sigh. These two have lived with each other for sixteen years, but they don't seem to have learnt anything about each other.
Buchi chose that moment to materialize from our room. He was in a it-was-white shirt that reached his knees and an old boxer shorts that peeked out from underneath the shirt. "Eh... Daa-da-ddy, why di-din't you give mommy money." he said. Yes. Buchi stammers. Normally, it isn't a big deal as it is barely noticeable in normal conversations. But it isn't pretty when he becomes angry, which always when dad calls him "young man" in that annoying tone.
Dad glanced at Buchi. "Young man. Don't poke your nose in things you don't know squat about. You should return to the room and make yourself useful."
I rolled my eyes. The Odinas seem to have a penchant for drama. We never learn. Dad had just successfully jump started Buchi's tantrum by ordering him to return to the room and lie on his stomach to quell his rumbling stomach. I tried my best to return my attention to the chat, letting the drama unfold.
"You are the man of the house. You are supposed to provide enough money for food. See, we're all hungry. Arinze's stomach is sounding so much like your beat up scrab of a car. I heard mommy fighting you in the morning for her monthly dues at the meeting. We're stuck with watching this boring station because you won't give us money for the cable. See what we are wearing? Your children are wearing rags. And you don't care! What kind of a father are you?"
I let the phone fall to my lap as I turn to him. Mom faced him, her eyes wide as she gaped at him. Dad turned off the television and looked at him, his gaze smoldering hot. A chilling silence engulfed the room. In the end, I was the one that spoke. "Onyebuchi! How can you speak to Daddy like that?! Have you lost your mind?"
"Sit there and pass your judgement, goody-two-shoes. Is what I'm saying not true? Daddy is selfish and doesn't care about us. He eats his salary alone. Selfish."
"Bola, shut up your mouth there! Idiot. Oya carry your matchstick legs inside. Halele! Olodo." I said attacking him with my slippers. He ran into the room like a chastised dog with his tail between it's legs.
"Woman. I hope you are happy? I hope you enjoyed that." Dad said looking at mom.
Maybe I imagined it, but I can swear that in that moment, I saw what looked like guilt cross her face.
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