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Canadian. It’s a title that is both empowering and demanding as it requires me to give up portions of my Nigerian culture so I can fit into my Western setting. And I’ve been doing that for years—compromising, losing bits and pieces of my original identity in an attempt to reinvent myself. However, the one thing I can’t compromise on is the ethnicity of my future husband.
My suspicion has been confirmed. Denial is pointless now, and yet, it’s the one thing capable of getting me through this night. I pull into my mom’s driveway and park the black Toyota. Tears burn my eyes, and I fan them away. I cried in my apartment immediately after learning the truth, a truth that will surely upend my world. It’s best I keep this information to myself. My family can’t know—no one can. Just pretend like everything is okay. You can do this, Azere.
Is she pregnant? Its been a momth since she's had sex with Rafael.
In Nigeria, my entire life was an extension of my lineage. There—in a close-knit community, tucked away from the rest of the world—nothing existed but the paths my ancestors had paved, the buildings they had molded with sand and concrete and sweat, the lands they had cultivated and bled to defend, the traditions they had created and nurtured, the myths they had fabricated and adopted as truths.
My mother, determined to keep my sister and me rooted in our culture, didn’t appreciate my Latin obsession. She tore down the poster of Antonio in my room and replaced it with a poster of Jim Iyke, a Nigerian actor. That’s what my mother has been doing since we moved to Canada—shoving my culture down my throat, so I don’t forget where I come from.
“You are single.” She says it like it’s a terminal disease. “I don’t know what is wrong with you. I have introduced you to several eligible men, and yet, here you are. Maybe you are being influenced by these modern women—no husband, no children. All they want is their career. You want to be a feminist.”
Lol what
“Azere, promise me you won’t do that. Promise me you will never get involved with a white man or any man who is not Edo. Azere, when you are of age, marry a good Edo man and give him children. Just like your mother did and your grandmother and so many others before them. Promise me.”
This is so dramatic, like does this actually happen. Is this a real concern Nigerians have when going abroad?
“He is a very good Christian boy. I even suspect he’s a virgin like you, saving himself for marriage.” Oh, Lord. If only she knew.
Lol she thinks she's a virgin? Yikes
“I’m pregnant.”
Why did i know this
In the movie 27 Dresses, Casey is Jane’s best friend and the blunt voice of reason who goes as far as slapping Jane for pining over a man who only sees her as his errand girl.
Love this movie
He shouldn’t be punished for my inability to disregard a one-night stand.
“Because . . . because it’s hard enough that I think about kissing you every time I see you. It’s hard enough that I want to touch you. I’m just trying to deal with this crazy situation, but talking about that night makes it harder.”
Girl, why would you sat that
“You were a selfish coward. I was only nineteen.” Something trembles in my chest—the early beginnings of a sob.
This is not a conversation you should be having at your job
“Damn, you smell good.” My eyes fly open. Oh Lord. Did those words just come out of my mouth? I turn to Rafael, biting my lip. He’s staring straight ahead. There’s a tiny crease between his bent eyebrows. “I was actually talking about the . . . um . . . the elevator,” I say. “Yeah. The elevator smells . . . really good.”
Girl
“So . . . um . . . when I said, ‘You smell good,’ I was actually referring to the elevator ’cause sometimes, I like to personify objects. And the elevator is an object. Yeah . . . I didn’t actually mean you, Rafael. I don’t like . . . go around smelling people. That would be weird. So. Yeah.”
Girl you are embarrassing me
“I think it’s an immigrant thing—the pressure to succeed as the other in their new home coupled with the fear of disappointing their family back at home.”
Immigrants chase success differently because we have something to prove to the people we left behind and the people who note our differences—our accent, our appearance, our religion, our culture—every day.
Again, I sense that pain—too great to sustain—that hollowed Rafael out, took something from him. I suddenly wish I had the means to give it back.
Bitch you might
If Rafael wore a bracelet with charms that represented his loved ones, how many charms would be silver studded stars?
“Isoken. I’ve never heard of it,” he says. “It’s a Nollywood movie—a Nigerian movie.” “Oh. What’s it about?” “A successful career woman who has everything but a husband. So her mom sets her up with this guy who’s basically the perfect Nigerian man, but then she falls in love with a . . .” I bite my lip before the last words fall out. Suddenly, the premise I’ve recited many times to friends and family weighs heavy on my tongue as if it’s gained a significance it didn’t have before. I cock my head and watch Rafael who in turn, watches me. “Falls in love with a what, Azere?” “Um . . .” I loop a
...more
Objects clatter to the floor, and he sets me on a flat surface and starts undoing the buttons on my blouse, gradually revealing what’s beneath.
Ya'll are not about to fuck at work
Azere, my psychic senses are tingling, and they’re telling me this is all gonna blow up in your face. So figure it out before it’s too late.”
Mine too
His hands are on my hips, and at his will, I roll my pelvis into his—in and out—like waves touching and parting fluently. Our bodies are in perfect sync, complementing the band’s tempo. I’ve somehow been transported into the movie Dirty Dancing. I’m Baby and Rafael is Johnny.
Im really diging these movie references
“I dare you to take me home and do everything you wanted to do to me that night at the office.”
👀
But he can’t see me like this—frail and nauseous with chunks of vomit probably at the corners of my lips. He would likely want to know why I’m sick. And what would I say? What answer would I give to divert him from the truth? How would I look into his eyes and lie? After last night, I can’t lie to him, and I’m certainly not ready to tell him the truth.
Girl you need to tell him you are pregnant, WITH HIS CHILD
Rafael is banging on the door, demanding I let him in. My head is over the toilet bowl while I puke. Not the post-sex morning I envisioned.
“Azere, how far away does your mother live?” “Not far. She’s in Etobicoke.” “What’s her address?” “Fifteen Baneberry Crescent. Wait.” I shake my head slightly. “Why are you asking?”
No, bitch why did you tell him that??!!!
I’m livid. I have every right to be. He took steps he shouldn’t have without my consent. For crying out loud, the man is at my mom’s house, grooming her lawn with precise focus like it’s his livelihood.
She has a point...
Rafael is observing with amusement. Again, I don’t see the humor in the situation, especially since I’m focused on the black Mercedes-Benz pulling to the curb. The windows are tinted, but I have an idea who’s inside. My subconscious tells me to take off before this scenario gets more complex. It’s good advice, but I stand stagnant, concentrating on the pavement, watching black Nike sneakers step out of the car and move toward me. I’m not surprised when sturdy arms seize me in an embrace. Elijah.
OMFG IM SO PISSED WHAT IS HIS BITCHASS DOING SHOWING UP AND RUINING SHIT FOR LIKE UH DONT NOBODY BUT THE MOM LIKE YOU AND THE MOM IS NOT THE ONE YOU NEED TO WOO IN THIS SITUATION OMFG THIS IS REALLY ABOUT TO BLOW UP IN THIS BITCHES FACE
This is how he used to hold me— possessive and secure. Over his shoulder, Jason is scowling as he regards the nearness of Elijah and me. To my right, Rafael is doing the same.
Lol don't nobody like you ELIJAH
“I just came to see Azere. That’s all. And if she wants me to leave, she can tell me that herself.” He looks at me. “Zere, what do you want?”
She's a dumbass she doesnt get an opinion
Elijah’s, Rafael’s, Jacob’s, and Jason’s—are
Lol i love how jason is in this shit too
Calls of my name pull me out of the reverie. My eyes flutter open, but a sheet of haze curtains my vision. Faces are smudges of colors that spiral.
Lol did this girl just pass out yikes
“Well, in your condition that isn’t sensible. You have to—” “I’m sorry,” my mother interrupts. “In her condition.” She frowns. “What condition?” “Um . . .” The doctor glances at my mother and then at me. “Well . . . um . . .” “I’m pregnant.”
“But you’re a virgin, saving yourself for marriage.” “No. I’m not.”
“Who is the father of your child?” “He is. He’s the father.” My family’s gaze follows mine. “The gardener!” Efe says, a hand to her chest. “You slept with the gardener?” “He’s not a gardener.” Their eyes are on me again. “He’s my coworker.”
“Jesus!” She staggers back like she’s about to collapse, but my family and I know she’s being theatrical. “Zere.” She springs upright again. “You slept with a white man.” “Mommy, he’s actually Spanish.”
What the fuck?
“Azere.” I rub my face, ridding it of tears. “I’m just a little overwhelmed.” I look down at her, eyes bearing more worry than they should in her state. “But I’m supposed to be strong. For you.” “We can take turns,” she says. “Next time, it’s my turn to have a breakdown. You can be strong for me then.” “Okay.” I nod, smiling. “Deal.”
This kinda cute
I know she’s angry, but how could she go this far? She’s wearing a black buba and wrapper, the same traditional attire she wore to mourn my father.
Why us she so dramatic
To myself, I made room in my life for two distinct worlds. I redefined myself—created a new identity. And my mother resents me for that.
“And so? We’ll tell everyone the baby is Elijah’s. Hopefully, it won’t be too fair. But if it is, we’ll say we have a half-caste in our family and the child took its likeness.” It’s a disgusting, deceitful scheme, and I consider agreeing to it just to please her. I would do anything to please her. I would do anything, anything but this.
That's sad...
“Azere, I will only say this once. If you don’t do as I have asked, I am no longer your mother. And you are not my daughter. Do you understand?” “Mommy, please. Please. Don’t do this. I’m pregnant. With your grandchild. I need you—more than ever.” “If you are with that man, then I cannot have anything to do with you. I cannot be your mother, Azere. I won’t.”
This is literally so sad, i hate that her life revoles around pleasing her mother because her mother doesn't care about her feelings at all, just traditional
“By the way, Elijah, the good Christian man you want me to marry, took my virginity at church camp.” Her eyes bulge and her jaw drops. The exact reaction I was hoping for. “Yep. We had sex in a tent in the woods. It’s ironic because it was right after your session on abstinence.” My mother’s face morphs into a combination of rage and disbelief. I expect her to say something, but she doesn’t. She’s speechless.
YES BITCH YOU BETTER TELL HER, BREAK HER LITTLE BUBBLE ABOUT ELIJAH
“Yeah. Of course. As long as I’m happy, they are too.” It’s unfortunate my mother doesn’t share a similar notion.
I know right that sucks
Things have moved fast. However, I’m confident that no matter what path Azere and I took—whether we first met at Xander or bumped into each other on the street, whether we dated for months or years—we would have eventually ended up just as we are, a couple expecting a child.
I don’t tell him I miss my mother. I don’t tell him about the guilt I feel for dishonoring my father. I don’t tell him how much I distrust him. I act. I’m good at it.
All of this is not good, you both need to communicate with each other
Christina squeals and sprints to me, a toothy smile on her freckled face. “We got you, right? You didn’t see this coming. You had no clue.” No. I had none whatsoever because I made it very clear to Christina that I didn’t want a baby shower. Yet, here we are.
She plans to teach my child what it means to be a Spaniard. A true Spaniard. What will that mean for my culture—what place will it have in my child’s life? Will my child get a chance to visit Nigeria, or will he or she spend the summers in Spain as Rafael did?
I mean this is all your choice. This is your child and you can teach it your culture. They will just be learning another culture too. Your going to have to compromise but agian THIS IS YOUR CHILD AND YLU CAN TEACH IT YOUR CULTURE IF YOU WANT TO, IF THERES NOT A PLACE YOU HAVE TO MAKE IT
I do it because I’m afraid to admit that I might have made a mistake by choosing Rafael.
She's such an idiot but this is what happens when you live to please your parents/people
I don’t trust him,
Eyeroll
