Mirror

No matter how many times I’d tell Kaima that it was fine, the fear vividly written all over her face never disappeared, even once. She was mumbling to herself and her breathing was rapid. It pained me to see her in that state and being unable to do anything about it made me feel even worst.

As expected, mum and Emelie made a huge fuss about my ‘injuries’ and even scolded my little sister for not taking good care of me “I knew I should have gone with you two. Now look what happened to Zara. Kaima what were you thinking? Ke ihe ino neme?” that was the very first time I heard him speak in our local language Igbo, and he sounded furious. Now that’s uncalled for.

“But I…” Kaima tried explaining herself but she was directly cut off by Emelie

“But nothing, you were careless “

“Emelie stop it! I fell on my own, it not like she pushed me down or something. And besides, what exactly do you expect her to do? She is just a child for Christ sake” he stared at me emotionlessly while mom got the first aid kit and ice for my ankle. The tension didn’t clear yet but at least no one was yelling at the other and I had space to think.

My mind wondered back to the conversation I had with Kaima. I couldn’t stop thinking about her words and that unusual sombre ring in her voice which couldn’t go unnoticed. She showed me an entirely different personality from the vibrant, enthusiastic girl I'm used to and that fact not only surprised me, it also got me completely worried. Beneath her smiles, laughter and seemingly carefree personality, she hid true self. I regret being unable to pick up some freaking courage. She was more than ready to spill, yet I didn’t prompt her. Ha, I am disappointed in myself. I looked down at my hands and remembered Kevin wiping the blood and dust off them with his handkerchief and I smiled at the memory. I wondered if I’d ever see him again. He is a nice guy.

After mom tended to my wounds, I tried to get some shut eye on the sofa but dad came back pretty early and gave me the best surprise of all time, a phone. I don’t remember ever owning a phone although I had practically begged for one. Emelie and Kaima helped me set the phone up because apparently I'm too way back to do it by myself (sniffles)

I made my way back to my room with some help from Emelie. It wasn’t easy but still, I took a shower, dried myself and got dressed. I sat in front of my dresser to apply some lotion but the moment I looked to the mirror I saw that dream again, that woman who looks like an older version of me. I am hallucinating. Right? I blinked and saw my face once more. There’s no way that was real. Who is she? I did my best to not look at the mirror again but did take peeks from time to time but I didn’t see such again. It’s just a weird dream that should be forgotten.

My eyes shot open from my slumber. It was nearing midnight. I could tell from the annoying, deafening silence which continued reminding me of my self-loneliness and also, the small digital clock on my side stool said it’s only four minutes between now and tomorrow. Oh, now its three minutes, shoot.

I got off my bed groaning in discomfort as my feet met the floor. I couldn’t sleep ‘how funny considering that you slept for two long years straight’ that voice in my head spoke again and this time with a sneer. I just had to wake up to this, how dare my own mind mock me? And worst, with such dark humor. Coma is no joke, only God knows what my family went through but what got me scared was the fact that I heard my own voice, in my head, creepy, I know. The grumbling of my tummy distracted me and I endured the pain in my ankle as I went down the stairs to the kitchen to fix myself something to eat.

“Soup?” there was a whole lot of soup in the refrigerator, different types; ogbono, egusi, ede and oha soup but I didn’t feel like eating any of them and even if I decide to, I’d have to prepare swallow too which is too heavy for a midnight snack. Mom still labels every item in the fridge, indeed, some things never change. I was craving something and I couldn’t find it-

My eyes fell on the eggs and I took two out for them to get to room temperature, I took the milk out too and then I staggered into the pantry and took out some flour, sugar and baking powder. And here I am sifting flour, mixing it with sugar and baking powder. I poured in a mixture of melted butter, milk and eggs and I whisked the whole thing real good, and now, you guessed right, I am frying up the batter and the final product tasted divine, simply scrumptious, and to add to all that I prepared simple sugar syrup, took out some groundnuts, crushed them up in our small mortar with an equally small pestle and I put that into my boiling sugar syrup and turned the heat off after a few minutes. It looked so beautiful that eating it would be a shame but my tummy gave another grumble demanding for food and I couldn’t hold back anymore. Wait...when did I learn to prepare pancakes? I didn’t realize that my actions were in fact subconscious, like this was something I’d normally do and adding to my shock, the pancakes were too perfect. Perfectly circular, golden brown on both sides, delicious and the crushed nut sauce added to the flavor. When did I learn how to do this? Who taught me? How did I get the measurements right?

“Shouldn’t you be in bed? Ke ihe I neme ebea?” I flinched as I heard a voice hoarse from just waking up but I relaxed the moment I turned to look at the figure walking down the stairs and into the kitchen. He took a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Twisting the bottle cap, his half lidded eyes popped open the moment he saw my plate and without warning he grabbed one of my pancakes

“I cannot believe you still do this” he laughed as he dipped it into the sauce and closed his eyes as he savouring the taste

“Daddy…? I don’t think you should have so much sugar” okay, I honestly don’t know if he should or shouldn’t have sugar. Besides, I was just kidding and the pancakes aren’t sugary. He still looks young; except for the gray hairs. If you ask me, I think he dyed his hair to look older he is not even in his forties yet. They suit him though, like highlights.

“Oh, and you think you should? Especially at this time?” he snickered rolling his eyes just like Emelie did earlier today. I know I’ve said this before, but I still can’t get over how they look like each other and some of the little things they do is in fact similar. I love my dad a lot. He was never the typical overly strict Nigerian father, maybe he is that way because he had me when he was really young. Being a father, he did have his limits though but I always appreciated those moments he’d just laugh with us and let us ride on his board shoulders.

“Besides your pancakes are always perfect, another one wouldn’t hurt” he took another one off my plate and who am I to complain, at the very least I get to spend time with him. He has been so busy and I hardly get a chance to talk to him. I just smiled as we continued eating not saying anything more to each other. We just stayed contentedly in each other’s company, basking in one another’s presence. He helped me up the stairs when we were done and just like when I was younger, he kissed my forehead,

 “Sleep tight okay. And yes, no more midnight snacks.” His voice deepened but returned to its original baritone after he yawned “Straight to sleep.” That’s my dad.

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“…Ke ihe ino neme?”- What were you doing?

“…ke ihe i neme ebea”- what are you here?

They are Igbo words.

Igbo is a tribe in eastern Nigeria

What is your country and local language readers?

Tell me in the comments