🥀Before I Became Everyone’s Mother
Chapter 1- The good daughter
The first thing Imani heard every morning was her mother’s voice.
“Imani!”
She opened her eyes.
For three seconds, she remained perfectly still beneath the thin sheet, pretending she hadn’t heard.
“Imani!”
This time, louder.
She sighed and reached for her phone.
5:17 a.m.
“God abeg,” she whispered.
The power had gone off sometime during the night, leaving the room warm and stuffy. Her phone was at twenty-three percent, her alarm was set for 5:30, and she had slept barely four hours.
She sat up.
From the room beside hers came the sound of a bucket being dragged across the floor.
“Imani, are you awake?”
“Yes, Mummy.”
“Then why are you still in bed?”
Imani stared at the ceiling.
Because I work eight hours a day.
Because I got home after nine yesterday.
Because I still have to go to the bank before work.
Because I am tired.
Instead, she said, “I’m coming.”
She slipped her feet into her slippers and opened the door.
The hallway was already alive.
Her mother was in the kitchen, tying the wrapper around her waist while stirring something in a pot. The smell of onions and pepper filled the house.
“You’re awake now,” Ronke said.
“Yes, Mummy.”
“Please help me with the water. The tap hasn’t run since yesterday evening.”
Imani looked toward the kitchen.
“There’s still water in the tank?”
“Small.”
She nodded and walked outside.
Their compound was quiet except for the occasional sound of a distant generator and the early-morning calls of street vendors.
She carried the bucket to the tap.
Nothing.
Of course.
Imani closed her eyes briefly.
Then she went to the tank.
By the time she returned to the kitchen with the water, her mother had already started listing things.
“Tobi needs money for his registration.”
Imani placed the bucket down.
“Mummy, I thought Daddy said he would handle that.”
Her mother’s spoon stopped moving.
“And?”
“And nothing.”
“So because your father said he would handle it, does that mean we should allow the boy to miss his registration?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Imani inhaled slowly.
This was how most conversations with her mother began.
Small.
Almost harmless.
Then somehow, five minutes later, Imani was apologizing for things she hadn’t done.
“I’ll talk to Tobi,” she said.
“Talk to him? With what? He needs money.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“That’s what I knew you would say.”
Her mother returned to stirring the stew.
Imani stood there for a moment.
Then she asked quietly, “How much?”
“Forty-five thousand.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Forty-five?”
“Is that too much?”
“No. I just…”
“You just what?”
“Nothing.”
Ronke nodded.
“Good.”
That one word followed Imani out of the kitchen.
Good.
She went back to her room, changed into her work clothes, and checked her bank account.
The amount sitting there was enough to make her stomach tighten.
Her salary had come in four days ago.
She had already paid the electricity bill.
Sent money for groceries.
Paid part of Zee’s school expenses.
Bought medication for her father.
Transferred money to Tobi last week.
And there was still her own rent contribution, transport, food, and the small loan she had taken from Kemi two months ago.
Forty-five thousand.
She stared at the screen.
Then locked the phone.
“Later,” she whispered.
She would figure it out later.
She always did.
By 6:12 a.m., the house was fully awake.
Tobi emerged from his room yawning.
“Morning, Imani.”
“Morning.”
“You’re going to work?”
She gave him a look.
“No, I’m going to a fashion show.”
He laughed.
“You’re funny.”
“Hmm.”
He opened the fridge.
“There’s no malt?”
“You finished the last one.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
He smiled.
“I thought Zee drank it.”
From the dining area, Zee shouted, “I didn’t!”
Tobi laughed again.
Imani shook her head.
For all her complaints, she couldn’t help smiling.
This was her family.
Loud.
Messy.
Demanding.
Sometimes exhausting.
But hers.
Her father finally stepped out of his room, already dressed.
“Imani.”
“Yes, Daddy?”
“Before you leave, remind me about the money I asked you for.”
She frowned.
“Money?”
“For the mechanic.”
“Daddy, I thought you said you had sorted that out.”
“I said I was sorting it out.”
Imani looked at him.
He looked back at her as though the difference were obvious.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Good girl.”
There it was again.
Good girl.
She wondered if anyone had ever called her anything else.
Her mother walked in carrying a plate of eggs.
“Imani, don’t forget to pick up Zee’s exercise books on your way home.”
“Okay.”
“And buy tomatoes.”
“Okay.”
“And please, call that woman about the curtains.”
Imani paused.
“Mummy, which curtains?”
“The sitting room curtains.”
“You said you were going to call her.”
“I have a lot on my head, Imani.”
She looked around the room.
Apparently, so did she.
But she only nodded.
“Okay.”
At 6:43 a.m., Imani finally stepped outside.
She adjusted her handbag on her shoulder and began walking toward the main road.
The morning sun was only beginning to brighten the sky.
Lagos was already awake.
Keke drivers shouted destinations. Danfo conductors leaned out of buses calling passengers. Women arranged goods beside roadside stalls. Somewhere nearby, a radio played an old love song.
Imani joined the crowd.
Her phone buzzed.
Kemi: Girl, please tell me you’re alive.
Imani smiled.
Imani: Unfortunately.
The reply came immediately.
Kemi: 😂😂 So dramatic.
Imani slipped the phone into her bag.
She was tired.
But she was smiling.
That was the strange thing about Imani.
She could be exhausted and still smile.
She could be overwhelmed and still say, “I’ll handle it.”
She could be falling behind and still help someone else catch up.
At twenty-six, Imani had become very good at making things work.
What she wasn’t very good at was asking what it was costing her.
By 8:04 a.m., she was at her desk.
Her office was on the third floor of a modest commercial building in Ikeja. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid her salary on time, and for Imani, that counted for something.
She opened her laptop.
Three emails.
Two missed calls.
A message from her supervisor.
And a WhatsApp message from Tobi.
Tobi: Sis.
She stared at it.
Then another message appeared.
Tobi: About the money.
Imani leaned back in her chair.
“Already?”
She typed.
Imani: I’ll sort it out.
Three dots appeared.
Tobi: Thanks sis ❤️
She smiled despite herself.
Then another notification appeared.
Kemi: Lunch. Today. No excuses.
Imani typed:
Imani: I have work.
Kemi: You always have work.
Imani: Because I work.
Kemi: And I am your friend. Lunch.
Imani laughed quietly.
“Good morning, Imani.”
She looked up.
Her supervisor stood beside her desk.
“Morning, sir.”
“You’ve seen the report?”
“Yes.”
“I need the revised version before noon.”
Imani nodded.
“Okay.”
“And Imani?”
“Yes?”
“You’re doing well.”
She smiled.
“Thank you, sir.”
He walked away.
Imani looked at her screen.
Then at the time.
8:11 a.m.
She opened the report.
Forty-five thousand for Tobi.
Money for the mechanic.
Zee’s books.
Tomatoes.
Curtains.
Rent.
Transport.
Food.
Work.
Everything waited for her.
Imani took a deep breath and began typing.
She didn’t know it yet, but she was already becoming the person everyone would eventually call first.
The person who would always pick up.
Always answer.
Always give.
Always understand.
For now, though, she was simply Imani.
A daughter.
A sister.
A young woman with dreams she hadn’t abandoned yet.
She just kept postponing them.
For later.
