That Saturday evening was not different. It had been a hot, sunny day. I was sure that even the cold-blooded animals would be sweating. I was lying on the sofa, half-asleep, when his voice thundered from the corridor.
“Mama Chuka, everyone, come to the sitting room now.” His voice thundered. ‘Discipline is reducing in this house.”
My heart dropped. I reduced the volume of the loud music I was playing on my portable speaker. I knew that sentence, and I was sure that nothing good ever follows that sentence.
The sitting room, which was our makeshift courtroom, was hot even though the ceiling fan whirred lazily. The center table was littered with empty cups and a half-finished loaf of bread.
I listened intently from my room. I was waiting to hear who would be the first to make it to the sitting room. As usual, I heard Ada’s door squeak. She was the first to leave her room. I knew how dramatic she already was, so I could easily tell she was rolling her eyes like Nollywood actresses.
I got up and dragged his slippers noisily like I was being forced into prison. It wasn't a long time until Kosi, the youngest, came hugging his teddy bear, looking innocent but ready to expose everybody.
Mum was the last to make it through the doorway. Her wrapper was tied high on her chest. Her eyes already scanned the mess in the room like she was gathering evidence for the trial.
“First of all,” she began, her voice sharp as a blade. Sharper than Papa's own. “Who left these dirty cups here? That was how you all left dirty plates in the sink since yesterday? I am not your house girl o!”
My eyes caught Ada as she flipped her braids over her shoulder. “Mummy, I washed my plate. Maybe it is Chuka.”
I sprang up to my feet, hands in the air like a witness denying my involvement in a crime in court. “Stop lying! Like you don’t hide the noodles wrapper in your room whenever you finish eating Indomie.”
The room exploded with laughter. But it was only Kosi and me.
I glanced at Mum, and she had narrowed her eyes, but I could see she was trying not to laugh.
Ada hissed, face red. “At least I don’t steal Milo powder and lick it inside my room!”
Now it was my turn to look not guilty.
Dad coughed, trying to regain control. He fixed his eyes on me. His eyes told that he was also enjoying the drama. But then his face changed. His smile disappeared, and his voice boomed across the room.
“Enough!” He slammed his palm on the table, making the cups rattle. The whole room went silent. Even the ceiling fan seemed to obey his command as it stopped turning. NEPA had taken the light. He looked at us one after the other, his eyes sharp and mean.
“These days, I watch your mother cook, wash, and clean the whole house when I have grown-ups at home. She acts like she is not concerned, yet you children won't help her. You will litter cups and plates everywhere like pigs in a pen. Just look at our sitting room. Look at the mess. You eat bread and leave crumbs like rats. Who do you expect to clean up all this mess? Your mother?!”
Mum shifted uncomfortably and cleared her throat like she was announcing her presence again.
Dad continued. “She is my wife, she is not your house girl? She was my wife before she became your mother. If she falls sick tomorrow from all this stress, who will suffer? Is this how you want to repay her sacrifices?”
Ada bowed her head. I stared at the floor. Even Kosi squeezed his teddy bear tighter, guilt written on all of our faces.
Dad picked up a cup on the table as if to elaborate more on what he was about to say. “From today, if I catch anybody littering this house, that person will have to face me directly. Enough of this nonsense!”
The room stayed quiet like fish in a cold room, heavy with his words. Just at that last word, NEPA restored the power, and the ceiling fan started turning again as if to make it presence known or cement what dad just said.
