Drained

Adùké

I should be relieved that Aduke is away at university, giving me some much-needed space, but I’m not. It’s true we had our differences, but I don’t hate her. Growing up with Aduke was draining, both physically and emotionally, with our mother constantly reminding me of how I’m failing as a big sister and in life. But I’ve decided not to let it get to me.

Now that Aduke has left for the university, I’m sure Mother will have nothing else to talk about except how Aduke is making the family proud.

"Ladun, Ladun!" Iyabo’s voice pulled me out of my reverie.

"Hmm, sorry, what is it?" I asked, realizing I had been lost in thought.

"I was asking about Aduke. Hope she’s settling in fine at school," Iyabo said as we strolled home.

Iyabo and I own shops close to each other—while I’m into sewing, Iyabo is into hairdressing. She’s one person I can share my thoughts with.

"She’s fine, I guess," I replied.

"You don’t call each other?"

"You know I can’t be calling her all the time so I won’t disturb her in class, but I spoke with her last week, and she said she’s settling in fine."

"That’s true."

My phone rang, cutting our conversation short. It was my mother’s number. I answered it before it could ring off, signaling to Iyabo to keep quiet.

"Hello, Mother?"

"Are you planning to sleep at your shop? Or is it not yet time?" she demanded.

"I’m on my way, Mother," I said calmly.

"Okay then, buy vegetables on your way back," she instructed before ending the call abruptly.

I released a soft sigh.

"What is it this time?" Iyabo asked.

"Don’t worry. Let’s hurry home. I need to get vegetables."

"Okay, let’s hurry before your mother calls again to skin you alive," she chuckled.

As we quickened our pace, I couldn’t help but feel the familiar weight of responsibility pressing down on me. Even with Aduke gone, nothing seemed to change. If anything, it felt like the expectations were now solely on my shoulders, and the house was quieter—but not in the comforting way I had hoped. Instead, it was a silence filled with unspoken judgments and reminders of my supposed inadequacies.

When we reached the vegetable stall, I picked out the freshest leaves, hoping they would meet Mother's standards. Iyabo watched me with a knowing look.

"You know, Ladun, you deserve a break too. Maybe you should visit Aduke at school one of these weekends," she suggested.

"I don’t think Mother would like that," I replied, avoiding her gaze as I paid for the vegetables.

"And since when does everything have to be about what your mother likes?" Iyabo countered, a slight edge in her voice.

I stayed silent, knowing she had a point but feeling too drained to argue. We parted ways at the junction, and I walked the rest of the way home, trying to shake off the melancholy that was settling over me.

As soon as I stepped inside the house, Mother was there, waiting with her usual stern expression.

"Ladun, you’re late. Did you forget there’s still soup to be made?" she asked, her eyes narrowing as she inspected the vegetables I brought.

"No, Mother. I came as quickly as I could," I replied, keeping my voice even.

"Hmm," she muttered, taking the vegetables and heading to the kitchen. "Next time, don’t stay out so late. You know there’s work to be done."

I nodded, swallowing the retort that was on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I followed her to the kitchen, rolling up my sleeves to help with the cooking.

As I chopped the vegetables, I couldn’t help but wonder how long I could keep up this charade of being the dutiful daughter. There was a time when I thought this was all I was meant for, but now, with Aduke gone, the emptiness was starting to gnaw at me. I was beginning to see that maybe, just maybe, I wanted more out of life than this.

But how could I even begin to change things when the expectations around me were so rigid? When even the smallest step out of line was met with disapproval? The questions swirled in my mind as I worked, the knife moving rhythmically through the leafy greens.

By the time dinner was ready, I had pushed the thoughts aside, focusing instead on getting through the evening without any more scolding. But deep down, I knew the discontent was growing, and sooner or later, something would have to give.

….Till next Friday.