Her voice betrayed her, gestures accompanying. The younger woman swore she didn’t understand. For the older woman, nothing remained but confession. “Dear”, she began, “it is time to get a life.” Silence. In and out transmission of suppressed emotions. Hot air. Voice, when it came, shrill and bone-crushing. “What do you mean?” Surely, she had not misheard. “You want me out of your lives?” Pace up, pace down. More hot air. Fear and anger in massive collision. A dream it could be. But, standing there, staring her in the face and speaking now, could it still be a dream? To reply, the older woman said, “My daughter, you are nothing without the protection of a patriarch. Somehow, you need one to validate your claims.” By an ill-mannered silence, rage fought to be free. When the younger woman spoke again, it was in a whisper. “I need a man to confirm that I’m a woman?” Glare. Fury from one human form to the other. “Don’t be selfish!”. Deep breath. “I am saying that our bloodline can not end with you, and your good character, and your beauty”. Tears. “Do not allow the world to mock us. It is in your hands to give our lives a meaning”, the older woman spat in a tone of finality.
First written:
Rewritten: Oct 25, 2018
The Conversation is an adaptation of Telephone Conversation. It is a 1963 poem by the Nigerian writer Wole Soyinka that satires racism.
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CHINA TORI 