Mother-in-Law Vs Wife: Winner Takes All

(By Jude Idada)

The mother of an old friend of mine lives alone in Okokomaiko.
An Urhobo woman in her late 70's.

Embittered.

And frowns so much that a deep furrow lies permanently between her brows.

Including my friend, she has five sons.

And a wealthy husband who is so debonair and exposed, unlike her, who holds a degree in Classics from the University of Ibadan, but prefers to speak in Pidgin English most of the time and hobnob with the most rural of people.

In the days of yore, when we all lived in Ikeja, we called her Margaret Thatcher.

Strict was her byword.

No nonsense her dictum.

So draconian she was, that she boasted of her control over her husband and her sons far and wide.

At the school, where she was a principal.

At St Leos where she was an active member of the Christian Women's Organisation - CWO.

At the women's wing of their village association in Lagos where she was the treasurer whose tenure never ended.

It was her who decided from which tribe, religion or family, her sons could get girlfriends.

It was her who greenlit each wedding of her sons.

It was her who decided everything that needed to be decided in the family.

Her husband is a quiet Igbirra man who stays out of her way in the name of peace.

Three of my friends brothers became like their father.

Not my friend and his immediate brother.

Enfant terribles.

They choose their wives themselves and fought their mother until she greenlit the weddings.

My friend's brother and his wife promptly moved to Sydney Australia to escape the tantacles of his mother.

My friend on the other hand lives in Magodo with his wife and three children.

His wife is a firebrand.

An Itsekiri lady.

They never saw eye to eye.

Where the other wives learnt that silence and obeisance was the only way to survive around their mother-in-law, she on the other hand, couldn't curb her enthusiastic tongue.

She will talk back and speak her truth irrespective of whose ox was gored.

Her mother-in-law nicknamed her ––– "Pepemrem mouth, you talk one she talk five."

But she never called her that to her face.

It was always a simple –– "You."

To which my friend's wife will always respond –– "Mommy I have a name."

My friends mother will ignore her retort and carry on dishing out orders.

My friends wife will never carry them out.

When the other wives will remind her of the order of their mother-in-law, she will respond ––– "Una hia dem call my name join the message?"

Her mother-in-law will end up sending another wife to perform the task.

But one day, at a party that was being thrown at the family house in Ikeja, tempers rose, when his mother called his wife –– "You." 

And ordered her to come stand in front of the women wing of the village association in Lagos.

My friend's wife corrected her in her usual –– "Mommy I have a name."

To which my friends mother shouted in response - "Sharrap dia! Na becos I allow you marry my pikin nain you tink say you open mat wia I dey talk. I say come stand hia make we judge your matter, use curse baptise ya head."

My friends wife kissed her teeth loudly, eye balled her mother-in-law, turn around, hung her head high and strutted away.

My friends mother, shocked and humiliated, stood up and shouted after her - "You dis geh, if you no come back hia na na, I swear down, my pikin go drive you commot for house nanana."

My friends wife turned around and stormed back to her. Stood face to face with her and spoke icily cold - "Mommy, I double dare you. Try am!"

The other women in the women's wing of the village association in Lagos all erupted as they rained insults on my friends wife and as though spurred on by their outburst, my friends mother delivered a hot thunderous slap to the upturned face of my friend's wife.

There was silence.

As my friends wife held her face in disbelief.

Then she spoke in a stunned voice.

"Mommy, you slapped me?"

One of the women who was sitting around called out.

"She suppose konk dat your stubborn head."

Another one joined in.

"She for naked you hia, so dat all of us go join beat you well well."

Another one chorused.

"After we beat you, we go put grind pepper inside your toto, you go learn quick quick how to talk to your senior. Idiot geh. See how her head long like pear, she carry yansh like pesin wen no dey shit."

My friend's wife stood there staring at his mother as their words swirled about her.

Tears were rolling down her cheeks.

Then she spoke.

In a voice high in octave and choked with tears.

"Mommy if no be my mama born me, I tell you, before christmas next year, as you stand dia so, you no go see man use call husband."

And she turned around and stormed away, with the insults and abuses of the women chasing after her.

My friend, his brothers, their wives and his father heard about it hours later, but not wanting to incur the wrath of their mother, they implored on my friend's wife to go kneel down and apologise to their mother.

She shouted as she beat her chest.

"I go kneel down beg am only if na fowl born me. She never know wetin dey wait for am for front. I go show am say dog wen dey eat shit, no be sake of say na curse dem curse am."

No one understood the meaning of the latter part of her sentence.

Less than one year later.

They understood.

When out of the blue, their father announced to the family that he was leaving his wife of fifty plus years and marrying a beautifully innocent twenty four year old fresh graduate from Delta State University, Abraka.

An Itsekiri girl.

Nothing anyone said would change her mind.

And my friend's wife stood there with a smile on her face as her mother-in-law wailed.

It took my friend and his brothers less than four months to accept the change in guard.

Less than a year to warm up to their new would-be stepmother.

When they ended up going for the traditional and court wedding of their father and her, their mother abruptly cut off all contact with her sons and their father.

Through it all the other wives of the sons found themselves staring in respect at my friend's wife, they knew it was her handiwork but somehow they couldn't bring themselves to ask her.

They feared her.

It was as though she had mutated into another Margaret Thatcher in her own right.

And my friend and his brothers carried themselves in an exacting naivete.

Even the fact that their new stepmother was a cousin of one of their sister-in-laws didn't wake them up from their collective 'slowness.'

And so it is that my friend now has two half brothers.

A set of twins.

And anytime, my friend and his wife fall into an argument, my friend's wife will say to him –––

"Don't try me."

And he will respond righteously courageous.

"You can't do nothing."

With a sly smile, she will respond cooly.

"You will know what I can do, when you do not see even a pin to inherit."

And he will fall silent.

Even in the silence or after it, he has never asked her what she meant by that.

It was unspoken but fully known.

And they will eventually make up.

Then the cycle begins.

In each of the homes of my friends and his brothers.

The spectre of my friend's wife hovering over them like a guardian angel who rewards and punishes.

And through it all, my friend's mother still stays alone in Okokomaiko, breast feeding her anger and hatred for my friends wife in particular and everyone else in general.

A tyrant without a throne.

While another tyrant, who is still her daughter in law controls her family as the matriarch.

Lagos.