The Secret Lives of Baba Segi's Wives by Lola Shoneyin

catching would jump out of the walls. “I will not let you destroy this home with your excesses. You have allowed the concubine to become the husband. I have not known anyone to worship a penis the way you do!” She stopped to take a long breath. “Listen carefully to what I have to say because if I am forced to say it again, it will be wedged between curses. You will not see this man again. You are like a child who has not developed the temperament for secrets. You are lucky we have a husband who believes he is more than all women and most men. If he were more discerning, more like a woman, say, he would have seen through your madness. And anyway, a new wife is coming, so brace yourself. I just hope she has some sense in her head.” She left the room dangling Afolake by the arm. I heard her yell Segi’s name and instruct her to scrub the child thoroughly in the backyard where the dirty water would be absorbed into the ground.
    I sat there quietly and watched Motun twitching in her sleep. She was six days old. Her mouth had abandoned my breast. She looked so small and so unloved. A deep, damning shame came over me. I could not believe that I had neglected the children who bought me the easy life I lived. There and then, I decided to become a good mother to my children.
    I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t tempted to visit my meat seller. I was. The yearning was hard to bear but each time the urge came, I bit my bottom lip and rocked myself to sleep with a pillow between my knees. The body quickly remembers how to die in the face of pain. I cast all sweetness from my mind and drew my children close to fill its space.
    Iya Segi was right: a new wife arrived. She was tall and lean yet you could see that she had whipped her life onto the road of her choice. She had great strength in her forearms and she did everything with determination. Iya Segi spoke sourly of me and referred to me as apoda —the stupid, slothful one—behind my back. Tope, my daughter, told me so. It would not surprise me if they were plotting to throw me and my daughters into a well.
    Iya Femi, the new wife, soon gave birth to a son and there was much celebration. The new mother clapped her knees together when she sat and strutted about like her womb was a gold mine. That was to be expected but it was Baba Segi’s words that made my ears ache. He spoke as if Femi were a jewel, as if he were the first child to be born to the family: “A daughter can never be like a son,” he said. “Only a son can become a true heir.”
    Iya Segi promptly reminded him that he already had an heir in Akin, her own son.
    My daughters were born with eyes in their stomachs so they are quick to digest all that they see. They cling to each other for comfort and move together like a single wave. When one cries, the others cry too, and when one laughs, the others smile before asking what is amusing. Sometimes I feel like I am one of them. We look after one another and I have taught them all I know. “Do not commit adultery,” I tell them. “Follow the path that is good and right,” I say. And when theyforget to do their homework, I ask them if they want to be educated ladies or useless tubers with arms and legs. They giggle when I say this.
    One day, I had a thought and shared it with them. I said it would probably be better for me to hang myself after they marry and leave home. They crumpled into a pile on the floor and wept. “Mama, we would never leave you here,” they cried. They understood so much more than I ever did. Like I said, they have eyes in their stomachs.
    Bolanle does not deserve the treatment the other wives give her. They bark at her as if she were a child: “Don’t sit there!” and “Don’t touch that!” All day long, they are at it, yet she does as she is told and never complains. We both do as we are told. One of these days, I should talk to her. I must think of the words that I will say to her. Perhaps it is too early. And the other wives