This is my final excerpt from Memoirs, and the closest one to me.
This one speaks of that revelatory moment in the relationship between a mother and a daughter: where a mother realizes that her daughter is no longer a little girl and that her voice speaks taller than she ever expected. Funny thing is, in this piece, the daughter doesn't. say. a. word.
This monologue is titled "Who Are You?" and it's the question every female must declare an answer to at a certain age. Apparently, this woman's daughter came up with an answer pretty early in life...
(Mother sits in a chair in her bedroom rummaging through African fashion magazines while finishing a conversation on her cell phone. She calls for her daughter, Person, several times to no avail. After hearing an unfavorable response...)
What did you say? Come here. COME HERE.
(Person appears.)
Who are you? What are YOU? I carried you in my belly for 18 months and you are telling me you do not have time to go and find me my bag? When I was your age, I never spoke back to my mother. Even when I was married, I never spoke back…
(Person opens mouth.)
SHUT UP. I am talking. You are talking? Who do you think you are?
(Person appears.)
Who are you? What are YOU? I carried you in my belly for 18 months and you are telling me you do not have time to go and find me my bag? When I was your age, I never spoke back to my mother. Even when I was married, I never spoke back…
(Person opens mouth.)
SHUT UP. I am talking. You are talking? Who do you think you are?
All you dese American children. All you talk about is freedom. Freedom. Freedom. Freedom of what? Have you earned it? All you dese small, small, small, small, small, small gyels who do not even know how to wipe your blood when it flows. You do not even deserve freedom. You don’t deserve it. And do you know why? Enh heh, I will tell you why. Because (overcome with the size of the thought) you do not know how to use it!
I am an elder. YOU are a small, small gyel. And you have the audacity to tell me you do not have time….jaw, get out out of my face. I don’t even want to see you.
(Turning back around.)
And when I come downstairs, do not, do not, do not let me see you at dat table. If you do not have time to go and find me my bag, den you do not have time to enjoy my food.
Shogbo? Shogbo? Shogbo?
Enh heh. Go to your room.
(Person begins to leave. Mother hisses as she puts on slippers, gathers her things and exits. On the way out...)
Awon, OYIBO. I should have given birth to you in Nigeria!
(Turning back around.)
And when I come downstairs, do not, do not, do not let me see you at dat table. If you do not have time to go and find me my bag, den you do not have time to enjoy my food.
Shogbo? Shogbo? Shogbo?
Enh heh. Go to your room.
(Person begins to leave. Mother hisses as she puts on slippers, gathers her things and exits. On the way out...)
Awon, OYIBO. I should have given birth to you in Nigeria!
