Sometimes, family is a curse.

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Amyn’s family was the worst. They claimed to support her but their actions belied their words. They didn’t give a fuck about her. Just wanted her to fit into their mold of worshipping the ostensible star offspring. Her brother particularly irked her, said offspring. He was a sportsman—a swimmer, and always wanted her to join him in training sessions, never mind that she was scared of water and he knew it; was always also so adamant in showing his plaques to her, reminding her just how much she had to work up to, peel her skin even, to earn a sense of worth in her own family. And her single mum never forgot to egg him on. He was all she adored and held in close focus. Her only son, dear, dear precious one, who would wipe away the shame of a beat-up dad that abandoned the family to join a rabble of drunkards in Bamako.

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Unsurprisingly, Amyn was always the appendage yanked off. Forgotten in the crossfire. With constant reminders of her brother’s needs at the expense of her own. Even though she was the elder sibling and should have been catered to first, or at least in addition to. Or even to a fair degree, except her mum had decided who the saviour of the family would be. With constant calls to action of: Bertrand needs this gear for tomorrow. Go get it. Bertrand needs food at practice, send him this pack I made specially for him.

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Never mind that Bertrand was in his early twenties and could do all of it himself.

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It was like Amyn didn’t even exist. Like her dreams didn’t even matter. Because no one thought to ask how her beads business was doing as she was about rounding off college. Mum had never even complimented her work as she always saw Amyn busily making her beads on the dining table every Saturday morning.

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Not even a “Good job.”

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That’s a reach.

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Not even a “What are you doing?”

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Never.

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She passed her by every morning like what she did was inconsequential in their family dynamic. And it wasn’t even that her business was failing. She was gaining a steady income with it. So, this made it even worse.

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It heightened her thirst

for a love never to be hers,

tore her innards to threads,

made her dam of fears burst

into a million specks choking a crusty earth.

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And Bertrand. He was about as aloof as a question mark. He would see the beads on the table every Saturday morning as he readied himself for practice and ask her to help pack his gear and iron his clothes for church the next day, since he’d be practicing all day. It felt like a demand, come to think of it, because he would see her engrossed in her own work and be confident enough, no, selfish enough to claim attention for his shit. All he cared about was shining as a sportsman. There was room for nothing else.

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And back to her mum. Every sliver of care Amyn grovelled for still revolved around Bertrand this, Bertrand that. Sometimes she wondered whether she would always have to pay for being born a girl. Not male enough to re-write her father’s sins. As Amyn thought about this, fury and scorn lashed through her. Ache and weariness joined in the party too, beating her to a pulp.

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Sometimes the very people who are supposed to see you don’t. And it’s just no fault of yours.

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Enter Kwabena. Her course mate from Economics who did see her. Kwabena always checked up on her and her business more than her own blood. He always made it a point to ensure that she ate regularly, which she found weird but was utterly grateful for. He always cracked jokes whenever he felt her face had suddenly emptied out on joy. She had thought that maybe he had a crush on her but he constantly told her that he didn’t see her in a romantic light. He felt she was a feather that needed cushioning. And he was ever ready to be a bolster.

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Truly, some friends stick closer than brothers.

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Well, it dawned on her that she needed to put distance between herself and her family after college. For her peace. For her sanity. For a chance to rebuild her self-worth away from all the family baggage. Because this persistent overlooking of her, this cloak of invisibility they had dumped over her ever since Bertrand took to swimming in his late teens, had reached its zenith.

 

For what was the essence of supporting someone who didn’t even give a wink about you? Even if that person was your own blood brother or mother. Yes, true love must be offered without need for reciprocity. Yet, if the mind consistently squirms and the heart deadens at every extension of yourself met with coldness, one’s peace of mind must remain the focus, be sacrosanct.

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Amyn would move in during her national service with her childhood friend Georgette. They had pooled their resources for a simple chamber and hall apartment at Sowutuom. She would manage. And focus on her business. And be at peace. Be well.

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As for Kwabena, he would be her new brother. 

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And she’d be her new mother,

gathering and loving herself to wholeness

harder than the former.

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Indeed.

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Amyn would be content to love her family from a distance.