Every time Ireti visited her mother-in-law, her teeth were on edge. Ruth, her mother-in-law, is now in her mid-70s, frail and ailing but as full of spite as when Ireti married her precious son 15 years ago.
“Ruth and I had always been at war,” confessed Ireti, “but Gboye, my husband, was unaware of this. He’d been the result of an affair his mum had with a wealthy industrialist who bought mother and son a house but kept the ’embarrassment’ of a love child away from his family. Despite this shabby treatment from Gboye’s father, Ruth always throws his name around and tells people how much money he lavishes on her. Ireti said, “After the man died when Gboye was in his teens, his mum had poured all her love onto her only child. No wonder he worshipped her. Her frailness never concealed her razor-sharp tongue, especially when we were alone.
“Gboye and I had married when we met abroad, so I was already a mother of two when we returned home. The first time I met her, she became hostile as soon as her son left the room, and instead of being intimidated by her hostility, my back was up! Who did she think she was? I was in the kitchen when she’d whispered to Gboye that he should have married a more suitable wife – only she was loud enough for me to hear.
On our way home, I’d warned that if she would continue to be unfriendly, I wouldn’t visit anymore. But Gboye pleaded I should be patient with her, saying she was just over-protective of him. That was hogwash as far as I was concerned, and by the time I’d known her a couple of years, I’d realized how devious she was. To everyone else, she was a sweet old thing who doted on her son. To me, she was vicious!
My pounded yam was always lumpy. The house needs to be cleaner, and the children (now four) are rowdy. I hated her as much as she hated me. Only, there was this silent agreement to pretend to get along for Gboye’s sake. When she visited, I swallowed my rage at her catty digs, plastered on a fake smile. ‘It’s a relief to see both of you get on so well,’ Gboye had observed with pride on our way from one of our visits to her. I bit my tongue hard to stop me from disagreeing with him.
Shortly after, Gboye dropped his bombshell – Ruth couldn’t be trusted to live alone. Her health was failing, and he would love for her to live with us. What? Permanently? All I knew was that we’d always be at each other’s throats if we lived under the same roof – that calculating dragon was bound to drive me around the bend. The news so caught me unaware that I burst into tears. Gboye was alarmed. Didn’t I want his mum to live with us? He asked, confused. “Of course I do,” I lied. “The thing is, I’ve been having my health problems lately, and what with work and the children, I sometimes feel everything’s just getting on top of me.”
Gboye was now really concerned. He wanted to know what was wrong, and I’d had to invent a disease, symptoms of which a friend recently discussed with me. He consoled me and seemed to have forgotten about wanting his mum to live with us. But I knew it would be weeks before that, which would bring up the topic again. Discreetly, I visited Gboye’s uncle, who had always been nice to me and aware of the hostility between Ruth and me, and cried my heart out to him. He told me to dry my tears. His house was virtually free now the children were grown, and Ruth would be more than welcome to live with him and his wife. They had a couple of servants, and I promised to chip in at the expense of Ruth’s upkeep, but he waved off the offer. He then suggested I shouldn’t say anything to Gboye; he would make it look like his idea.
It was a relieved Gboye who came home a couple of days later to tell me what a wonderful option his uncle just suggested to him. Relief surged through me, but I quickly hid it as we prepared to give Ruth the good news. ‘I’m glad her younger brother would look after her,’ Gboye enthused. ‘She’ll be fine; knowing her, she would adjust quickly.’ I’d won this battle! As we discussed the option of her moving in with her brother, she glared with pure hatred at me – but I looked through her. I wished I could stick out my tongue at her in triumph. Fancy living with that kind of woman and for God knows how many years! People like her seldom die easily!”
