Thanksgiving at Auntie Moji’s house was lit. As much as I enjoyed going to her chaotic household as ‘the millenial auntie”. The one with a doctor’s salary, no kids, no drama, there was a low-key sense of dread as I got ready to go to her house.
A Nigerian household during the holidays was full of drama, aunties and uncles asking awkward questions, the kids running around, for me it was mostly the awkward questions for me. Some aunties would sit and brag about their kids' accomplishments, making other kids feel like they had not done much with their lives.
I could smell the Jollof rice as I walked into the house, and worried my fur coat would catch on the smell of the food. I hated homes with open floor kitchens like mine. The smell stayed on everything, and Febreeze was my best friend.
“Kemi, come over here, we have a question for you?” my mom called out as she spotted me walking in. I stared at the four aunties who sat with my mom. Auntie Moji, the hostess, was my mom’s younger sister. Auntie Bilkis was their cousin, Auntie Liz, a neighbor who had become family. I felt like I was walking into a den filled with lionesses. I walked slowly past the chaffing…
