Mom paced and circled and shook her head.
Dad hovered over her and kept asking, “What is it, Gladys? What’s wrong?” Every step he took toward her, Mom turned away. It was like a dance.
Finally Mom threw up her hands and said, “I can’t, Roy. I just can’t talk right now. Akilah and I have to go.”
“It’s almost eight,” he said. “Where are you going? I should go with you.”
“No,” she said.
“If this is about Juwan—”
“Roy, please,” Mom said. She turned to me and said, “Akilah, tie those laces. We have to go. Now.”
She took me by the hand and we left. She was muttering to herself in between telling me to keep up.
I tried to walk faster, but I didn’t want to. I should have gone to the bathroom first. My stomach cramped into a thousand knots, and my head was throbbing. I tried to tell her I didn’t feel so well, but she was like a rocket headed straight for the Ojikes’ house.
One thing was certain: My mother knew what female genital mutilation was and that they had mutilated Victoria.
I could barely walk. My bones were turning to Jell-O, my stomach was cramping, and I kept thinking that Victoria would soon hate me.
There was nothing I could do to stop my mother. Mom was set to take child-saving action, like removing Victoria from the Ojikes’ house, or telling the police, or reporting the Ojikes to Child Welfare, where she worked. Then Mr. and Mrs. Ojike would be arrested. Victoria and Nelson would be deported to Nigeria to live with their grandmother—the same grandmother who had mutilated many girls. Or instead of being deported, Victoria would be put in a group home. That was part of my mother’s job. Rescuing kids from bad homes and putting them in group homes or in foster care.
Or maybe Mom would tell the newspapers and TV stations about Victoria’s mutilation. Cameras everywhere would flash and click at Victoria like she was a criminal or someone to feel sorry for. Then everyone at school would point at her and whisper. Or they’d just come out and ask her what it felt like.
I counted backward in my head, wishing us back. Back inside our house. Back before mutilation. Before I knew what it was and before it happened to Victoria. Just back. All Victoria had ever asked me to do was keep a vow and to not make her laugh.
“Mom,” I moaned, “let’s go home.”
It was too late. Mom rang the doorbell and Mrs. Ojike welcomed us inside with a warm smile. Before she could finish offering us tea or fufu, Mom came out and said, “Is it true? Did you have Victoria circumcised?”
Mrs. Ojike didn’t expect that. She was stunned.
Mom asked again. Clearer. Louder. “Did you have Victoria circumcised?”
By this time, Mr. Ojike had entered the living room, but no one else had followed him. Still, I could feel Victoria behind the walls. She had to know that I was on the other side with my mother.
Mrs. Ojike told Mom, “That is a private matter.”
Mom said, “That is barbaric. Inhumane. How could you do this to your daughter? Your very own daughter?”
Mrs. Ojike said, “You are American. These are not your customs. I do not expect you to understand.”
Her words You are American seemed to wound my mother, although Mom tried to hide it. She was steeling herself, after being told she was not at all African.
“That may very well be true,” my mother said. “But there is nothing you can say to justify the savage ritual of mutilating your child.”
At that moment Mrs. Ojike became the queen my mother always described. Even with her back against the wall, she was unruffled and dignified. It was as if Mrs. Ojike looked at Mom the way my mom looked at Juwan’s mother and thought, I expect this from you. No less. No more.
Mrs. Ojike told us, “You are not welcome here. Leave my home.”
The porch light went off as we stepped outside. When I looked up at their house, all of the rooms went black.
My mother reached for my hand, but I held it back. “Look what you did!” I screamed at her. “You caused trouble!”
My mother grabbed my hand, but I yanked it away. Then she raised her hand like she was going to smack me, but she stopped herself and pointed at me instead.
“Akilah, do not ever take that tone with me as long as you live.”
I knew she wasn’t playing with me, but I wasn’t playing with her, either. I didn’t care what happened to me. With Victoria gone, I didn’t have anything left to lose.
“I gave Victoria my word I wouldn’t tell.”
“Akilah, you can’t be silent about a thing like this. You should have told me,” she said. “When something is wrong, you make it right.”
“You didn’t make it right,” I said back. “You made it worse.”
She walked ahead and told me to keep up.
I refused to walk by her side. I didn’t care how dark it was, or that the only light came from the street lamps and the three-quarter moon. I was burning mad. So mad that I didn’t care about the sudden warm splurt in my panties. I didn’t care that the moon had finally tagged me.