Enchanted

I can't remember the last time they bought me a gift. All my toy cars are old and no one seems concerned. I have puffed my cheeks and cried but no one has responded the way I hoped, before they get me to say what I want, the new one in the baby cot would cry and I'd become secondary again.
It seems these almost insensitive and average parents are forgetting that i'm still a child regardless of how many siblings they add to me. Wait a minute, this is just one and I'm already shunned?  -When that baby cries, my God! He can cry! - They all run helter skelter, as if the world would end if they ignored him once. They'd try out variety of things to make him hush. I saw these people stand rocking this baby for two hours, after breastfeeding him. No one pampers me like that, not anymore.
It wasn't always like this, once I was the sunshine and centre of their drab life. I could piss and poop in bed and they'd still laugh and call me cute. Once I peed a fountain, wetting her face and white blouse at the village meeting, she didn't mind, I was her Rainbow, the crown jewel of her marriage. I could reject those nasty tasting baby cereals and she would fix her nipple in my mouth -Oh what a time, the good old days- . She was a good girl, and quite above average mother, whenever she made me cry too long before making her areola available, I would pinch and bite her in response and she would understand that it was a deserved punishment, after all the least she could do to appreciate the privilege of having me was to feed me on time. All that has changed.
Now this woman who is supposed to be my mother, shames me even when I get down from bed and leave the poop on the floor for her. Today she smacked my tender bum bum, just because I pooped on the bed. I had greeted her with a smile, hoping she'd appreciate my thoughtfulness. She shamed me when I pooped on the floor, so I figured she preferred it on the bed, that way she can easily wrap it with the bedsheet. I even helped her wrap the poop with the bedsheet and instead of a pat on the back or candy for trying to make her life easier, she smacked me. My buttocks burn from her smacking still, I feel violated but I will get my revenge- wait till my father hears this.


      *     * Hours later *     *    

I didn't think this woman was this cold hearted, can you imagine this, she is telling dad herself. My supposed father's reaction is odd, how low has my worth dropped,please. My mother just told my father how she spanked me for the first time, for no good reason and the good for nothing father is laughing hard as if he was watching one of those night of a thousand laughs DVD.  I knew he wasn't my father, not the real one. Riddle me this, Which real father laughs when he learns from the culprit herself, that his young baby son's buttocks was smacked????
Their laughter is only broken by the familiar cry of the new lord of the house. The one in the baby cot. I must do something about this, this is not the home I used to know. This baby has changed my parents. They don't love me anymore. Their love for me did not drop overnigh, i think it began when mummy said she was pregnant with that baby in the cot.
I was happy even though sitting in the flat all day playing by myself was fun but sometimes boring. I play with several toy cars that my daddy bought me, but i don't ever forget the pleasure i felt once when i played with an actual human my age.  She was a 3 year old half caste. Her Daddy was an Akateh - a local term for a Nigerian who travelled or lived abroad, especially America or Europe- he travelled to America and married an Oyinbo - a white person. She came with her parents to visit her grandmother, who lived in the flat above us. She was our landlady, hence when she requested my parents let me play with her oyinbo grand daughter, they could come up with no excuse to not oblige her.
Alex was a strange creature. I had seen white people on the television but she was the first I met and touched. Her nuances were strange and her body language was just wrong. She was doing things to the left and often mother beat me to stop using left because it was only an ofeke - a fool- who did things with the left hand. She did not keep any toys and I never liked to share my toys, heck, I never shared before, but she had a pet duck with 7 ducklings. The ducklings we're golden yellow and the duck was a strong mother. I knew it because she only let Alex close to she and her ducklings and when she walked, the ducklings followed behind her in a single file. I was fascinated. I shared my toys and Alex let me play with her pets. I had the time of my life and wished Alex would not go by the end of December. She promised to come back and I promised to wait for her, no matter how long it took. Afterall, we had time on our side, we were just 3. I never saw her again.
I assumed that having a brother would be as enjoyable as Alex's company, but I was wrong. Mother stopped caring for me as soon as her Tommy began to get bigger. Instead of making me breakfast on time, she would spend the morning vomiting in the bathroom, leaving me to the untrained hands of her husband. She made more demands than I,  frankly sometimes I almost wanted to shush her, I mean she was being a baby the whole nine months and stealing the attention from the real baby, me.
I was happy when I walked into the hospital ward in my dad's arms and found that mother no longer had a big Tommy - maybe she'd start acting like an adult again- but then, I never expect the baby to be my new competition.
 The whole house smells funny and I can't even be fully rocked to bed at night because the baby always needs them. I have become desolate and lonely this time. My toy cars no longer cheered me, I wish Alex was here.
When my father walks in with bags bearing gifts now, I don't run after him with expectations any more, I know what he's always carrying, baby cereals and baby toys. I don't know how long I can take this, I must speak with that baby. Maybe make him a deal, I mean if he's my brother, he had better start acting like it. No brother would want their brother to be miserable, though I didn't know anyone else who had a brother besides me, perhaps I may be wrong, maybe brothers frustrate each other usually. I waited for a moment alone with him.
 Mother walked out to fix her husband his dinner, but he's still in there smiling into the baby cot. He looked up toward the door, where I was standing. He beckoned me to come over, I walked to him. He picked me up and sit me on his lap. We both stared at the baby in the cot, but I don't see what the fuss was about. I wonder why they both seemed intoxicated around him. He was sucking a tube and I'm looking at him, wishing he wasn't in the picture. He smiled and looked at me, stretching his hands reaching for me. I didn't want to touch him, he was the enemy and I was not supposed to fraternize with the enemy.  But he began to cry and somehow my heart began to break.  His voice pulled me and I touched his outstretched arms. He stopped crying and giggled. I was shocked - was he tricking me? - I pull away and his eyes became sorrowful and he burst into tears again. I touched him and he stopped crying and began to giggle. I stared deep into his eyes and realized why I didn't look at him before, because when I looked at him, I could never hate him. He was the enemy but when I looked at him, I could never hate him, why was this.
'-Honey, baby stops crying when his brother plays with him, he knows they're brothers. Blood is thicker than water'
That was it, he was not my enemy, he was my brother, my blood.