To be resentful against one’s sister is a terrible thing; and even more so, when she’s your twin. People often talk about this inseparable bond twins have, a bond that plays out in their choices in everything from clothes to their professions.
Maybe Kehinde and I might have shared this bond at some point. The mischievous smiles on our faces covered with frosting that I’d seen in a photo album of when we turned two seem to suggest that such a thing might have existed. I can never be sure though, because as far back as I can remember, I’ve lived with this angry knot in my chest and a knowing that I fell really short of everything my sister was.
I had always known that Kehinde was prettier than I was. In retrospect, it’s not like I really cared. We were two different beings as far as I was concerned. I always thought she was kind of a bore. Miss-goody-two shoes with no ounce of adventure in her body. I wasn’t having none of that. She had beautiful chocolate skin that shone. At the close of school, she would appear as neat as she left the house. I would most likely have dust on my uniform from wrestling with the boys or a new injury that would soon join my collection of scars. That was me and I was fine with it. I had gotten used to the disapproving looks from my mother.
So at what point did I start to feel a little less?
My earliest memory is from when we were 7 or 8, I can’t really remember. But I know our parents had dressed us up in matching attires as is typical with most parents of twin children.
We were to attend the birthday party of a relative. As we arrived, we were warmly welcomed because my mom had been really popular and we made her even more so. I had been excited to come to the party mostly because I thought I’d be able to play with my male cousins. Unfortunately, my mom made sure that both I and Kehinde remained glued to our seats. Something about protecting us from some relatives who might have ill intentions, the typical African family witchcraft drama. Sitting in one place was something Kehinde was used to. I, on the other hand, not so much. I was visibly restless. And each time I would make a move to slip away, my mother would retort sharply that I should not even think about it. “Ehn Taiye, can’t you see your sister? What is preventing you from sitting as quietly as she is?” So I sat and I sulked.
At that point, my little self loathed my sister because I felt like she being the way she was, made me unable to be who I was without fear of the subtle comparisons that were always in her favour.
It got worse when we became teenagers. Kehinde blossomed into this radiant beauty, with nice curves that made all the boys come calling. She was effortlessly sweet. I was dealt the rotten hand of adolescence. No curves whatsoever. My dad used to say I reminded him of his maternal grandmother with her stick-like figure. Make no mistake, he loved her and he loved me. But no teenage girl wants to hear about the uncanny resemblance she has to her stick-like great grandmother, especially when she had a sister that looked like she was God’s favourite. To top it off, I had terrible acne. I know teenagers often have acne. But mine was on another level. It was the kind that made people offer solutions every chance they got. Trust me, we tried everything. Soaps, herbal treatments, tablets, nothing worked.
I remember some relatives telling my mom that I’d come into myself as I grew older. That this was usually the case with a lot of children. I never heard anyone talking about Kehinde in that manner. It would seem she was already perfect.
True to their words, I did come into myself. Still nowhere near my sister but my bouts of acne passed and I put on some more flesh. Still I couldn’t wait to leave the house.
The opportunity came during our service year and I fled. When I was told I had been deployed to the East, I couldn’t have been more overjoyed. My parents tried to get me to redeploy closer to home but I refused. I could finally be free of my perfect little sister.
In her defense, Kehinde tried to be close to me. She loved me as far as I could tell. She’d stand up for me, help me when I struggled with assignments. She looked out for me as any sister would. But I was always short-tempered and rarely appreciative. After all, she was the reason why I needed defending anyways. The jabs I got were because I had a sister like her.
I’ve maintained a distance since then. Now we are both 25 and Kehinde is married. I do havé my fair share of suitors but then I’ve never been able to believe that anyone truly loves me. If they do, I’m always scared that it’d change the minute they see my twin sister and that they’d start to think about how they missed out on the better egg.
And yes, it’s that deep. Don’t ask me why I feel this way. You’ll never understand. I probably need therapy but god forbid that I sit in a room with another individual talking about how I don’t like my sister who’s clearly the sweetest person I know because everybody thinks she’s better than me.
Funny how for someone I claim to not like very much, I spend a lot of my waking hours thinking about her.
My phone is ringing now. Kehinde’s name pops up on my screen. Speak of the devil.
I let it ring. I’ll return her call later.
Enough Kehinde for one day. It’s time to go back to work.
KUFRE-MFON EFFIONG-ROBERT.
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