FRIDAY, 1:31 P.M. 

Joy sighs out. 

She shuts her eyes and touches her fingertips to her forehead. Come on, steady breathing, focus on the present, focus on the present. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Jamil and his cousins. Oh goodness, she can’t cry in front of her kid. She’s sure she should wait until he’s at least eighteen to invoke that sort of mental trauma. 

She lets her eyes fall on her aunt, who stares back at her with an expression Joy can’t quite read. Frustration and disappointment and anger and disbelief all in one. Joy feels each emotion tenfold. 

Then Auntie Nancy speaks. “My children,” she says, with a soft c that makes it sound more like “shi-dren.” “I don’t know what to tell you people, o. Something very wicked has obviously happened in this house.” Wait, what? 

Joy’s tears dry up with a quickness. Her confusion shocks her into a semiresponsive state. “W-what, sorry? Sorry, I just . . . what?” The doorbell rings. 

Nnenna wails. “Why is this doorbell ringing up and down, up and down—” 

“Can someone get that?” Michael says aloud. Then he tuts, shaking his head as he moves towards the hall. “Never mind. I’ll just—” “Don’t!” Nancy points an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t go anywhere. Wait first.” 

He lets out an uncomfortable chuckle. “Ah . . . but, Auntie, it’s probably the paramedics.” 

“The paramedics?” James echoes. His face screws up with discontent, his lips jutting forward as if he’s smelled something bad. No one moves.

Joy bristles as she watches James look around the room. Of course he’s the only one who doesn’t know yet. At first, she’s unsure if she should feel bad about this, but given how condescending and commandeering James can be, she realises she doesn’t care. 

“Oya!” James’s voice booms out. “Somebody start talking now now. What’s going on?” 

“Please!” 

Everyone turns when Nnenna cries out. She fidgets in a way Joy has never seen before. Her cousin is usually more put together. A pastor’s wife, Nnenna is a true woman of God. She probably can’t lie or she’ll feel the ground start to open up under her feet. “If . . . ulp”—Nnenna hiccups—“if we stand here any longer and draw this out, I will scream. Is that what you want?” She looks at Joy; looks at Michael. “I have to say it—someone has to say it! We’ve all seen, anyway.” 

Joy gulps. “Nnenna, no—” 

“Mama Mary is dead.” 

It feels as if the air has been sucked out of the room. No voices. Minimal breathing. Somber faces. Nnenna hides her face and chokes out a sob, a long and dramatic sob, while the truth settles in around her. The doorbell rings again. 

“Jesus,” Joy mumbles. “I’ll get it—” 

“No, I’ll go.” Michael steps out, manoeuvring his way back down the hall before Joy can stop him. 

What would Michael even say to the paramedics? He didn’t find her. He wasn’t even in the house when she . . . when she . . . Joy’s heartstrings tug. She can’t—she can’t stop shaking. Oh God. She looks at her hands. When did this start, the rattling in her wrists? Why didn’t she notice it? 

“Oh my God, fuck.” Joy covers her face. She takes a deep breath into her hands. 

She hears Sarah in the corner as she attempts to usher her young cousins away. “Come on, guys. L-let’s go to the basement.” She hears James’s voice. “Nnenna, wetin? How can you say such a thing on a holy day?” 

She hears Nnenna’s crying. “It just—she was fine, and the kids tried to w-wake her up…” 

“Oya, okay, please, let’s just calm down.” James holds his hands up, but Auntie Nancy rushes around the sofa to where James is standing and smacks him on the shoulder repeatedly. She is smaller than he is, but her hand, which has probably given many slaps, is still strong. James jumps and shields himself. “Ah-ah! Mama, what’s going on? Why are you

beating me?” 

“Instead of you to be looking after your wife, you are here making mouth,” she says with grit. “You don’t hear her? She says my sister is dead and you are here doing, ‘Oya, oya, calm down’ … Useless man!” 

James frowns. “Mama.” He glances around the room nervously without meeting anyone’s eyes. 

Nancy spots the parade of uniformed medical workers from where she is in the living room, and scoffs. Joy feels her eyebrow twitch with irritation, though she can’t explain why. She doesn’t like it—she just doesn’t like any of this. It’s being handled wrong. All of it is wrong, she thinks. She remembers when Peace passed away and her mom and dad, they… they were unreachable, emotionally, but they never once pretended they weren’t grieving. As Joy watches Auntie Nancy steel her gaze on the room, she can’t help but feel the differences. What would Mom do? She is too in shock to remember. 

Nancy says again, “My children. Listen to me very carefully. Because I have heard you. You have said to me on this Good Friday that my sister is dead.” When she says it, a shiver runs down her spine so fast that her shoulders constrict and she kisses her teeth, loudly and with arrogance. “But I am telling you people . . . I know my sister. Na me wit’ am share the same house as babies. My sister will not come and die on such a holy day. She will not!” 

Joy suppresses a groan. She doesn’t know what else to say. “Auntie. I don’t think Mom made that decision herself.” Auntie Nancy claps her hands and then spreads them apart, like she’s laying out the facts. “So. You see.” 

“N-no, I don’t—” 

“If my sister has died today, it is because of juju.” Joy 

groans. “Oh . . . no.” 

“Yes!” 

Joy is speechless. She turns to Nnenna, to her uncle Ezekiel— hell, even James, as stuck-up as he is—anyone to come and save her from this. She can’t believe this is happening. Her mother passed away on her birthday (to be fair, Joy didn’t even know dying on your birthday was allowed) and Auntie really dares invoke witchcraft as the reason? She shudders, absolutely trembles, at the accusation. Auntie should know better than to say that. Especially after what happened with Peace. 

She swallows down the discomfort, the need to run upstairs and cry or hide. Instead, Joy looks into her auntie’s eyes and says, “We did not kill my mother,” her voice wavering. 

“Well, somebody did,” Nancy goes on without missing a beat.

“Somebody is using my sister for ritual. Where is Michael’s wife?” She asks, looking around. After a moment, once she realises none of the faces staring back at her are Shelly’s, she scoffs like that’s confirmation enough. “So, you see.” 

“No,” Joy growls. “I really don’t. Besides, what does it matter that she’s not here?” 

“Why does it matter? She’s your brother’s wife,” Nancy says, her voice rising as if this is the climax in her long story. Here, finally, we arrive at the point. “Now she’s not here and my sister is dead!” 

“Auntie, I guarantee you Shelly wasn’t using Mom for ritual,” she says aloud, but in her mind, the smallest conspiracy theorist, fresh off several five-part village movies, murmurs, You don’t know that, though. Like, genuinely, how would you know? 

“Then how can a healthy woman of seventy just die on her birthday? On Good Friday? The day our Lord was killed? What is it if not juju?” Joy throws up her hands in defeat. “An accident, maybe? Bad timing? I don’t know.” 

“Accident ke? On Good Friday? The day our—” 

“Okay, I got it.” 

“Let me tell you something,” Auntie says, narrowing her eyes. “And you people won’t understand because you were raised here.” In the corner, James opens his mouth, probably to protest and remind them that, actually, he was born and raised in Nigeria and only came here for university, but Ezekiel, most likely sensing that James is about to assert himself, quickly hisses—a sharp, pointed exhale—and James shrinks immediately. Nancy goes on: “If someone is doing juju, there are two things they use. Fire and accident.” 

Joy suppresses a groan. “Auntie—” 

“Auntie wetin?” 

“I—” 

“Joy.” Michael reenters, holding a bevy of cards and pamphlets. Behind him, Joy sees—nothing. She’s trying not to see. There are paramedics standing around. They’re doing something. A body on a stretcher, maybe zipping it, maybe just covering it, maybe, maybe, maybe. She doesn’t know. It all looks blurry when she tries to focus. And she’s definitely trying. Absolutely. 

“Joy?” Michael snaps his fingers in front of her face to get her attention. He holds up a few of the papers. “The paramedics talked me through some next steps. They haven’t gone yet, but they’re asking if Mom had a will. D-did she?” 

Joy bites her lip. She doesn’t have the energy. Her body feels heavy

and her mind clouds like a muddy river. “I don’t know,” she utters and turns away. 

Auntie Nancy scoffs. “So, you see.” 

Joy also doesn’t have the energy to explain to her aunt how infuriating it is that she is using every banal, basic thing as proof of witchcraft. 

“Maybe Mom is right . . .” Nnenna pipes up. Her voice is hoarse from her wailing. She has to clear her throat a few times before the words come out properly. “Think about it. It is really weird for Mama Mary to just die like this. She was reading the Bible, and then she went to lie down, and just like that, she died? No, it doesn’t really make sense.” 

Joy swallows, shaking her head. 

“Nnenna, please don’t do this.” Nnenna frowns. “Do what? So I can’t ask a question again?” 

“You’re not—” 

“You’re not asking a question, Nnenna,” Michael cuts in angrily. His temper flares up, surging in each word. “You’re making an accusation. You better be careful, o.” 

“He-ey!” James rushes over, pointing a finger at Michael. “You better not be accusing my wife of witchcraft! I’m warning you, Michael.” “What?” Joy and Michael speak at the same time. Quickly, Joy steps in front, between them, before it turns into something it really shouldn’t. James’ chest is puffed out as normal, glaring daggers at Michael. Michael is growing more and more irritated by the second at the fact that this balding man would choose to challenge him. Nnenna’s arms are crossed as she looks from wall to wall, avoiding the catastrophe she set in motion a moment ago. Uncle Ezekiel is trying to call Auntie Nancy back to the sofa. 

And Joy can’t believe this is happening. She can’t believe she has to deal with her family making a mockery of her sorrow, of her grief—their grief, for fuck’s sake—on top of all the other shit she had to organise. Of course they probably don’t see it that way. They don’t ask who booked the house, they don’t mention whose idea it was to do the weekend staycation, they don’t even wonder how many different DJ Ebukas exist in the Greater Toronto Area! All they know how to do is fight and take and argue and take, and take, and take, and take. 

She’s so tired of it. 

“Okay!” She throws her hands up. “We’re not fucking doing this. We’re not gonna start arguing over my mom’s d-dead body.” Auntie Nancy gasps. 

“What we need to do is come up with a plan,” she goes on, looking

around. “We have people coming later for a party that can no longer happen f-for various reasons.” 

“For one reason,” Nnenna mumbles. 

Heat rises in Joy’s chest but she pretends she didn’t hear her. “Michael has all these pamphlets and cards, so we’re going to call around for a uh, a mortuary. A mortician. Or something.” 

“I’ll figure it out,” Michael pipes up. “We’ll try and locate a will, too. Then we need to cancel all this—” 

“We need to pray.” 

Auntie Nancy’s voice cuts through Michael’s rambling. Of course Auntie would suggest this. Nnenna suggested this earlier, and she is Auntie’s daughter, after all. 

Auntie Nancy stares back, almost challenging them to say otherwise. If only she knew how little energy Joy had. If only she knew how tired Joy was these days, how exhausted she is from rolling with the ups and downs of her own life. From having to be present all the damn time. And now, having to deal with this. Having to grieve her mother in a place where they don’t seem to want her to rest. 

The moment he hears the word “pray,” James springs into action. “Oya, let’s join hands. Good idea, Mama, good idea.” He winks at her before moving to the centre of the room. Quickly, he gestures for everyone to form a circle around him. “Let’s call the kids.” 

“Just to pray?” Joy blurts out. She knows it’s wrong the moment the words leave her mouth. 

“‘Just to pray’?” Auntie Nancy mimics her voice, then scoffs. “See you. If you had gone to church like your mama asked you, eh. If you had gone . . . ” 

Joy doesn’t want to know how that sentence might end. The kids come downstairs, each searching for a spot beside their parents. None of them speak, not even Zach, who is clutching Jamil’s hand-held console as if it were his own. Once everyone’s hands are clasped, Auntie Nancy nods to James. “Oya. Begin.” 

James takes a deep breath. He stands tall, his chest out, so everyone can understand how seriously he’s taking this. Then he opens his mouth, sucking in air, before he says, “O Heavenly Fath—” The front door crashes open. 

“Am I late? Shit, I think I’m late. I thought we were on African time . . .” 

The family stands still, hands growing uncomfortably sweaty, as the voice grows louder the closer it gets. Joy can hear it marvel at the chandelier and the staircase just as she did when she first entered. She

can hear it admire the design, the brightness, the beauty of the house. She can hear it balk at the sight of paramedics in the hallway. “Uh, s-sorry, are y’all here for the party, too, or . . . ?” the voice asks. 

From around the corner, her cousin Robert Akintola appears. Rob is clutching a clear bag of take-away plates and a bottle of nonalcoholic wine, the kind Nnenna’s family drinks by the gallon. 

“I’m . . . here.” Rob chuckles nervously as he stares around. “Good, uh, good afternoon. Is it afternoon? Yeah, I guess, uh . . . wow. Sorry, customs at the airport took forever.” He holds up the bag. “I brought take-away plates. I figured, like, a Nigerian party might need more take-away plates, so, yeah, I got extra. Uh, I’m here without Paul. Yes, I’m making it awkward. No, I won’t apologize, ha. Okay, sorry, wrong time. Wrong time, am I right? Like there are . . . Did y’all see the paramedics in the front? Are they waiting on something because they’re just, like, standing around or whatever. Maybe they’re here to resuscitate this, uh . . . sorry, I lost the joke—oh! Joy! Hey. Heard about the, uh, the divorce being final or ‘final.’” He air-quotes. “That sucks. I liked David a lot. Sorry, I don’t know if you’re—if we’re allowed to talk about him. Are we? Is that weird? Is he coming? Maybe I won’t be the last to arrive. That would be cool. Oh, no, wait, speaking of the last to arrive, where’s Grandma Mary? She’s late to her own party? I mean, did someone forget her at the airport? Nah, just kidding, I know she wasn’t flying in.”

 

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SYNOPSIS: Although recently divorced, ever dutiful daughter Joy Okafor, has planned every aspect of her mother’s seventieth birthday weekend. As family members begin to arrive, Joy’s mother goes upstairs to take a nap. But when her grandchildren go to wake her, they find her unresponsive and immediately call an ambulance. Amidst the chaos, Auntie Nancy refuses to accept that her sister has died. Trailing the ambulance, Auntie Nancy has a divine encounter―a brown cow appears and God tells her that her sister will rise again on Easter Sunday like Jesus Christ. The zealous Auntie Nancy invites her pastor, her white garment spiritualist, the Nigerian community in Ontario and the local journalists. In this is a hilarious family saga, a family prepares for a miracle while coming apart at the seams, and grappling with what losing their matriarch means for each of them. Pride and Joy is an unforgettable romp.

Excerpted from Pride and Joy by Louisa Onome. Used with permission of the publisher, Ouida Books. Refrain from reposting or reproducing this content without prior consent.