Meet the Family

As I pull-up outside my family home in Enfield in my 2nd hand car, (which my father once owned), I feel anything but excited to be back here. It isn't the dirty London streets, the terrible traffic or wailing sirens of police cars that bothers me; in fact living away from London I've almost missed these things. It is my household that I have mixed feelings about.

There is my mother, Gladys, who still treats me like a big kid, even though I'm the eldest out of two children.

There is my younger sister, Peace (yes, that's actually her name) who is the only one I can really tolerate. My family see her as the golden child. Peace is little Miss Perfect and can do no wrong… if only my parents really knew.

Finally there's my dad, Mazi Albert Aloysius Nwadiké. Albert, my father is the decision maker in our family. At times my father acts like a dictator; he has this might-is-right mentality sometimes and rarely displays his emotions. He is the main reason for my apprehensive feelings.
I step out of my car, leaving my luggage in the boot; I walk up to the door and ring the bell; a few seconds later I hear a click and the door opens. I'm greeted with jubilant welcome.

"Mikel! Mik-Mik, you're back!" My sister screams; she giggles and throws her arms around me.
As we embrace, the smell of herbs and spices softly tickle my nostrils. She's probably helping mum out in the kitchen.

My sister lets go and takes a step back to look at me; I stare back; her sleeveless black top and knee high tight jean-shorts show-off her naturally toned arms and legs. It’s as if her body had been carefully sculpted. Her peanut brown skin looking flawless as usual. I know guys would probably be casting looks in her direction by now.

“Mikel, so you decided to update you’re wardrobe.” She says cheekily.

“Yeah, well you know you gotta live a little.” I reply, unsure if she is complimenting me or teasing.

She tugs at my new Ralph Lauren top and looks my jeans. I smile back proudly. I had a bit of money left over from my student loan so I decided to treat myself.
I head straight into the living room and slump down on the sofa. My sister plants herself down right next to me and yells out to mum.

“MUMMY, Obiora is home! She screeches, almost damaging my ear-drum.
I hear the slip-slap sound of my mother’s slippers getting closer. I get up and hold out my arms as she enters the living room. My mother practically charges at me and squeezes me, pulling me tight against her frame. She has to tip-toe to kiss my cheek. The smell of African cooking hangs on her clothes.

“Nwa’m, kedu? My son how are you?” she asks smiling brightly.
“Fine, thanks mum. How have you been?” I ask smiling back.
“Well, we thank God. Anyway my son, we can talk later. Biko, you must come and eat, Mummy has prepared food. Peace, oya! Come and help me set the plates; your father called and said he’ll soon be home.”

As they leave to go set the plates I hear a car pull up outside. I go to the window and peak to see who it is. A tall and regal figure of a man walks up to the house.

“Obiora come and eat!” my mother yells from the dinning room.

I enter the dinning room and take my seat opposite my sister. Just as I get comfortable the tall and regal figure enters. We make eye contact. I force a smile and rise to greet the man.

“Hello Dad”...