Seven Voices, One Roof
The smell of frying akara reached the second floor before any human voice did, curling up the stairwell like a spice-scented alarm clock. It was the smell that told every Ogunjobi child what day it was, because on weekdays Mrs. Ogunjobi barely had time to boil water, but on Saturdays she rose before the sun to fry bean cakes and shout the house awake.
"Jumoke! If you use up all the water in that tank, I will personally carry you to the well myself!" she bellowed from the kitchen, her wrapper knotted tight over her nightgown, a wooden spoon in one hand like a scepter of authority.
Upstairs, the bathroom door rattled under the weight of impatient fists.
"Jumoke, abeg, I need to shower before Tolu turns this house into a war zone!" Kemi shouted, banging again, her braids still wrapped in a faded silk scarf.
From behind the door came Jumoke's voice, cheerful and catastrophically off-key, murdering an Afrobeats hit with the confidence of a Grammy winner. "* Öö sé, my baby, öö sé—*"
"JUMOKE!"
"I'm washing my hair, calm down now!" Jumoke called back, utterly unbothered, her singing rising an octave higher just to spite her sister.
Down the corridor, Tolu's voice thundered through…
