Venavis

“ Have the twins eaten? ” Why did they alway have to eat before me ? 

So, I carried my tiny body to the kitchen counter to bring them a plate. 

They were so much smaller than me but they had so much power over us. 

Always tucked in a corner, not crying, not moving, but staring at you. 

More silent than wood, always ready to be fed. 

“ Have you prepared their plate?”

“Oui.” Demure daydreamer, I was very shy back then. 

Was it their inquisitive look ? Always watching me from the corner of the room ? 

Was it the strike contrast between the blackness of their pupils and the whiteness of the corner of their eyes ? I would carry them in the centre of the room and place them on the table. Small plates would be placed in front of them—Djenkoumé and goat meat. 

I took a tiny bit of the red pounded yam, roll it between my thumb and index and pushed it on their mouth. As per usual they would not open it. Akoko would stare at me with the blankest stare and remain immobile. The paste would spread across the corner of its mouth, cover the old spots of palm oil on the sculpted wood and like every other day, I would repeat the same action with the second Venavi, Akuele. 

A wooden statue does not eat, but Akuele and Akoko needed to be fed. Before me. 

October 1997. “What are we going to eat Loren”, my grandmother asked, flustered, on a random rainy day later that week. On her meagre pension, she would always make sure the twins and I were fed.

“ As long as there’s water left..” I said raising my shoulders. She laughed—her golden canine shining. We hoped on the bus in Paris 20th district, to go grocery shopping but when my grandmother stepped out, the bus doors closed in front of me. She turned around and screamed but the bus went on. The bus passengers just stood in a Parisian nonchalance as I yelled for the doors to be opened. Exiting the bus, I saw my grandmother running in her Ankara “ pagne” out of breath. 

“We really need the water now.” She almost choked as she laughed. 

Sometimes, I just stared at the Venavis until my powers developed. If my ears buzzed, I would summon a story to influence the twins to move. One night, after my grandmother had fallen asleep after her massage (me walking on her back), I looked at them. Sat down on the leather sofa of our flat and I buzzed. Words created kingdom, backstories would unfold. They would stare back, but I would stare more. My ear were ringing … they had to move with all that food they had eaten. In anger, I stomp the ground but nothing happened !

 “Come to bed and stop playing with twins,” I heard from the room.  How did she know ! 

I swear I could see one of them smile. 

I woke up the next morning, one of them face down on the floor —a grin appeared on my face; I had succeeded. 

What was their story ? Why were they here ? They were just as mute as me. 

I was flesh, bigger than them, alive ! I gave her a smile in the morning, cracked her back , gave her a reason to go to Jardin des Tuileries for a crêpe, and yet she loved these wooden things more than me. Were they my siblings, aunties, uncles ? I don’t even know their gender. I still don’t. 

Why would no one tell me their story? And reality became fiction.  And then I learned how to read. And fiction became reality allowing me to uncover the mask these tiny wooden humans were wearing. And then I started speaking and I could not stop. A conversation would usually start the same way in French. 

“What’s your name ? Loren. How do you spell it?” 

“L-o-r-e-n.” 

“You could have put an accent on it!”  

“No. Like the actress, Sophia Loren.”  

People could question my name but soon they would not question my power. I wanted to be as powerful as The Venavis. 

Their duality, their charisma. A stance without a word. Mighty. Influential. They could tell a wooded story. In heavy elegant silence, they hold momentum. 

The 2000’s came with time for me to learn how to make the same statement without uttering a word. If the twins cannot teach me, I will find another way. 

I am now a trained actress.  I can carry a story with the heaviest leather mask on my face or the tiniest mask in the world—my red lipstick. If I started telling other people’s stories, I could make sense of the twins’ story. If I was up on my feet and never stopped moving, embodying otherness, they will start moving and tell me why they were much more valuable than me. 

If I looked into tragic stories, or contemporary musings, if I had the most rigorous training,  diving into the purest form of performance, I could make sense of their authenticity. 

Cotonou, 2019. My grandmother is now serene, a faint smile on her face. The frenzy under her skin had gone. Crawled back inside her heart. It made way for an unshakeable knowing. An immovable presence by her side —The Venavis. Force of nature, not a wrinkle, not a dent. Just greasy mouths corners. Holders of Secrets. Regal. Their stories still untold. Listeners. I believe a training at your drama school can empower me to be a better listener, a vessel just like the Venavis. 

One day, if there’s any water left, I will make sure the twins have water before me.