Little Rot by Akwaeke Emezi

Little Rot by Akwaeke Emezi

Author:Akwaeke Emezi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Faber and Faber
Published: 2024-09-15T00:00:00+00:00


eight

​Saturday, 12:45 PM

Ola stared into her mirror, her hands careful as she painted a deep-plum lipstick over her full mouth.

Next to the deep glossy dark brown of her skin, her lips looked like a swollen flower, her face a hooded garden. Ola never chose bright colors like pink or coral even though she knew they’d stand out against her skin. That look was too garish for her; she preferred to be rich and matte and luxurious with her makeup, wines and nudes and occasional shimmering metal over her flawless skin. Taking a step back in the hotel bathroom, Ola tilted her face and studied her reflection, the way her eyes were black pools fringed in mink, the hint of cruelty in her bones. She’d never been interested in pretending to be something soft—she knew her beauty was stark and alarming, and she welcomed it. Her dark skin, the lush pillows of her lips, and even her flared nostrils all added up to a face people didn’t always know how to look at. But Ola looked, because she’d taught herself how to.

Some things on her face she’d had to surgically change—her jaw, her chin—because she’d felt they were too masculine, like she couldn’t find the woman she was in them, only what other people saw. But things that advertised her Blackness? Ola wasn’t interested in cutting them away. She never cared when some of the girls challenged her on this, saying if she really felt that way, she wouldn’t wear weave, she’d rock her natural hair.

“Don’t be stupid,” she’d say. “No one can look at this face and this skin and think I’m trying to be anything other than Black as fuck, Nigerian as fuck, African as fuck.” She knew they were all jealous. Girls like her weren’t supposed to look this way and still get to where she’d gotten to.

Ola smiled a petty smile at the mirror, her eyes glittering, and slipped her lipstick into her purse. She smoothed down the silk of her blouse, then ran both hands behind her neck, lifting and fluffing out the weight of black curls that dropped to her waist. It was good to be winning. She checked her teeth for lipstick and hoped that whoever Souraya’s guy was would keep her entertained for the afternoon. With any luck, he’d even be a new client for the girl. Ola always worried that Souraya didn’t work as much as she could, that she spent too much time in her flat doing God knows what. “But what do we work for?” Souraya would say in response. “Isn’t it so we can enjoy ourselves, do what we like? That’s what I’m doing now.”

Ola frowned at the thought. There was no security in slowing down like that, not unless you had savings upon savings, property, things that meant that when you stopped you would never have to go back. Investments. One day she was going to disappear, use her money to reinvent herself, then pop back up with



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