My Sister, the Serial Killer

“For the average male, this wouldn’t be all that peculiar—but this man was meticulous. His bookshelf was arranged alphabetically by author. His bathroom was stocked with the full range of cleaning supplies; he even bought the same brand of disinfectant as I did. And his kitchen shone. Ayoola seemed out of place here—a blight in an otherwise pure existence.”

Korede perceives Femi as a thoughtful, organized man, a perception that will haunt her. Femi, in fact, in Korede’s eyes is the type of man who could like Korede; his shining kitchen and the shared brand of disinfectant prove this. Her evaluation of Femi foreshadows Tade’s reaction to her sister and Korede’s surprise at Tade’s shallowness. The otherwise beautiful Ayoola is out of place in his clean apartment, and she has brought death with her.  

“Ayoola is draped across my bed in her pink lace bra and black lace thong. She is incapable of practical underwear. Her leg is dangling off one end, her arm dangling off the other. Hers is the body of a music video vixen, a scarlet woman, a succubus. It belies her angelic face.”

Korede’s description of Ayoola, almost naked and in an alluring pose, shows us how much Korede, probably subconsciously, resents what her sister represents. She uses gradation in imagery (from a model to a seductress to a fiend) and contrasts images of a succubus (a seductive female demon) with an angel to emphasize how much Ayoola’s looks contrast with what she is on the inside. Her outer beauty covers a sadistic interior.   

“Her eyes go dark and she begins to twirl her dreadlocks.

‘These days, you look at me like I’m a monster.’ Her voice is so low, I can barely hear her.

‘I don’t think you’re—’

‘This is victim shaming, you know … ’

Victim? Is it mere coincidence that Ayoola has never had a mark on her, from any of these incidents with these men; not even a bruise? What does she want from me? What does she want me to say?”

Ayoola and Korede have been wrestling for dominance in a power play since they were children. Korede is older, more organized, and protective, but Ayoola is manipulative, vain, and without morality. Ayoola subverts reality by calling herself a victim, even though she is the murderer, and blames her sister for seeing her as a “monster,” as though Korede has victimized her by seeing what’s real. Korede reacts defensively. She questions Ayoola’s motivations in her mind but never openly to her sister. Keeping Ayoola’s terrible secret keeps her in a subservient position.

“She doesn’t sense my presence—she has her back to me and is thrusting her hips from side to side, her bare feet stroking the white fur rug as she steps this way and that. Her movements are in no way rhythmical; they are the movements of someone who has no audience and no self-consciousness to shackle them. Days ago, we gave a man to the sea, but here she is, dancing.”

Korede positions herself as a voyeur, which reflects her persistent questioning of who her sister really is, which is ultimately unknowable even to Korede. Ayoola’s dancing to a happy pop song is further proof of her lack of remorse, empathy, or conscience.

“And we enjoyed the moment when he would bring out the knife with a flourish, his guests instinctively shrinking back. He always laughed, encouraging them to examine the weapon. As they oohed and aahed, he nodded, reveling in their admiration. Inevitably, someone would ask the question he was waiting for—‘Where did you get it?’—and he would look at the knife as though seeing it for the first time, rotating it until it caught the light, before he launched into whichever tale he thought best for his audience.”

Their father’s obsession with his ceremonial knife foreshadows Ayoola’s using it to kill. She not only behaves similarly to their father, as Korede observes, but also takes a further step forward from serial abuser to murderer. The image of the children and the guest in awe of the weapon, which he handles almost erotically—those present are both attracted to and repelled by it—is one of Father’s ruthless games. It is also a power play; Father’s deliberate handling of the knife is reminiscent of a cat playing with a mouse. 

“It is Muhtar’s file. There is nothing of note in it. He hasn’t gotten better or worse. The time when they will make the call is drawing nearer. I twist my head to get another look at Muhtar. He is at peace, and I envy him that. Every time I close my eyes I see a dead man. I wonder what it would be like to see nothing again.”

Korede’s relationship with Muhtar is complex: While he is in a coma, she uses him as a surrogate confessor, a receptacle into which she can spill her concerns, her jealousies, and insecurities, not expecting him to awaken. She believes that he is at peace because she needs to believe it and because she misses the state. Korede also at times experiences Muhtar’s comatose condition as preferable to dealing with her own everyday reality.  

“‘You’re Korede’s sister?’ Yinka squeaks. I can see her trying to make the connection, measuring Ayoola’s looks against mine. The resemblance is there—we share the same mouth, the same eyes—but Ayoola looks like a Bratz doll and I resemble a voodoo figurine.”

Subtle yet effective use of diction in this quote emphasizes just how beautiful Ayoola is and how ordinary Korede feels. Yinka “squeaks” her question, betraying not just shock at their sisterhood but also her own sense of sudden inadequacy in Ayoola’s presence. The author underlines the point by stressing the clear resemblance between sisters, and gives us Korede’s wry and cynical take on just how cruel that passing resemblance is when she stands next to Ayoola. Both present as dolls: one a children’s toy, the other a magical weapon. 

“Secondary school can be cruel. The boys would write lists of those who had a figure eight—like a Coca-Cola bottle—and those who had a figure one—like a stick. They would draw pictures of girls and exaggerate their best or worst features and tack them on the school notice board for the world to see—at least until the teachers took the pictures down, tearing them from the pins, an act that left a little shred of paper stuck like a taunt.”

The author intentionally uses the image of a Coca-Cola bottle to imply curves because in a relatively poor African country such as Nigeria, soft drinks coming from America represent something exotic and expensive. The process of boys’ displaying their “grading” for everyone to see invites vanity on the one hand and shame on the other, which is what establishes the girls’ hierarchy.  

“(Why have a painting of the house you live in, hanging inside said house?)

As a child I would go stand before it and wish myself inside. I imagined that our alternates were living within its watercolor walls. I dreamt that laughter and love lay beyond the green lawn, inside the white columns and the heavy oak door.”

The child Korede observes the replicated, painted house as potential for a different reality made up of joy and love; things in her ‘true’ reality are far from acceptable. The grown-up Korede questions her father’s flaunting his new, criminally acquired riches as well as his taste. 

“‘Do you like him?’

‘That’s really not the point. I don’t think you should be seeing anyone right now.’

‘I told you I had to do it. I told you.’

‘I think you should just take a little break.’

‘If you want him for yourself, just say so.’ She pauses, giving me time to stake my claim. ‘Besides, he isn’t all that different from the rest of them, you know.’

‘What are you talking about?’ He is different. He is kind and sensitive. He sings to children.’

‘He isn’t deep. All he wants is a pretty face. That’s all they ever want.’”

This dialogue between the two sisters shows how many unspoken thoughts accompany a seemingly simple exchange. Korede refuses to admit openly to her sister that she is in love with Tade, although her thoughts on his merits make that clear. Ayoola’s reply to Korede’s suggestion not to see anyone, outwardly a non sequitur, is in fact her answer to an unspoken accusation she reads into Korede’s intention. Ayoola’s assessment of Tade, which proves to be all too accurate, provokes Korede’s disbelief and jealousy, which will echo through the novel. 

“Femi haunts me; he intrudes upon my thoughts uninvited. He forces me to doubt what I thought I understood. I wish he would leave me alone, but his words—his way of expressing himself—and his beauty set him apart from the others. And then there is her behavior. The last two times, at least she shed a tear.”

The first two times Ayoola killed someone, Korede believed the story of self-defense. Femi’s death becomes a moment of no return: Her sister is officially a serial killer, and Femi does not fit the profile of a man who would brutalize Ayoola, or anyone. Doubt is already a devastating thing for Korede to feel, but now she also faces Ayoola’s lack of remorse. This coldness reminds her of their father, and there is not much room for faith if Ayoola is like him. 

“You know, men are very fickle. Give them what they want and they will do anything for you. Keep your hair long and glossy or invest in good weaves; cook for him and send the food to his home and his office. Stroke his ego in front of his friends and treat them well for his sake. Kneel down for his parents and call them on important days. Do these things and he will put a ring on your finger, fast fast.”

According to Aunty Taiwo, men’s ostensibly inconsistent and untamable nature will bow down only before women’s total submission and dedication to men’s needs. Taiwo characterizes the most dangerous part of hegemonic patriarchy: Women’s internalized acceptance of male-centered rituals, which include the idea that the only way for a woman is to get married fast and well.  

“‘Ayoola, if you go to jail—’

‘Only the guilty go to jail.’

‘First of all, that’s not true. Second of all, you killed a man.’

‘Defending myself; the judge will understand that, right?’ She pats her cheeks with blusher. Ayoola lives in a world where things must always go her way. It’s a law as certain as the law of gravity.”

Ayoola lives in an alternate reality where her beauty and her charm trump everything else—and always has. Nigerian society is inherently patriarchal in nature; men dictate the laws and decide when to apply them. In such a society, possessing such an unusually pretty and “angelic” woman will be more important than the crimes she might have committed. This logic is why Ayoola is able to maintain, even for herself, the fiction that she is the victim and never to be blamed for anything: The image of her speaking those words and putting on fake blush is satirical and even cynical; Ayoola knows no shame.  

“That’s how it has always been. Ayoola would break a glass, and I would receive the blame for giving her the drink. Ayoola would fail a class, and I would be blamed for not coaching her. Ayoola would take an apple and leave the store without paying for it, and I would be blamed for letting her get hungry.”

For Korede, there is no other way but to support and protect her sister. Because of Korede’s plainness and her older age, Mother perceives Korede as the responsible one and Ayoola as brittle and exquisite. Korede is blamed for Ayoola’s mistakes and bad behavior; Ayoola has no agency of her own. 

“‘You’re not the only one suffering, you know. You act like you are carrying this big thing all by yourself, but I worry too.’

‘Do you? ’Cause the other day, you were singing I Believe I Can Fly.’

Ayoola shrugs. ‘It’s a good song.’

I try not to scream. More and more, she reminds me of him. He could do a bad thing and behave like a model citizen right after. As though the bad thing had never happened. Is it in the blood? But his blood is my blood and my blood is hers.”

Ayoola is manipulative; although she depends on Korede to help her, she also wants to maintain the upper hand. Ayoola negates Korede’s experience of anxiety and suffering because she observed Korede engaging in one pleasurable act; if Korede does one thing to show she isn’t thinking about the murders, it somehow excuses Ayoola’s complete nonchalance. Korede asks one of the key questions in the novel: If this absence of conscience is inherited, and if Ayoola has it, does that imply that Korede herself is the same? As Tade notes elsewhere, Korede’s protection of Ayoola is also a form of deep moral blindness. 

“The more he talks, the more I realize that I am a maga—a fool who has been taken advantage of. Gboyega is not the problem, he is just another man, another person being used by Ayoola. If anything, he should be pitied. I want to tell him how much we have in common, though he boasts of the things he has done for her while I begin to resent the things that I have done. In solidarity, and to get him to be quiet, I offer him some cake.”

Korede realizes how much she has in common with Ayoola’s suitors (and potential victims), which enables her, for the first time, to question her relationship with Ayoola more objectively. Korede helps Ayoola because she decides to do so while the men who Ayoola ensnares are not aware of the trap. Even though Korede considers herself a fool, she still chooses to protect Ayoola, which shows that she is not really free from her spell either.

“‘You’re her sister, you’re supposed to be on her side.’

‘I’m always on her side. It’s just that…she has many sides. Not all of them as pretty as the one that you see … ’

This is you being on her side, is it? She told me that you treat her like she is a monster, and I didn’t believe her.’

His words strike like arrows. He was my friend. Mine. He sought my counsel and my company. But now he looks at me as though I were a stranger and I hate him for it.”

Korede’s dilemma is whether she will prevent Ayoola from killing again, especially when Ayoola has Tade in her sights. Since Tade is helplessly in love with Ayoola, he fails to see Korede’s warning for what it really is: an expression of deep affection. Once again, Ayoola’s charm and beauty trump Korede’s honesty. Tade, once her friend, now treats her as though he doesn’t know her. 

“She jumps up and leaves Tade and me in the room together. I don’t want to look at him, so I stare out the window at the washed-out scenery. The streets in the estate are empty; everyone has taken refuge indoors. In the Western world you can walk or dance in the rain, but here, the rain will drown you.”

The torrential rain here stands not only for the barrage of trouble Ayoola’s killings provoke but also for the way the broken political and social system in Nigeria encourages corruption. Everyone takes refuge indoors, where private matters, like murders and abuse, take place without interference from the authorities.  

“I feel a strong urge to confess to her, to tell her what happened to her brother so that she won’t have to go through life wondering. I think up the words in my head—Sorry, my sister stabbed him in the back and I masterminded throwing his body in the water. I think of how it would sound. I think of what would happen after.”

Faced with Femi’s sister and her grief, Korede suffers a crisis of faith in her sister and herself. Unlike Ayoola, Korede feels directly responsible for what has happened, and she carries the weight of both her responsibility and Ayoola’s. She is still, however, unable to verbalize the truth about her sister; her indoctrinated belief in the need to protect Ayoola is too deep.  

“‘No, because we are hardwired to protect and remain loyal to the people we love. Besides, no one is innocent in this world. Why, go up to your maternity ward! All those smiling parents and their newborns? Murderers and victims. Every one of them. ‘The most loving parents and relatives commit murder with smiles on their faces. They force us to destroy the person we really are: a subtle kind of murder.’”

As once he was a passive recipient of her confessions, now, awake, Muhtar attempts to absolve Korede of her sin of silence. He notes that the murders began with their parents—as many parents do, intentionally and unintentionally—murdered the people Korede and Ayoola could have become. 

“My body is exhausted, but my mind is working overtime, remembering and plotting and second-guessing. I am more haunted by her actions than she is. We may have escaped punishment, but our hands are no less bloody. We lie in our bed, in relative comfort even as Femi’s body is succumbing to the water and the fish. I am tempted to shake Ayoola awake, but what good would it do? Even if I succeeded in rousing her, she would tell me that it would all be fine and promptly go back to sleep.”

Korede’s dilemma of whether she should be facing up to her own responsibilities, waking Ayoola up to her own role, or accepting the harsh reality of their apparent legal imperviousness and moral bankruptcy, is almost Shakespearian. Faced with profound lack of humane care for others in almost everyone she is in contact with, Korede feels the weight of her own responsibility, “haunted” like Lady Macbeth after the murders. Korede is ultimately a tragic character, defined by her own conditioning, with no internal resources to change.  

“‘She tried to kill me! You can’t … ’ He blinks at me, as though seeing me for the first time. ‘You’re worse than she is.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘There’s something wrong with her…but you? What’s your excuse?’ He walks away from me then in disgust.

I sit in the corridor outside the operating theater and wait for news.”

Korede has attempted to save Tade’s life, and now, albeit unintentionally, he has the opportunity to help her save hers. He does so by questioning how deep sisterly protection should go, arguing that the enabling Korede may actually be the more morally compromised of the two. Also, Ayoola is insane, but Korede is rational. She has no good answer for Tade’s question.

“I haven’t seen him since the day it happened. He was placed on suspension as soon as she accused him, so I don’t know what he is thinking or feeling. But I don’t much care. She was right. You have to choose a side, and my lot was cast long ago. She will always have me and I will always have her; no one else matters.”

Korede has finally made her decision, and it’s not a rational one. The phrase “my lot was cast long ago” indicates she has still not taken the full responsibility for her choices. When compared to Korede’s loyalty to her sister, the thoughts and feelings of Tade, the man she loved, become irrelevant.