One man's instruction is another's suggestion

For example.
I was recently asked to write a monologue. You know, person talking alone to an audience.
Ha.
Here's what I wrote instead:

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Nnwaneka told her mum that Frank was planning to propose.

Her mum said, “How big is the diamond?”

She didn’t know, so she asked her bestie what ring Frank had decided on.

She forwarded the reply to her mum without looking, “Let something of the surprise be real.”

Her mum humphed and said, “I melu ofuma, you did well. It’s massive,” then she blew her a kiss and hung up the phone.

She missed that woman.

Later, Frank led her into the restaurant. It was empty, save for the waiters, and it was quiet, save for Etta James.

When he knelt, she let a tear drop. When he asked, she let her hands flutter. When he slid the ring on, she said yes.

She didn’t stay over that night, something about New Beginnings. He didn’t insist. He told her he loved her with his words, and she said it back with her eyes.

“You’ve made me the happiest man in the world!”

“Also the cheesiest,” she laughed.

Her mum was away; the house was quiet. She took off her Tiffany-blue Lanvin dress and kicked off her Nicholas Kirkwood heels. She broke open her La Prairie box and gave herself a mini facial. She unpacked her new Apple TV thing, got bored when she encountered manuals, flopped down on her bed and heard a loud crack. She lifted her duvet to confirm that she had indeed broken yet another iPad.

She tossed it onto the carpeted floor with a hiss. A trip to the Apple store was due anyway; she was so over her blackberry bold touch.

Nwanneka couldn’t sleep.

She padded over to her mum’s room and sat at her dressing table. She piled on her gold necklaces and pretended she was a kid again, drooling over her mother’s jewellery and waiting for the day she would grow up to be just like her. When that got boring she walked over to the bookshelf for something to read; at least she couldn’t break a paperback with her bum. What she found instead were her mother’s old journals.

February 3, 1978

I have stopped working, so I have started writing. Di m said I don’t have to work anymore. Have to? I enjoy my work. He said, “nonsense, nke m. No woman wants to have to work for money, and no wife of mine should have to.”

When Nwanneka was eight, she went to her papa and told him that Emeka had called her useless.

“How did he say it?” Papa asked.

“He said the boys did not want to play with me because I’m just a useless girl.”

“Is that all? Girls should not behave like men. Go to your mother in the kitchen.” So she went.

In the kitchen Nwanneka said, “Mummy, why are girls useless?”

Her mum didn’t answer.

After her husband had gone to bed, Nwanneka’s mum went into her daughter’s room.

“Mum?”

“Shh,” she said, “listen. Don’t ever let any man tell you you’re useless, do you hear?” Then she slid a notebook under her pillow and kissed her goodnight.

Nwanneka didn’t understand, but she read the notebook.

When she finished it her mum gave her another one, and another one.

January 10, 1984

Di m has been cheating. Confused. I said to him, “have I done anything wrong?” He said no. He said, “Nwunye m, I love you, but I’m only human. I’ll make it up to you,” and he bought me a pair of Italian leather shoes. I get new shoes to celebrate his infidelity? Mama said, “It’s his way of saying he’s sorry, nwa m, stop complaining.” Okay.

March 23, 1985

One year since he was last only human, and he has gone and done it again. Ogini? Is my vagina too big to carry his penis after carrying his three sons?

He laughed. He said, “Nke m, your vagina is beautiful.” Then he showed me. Then he bought me a gold set. For my beautiful vagina kwa, or for his humanity?

Mama saw my earrings at papa’s birthday. She said, “ah, so beautiful. You’re very lucky!” I didn’t tell her what they were for.

September 19, 1985

I have a new car. It’s the new Jetta. Di m got me a driver to match. I have learnt to deal with his human nature; it yields many gifts. He said since I am pregnant for his fourth son, I cannot be driving myself. I didn’t complain.

December 8, 1985

It’s a girl.

When Nwanneka was sixteen she decided she hated her mother. She stopped reading the journals and forgot she wasn’t a boy.

Papa reminded her.

It was the long vacation and the boys were home. They were sharing stories about America – ‘Yankee’ – and papa was nodding on, proudly.

It sounded so beautiful, so different from Enugu, so she told papa she wanted to go to school in America too.

She knew she had done something wrong when the room went silent, but she didn’t understand until he called her mother by her proper name. “Adanna!”

“You mean nke m?” Nwanneka whispered, but no one heard.

Papa accused his wife of raising a daughter who did not understand her place in life.

“That I should spend so much money to send a girl to school!”

He made his wife apologise in front of her children, then he slapped her to drive the point home – but only once; papa was not a violent man.

Adanna went into her daughter’s room that night and heard her sobbing into her pillow. She held her until the sobs subsided. She kissed her on the forehead and gave her a notebook.

July 27, 2001

Di m said, “You know I only did it for the boys.” I didn’t answer him. “Nke m, my love,” I turned my face. Then he started crying, “I’ve never hit you in my life! Can’t you see? They needed to learn!”

Tears, eh? He will cry gold.

For her seventeenth birthday, papa gave Nwanneka a new wardrobe as a reward for her good behaviour.

“It’s for Lagos,” he said, “Better represent your papa well at university, o!”

After he left for work, her mother smiled, put in her Madonna cassette, and they did their chores to the sound of Material Girl.

Nwanneka’s mum got them a house in Lekki by some stellar behaviour of her own. Phase one, too – after all, everything after that is Ajah. Papa liked the sound of it; other people had second houses in the village, but his was in Lagos!

His new mansion made him prone to more human mistakes – which he compensated generously for – and after graduation her mum all but moved to Lagos. Papa didn’t visit much anymore.

Her mum opened a store in Ikoyi, selling lace and gold. She was working again, a long way from Independence Layout, Enugu.

***

Nwanneka woke up to her mother’s humming and opened her eyes to find that she’d fallen asleep in her room, with the journals around her.

“You’re awake, eh? I thought you’d passed out from too much celebrating. Biko, let me see that rock in the daylight.”

Nwanneka laughingly extended her hand.

Her mum smiled, then picked up her iPod and pressed play. She pulled her daughter up to dance as Madonna’s voice blared from the speakers.

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Needless to say, this won't work. 
I got some interesting characters out of it though, and I would appreciate any comments anyone has on the actual writing. (There! There's a monologue.)
Also, can anyone guess what I was originally asked to write about? A truly fun game for anyone who's reading.