A true life Story, Enjoy it
Ifeoma

Will you judge me after I’ve narrated my story? I hope you won’t! As an undergraduate in the university, I’d judged girls who got laid during the three-week orientation camp of the NYSC I pride myself in self-dignity and believed I couldn’t give myself out cheaply to any man, especially after I had learnt the hard way.

I was deceived in my first year in the university by a final year student who capitalised on my naïvety and ignorance on matters of love and relationship. He used his honey-coated tongue, whispered countless promises into my ears and coaxed me into believing that he loved and would marry me. I thought I had found the love of my life the way mum met dad in her first year in school. Before I could say ‘Jack Robinson’, he’d snuck under my panties, stolen my virginity, and disappeared immediately he received his NYSC call-up letter. I didn’t even know the state he was posted to. He blocked me from all his social media accounts. I learnt the hard way and put on an iron pant after that bitter experience. Sadly, my iron pants didn’t last long.

I became a born-again Christian and a worker in my church. I did the Lord’s work under the oversight of Pastor Lere, a young, smart, and brilliant student pastor who was at the helm of affairs of the campus chapter of the church. He helped students overcome their challenges by assisting them financially, morally and spiritually. He advised students like me, who had been deceived, jilted and heartbroken, on relationships and our lives in general. Before long, I fell in love with Lere. By the second semester of our sophomore year, we had started dating. We dated till my final year even though we barely had sex. I was not a sex freak like majority of the students in my school- Olabisi Onabanjo University.

One fateful black Saturday, after a house fellowship in Lere’s house, I got an urgent call from my mum that my dad was ill and I had to leave early rather than linger for a couple of hours or more as usual. I travelled to my family at Ibadan, which was less than forty-five 45 minutes by road from Ago-Iwoye. I got to my hostel and threw a few belongings into one of my bags and set out for the garage to take a bus home.

Pain welled up in my heart when I got home to find that my dad had suffered a heart attack. I tried my best in assisting my dad with prayers as the doctors battled to save his life. The attack proved stronger and tougher than my prayers because it took my dad’s life two days later. Exams were around the corner so I had to return to school while dad’s corpse was kept at the morgue pending the time his relatives in the village would plan the burial. His body had to be taken to our hometown, Igbo Ukwu in Anambra, for burial. On returning to school, I went straight to Lere’s house hoping for some soothing words.

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