do4luv14:


Wait them don unban you

I had to Mail the mods of this section, when I saw your post

Okay, thank you so much. Let me home this episode will not be deleted again

Four

Ife

Madness had caught up with understanding girlfriend.

Even a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, the evil villain was a Career tenor singer. An idiot with a beautiful, structured jawbone and skin that looked like you could strike a match and it would spark a light. The evil villain was the man who just slowed his car beside me and was now calling my name from his wound-down window.

Boma Sintel.

“Ife, wait nau,” he said, rolling his car forward as I hastened my steps to get away from him.

“Ifenkili...”

Thunder from Afghanistan fire you there.

“Bernie...”

Bernie kill you there.

“Wait nau.”

I could hear the irritation in his voice but. I didn’t care. I wished he would choke with my name in his throat.

“Oya, enter the car let me drop you wherever you are going to.”

I couldn’t help the laughter that erupted from my mouth. Nice try, Boma. Nice try. But no. Even if I was walking through the valleys and shadows of death, I’d never sit my ass inside this fowl’s car. I’d rather die than accept any help from this idiot who made me date myself for years.

“Where are you going by the way?” he asked, slowly following me

To meet a man who is much better than you, Afo anu.

Yes, you heard me right. Preye might be authoritative, even a bit patriarchal and egocentric—the little time I spent with him gave me a hint, but he was a thousand times the man Boma wasn’t. He knew what he wanted and wasn’t playing games about his feelings.

He liked me. He wanted a relationship with me. In return, he was going to shower me with every care a church baddie—I hope there was something like that, who desired a soft life, wanted.

Ale warned me that I should watch out for red flags after I told her about Preye’s authoritativeness. But come on, I could handle the guy. Besides, my own no too good too. I was stubborn and heady, my mouth could run like a damaged tap when I got angry. Preye was the kind of man who could handle me.

Boma tried sha. In fact, our relationship was going smoothly until he started distancing himself from me. At first, I thought it was because of his job. He was a professional classical singer who needed time to rehearse and exercise for an upcoming show at the government’s house. But when that was over and he wasn’t still speaking to me unless I called him first, neither was he responding to my WhatsApp messages even when he would be online all night, I complained to his friends. But they said I should be patient with him because he was going through a lot of pressure from his family. They said his father was sick.

His father was sick and he didn’t even bother to tell me himself! Why then was I his girlfriend?

They made me feel terrible for not being caring enough to know about his stress. So, I decided to give him space even though my clingy self kicked against it. But I kept sending him messages though. Self-help texts;

Good morning, sunshine.
Let this day bring you everything beautiful.
Tell me what to do to help ease your stress.
The Lord is by your side, you’ll come out of this a better man…

The bvnkvm was busy replying ‘amen’ to all my wishes. Eating the food which I was bringing to his house on weekends like every understanding girlfriend, who wanted to take care of her man, would do.

Two months later, this nwa banza posted a picture of a girl on his Facebook page and captioned it “My wife.”

Guyyyyyssss, I stared at that photo for two hours and the girl in it wasn’t me!

I didn’t believe what was happening until I called one of his friends to confirm it and that one developed speech impairment.

It took me almost a year to recover and stop cursing Boma and his friends who ran me street. I wished he could slip and fall and die, that he would swallow one of those mics he sang with and choke to death and that he would develop menstrual cramps that would never go away.

To make matters worse, Judie, his elder sister that I connected with on Facebook had the effrontery to slide into my DM to tell me trash;

“You have been a nice woman to my brother. It’s unfortunate that he impregnated this girl and had to marry her...”

Ah! Haddiiibeeeennnn I knew her personally, and that she was standing before me that moment, I would have given her a dirty slap.

Anyway, Thank God he left the church and disappeared to God knows where. That helped my healing. But...but...my God would Judge him for what he did to me.See ehn, On the Judgement Day, na only God go sidon. Every other person go stand tire because of the case between me and Boma. It would be a longggg judgement day.

“I have been following you for close to fifteen minutes and it’s becoming embarrassing. Enter the car let’s talk,” Boma said. “Is your leg not paining you—walking on those heels?”

Yes. My legs hurt and I feared I might grow muscles, AKA yams at the back of my legs. But I’d prefer that a million times.

“Where are you heading to sef?” he asked again.

To where my mechanic was waiting for me to come pick up my car. I was supposed to meet Preye at a friend’s house opening party. He had offered to come pick me up, but I declined, claiming I didn’t want to bother him, while the truth was that attending the party with my car would make me independent of him. I would be able to excuse myself and drive back home when I felt I’d had enough.
I might be an extrovert, a crazy, jolly lady. But I hated parties.

It always baffled people when I told them I felt lost and useless at parties, but that was the truth. Especially when I wasn’t in the company of my gang.

“Come on, nau. Ifenkili be reasonable,” Boma said with irritation. Stopping his car. I turned to stare at him.

Disgusting, I thought. He looked so washed, so faded. What happened to him?

And how did I ever manage to date this Oporo-crayfish?

Chai, Ifenkili you don dated things in this life o. How did I even manage to stick to this guy all the while we were together? I saw the sign o. I did. But I didn’t realize it early enough.

You know how the body of a woman gave clear signs when it was rejecting a romantic partner? I had those. Acne, inflammation, puffiness, weight gain in one week and becoming too skinny the next week. Anxiety, bloating, constipation, hormonal imbalances, low energy, becoming less attractive...anything that was related to chronic stress that wasn’t present before.

It became clear he was a weapon formed against me the moment I started getting over him and there was an inevitable “glow up” happening in and around me over time.

Truly, sometimes, the root cause of one’s health problems could be one thorn of a person hanging around one like a bone stuck in the throat.

My relationship with Boma made me mutter ‘God abeg’ a million times.

As I turned back and continued walking, I heard him swear loudly.

“You know what? Go to hell, ugly duckling,” he shouted after me.

I smiled at the frustration that coloured his voice. Not bothered that he called me ugly and a duckling. I might be anything in the world but not ugly.

Boma knew this.

My phone vibrated and I fished it out of my bag.

“Madam, I don dey wait since, where you dey nau?”

“I am close, where are you parked...oh, I’ve seen you.”

In a few minutes, I was inside my car and heading to the party, with a satisfying smile on my lips.

It took me another fifteen minutes to get there.

I was ushered into the large sitting room where a handful of people were already meeting and greeting.

The celebrant must be a simple person because I could count just twelve guests. The music wasn’t loud either.

“Thank you,” I said to the drink server who brought a rack of 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘴 my way and waited for me to pick one.

“There are small chops too,” he said. “Over there. And food at the dining. Just go over there and make your choice.”

“Thank you,” I said again, clanging the drink open and sipping, while my eyes roamed in search of Preye.

He was nowhere in sight.

Was I too early?

But when he called while I was still dressing up, he said he was there already.

I took another sip out of the canned drink. Hmm, this drink would go well with some balls of puff-puff.

I was halfway towards the confectionary stand when a giggle filtered into my ears. Then a familiar male laughter, followed by several more giggles.

I turned towards the sound and almost choked on my drink.

W-wait...wait a minute. Who on Jesus’ saved by the previous blood earth was that?

I-I knew that guy.

No, I didn’t.

I did. Of course, I did.

“Brother Oghene,” I whispered. Giving him a slow look over, wondering who announced the second coming of Jesus to make him baff up this good; his hair was trimmed, and so was his beard. In black Parachute cargo pants styled with a flannel white shirt and Air Jordan 1 Mid sneakers, he held the attention of two ladies standing with him while looking like their answered prayer.

Jesus, the son of David, he looked so sweet! What? Was that the bro Oghene I knew?

“O’boy eh, who is that guy?” A feminine voice breathed behind me.

I turned to see three ladies, each with a saucer and a fork, ready to pick some chops from
themselves.

“Which guy?” one of them asked.

“The one in a white Tee. Over there, he is standing with Nne and Rose,” The one that spoke first asked.

“Oh, That’s Oghene. My brother’s friend,” The youngest of them said with little interest while filling her saucer with puffs and samosas.

“Is he married?” The first-to-speak one asked.

“My dear, e reach to ask o. He dey enter my eye o,” the second one added with a giggle that I found rather infuriating.

“Look at him...So cute

And just like that, my brain left me and started thinking wetin I no send am. For the first time in years, I saw him. I saw Oghene; his smile, his laughter, his eyes...oh, they were beauti

...And his skin, had they always been that smooth and rich brown and, and mehn...the guy fine sha.

“And look at those ladies, parading themselves around him as if he was some wife-hungry, womanizing skeeze, which he’s not by the way,” the youngest of the ladies behind me said with a puff in her mouth.

“I’d let him womanize me anyway, any day of the week.” the first one said.

Really? Did they know who he was—a mechanic with a thick Warri accent, a church boy who could be just too nice for them? “What a simp,” I muttered, not knowing if it was Jealousy that other women were finding him irresistible or because he was actually looking like a ready candy I’d love to pop into my mouth, that was making me burn inside.

“He’s quite nice.” The young one who claimed he was her brother’s friend said.

Biscuit are nice, I thought. And Oghene, no matter how cute he looked, was a biscuit. Not tough at all. I doubted if he could even handle a woman...like me. A woman like me.
Why did that even matter

Jesus, why was I imagining the both of us in a relationship?

“So, is he married?” The first-to-speak- one asked the younger one.

“No—”

“Yes—” I interrupted, shocking them and myself. “He’s married with six children. And his wife is currently pregnant. The doctor said she’s even carrying triplets. Triplet in her stomach.” The words rushed out of my mouth before I could get hold of myself. It was their uncomfortable silence that knocked the sense back into my head. The way they were looking at me, Ah! What was wrong with me?

“Eh, I didn’t know he’s married,” the youngest of them said carefully, still giving me a suspicious stare. “Chukwudi my brother didn’t tell me.”

“Oh, ehm...” Ifenkili. What the hell was wrong with you? What demon had just possessed you? “I mean... he...he...” Well, he was my church member and these ladies, had no good intention towards him. I knew their type, extravagant baddies in search of innocent men who would bankroll their lifestyles.

Oghene wasn’t their kind of Guy. He was soft and, kind and always wanting to please ladies. He didn't even have money—the kind that would sponsor their frivolities. They would squeeze blood and water out of him.

“Why are you even concerned?”
Because, because…he is my brother in Christ, right?
“A brother who you have been giving cold treatments for years even when you know how he feels about you?”
Ehn, even though upon still.

“Are you sure?” The first-to-speak one asked.

“Y-no. I don’t...excuse me,” I said, dropping the saucer in my hand and was about to walk off when my eyes caught his. He was looking at me, his lips curled in that shy, unsure smile I knew him with, and the next thing that happened shocked and worried me. It was like I was fainting in the middle of a desert, and he was my hallucination singing to me before I took my final breath.

Jesus! Was I supposed to feel that way?

Impossible! Impossible!

Where was Preye sef?

Oghene no gree for Ife ooo

Sorry guys. I had to break the episode into 2 to avoid it being flagged again. I guess it works, hopefully

do4luv14:
Oghene no gree for Ife ooo

Oghene get soft heart o. Him fit consider

Rosemary33:
Oghene get soft heart o. Him fit consider

If oghene consider, i go find am go him house, flog am well well.

Wow...really interesting. I have a question, is this how women see men they like or is this an exaggeration?

silverlinen:


If oghene consider, i go find am go him house, flog am well well.

Ah-ah nau. No dey para for Bros Oghene

IkeIgboNiile:
Wow...really interesting. I have a question, is this how women see men they like or is this an exaggeration?

Make a lady answer o.

Five

Oghene

Egholo.

Love.

This was why I thought it wasn’t for me;
once upon a time, I believed in love. Sure, I’d been hurt before, but I learned from the pain and decided to move on, determining that the next time I would fall in love, it would be with a woman who would give me the real thing. One year later, I met her. One pastor pikin like that—A pastor’s daughter. Fine geh. I knew there was something special, and I thought, “Let me do everything I can to make it right this time.”

She looked legit, but some weeks after I met her and was seriously considering rolling with her, I had a conversation with my mother in my dream, and she said to me, “Calm down, not all are God’s children.” When I woke up, I had no doubt that it was God speaking, but me I no gree o. I ready to make baba Godeh see reasons with me and change his mind, so I kept praying while waiting for a divine leading, an urge, that kine sign wain go make me know say God don finally reason my mata. That didn’t happen.

Yet everything seemed perfect about her.
So, I moved in. After all, no be everything God go chook mouth.

I was brave around her, like...I gallant. I was also vulnerable, and free, and open because I bin wan make she know me in and out. I tried to do everything right for her—for us because I didn’t want to lose her. I thought we were happy, that she meant it when she said she loved me. Until I found out how much she hated that I wasn’t as educated as she was, or rather, as her parents wanted me to be. She hated my work too. A poor mechanic who’d caressed more car engines than he’d done women. She started pressuring me to consider a better job. Something more dignifying. When I couldn’t, she started avoiding being seen with me.

Me I no be saint o. I wasn’t without blame too. I made mistakes. But one thing was sure, love made me blind, My head bin no dey my neck that time, so I didn’t see when it was over until that sad day she shouted at me.

“I don’t love you! I never will! Not when you’re always dressed like this...going about with tools in your pockets...fingering cars more than you do me. You have never even touched me like a man should touch a woman.”

I would have told her that if touching her in her most intimate places would make her stay with me, I was ready to commit that one sin and ask God for mercy later.

But touching no be the koko. Getting intimate with her wasn’t the problem. Her love for me was dead; that was if she ever did love me. Maybe na me dey even love her with everything in me and she couldn’t love me back no matter what I said or did.

It was heartbreaking to let her go. More painful to hear she was getting married to another man four months after our breakup.

Sitting at the last row of her father’s church’s pews and watching her say ‘I do,’ to another man was a terrible blow I had to heal from if I was going to love again.

It wasn’t easy. I swear, I for no attend that wedding, but that was the problem with men like me. Men that would do anything to prove that they were not angry with the women who hurt them so deeply, men that would rather blame themselves for everything that went wrong instead of holding their exes accountable.

I healed eventually.

But then, something don already crack inside me. I didn’t think I could love again. I wouldn’t want to risk it. It was too dangerous for my fragile heart. I thought the best thing to do was to close my heart like an out-of-business motor garage regardless of what anyone was saying to me. The emotional shutdown was going to be for a long but temporary moment, so, I could cane my lane, under normal concentration levels na. I channeled my energy into making more money and getting back to the man who I really was; a guy who just wanted to lead a quiet life.

But attraction had another plan for me. I met Ifenkili, dreamt about her and woke up with this crazy excitement that felt like my soul just came back to my body. The next time I saw her at her favorite sitting spot in church, I was like...
Hello...
You...

No, God, no, I wasn't doing that again.

I wasn’t going to allow another woman to have me on a grip mode. But I didn’t stop my eyes from staring too much, or my legs from approaching her while pushing the camera that was balancing on the tripod. Just that day, I noticed she had a way with people...they just liked her. And she could be snobbish too. I also noticed how nice and classy she dressed.

When our eyes locked and I smiled at her and she didn’t return the gesture, I told myself I wasn’t going to come any closer to say ‘hello, how e be you?’ But I would accidentally bump into her the next Sunday. She wouldn’t even notice I walked by since I happened to be among those she easily ignored.

The first time we spoke, she started the conversation.

“Do you think that lady sings like a frog crying for help,” she asked. It was one of those church crusades and I was standing by her side with the camera, pretending to be covering the program from there while I simply wanted to be that close to her.

“I think the program should just come to an end make everybody go sleep abeg,” I replied, and she nodded in agreement.

I for borrow sense and kawa. I should have walked away immediately, but I couldn’t. I just stood there, breathing her in like one would the sweet scent of an aromatic incense that was being sampled at The Next Cash and Carry supermarket. The more I breathed the more she entered my head like the smell of my mama Ukhodo—a yam and unripe plantain dish which my mama always prepared with fowl and fish and garnished with lemon grass.

After that night, I couldn’t get over Ifenkili. No matter how much I tried to pem—hide the excitement that came with the thought of her.

Her scent was like rain, like a bird that would fly away and come back when I wasn’t even ready. I still got sweet chills all over me when I remembered her perfume. But it wasn’t the perfume that invaded me like moto way jam person, but something else so difficult to describe. A scent that made me think about the times when someone held me close and made me safe, like a low tide; so held back, yet seducing and cool.

Like this feeling that just enveloped me now and made me swallow the words I was going to say to these ladies with me. This feeling, where was it coming from? I could not tell. I only knew it made me smack my lips, tasting its aroma. I watched guests brush by. Some I knew from back days in school, some were just total strangers. I smiled, waved, exchanged pleasantries while my eyes kept searching as if I was actually expecting to see something—someone.

It took me time to find the trigger of that sensation.

Her.

She was standing a little distance away from me, dressed in a green, shine-shine, off-shoulder long dress, looking like a beautiful warning sign;

Look but keep off...don’t come closer.

I wanted to do the exact opposite. To approach her and probably speak to her about our last WhatsApp chat, the one I asked he out on a date. Yet, I was satisfied seeing her from afar. At least, for now. I was more than happy to look at her, to appreciate everything...the shape of her body, her long braids which she kept pushing away from her shoulders.

Ifenkili was a beautiful slim woman. She was slender with curves. There was no other words for her kind of figure. But at the same time, there was something indefinable about her. Was it an inner light? A sparkle in her eyes? The way she spoke and moved and made things move around her? I no fit point am out exactly. I didn’t have a bank of English words to describe things. Bank, a word my Open University’s Eng321 lecturer loved so much. I didn't know many words, but I knew the word “charisma.” It suited Ife perfectly. She had a personality that no layers of beauty could hide. She was impressive.

Impressive. A word I have learned to use frequently.

Oh my God, she was staring back at me. What should I do? Smile? Wave? Approach her? The more her eyes were fixed on me, the more that uncomfortable feeling spread over me. I felt it was because there was an ocean of silence between us… and I was drowning in it. Or I wasn’t man enough to arouse her interest and then ignore her completely like an Alpha male would.

I learned about being an alpha male from the social media and the description of how an alpha male should act towards women wasn’t me at all. All this “Don’t reply fast”, “don’t show you care”, “don’t be a homebody”, “don’t always be available” sounded like a conversation for kids trying to play games. I believe I was too grown to be acting like I didn't know what I wanted. What the social media described an alpha male was just childish shenanigans that adults shouldn’t even be heard conversing about.

However, right now, I wish I had a little bit...a few drops of that attribute.

I smiled at her. Nervously. But the look in her eyes...was she...for a moment I been think say she dey feel me like dey feel her. Maybe I was wrong. She just dropped the plate she was holding and hurried away.

“Oghene,” One of the ladies that had kept me standing for close to thirty minutes said, pulling me out of my reverie. “You want to go somewhere cool after this party?”

I mentally hissed. Shukudi would do anything to tie me to a woman today. I knew he arranged these ladies. The way he would wink and smile at me every now and then from where he stood with his wife ehn, something not too pure for him side. The Ibo boy dey desperate to hook me up tonight. He’d once told me that he wouldn’t mind me dating his only sister, Juoshi, was she old enough. She was barely nineteen. But even if she was twenty-five, I would never look at her any other way than I would a little sister.

“So what do you say?”

“W-what?” Watin she been dey talk sef?
“Going out with me,” the lady said a little impatiently while stroking my arm. “I know this place you’d like so much. It cool and...”

...While she spoke, I made a passing glance around in search of Ife. I shouldn’t have done that. I know...I know. But I wasn’t expecting that she would be here. Now she was, I could no longer concentrate on every other thing happening at the party.

Not on Davido’s ‘Unavailable’ playing from the DJ’s box. Or the three members of our old boys’ association chatting merrily over glasses of wine. And definitely not on the Shankiz trying to get me to notice them, and probably settle for one of them.

I found her standing with a man by the door that led to the balcony. Of course, how could I forget this Ogbori—the mugu that hooked up with her at the wedding? I was shocked to see him here when I walked in. But Shukudi said they were mates at the university. It didn’t occur to me why Ife would be here too until now when I saw them together.

The mugu don go yan watin no dey bible give Ife and she don lose her brain. Now she was here on his invitation. What did this place look like to him—a venue for dates?

I felt jealousy grab my inside as I wondered when they kicked off with this thing and what they’d done together already.

Had he touched her—kissed her? He was now leaning closer to her ears, whispering something.

Stupid pie-hunting snake in a Tarzan body. I no trust am at all.

“Oghene nau...” one of the girls purred. “I am getting tired of this place, can we ditch this party?” she said.

Rest in Jesus' name, I thought, removing her hand from my chest. “Excuse me,” I said and left them. I couldn’t find Ife and that guy again. They might have gone to the corridor. Or they might have left completely.

The latter was correct. I didn’t find them in the corridor when I got there, so I decided to step out. I spotted them walking out of the gate. Holding hands.

Again, I felt Jealousy rose from my core. I wanted to pull out my phone and call her, then I thought...why? What would I tell her?

The guy isn’t good for you.

Mh-Mm. That wouldn’t do.

I can take you on a perfect date tonight, just don't go with him.

Perish that thought, Oghenevowede. For it is proudly sponsored by competition and insecurity.

As the party progressed into the night, I thought of her and the man she left with more than the ladies that just joined me on the sofa—Shukudi’s sister’s friends, and the sixty-three-thousand-naira debit alert I just got from my bank for a transaction I didn’t know when I made, I decided I was going to give her a call. Or better still, send her a WhatsApp message. I saw the way she looked at me when our eyes locked. She saw me—like a lady would a man she was considering. I saw her too. And it was time I let her know.

“Uncle Oghene,” Juoshi, Shukudi’s sister approached us with a glass of mocktail. “Na you and babes for this night o.” she turned and gave her friends a wink.

I smiled. Like her brother, she also wanted to hook me up, and she wanted me to pick from her friends who seemed ready to follow me home even if I offered them a one-night stand only. Hmm, na so I hot reach? Anyway, as a Jesus' boy, I no dey look for chikala way I wan gbensh. I desired a relationship and the only person in my head was Ifenkili.

“Juoshi?” I lifted my head to the young girl standing and sipping her mocktail.

“Uncle Oghene I have told you my name is not Juoshi but Juochi. And my brother’s name is Chukwudi, not Shukudi.”

Oh, Kasala. “Oya don’t be angry.”

“I am not angry o.” She laughed, and her friends joined in. “So, what did you want to ask me?”

“Apart from 'life is too short,' which other line do you use before you make a bad decision?”

The girl looked at me like I had lost my mind, and then she squinted. “Do you want to sleep with my friends—the two of them?”

God forbid! I was only referring to the kind of message I planned to send to Ife.

Welcome....how have you been... and congratulations on your blog❤️

Thanks for the update. Please keep them coming.

Nice story
U Still havnt done something on the link to ur blog

Bukenke86:
Welcome....how have you been... and congratulations on your blog❤️

Thank you

IkeIgboNiile:
Thanks for the update. Please keep them coming.

I will, God willing

Dyfynezz12:
Nice story
U Still haven't done something on the link to ur blog

I am still working on it. Also, I have contacted a friend to help build a new and professionally looking one. I hope the plans work

Rosemary33:
I am still working on it. Also, I have contacted a friend to help build a new and professionally looking one. I hope the plans work

Ok,goodluck

Welldone ma'am, I visited your blog. You are doing well. Still expecting more update

Nwiboko26:
Welldone ma'am, I visited your blog. You are doing well. Still expecting more update

Chai. Thank you all

Six
Ifenkili

“The more I look at you, the more I am convinced that you are the woman for me,” Preye said, offering me a glass of water and sitting beside me. He never told me he was taking me to his house. But...well...there we were. It was a beautiful mini duplex that was lavishly furnished—the sitting room at least.

That was the only place I’d seen.

The last time he wanted me to follow him home, I changed my mind at the parking lot of the restaurant where he took me out for dinner. I guess he didn’t want that to happen this time, so he tricked me. But I wasn't going to complain. I think it was rather swoon-worthy, he taking me to his house without first informing me.

“I want to start a family, Ifenkili. And I think my mom will like you. You’ll make a perfect daughter-in-law,” he said, shifting closer so his lap would touch mine.

“We’ll make a great couple. Our kids would have the best things in life...”

Hold on...hold on...as much as what he was saying was music to my ears, my brain had started letting off alert so loud and deafening.

This sounded like future faking.

In case you were wondering what future faking meant; imagine a scenario where you met someone who constantly talked about marriage, having children, and building a future together.

Now that was it. This person knew how badly you yearned for these things, and so he leveraged on it. He painted vivid pictures of a happy family life and promised commitment and stability. However, when the time came to take concrete steps towards these goals, he made excuses or created obstacles.

That was what Chizi did to me.

I met Chizi a year after Boma broke up with me.

It was on a rainy night and he was standing by the road with one Jehovah's Witness kind of bag. I gave him a lift. When I dropped him, he thanked me, hesitated for a few seconds then said, “Can I give you something?”

I was intrigued. I went through several emotions at once.

Was today the day? Have I met those good Samaritans who would see through people, identify their needs, and provide for them?
God, I needed a man and a job promotion. I also needed something bad to happen to my monstrous Head of Department. Would this angel in human form grant me those wishes?
He was still searching his bag for something.
Oh my God! Was Nollywood about to happen for real? Was he about to hand me a mysterious wrap that would catapult me to greater height?

Or was he going to give me a wad of cash? A check?

He was still searching.

Was it spiritual soap? Because yes, I would use it. How long would it take before marriageable men would start flocking around me?

I sat very comported, smiling in humility because finally, my kindness would bring me luck. How would I tell the story on social media? In fact, I would keep it to myself to avoid Ojukokoro and bad eyes.

After like fifteen minutes, he finally handed me a paper. A check? A damn check? God!
I hurriedly lifted it towards the direction of light reflection so I could see how much I’d be cashing from the bank the next day.

The first thing I saw was “Do you know where you will spend eternity”? I turned the back of the paper, maybe that was where my gift was. But I saw “Worship with us at…”

My heart went to sit in the backseat to cry tears of pain.

I flashed him a weak smile, murmured “Thank you” and zoomed off as soon as he stepped down.

“Do you know where you will spend eternity,” I had scuffed. But then, I blamed myself for expecting something else from someone who was dressed like an antiquated evangelist.

But that wasn’t the end of us.

A month later, I met him at an Alive with God bible seminar I attended at Eneka. He was one of the teachers. I didn’t recognize him at first. Probably because he was dressed better than last time, and the funny bag was gone too.

Amazingly, for the whole four days of that program, we bonded, and by the time we were ready to pack up and return to our bases, we had exchanged numbers and made promises.

A month into our rather too-quick relationship, Chizi wan choke me with love. He love-bombed me so much that I forgot how to live and breathe. Two months later, he started pressurizing me for marriage, with heavy scriptural references.

And because marriage was what I wanted also, I fell rolling on the floor for his lies. It took me a long time to notice something off about him, his reluctance to introduce me to his family, and his agitation whenever I picked up his phone. My friend, Ale, made me get even more suspicious about him with her, “Are you sure he’s not married? Okay, not married but engaged? What if he was dead somewhere and showed up here to have a second life?”

I didn’t believe all that because...come on, he was a believer! Someone that asked me to follow him to the mountain to pray on his birthday.

Anyway, I went digging sha. At least to clear Ale’s doubts. My brethren my sistren, I stumbled on his wife's page, only to see full traditional wedding pictures of our Bro in Aso Ebi. From my calculation, their marriage was a few months before we met!

When I screenshot the photos and sent them to him, he claimed the wedding was his friend’s and he was only one of the groom's men. But I insisted on the truth. Seeing my seriousness, he admitted the lady was his wife who was studying nursing at the Rivers State College of Health Science. Breaking down in tears, he started begging me, saying it was the devil.

That he wished he met me before his wife.
I left his place too weak to even get angry. I had only laughed at myself for being such a desperate fool. For allowing him to keep me tethered with the hope that I was about to become a bride sooner than I thought, while he maintained control and avoided true commitment.

Sitting here like a very good church girl with a sprinkle of baddieness, while Preye flashed the marriage and making a family card again, I thought, “I’m not gonna fall for that again. But let’s see how it goes.” because once bitten, twice ‘I go bite you back. You and who dey do ‘Twice shy?’

If this man ever made promises, got me hooked so much that I started testing out wedding gowns in my head, and then he ghosted me...ah, I would shackle him to a pole and make him recite wedding vows under duress.

The evening went by slowly but nicely. We ordered pizza and ice cream.

“The next time you’ll be coming, I’ll want you to cook,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll send you money to buy things.”

Okay...

“I want you to be free with me. Like you are my wife already. That way, I can also study you.”

But...but...how was it possible that we were having ‘being a wife already’ and ‘studying you’ in the same conversation?

We talked about us; School attended, family—he was the last child I was the first, church denomination—I was an Anglican while he attends one of these new generational Pentecostal churches. We argued about the best place to wed a woman; her church or her man’s church.

“The man’s church, of course,” he said.

“The woman’s church,” I countered.

“Why?”

“It’s her day.”

“It’s the man’s day too.”

“It’s a sign of respect. Let her church honor her one last time.”

“Did the church pay her bride price? Are they the people sponsoring the wedding? The man calls the shot because he is spending the money,” he said, giving me a stern look. “If we are going to get married. You must agree with me on basic things like this or it’s not going to work.”

The statement struck a string inside my head. Where had I read that kind of thing before...Yes, the Nigerian side of the X app. And their basis for arguing this kind of thing always stood on rusty crutches.

“How old are you?” he asked out of the blue.

Another shocker. I wasn’t expecting that.

“You know,” he continued without giving me the chance to reply. “I don’t want to have anything serious with a thirty-plus woman.”

The chicken in the pizza ran in the wrong direction in my throat and I coughed. “Why?” I asked.

“I’m thirty-three. In my peak. I am supposed to be considering girls in their twenties, not a grandma who has wasted all her peak value on different men. It’s crazy.”

The pizza stuck in the wrong side of my throat had refused to come out. In fact, I had tears in my eyes while trying to suppress bouts of cough. And in that condition, my brain was ticking...tik, tik, tik, and I was thinking whether this wasn’t part of this whole movie where I got up, grabbed my bag, and left.

“So how old are you?” he asked again.

“Wait...let me guess. 24—at most 26.”

W-What? Did I look twentyish to him? I would have felt insulted by such age degradation but at that moment, I didn’t even know what to feel.

“I’m correct, right?”

I finally let out full bouts of cough, picked up the bottle of water on the table and drank generously, nodded when he offered a thousand ‘sorries’ while stroking my back.

“So, tell me if I’m correct. You are between 24 and 26.”

I gazed at him for a while. What would he do If I told him that this twentyish-looking lady was actually thirty-two? Call off this thing we had brewing even though we were just at the talking and visiting stage? Would it hurt me so much if he did? He seemed promising even with his stupid ideas about women and his little narcissism which I knew could change with time if we hit this thing off properly.

He wanted marriage.

Chizi also promised marriage.

But he wasn’t Chizi and I wasn’t going to rush things this time like I did with Chizi. I would take my time and mold this one.

Yet, I felt telling him a lie about my age wasn’t going to help. What the heck if he decided I wasn’t good for him?

“I, ehm, I’m actually, ehm,” I lowered my head. “I’m 32.”

I waited for him to react; maybe with a disappointing comment, a snigger, laughter. But when none came, I looked up. He was looking at me with his mouth slacked.

“Thirty-two?” he asked in disbelief.

“Mm-hm.”

“Wow,” he said. Blinking and shaking his head. “Wow. You look...you look nice. Like, so young.”

I am young, I wanted to say but held my tongue. I’ve never considered thirty-two an unmarriable age. Aside from my mother, nothing and no one had ever made me feel that way. Not until now.

“See,” he shifted closer. “About what I said earlier, forget it. I was only joking.” taking my hands, he pulled me up and gave me a look over. “You are beautiful. I mean it. And I will not let you go. Ever.” He spun me, caught me, and laughed. “Look at you. So pretty, more than every other woman I’ve dated.”

Pulling me into his arms, he made me rest my head on his chest, and even though I didn’t want to—yet, I melted in. What? Don’t blame me! He smelt delicious.

“I am so sorry, please. I didn’t mean any of those things I said.”

A man who apologized when he was wrong. Hmmm. Okay. Agreed, accepted. Now come here, you fine red flag.

Rosemary33:

Six
Ifenkili

“The more I look at you, the more I am convinced that you are the woman for me,” Preye said, offering me a glass of water and sitting beside me. He never told me he was taking me to his house. But...well...there we were. It was a beautiful mini duplex that was lavishly furnished—the sitting room at least.

That was the only place I’d seen.

The last time he wanted me to follow him home, I changed my mind at the parking lot of the restaurant where he took me out for dinner. I guess he didn’t want that to happen this time, so he tricked me. But I wasn't going to complain. I think it was rather swoon-worthy, he taking me to his house without first informing me.

“I want to start a family, Ifenkili. And I think my mom will like you. You’ll make a perfect daughter-in-law,” he said, shifting closer so his lap would touch mine.

“We’ll make a great couple. Our kids would have the best things in life...”

Hold on...hold on...as much as what he was saying was music to my ears, my brain had started letting off alert so loud and deafening.

This sounded like future faking.

In case you were wondering what future faking meant; imagine a scenario where you met someone who constantly talked about marriage, having children, and building a future together.

Now that was it. This person knew how badly you yearned for these things, and so he leveraged on it. He painted vivid pictures of a happy family life and promised commitment and stability. However, when the time came to take concrete steps towards these goals, he made excuses or created obstacles.

That was what Chizi did to me.

I met Chizi a year after Boma broke up with me.

It was on a rainy night and he was standing by the road with one Jehovah's Witness kind of bag. I gave him a lift. When I dropped him, he thanked me, hesitated for a few seconds then said, “Can I give you something?”

I was intrigued. I went through several emotions at once.

Was today the day? Have I met those good Samaritans who would see through people, identify their needs, and provide for them?
God, I needed a man and a job promotion. I also needed something bad to happen to my monstrous Head of Department. Would this angel in human form grant me those wishes?
He was still searching his bag for something.
Oh my God! Was Nollywood about to happen for real? Was he about to hand me a mysterious wrap that would catapult me to greater height?

Or was he going to give me a wad of cash? A check?

He was still searching.

Was it spiritual soap? Because yes, I would use it. How long would it take before marriageable men would start flocking around me?

I sat very comported, smiling in humility because finally, my kindness would bring me luck. How would I tell the story on social media? In fact, I would keep it to myself to avoid Ojukokoro and bad eyes.

After like fifteen minutes, he finally handed me a paper. A check? A damn check? God!
I hurriedly lifted it towards the direction of light reflection so I could see how much I’d be cashing from the bank the next day.

The first thing I saw was “Do you know where you will spend eternity”? I turned the back of the paper, maybe that was where my gift was. But I saw “Worship with us at…”

My heart went to sit in the backseat to cry tears of pain.

I flashed him a weak smile, murmured “Thank you” and zoomed off as soon as he stepped down.

“Do you know where you will spend eternity,” I had scuffed. But then, I blamed myself for expecting something else from someone who was dressed like an antiquated evangelist.

But that wasn’t the end of us.

A month later, I met him at an Alive with God bible seminar I attended at Eneka. He was one of the teachers. I didn’t recognize him at first. Probably because he was dressed better than last time, and the funny bag was gone too.

Amazingly, for the whole four days of that program, we bonded, and by the time we were ready to pack up and return to our bases, we had exchanged numbers and made promises.

A month into our rather too-quick relationship, Chizi wan choke me with love. He love-bombed me so much that I forgot how to live and breathe. Two months later, he started pressurizing me for marriage, with heavy scriptural references.

And because marriage was what I wanted also, I fell rolling on the floor for his lies. It took me a long time to notice something off about him, his reluctance to introduce me to his family, and his agitation whenever I picked up his phone. My friend, Ale, made me get even more suspicious about him with her, “Are you sure he’s not married? Okay, not married but engaged? What if he was dead somewhere and showed up here to have a second life?”

I didn’t believe all that because...come on, he was a believer! Someone that asked me to follow him to the mountain to pray on his birthday.

Anyway, I went digging sha. At least to clear Ale’s doubts. My brethren my sistren, I stumbled on his wife's page, only to see full traditional wedding pictures of our Bro in Aso Ebi. From my calculation, their marriage was a few months before we met!

When I screenshot the photos and sent them to him, he claimed the wedding was his friend’s and he was only one of the groom's men. But I insisted on the truth. Seeing my seriousness, he admitted the lady was his wife who was studying nursing at the Rivers State College of Health Science. Breaking down in tears, he started begging me, saying it was the devil.

That he wished he met me before his wife.
I left his place too weak to even get angry. I had only laughed at myself for being such a desperate fool. For allowing him to keep me tethered with the hope that I was about to become a bride sooner than I thought, while he maintained control and avoided true commitment.

Sitting here like a very good church girl with a sprinkle of baddieness, while Preye flashed the marriage and making a family card again, I thought, “I’m not gonna fall for that again. But let’s see how it goes.” because once bitten, twice ‘I go bite you back. You and who dey do ‘Twice shy?’

If this man ever made promises, got me hooked so much that I started testing out wedding gowns in my head, and then he ghosted me...ah, I would shackle him to a pole and make him recite wedding vows under duress.

The evening went by slowly but nicely. We ordered pizza and ice cream.

“The next time you’ll be coming, I’ll want you to cook,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll send you money to buy things.”

Okay...

“I want you to be free with me. Like you are my wife already. That way, I can also study you.”

But...but...how was it possible that we were having ‘being a wife already’ and ‘studying you’ in the same conversation?

We talked about us; School attended, family—he was the last child I was the first, church denomination—I was an Anglican while he attends one of these new generational Pentecostal churches. We argued about the best place to wed a woman; her church or her man’s church.

“The man’s church, of course,” he said.

“The woman’s church,” I countered.

“Why?”

“It’s her day.”

“It’s the man’s day too.”

“It’s a sign of respect. Let her church honor her one last time.”

“Did the church pay her bride price? Are they the people sponsoring the wedding? The man calls the shot because he is spending the money,” he said, giving me a stern look. “If we are going to get married. You must agree with me on basic things like this or it’s not going to work.”

The statement struck a string inside my head. Where had I read that kind of thing before...Yes, the Nigerian side of the X app. And their basis for arguing this kind of thing always stood on rusty crutches.

“How old are you?” he asked out of the blue.

Another shocker. I wasn’t expecting that.

“You know,” he continued without giving me the chance to reply. “I don’t want to have anything serious with a thirty-plus woman.”

The chicken in the pizza ran in the wrong direction in my throat and I coughed. “Why?” I asked.

“I’m thirty-three. In my peak. I am supposed to be considering girls in their twenties, not a grandma who has wasted all her peak value on different men. It’s crazy.”

The pizza stuck in the wrong side of my throat had refused to come out. In fact, I had tears in my eyes while trying to suppress bouts of cough. And in that condition, my brain was ticking...tik, tik, tik, and I was thinking whether this wasn’t part of this whole movie where I got up, grabbed my bag, and left.

“So how old are you?” he asked again.

“Wait...let me guess. 24—at most 26.”

W-What? Did I look twentyish to him? I would have felt insulted by such age degradation but at that moment, I didn’t even know what to feel.

“I’m correct, right?”

I finally let out full bouts of cough, picked up the bottle of water on the table and drank generously, nodded when he offered a thousand ‘sorries’ while stroking my back.

“So, tell me if I’m correct. You are between 24 and 26.”

I gazed at him for a while. What would he do If I told him that this twentyish-looking lady was actually thirty-two? Call off this thing we had brewing even though we were just at the talking and visiting stage? Would it hurt me so much if he did? He seemed promising even with his stupid ideas about women and his little narcissism which I knew could change with time if we hit this thing off properly.

He wanted marriage.

Chizi also promised marriage.

But he wasn’t Chizi and I wasn’t going to rush things this time like I did with Chizi. I would take my time and mold this one.

Yet, I felt telling him a lie about my age wasn’t going to help. What the heck if he decided I wasn’t good for him?

“I, ehm, I’m actually, ehm,” I lowered my head. “I’m 32.”

I waited for him to react; maybe with a disappointing comment, a snigger, laughter. But when none came, I looked up. He was looking at me with his mouth slacked.

“Thirty-two?” he asked in disbelief.

“Mm-hm.”

“Wow,” he said. Blinking and shaking his head. “Wow. You look...you look nice. Like, so young.”

I am young, I wanted to say but held my tongue. I’ve never considered thirty-two an unmarriable age. Aside from my mother, nothing and no one had ever made me feel that way. Not until now.

“See,” he shifted closer. “About what I said earlier, forget it. I was only joking.” taking my hands, he pulled me up and gave me a look over. “You are beautiful. I mean it. And I will not let you go. Ever.” He spun me, caught me, and laughed. “Look at you. So pretty, more than every other woman I’ve dated.”

Pulling me into his arms, he made me rest my head on his chest, and even though I didn’t want to—yet, I melted in. What? Don’t blame me! He smelt delicious.

“I am so sorry, please. I didn’t mean any of those things I said.”

A man who apologized when he was wrong. Hmmm. Okay. Agreed, accepted. Now come here, you fine red flag.

thank you for the update

Thanks for the update. Kepp them coming😍

Seven
Oghene


Dear Ifenkili,

“When God was giving men the gift of fine words that capture women’s hearts, I was busy dancing with my well-fed stomach under the rain. By the time I realized, he had passed me by. So, I will not boast of having the ability to string words together to make beautiful reads. Also, when it comes to talking to and about you, my mind and hands are so shy. Ife, you be babe way set die. Words and sentences do not do justice to the beauty that you possess, neither do paragraphs explain your magnificence. No permutations or combinations of alphabets, phrases, and clauses can ever capture the sweetness that you are and the elegance that you exude. You are sweet-looking. And even though you have been ignoring me, I still figure that you are kind, selfless, considerate, and personable. From afar, I think I’ve seen many sides to you, and have come to realize that you are more than your physical features. You are smart and an outstanding woman. I have gone through many adjectives, and they all pale in comparison to the real deal. You. When God made you, he was with the intention of showing off until he decided to bless us mere mortals with a heavenly creature like you. Fine Chikala...”

The laughter that burst out of Juoshi’s mouth made me frown. I knew she’d been holding the urge since I handed her my phone to proofread the message I constructed. Her first observation was that too much grama dey inside. I sha knew, but though I no be Efico, I no wan sound like say I dey yan okpata. That was why I googled love letter samples for small Chukuli, and settled for an interesting one after going through a dozen.

It wasn’t a copy-and-paste message. I only took some words and sentences that I felt she would like, including the big-big words Juoshi wasn’t comfortable with.

“What nau?” I asked Juoshi who was tumbling in laughter.

“Bro Oghene o...”

“Oya give me my phone.” I reached for my phone that had slithered out of her hand while she was laughing, but she picked it up before I reached it.

“Give me my phone na.”

“But I am not done reading the message,” she defended, trying to sober up. “You don’t want me to proofread again?”

“Is it the proofreading you are doing now? You try well-well,” I retorted and walked back to sit at the dining table.

The party was gradually winding down. Shukudi and his wife had gone to see a family off. Two guests, who arrived late, were at the dining table with me, eating and making small talk. The DJ was already packing his equipment while shouting at someone on the phone, probably one of his boys who had gone to cover another event.

“But bros—” Juoshi, approached me. “All these big grammars are not necessary o.”

“You’ve said that before,” I replied with resignation.

“Are you sure you don’t want to remove them?”

I would have considered Juoshi’s concern but what would become of the message if those words were removed? How else would I impress Ife? She was a smart woman. I’d heard her speak English before and shuuoooo! The geh dey rap, I swear. In short, I comot cap, march leg for sand-sand for her. So, I must convince her that I too can blow grammar her.

“So,” Juoshi pulled out the chair beside me and sat down. “What do you say? Remove or don’t remove? And why must you add pidging English in the message?” She chuckled. “’You be babe way set die...Chikala—"

“All join. Leave everything like that for me,” I grumbled, “And I hope you are not making a mockery of this whole situation?” I gave her a fake warning stare.

“Me? No o. I’m just...only...”

“Abegi, go through this thing fast. I want to send it now.” I hissed, then sputtered laughter. She joined in.

It took her some time to calm down and continue reading out loud;

“Fine Chikala, you’re the constant wind that fills my sail—” She leaped off her seat and grabbed me, laughing. “Bro Oghene o. You’ll wound this lady with lines. Ah-ah!”

I looked around in uneasiness. The guests with us at the table were stealing glances at ne with grins on their lips.

Jokingly pushing Juoshi away, I demanded she give me my phone back.

“Oya sorry. Let me continue.”

“If you are not going to be quiet with it, then no read.”

“Okay...okay. I’ll be quiet. I promise.”

By being quiet, I meant inaudible. But Juoshi would rather scrape a tree trunk with her teeth than read the message silently.

“…Each time I see you, I am happy, and that happiness is my fuel. I don’t know why but I’ve enjoyed every second I watched you from afar. Everything feels so good and right with you. It is one of the best feelings in the universe, this feeling of good and right. Ife. I am so attracted to you that I cannot spend a day without thinking about you—” she was grinning widely, overrunning every sentence with awww, chai...

“Who’s this babe sef?” she asked when she was done reading.

“Which babe?” Shukudi said, walking into the sitting room.

Snatching my phone from Juoshi, I stood up. “Where you leave you wife?” I asked Shukudi while sending the WhatsApp message and pushing the phone in my pocket.

“She’s outside, gossiping with her friend,” Shukudi replied. He was about to disappear through an adjoined door when the Aproko Juoshi shouted;

“Bro Oghene had a girlfriend!”

“Ehn?” Shukudi stopped in his stride.

Slapping the girl’s head, “No mind your sister wain dey yan dust,” I dismissed.

“Brother, it’s true.” Dodging another slap on the head, she continued. “He just constructed one powerful romantic message for her.”

“Ah-ah, Waffi boy—” the smile on Shukudi’s face said it all. He believed his sister. And I might be fighting a lost battle if I tried to convince him otherwise. “O’boy tell me something. Who be the babe?”

“Na you sabi,” I hissed. “Abeg I don dey go.”
“For where? My friend you are not going anywhere.” Shukudi came to stand in front of me. “Madam made a special soup for you. You must wait for her to come in and give it to you.”

At the mention to of free soup, my nyansh located a chair while Shukudi escorted the guests, who had announced their departure, to the door.

He returned almost immediately. “Juochi,” he called, pulling out the chair one of the men vacated from. “Go to the fridge and get me that Martell I kept there. Bring two glasses.”

“I hope one of the glasses no be for me. You know say I no dey shack Shepe.”

“This one is not locally brewed spirit, it’s a foreign drink, Oghene. For big boys.”

“All na the same. Shepe na Shepe. And I don’t drink it. Not anymore.” I took my phone out from my pocket and powered it.

Juoshi’s unexpected question almost made me drop the device on the floor. “Has she read it?” she asked, placing a tray that had the drink and two glasses in front of her brother and hurrying to my side. “Has she replied?”

“Jesus, smallie, face front na. Watin dey worreh you? I say make you help me no be make you monitor the progress?” I tickled her side. She yelped, slapped my arm, and moved away.

“But bro Oghene, I want to know how far so we can plan the next step.”

“You and who? Smallie pem that yarns. You never reach.”

"But I don reach to proofread your love message,” she hissed, folding her hands across her chest in defiance.

“What are you people even talking about?” Shukudi interrupted, pushing a shot of drink towards me. “Bia Waffi boy, I hope you are not teaching my sister bad things?”

“He’s in love,” Juoshi blurted before I could speak. “He needs some dating and relationship tips, but he has refused my help,” she added, clicking her tongue as she walked off.

“Ehn?” her brother exclaimed, leaning forward, interest written on his face. “Area! Area! Oghene my man!”

Stifling a grin, “Don’t mind your sister abeg,” I countered, pushing the shot back to him. “It’s not exactly how she’s painting it.”

Taking the drink I passed back, Shukudi downed it and cleared his throat. “Oya let me into this gist. Who is this babe that my sister knows and I don’t?”

“Man, it’s nothing, seriously. Look am pass.”

“Oghene...”

“I mean it. If something serious comes up, you’ll be the first to know,” I said, powering my phone again and glancing at the screen. No WhatsApp notification. I checked the time. 9:37. I should start heading home before Ezioma, Shukudi’s wife, would step in and try to talk me into sleeping over. She’d done that a lot of times at their former place.

“O’boy, you really mean it that you no longer drink?” Shukudi asked, pouring himself another shot.

“No. Unfortunately.”

“Church—born-again thing?”

“Terrible incident,” I replied.

Sometime last year, I attended the child dedication of one of us at the mechanic workshop. The boys started a drinking competition after the party to see who could take in the most bottles from various mixtures of alcohol to energy drinks without vomiting or becoming stuporous.

In less than thirty minutes, Eluwa, the shampion, was topping his 6th bottle and everyone began to hail him. As we dey cheer, Eluwa dey drink. If the thing wan catch am, him go stand up shake body, sidon again dey drink. In the frenzy of it all, he stood up again and was about to shake his body when he collapsed and lost consciousness. He was latter rushed to the hospital where he died. Shacking both beer and energy drinks spiked his blood pressure so high that the blood vessels in the brain burst and he bled into his brain, had stroke and kpai, just like that.

“That was an extreme case of drinking nau,” Shukudi said after I narrated the story to him.

“Besides, I know you as a very minimal drinker. And you have always dwelt on a single brand at a time.”

Shukudi was right. As a Jesus’ boy, I used to be a r

...Shukudi was right. As a Jesus’ boy, I used to be a responsible drinker. I gave up entirely after that incident. I didn’t think I’d ever taste anything shepe again.

“Oghene my love!” Shukudi’s wife said merrily as she walked in. “Abeg no vex o. I’ve not seen my friend for a while, we had a lot of catching up to do.”

Getting up on my feet, I beamed her a smile. “It’s okay. You husband said so.”

“He has not been a good company, is he?”
“He had never been,” I replied, leaving the dining table to go give the woman a hug. Both of us laughed at Shukudi’s jealous grumble.

It was another thirty minutes before I was able to head home with Mrs Shukudie’s soup packaged in a flask, and with my heart beating fast with anticipation and embarrassment.

****

Have you ever done something that re-embarrassed you whenever you think of it—like...if you cast your mind back, shame just go dey catch you all over again?

I’d start:

Many years back, at our church in Ogheghe, our pastor’s wife gave me 80 naira to buy doughnut from the canteen. Hei! She no first ask me if I was hungry oh. Anyway, I took the money, thanked her very well and moved to the canteen. In my defense, I actually asked them for doughnut because, I be better pikin. I wanted to buy what they sent me to buy. But I was told that doughnuts weren't available. So, as my luck don shine, I ordered buns and soymilk, comot outside church, rushed inside the bush, sidon, chop the 50-naira buns, drank the 30-naira soymilk, and entered into hiding from there.

By the time I returned to the church, everybody was gone except the auntie wein send me the message, and of course my mama. The auntie forgave me after I told the truth with tears in my eyes, dismissing the situation with a wave of hand:

“It’s okay,” she said.

But it wasn’t okay. The kind of beating I received when I got home ehn, Oghene bikor.

That was the day I started to have sense because I literally saw foolishness leaving my body.

The second embarrassing thing was what I did some hours earlier at Shukudi’s house. The WhatsApp message I sent to Ife.

Hei, Osanobua. I bin smoke kpo? What was I thinking while constructing that rubbish? Now I felt like the earth should open and swallow me up. I wish I could undo what I did. But that wasn’t possible now.

The two blue strokes on the message showed Ife had read it already.

Getting home, I’d rushed to delete it but realized it was already too late. I wanted to send a rejoinder; to tell her the message was for someone other Ife I knew somewhere.

Hey, Oghene, you be Ogbori o. Why didn’t I think this through? Oh, I knew why. She made me lose my mind each time I saw her. I wanted her even though somehow, I felt there was not a world that existed where I should have her unless baba Godeh performed some magic.

See ehn, contrary to what a lot of you must be thinking, I had tried of pushing her away, forgetting about her because I was tired of dreaming and waiting for someone that might never see me like I saw her. Yet, at one glance at her at that party, I constructed that embarrassing message.

I had been asking myself, since I walked into my house, took a shower and lay faced up on my bed, why I did that, why I was after her like a senseless, shameless idiot. One answer kept ringing in my head; I had been attracted to her for so long that I couldn’t remember a time when I wasn’t. Oghene eh! I never wanted something so badly as I did her.

Her eyes had always commanded me to keep wanting. No. No. I no dey lie. Her presence, either physically or in my mind, had been my motivation, my excitement. Whenever I turned the pages of the romance book my classmate, Layifa, lent me, it was her I read. Not the female character in the books but her.

When she entered a room were I was, the air stirred, stillness awoken, my eyes and hands and some other parts of my body became charged.

I wanted to love her. I wanted her to be aware how much I fit love her...

The sound of my phone in the sitting room interrupted my thought process and I hurried out of bed.

“Oga Emeka,” I said immediately I picked the call. “Yes, sir. Sir? Tomorrow, yes. Yes...where?”
I had been the Anambra man’s mechanic for years. Last Sunday, he approached me after church and told me about a fairly used Toyota Sienna he wanted to buy from a friend who was relocating to the US. He wanted me to go check how sound the vehicle was before he would make payment.

“Okay sir. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

Ending the call, I noticed a WhatsApp notification and my heart fly comot for my chest.

Ife don reply. And tru-tru, her message for murder my spirit had the thing not left before I opened the message.

“Bro Oghene, who did you give your phone to? Or has your phone been hacked?”

following

Aunty Rosy, shebi you know you are the best🥰🥰🥰🥰thank you very much for the update. We are expecting more o.

Wow....i wish this episode didn't end. I really enjoyed it. Thank you for this.

PS: Is Ifenkili an igbo name? If yes what's the full spelling and meaning?

IkeIgboNiile:
Wow....i wish this episode didn't end. I really enjoyed it. Thank you for this.

PS: Is Ifenkili an igbo name? If yes what's the full spelling and meaning?

Yes, Ifenkili is an Igbo name. It means a spectacular thing. Something worthy off stares. Like a beautiful thing that people can not help but stare at.

Rosemary33
Yes, Ifenkili is an Igbo name. It means a spectacular thing. Something worthy off stares. Like a beautiful thing that people can not help but stare at.

Ok.....i understand now. Thanks for the clarification.

Chai!..I enjoyed reading every episode of this story. Rosemary thank you! For this masterpiece.