[size=16pt]PERSONAL MATTERS[/size]
K. C. E.


FRANCIS DURU wiped hot sweat off his shimmering forehead. He planted a soft kiss on Angelina, who giggled. Wrapping his arms around her, he began kissing her some more and attempted to push her back onto the bed but she gently pushed him away and refused.

“Ah, what is it now?” he asked perplexedly.

“We’ve had enough for the day. You know it’s almost four o’clock and my husband will soon return,” explained Angelina as she got up and began to redress.

“C’mon now,” goaded Francis as he drew her hand and began pulling her back towards the bed, “You can’t let that useless husband of yours keep you afraid all the time. Who does that stupid man think he is anyway?”

“I know, but—”

“Angie, I love you…or don’t you love me too?”

“She twisted her face in a frown. “I love you too but you’re forgetting that—”

“Then what am I forgetting? Is it because of that good-for-nothing old man that calls himself your husband? Look, baby, I’m tired of all this fear and running around. I can’t let another man turn me into a coward!”

“Baby, shhh! Mechie onu! I think I heard something!”

The sound of the main door unlocking could be heard followed by the heavy footsteps of Mr. Emenike. Exhausted from a busy day’s work, he dropped his briefcase onto the sofa-chair and loosened his tie. He called to his wife. No answer.

“Is this woman at home?” he asked himself. He walked through their two-room flat and arriving at their bedroom door turned the knob but discovered it was locked.

“Ah-ah? Angie, darling are you there?”

By this time Francis Duru had hurriedly gathered his belongings and was searching for a way to exit the small bedroom. There was no other door save the one which Mr. Emenike was standing behind. Finding no other alternative, he forced open the old wooden French windows, which definitely hadn’t been opened in at least twenty years. He darted out half-naked in nothing but his plain knickers and hopped down their second-floor balcony.

Angelina, assuming a faux expression of forced calmness, walked over to the door and unbolted, it allowing her husband to enter.

“My husband, good afternoon,” she greeted him, alongside a cold hug. But he brushed her aside, sensing something was wrong.

“What were you doing that you didn’t hear me calling?”

“Di m (my husband), I was just taking a short siesta.”


“Siesta…in your bath towel?”

“Oh this? I had just taken a bath and when I came in I felt a bit sleepy, so I said let me just take a short nap…Honey,
how was work today?”

“Why are those shutters open?”

Angelina, growing nervous, walked over to the wooden shutters and closed them herself. “It was stuffy in here. You know, I keep telling you we need to buy that new electric fan I saw at the appliance store.” As she closed the shutters she used her body to hide from her husband’s view the pair of brown trousers which Francis had foolishly left behind on the floor. However she was too late. Mr. Emenike’s quick eyes had already spotted the wretched thing.

He slowly and solemnly walked up to her and stooped down to pick up the trousers and wordlessly held them before her as if expecting another rubbish explanation. But for this one none came.

. . . .

A week had passed. Mr. Emenike, Angela and three of his kinsmen sat in a half-moon in front of his country home in Ahogwa. Before them was a table upon which rested a bottle of Schnapps, and directly on the floor was the same pair of brown trousers which Mr. Emenike had found in his bedroom.

“What are we hearing about you, Angelina?” asked a kinsman in disgust. “Do you know that you are the wife of a prominent man in this community? Why must we continue to be hearing bad news? Do you wish to disgrace your husband so?”
Angelina sat mutely staring at the pair of brown trousers which lay in the dirt. She cared little for what these old men said. After all, they were old men and were thoroughly incapable of understanding her motives.

“Woman, we are talking to you!” yelled another kinsman in outrage against her disrespectful silence.

“Emenike, o wu otu a ka nwunye gi shi eme (Emenike, Is this how your wife acts)?”

“My brothers, do you see the kind of woman I have for a wife?” began Mr. Emenike. “There is never a moment when I can step out of the house with a calm head. Other’s have loyal and faithful women at their homes…while I have this!” By this time his tone had risen and he was clearly enraged. “Look at the nonsense she does!” he said as he pointed to the brown trousers lying on the ground. “My own wife uses my bedroom as a pleasure-parlor and traffics men in and out!”

“It is a lie!” Angelina denied. Her interjection came as such a surprise that it only made her husband angrier. He jumped in her direction as if to strike her but was swiftly restrained by his kinsmen, who begged him to soften his anger and maintain his senses.

When all had calmed, the kinsmen once-again asked Angelina to explain how the trousers ended up in their bedroom and once-again she flatly denied saying she knew nothing about them. Seeing the present situation, one of the kinsmen then suggested that she should be taken for ritual oath-taking so as to prove her innocence.

“God forbid!” rebuked Angelina. “I will never go for such a thing!”

“And why not?” asked a kinsman.

“I am a Christian! My bible and my faith do not allow me to partake in such fetish practices. God forbid bad thing!”

“Oh! So it is now that you remember your faith and your bible, is that so? But you couldn’t remember them when you were busy committing adultery and bringing men into our brother’s house? Listen, woman, you must go for that oath-taking whether you like it or not.”

And so it was thus decided that Angelina would undergo a ritual oath-taking in a week’s time. She knew not much about such practices, but from what little she did know she concluded that it was utterly dangerous and fool-proof.
There was no convincing her husband to change her mind or begging for forgiveness, for this was not only the third time she was being accused of adultery, but her husband’s mood seemed especially stone cold. In the few days in which they were in the country, he neither spoke to her nor looked at her. He didn’t eat her food and the two no longer slept in the same room. Her condition seemed bleak and all seemed lost, but then, as if miraculously, she saw hope in her childhood friend Sandra Nwakaego.

When Angelina had heard that Sandra was returning to Lagos after her two-week leave, she hurriedly composed a short poem and gave it to her friend to deliver to Francis Duru, her lover.

The young Francis Duru drove all the way from Lagos to obscure, little Ahogwa when news had reached him of Angie’s plight. By this time, there were only two days remaining before her oath-taking.
When Nze Emenike left to attend to errands around the village early one morning, Francis Duru, disguised as an agent of the Postal Service went to see Angelina. Upon arriving at her residence he discovered that she was under the watchful eye of an elderly in-law, and so he took advantage of the man’s illiteracy and simply delivered a letter which read:

My dearest Angie,
I have received news of recent developments and I am in town. Prepare your things for at exactly three o’clock on Wednesday morning, I shall await outside of your gate and we shall both leave this God-damned land once and for all.
With sincerest love and affection,
Francis

When the anticipated day arrived, Angelina was ready. She had packed her most-precious belongings into her small luggage box and had also several pound notes which she had taken from her husband’s box. At exactly the stroke of three, she tiptoed passed the rooms where her husband and his kinsman slept, out of the front compound and entered a small Volkswagen Beetle which sat outside the gate. After sufficiently romancing, the two held hands and drove down the dusty country path.

….

“I married a devil,” Mr. Emenike said as he sat on the side of his bed, head in hands and holding back tears. It was well into the morning hours of the day and through the open window yellow sunlight spilled through and into the small room, illuminating it.

The room had clearly been put into a state of frenzy. The floor was scattered with empty drawers, scattered sheets of paper and opened briefcases. Standing beside Mr. Emenike was his uncle Dede Nwufo.

“My son, it is alright,” said the elder quite calmly. “A young infant does not know that fire is hot. What we have to do now is to meet with the rest of our kinsmen and inform them so that we can know what do to.”

By one o’clock that afternoon Mr. Emenike and Dede Nwufo had already climbed into his small motorcar and were on their way to the house of one of their other kinsmen by the name of Ugonna. They passed by a somewhat large crowd that had assembled beside the Eke stream, and overtaken by curiosity, Mr. Emenike pulled the car to a soft halt and decided to investigate what spectacle could have possible attracted such a crowd.

“Somebody drove their car into the gulley early this morning,” explained a member of the crowd when asked what was happening. “The driver must have driven straight off of the road. Thank God everyone in Ahogwa knows about this gulley. It’s most likely a foreigner.”

Peering down, Mr. Emenike whistled in amazement as he saw the smashed wreck of what had once been a Volkswagen sitting in the stream. The thundering current splashed around the twisted ball of steel as it followed its natural course. He shook his head sadly and returned to his car. He couldn’t be bothered with such things at the moment for he had personal matters at hand.

Would appreciate it if you guys gave feedback. Thanks. Feel free to read my other stories as well.

Hmmm

Mynd_44: Hmmm

Meaning?

odumchi:

Meaning?

Meaning it is getting there

Mynd_44:
Meaning it is getting there

What do you mean by it's getting there? What do you think about the characters? The plot? Ways to improve? Things you liked/disliked?

Interesting...waiting for more.

Beretta92: Interesting...waiting for more.

More as in more to the story (the story is finished) or more stories (I've written other stories)?

odumchi:

What do you mean by it's getting there? What do you think about the characters? The plot? Ways to improve? Things you liked/disliked?

The plot is okay and this episode seems nice but you forget one important thing......details bro.

The beginning of a book/story should tell us a lot about the surrounding, society, how the house looks, how the man looks, what he does for a living.

You also neglected time hence we can't paint the picture in our head. Try working on your description of the thing more explicitly.

odumchi:

More as in more to the story (the story is finished) or more stories (I've written other stories)?

Nice write up.
But, how can the story finish, when it hasn't even started.
Abeg, more joor!

ihebrooke:

Nice write up.
But, how can the story finish, when it hasn't even started.
Abeg, more joor!

Na short story. No be so? lol.

odumchi:

Na short story. No be so? lol.

The story too short jare!

ihebrooke:

The story too short jare!

seconded