Isi ji! How we hated that part of a yam tuber. But, whenever mommy cooked, that redundant part invariably found its way to the pot. Whenever I was to select yam pieces into my plate, I picked the “good” part. In slight indignation, Mommy would look at my plate and ask why I didn’t take some isi ji. You’re meant to distribute it; only one person can’t eat the head. How could you just take the fine part and leave the rest for us? Whenever she rambled on like that, I wanted to ask her, “Why cook something no one wants to eat?”

As I grew older, mommy insisted I add isi ji to the pot whenever I was to cook yam. You shouldn’t waste it, she’d say. I tried to reason with her that it didn’t make sense if we hated isi ji yet added it to the pot.

One day, I asked her, “Mommy, do you like eating yam head?”

She categorically stated, “I like it. If you go and visit some people cook it for them o.

“What if they don’t like it?” I asked. “No one here likes it.”

Looking at me with her head tilted upwards, nose flared, and mouth downturned, she retorted, “I have told you. Before they say you are wasting their yam.”

Sweep the frontage well so that it will be presentable if we have visitors.

Whenever I refused to go to for mass, “You don’t want to come to church? If they now ask after you what will I say?”

Don’t do it like that! If you now visit someone’s house they’ll think that…

Ha! My parents are obsessed with what people think about them. Maybe if they minded their business, they wouldn’t be bothered about what “they” would say. They wouldn’t be pretenders. They think everyone gossips as they do. Talk about projecting your vices.

Honestly, after my big fraud, I can wager they’ve dropped the habit as they have no moral justification to judge other people.

I did the worst thing they could ever imagine!

You see, amidst all this pretence; not working with what works for you because you are scared of what “they” would say, I turned out to be a rebel. I just didn’t care about what anyone thought of me and my choices. I didn’t allow “they” rule me. Who is “they”? “They” is you and I being judgemental. The society always judges that which it find absurd or not “righteous” enough. In my opinion, this is in a bid to validate our own holiness, our own righteousness. You need to understand this: caring about an irrelevant person’s opinion of you makes you a prisoner to their thoughts. You know, a woman that doesn’t seek validation is invincible. All that matters is that I am happy with my innocuous choice.

Choice. It’s not like I chose to be attracted to women. I didn’t choose to be a lesbian. How would I choose a lifestyle that isn’t beneficial to me in my society? It doesn’t make sense to want to ostracise yourself from people, does it?

Before Chisaraokwu, there were guys and everything about those relationships were contrived. To start with, we never connected. No click. Nothing! I’d just pretend that I enjoyed being with them. A woman can fake anything from a smile to an orgasm.

Heaven knows I faked everything with these men.

I met her during the training before I got my job. But, she was mean and cold towards me. I wrote her off as one of those annoying women that enjoyed bringing other women down. To make it worse, I had a crush on her. It’s like she knew I had something for her and she decided to hate me for it. Before her, I used to crush on other women but I didn’t dare acknowledge it.

Everything about her pulled me in. Her open-mindedness; her joie de vivre; her intellect- she is one of the smartest women I have ever met; her sensitivity; her warmth; her sophistication- she seems to have everything figured out. Whenever I imagined my dream man, I wanted these qualities.

Just that I found it all in another woman.

The first time I saw her, she was wearing a black skirt suit that accentuated her figure. It’s not like I haven’t seen women with long, nice, shapely legs. It happened that hers’ were… exquisite; like God’s own hands made it the day He was extremely pleased with the world. The 5” thick mass of afro that framed her head, and full, sensual lips together with her bronzed skin added a certain allure to her. I often wondered why she wasn’t an artist. With time, as I got to know her, she told me she got the job to “build her finances”. Eventually she’d be a film maker.

Chisaraokwu later told me she fancied me from the first time she saw me during the training but decided not to pursue anything with me. Actually, she deliberately avoided me. “It would have been dumb if we had anything only for us to be working in different states,” she explained.

After getting our posting letters, I didn’t see her. I asked one of her pals where she was but the guy gave me a vague reply. For all I cared, she might have asked him not to tell me anything. That was the confirmation I needed that she hated me.

Gradually, I pushed her to the back of my mind, as the Accounts department was always hectic. Honestly, I didn’t even know how the days flew by. Time takes wings and flies fast when you’re distracted by hard work.

You can’t imagine my surprise when I saw her at my branch about a month later. She managed to crack a smile at me. I almost yielded to the temptation to smile back at her. Then I remembered she was a bitch to me and looked away.

We don’t have a lunch break in my office per se. Nevertheless, everyone takes 30 minutes off at a point. As soon as it was 12:30, I left my seat to go to the fast food restaurant opposite the office. I was almost at the gate when I felt a vicelike grip on my upper arm. I was flummoxed. I knew I didn’t owe anyone anything for them to hold me that way. I turned and who did I see?

Marcus.

Yes, Marcus. My fiancé.

At the time, I was acting up around him. Everything he did got to me; ticked me off. When we are sated with our lovers, everything they do, including the way they breathe, irritates us. I felt guilty for feeling this way about him. I shouldn’t have been this way with him. He was nice and sweet to me but it just didn’t … click.

There was no chemistry.

No zing.

No fire.

It was just… there.

I wasn’t okay with my relationship being okay. I wanted more. I knew he loved me but I wanted him to want me. I needed him to need me. I don’t know if you get me. It’s like there was no passion in our relationship. What is life without passion?

He softened his grip when he saw I recognised him.

“Why are you here?” I bristled.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he smiled at me. “Let’s do lunch today.”

We sat at a table in the bubbly restaurant filled with my colleagues and I was almost launching into a million-word tirade about him visiting me at the office in a bid to surprise me when I saw him nod at someone standing behind me. What was going on? I didn’t need to turn around before seeing Chisaraokwu sit with us.

YOU CAN READ MORE ON http://www.thefemmemedia.com/literature/april-1-2017/

This was a breath of fresh air.....finished the story on your blog, that plot twist was scary, though something happened to Chisaraokwu


Nice blog btw, keep up the goodwork you should post more stories....

freakthingz:
This was a breath of fresh air.....finished the story on your blog, that plot twist was scary, though something happened to Chisaraokwu


Nice blog btw, keep up the goodwork you should post more stories....

Thanks so much! (Sheds happy tears).
Now, I can die happy!