He was austere.

Kept to himself.

Eyes that never roamed.

We were proud to say that unlike our uncles and our neighbours.

Who were always embroiled in one scandal of infidelity.

Ours bestrode life like a saint.

And my uncles and aunt's would say.

"Don't boast yet, wait till his funeral. Men like this always have women pop up during their funeral with children claiming paternity."

He died.

We buried him.

No one popped up.

I want to be like him.

But it is hard.

From whom did I inherit these eyes that rove.

And this loins.

This goddamn fiery loins!

Not from my mother.

She is even more saint like.

One who would always say.

As I sowed wild oats in my youth.

"Jude, you will get tired of all this sex. And when that time comes what will you have to keep you engaged if you don't focus on your books and make something out of your life?"

It could have been my great, grandfather.

On the maternal side.

The father of the father of my father's mother.

I heard he was tall.

Statuesque.

Rippled with muscles.

Fine like a human god.

Measured in speech.

Dreadlocked.

With a perfect set of white teeth.

His body count was unquantifiable.

A tree logger.

Mostly bare chested, with tight khaki pants and boots.

Who fell gigantic trees in the forests around Udo.

As easily and swiftly as he fell the women who caught his eyes.

He married late.

And even then.

When women walked by him, they always sighed.

and whispered.

"Hmmmmmm."

Cos no one could pretend not to see the bulge that was housed between his lower limbs.

That bulge that made him walk with the confident sway of a predator.

And a smile that was hypnotic even as it was promising.

And gave him that nickname.

Which when loosely translated from Edo to English.

Reads.

"The Charming Soul snatcher."

For it was the lore that anyone who slept with him could never be satisfied by any other man.

Interestingly he had no children out of wedlock.

Because as the lore went, no one could bring him to climax and thus his stamina was legendary.

And many a woman, from as far as Opobo and Ijebu Ode, Nupe land and the Cameroon Mountains fell for the challenge and lost.

Hence he married the only lady who finally achieved the feat and remained devoted to her for the rest of his life, mind, body and soul.

A slim, fair skinned, nubile woman from Owo.

Who lore spoke of being mute.

Whose first words were uttered in an intelligible scream when she achieved her first orgasm on him.

Twelve children blessed their blissful union.

And even then.

The lore continued to speak of the moans and screams that would rent the silent nights even into their late eighties.

What ancestry!

I wish I had the skills he had.

But alas.

Here I am.

With eyes that rove.

Loins on fire.

Bereft of the skills I desire.

Yet, striving to emulate saintly parents.

And failing.

Repeatedly.

One day soon.

We will be able to pick the genes we choose to give to our offsprings.

And they would be able to tweak, swap, discard or enhance their genes as they grow into maturity.

Until then.

Life remains hard.

Toronto.

From Mr. Jude's collections