Heaven bear me witness. I loved that girl Amara. I loved her in the way a man would love a woman he deeply cherishes and wants the very best for, not in the vapid, I-want-you-in-bed-then-dump-you shenanigans that is all the rage right now.

Amara was a sweet girl, sweet to the core, and very respectful and kind too. She personified goodness.

What Amara saw in me, I never knew and would probably never know. All I know is that she really loved me and cared for me and wanted the very best for me.

I wanted the very best for her as well... That is, until I became responsible for her death, this dearest Amara of mine.

Let me tell you how it all happened.

I met Amara in 2018. I was working then, in salaried employment, but like almost every other salaried worker around I was overworked and underpaid. Amara was in her final year in the University then. We met at DMGS roundabout, Onitsha; she was about to board a Kèké Napep to Upper Iweka and I was buying rock buns from a roadside vendor.

Something in the both of us clicked.

You can say it was love at first sight.

*

The love I had for Amara made me want to do the very best for her. It made me want to take her to exotic locations and pamper her, buy her the most expensive things, this girl of mine who wanted nothing from me but for me to succeed, to make something out of my life and make my family proud. And not only that, to make her proud too. I wanted to make Amara proud to have a man like me to hang onto, to introduce to her friends and family. I wanted her to smile and be happy. I wanted her to buy the best wigs and frontal and closure money could buy to adorn her stunning head. I wanted the best car for her and the best clothing and beauty accouterments on her.

That was what led me to Asaba, to meet "Uncle Baba", as he was popularly called amongst the Asaba Yahoo Boys. You know them; you must have seen them driving around Shoprite and other spots around Asaba and Onitsha in their very expensive cars--mostly the high-end Lexus SUVs and the Mercedes GLK series--with iPhone mobiles dinging with calls and messages and pings and credit alerts. Yeah, those boys. You know them; I know them too.

I wanted to be like them.

Uncle Baba's home was just off Koka Junction, Asaba.

"You want to make money," Uncle Baba said to me. It was not a question; more like an affirmation of my journey to his house from across the Niger.

"Yes, Baba."

"You want to chill with the big boys. You want to be one of the big boys."

I nodded. I remember that my nod was very vigorous, just like the nods of some of you women often are when you are in the club and one of the "big Boys" approached you to ask if you had a boyfriend and you denied it.

"Go there. Wash your hands." Uncle Baba pointed to a clear bowel of water in a corner of his stunningly appointed living room.

I literally sprinted to the bowel and washed my hands, then returned to my chair opposite the rotund man and awaited his verdict.

For long moments Uncle Baba said nothing to me. He just sat there, stone cold and unmoving. At some point I wanted to jolt him with a question, or a slap, or a shake, just to be sure that he remembered I was still there in the room with him and that he was not alone.

"Some of the men that come here, I tell them to eat their own feaces," he said finally. "Some, I tell to sleep with mad women and even mad men, without condoms. Some, I send back home because they are not destined to make it in this life and can only enjoy whatever gains they make here within, at most, one year, before they die under horrible and mysterious circumstances. "

" So? " I demanded impatiently.

" I need a sacrifice from you."

I leaned forward. I was eager to do it, to do anything, all for this woman I loved.

" I need Amara."

"What?" I demanded, slamming back in my chair as if he had jolted me with a thousand watts of electricity. "Which Amara?"

"I need Amara. I need her heart."

I shook my head. I did not understand. I was here because I was ready to sleep with a mad women. I was ready to eat my own excreta with bread and even to do that in public. But what was this man talking about Amara's heart for? What on earth did that even mean?

"You shall cut out her heart and you shall bring it to me. That is what is required of you. You have twenty days. Do that within twenty days or you will die. Gbuleke will come for you. Amara is the sacrifice, or you are. It is your choice."

*

For nineteen days after my visit to Uncle Baba I could not eat well, I could not sleep well, I could not function well, and I could not be myself. My work as a lawyer suffered, such that I noticed that my boss was even sidestepping using me for certain matters in the office. Amara noticed it even though I tried to hide my discomfort and anguish from her.

"You can tell me what the problem is," she begged me. Oh, did she beg, did she, my darling Amara with the beatific smile and the sunny disposition.

I did not tell her what the problem was.

On the nineteenth day, with just one day remaining for me, I steeled myself, deepened my resolve.

I visited Amara at her small one-room apartment. There, we made love... For the last time, we made love to each other, then I ate with her and drank with her. Unknown to her, I spiked her drink with a laxative which lulled her to sleep within moments. Then I did the horrible deed of kill ing her by striki ng at her head...with a large pla.nk I struck, over and over and over and over again, until blood spurted and splashed around everywhere.

I was weeping as I did this horrible deed to my darling Amara, then I got the organ Uncle Baba had requested for. I deleted all traces of myself from her phone, destroyed every single trace of me in her social media, and even ripped and took away our photos together and other items that belonged to me.

*

Uncle Baba showed me where to bury the heart, which I did, with tears streaming down my eyes.

"Go home. Within one week, you will see an outcome."

Within one week I developed a very painful boil on the underside of my penis. The boil just materialized one morning, just like that.

Within two days--as the boil got more painful, so painful that I could barely move--I developed another incredibly painful boil under both armpits. I could not put my arms down properly.

I called Uncle Baba.

"I told you that you will see an outcome," he said, sounding cryptic.

"What do you mean?!" I roared. "I came to you for money and did what you asked me to do! Why am I not seeing the money!"

"I do not control the outcome of what you get. You can get money, or you can get madness, or death, or diseases...only very few people get money. Maybe you were not destined for it."

*

Three days after my call to Uncle Baba, my boss fired me.

A day after my boss fired me I developed a severe itch all over my body. Multiple tests could not detect anything wrong with me.

The boils remained, and they got more painful by the day.

*

I cast my mind back to my Amara, my darling Amara.

I had ended her for nothing. But I know I am going to go join her in the afterlife. That is why I am putting out this story for you all to see it. By the time you read my story, I will be gone, hung from a ceiling fan, gone from the world, joined to my Amara.

Please, I beg you, do not be like me. Walk the straight path. It pays.

*

This story was written and originally published on Facebook by Kingsley Adrian Banks and can be found here on https://www.facebook.com/100016029948856/posts/1084259298785058/?app=fbl

Kingsley Adrian Banks is a Nigerian Novelist whose novels are available on Bambooks, Okadabooks and Amazon.