₦airaland Forum

April 3rd 2015.

11:58pm

“Madam, He don park o!”

The voice of the Cab man brought her out of deep thought. She stared out the cab window at the prey she had been stalking, shoulders hunched, head bent with a briefcase over his head, the figure made its way hurriedly out of the parking lot into the apartment building. It had been raining heavily all day, a sign maybe, that the universe cried with her in recognition of what was to come. She came prepared; nothing could derail her, not now, not tonight. She paid the cab man and instructed him to call her back in 45 minutes if he was still in the vicinity, she stepped out of the cab and made her way across the road. The sound of the heavy raindrops hitting the tarred roads, the loud aggressive vibrations of the generators, both seemed to applaud her as she made her way stealthily into the apartment block. If memory serves her correctly he stayed on the 3rd floor, memories from weeks of trailing him and observing his daily routine. She remembered how distraught and broken she had felt after the incident as tears threatened to break her calm. She gave herself a mental nudge and hurried into the darkness, there were no emotions allowed tonight, she needed to be as cold as the weather.
His apartment was the only one without electricity. It wouldn’t be for long though she thought, she needed to act fast before he turned on his generator. She made her way quickly up the stairs, her wet trainers made little noise as she passed the floors beneath his. She got to his apartment door and knocked three times, this shouldn’t be enough to wake the neighbors up, she thought. She could hear him on the phone as his footsteps approached the door on the other side.

“Who is it?” He called out.

Silence.

“Laura is that you? I thought you weren’t going to come”

He said as he pulled back the door bolts and turned the key. He must have had more than enough to drink at the club tonight, perfect, she thought. The door opened and there he stood, her prey. He was in a pair of shorts and a singlet, his mohawk was still wet from the rain, he had a towel round his neck and a fluorescent rechargeable lamp in his free hand. He had a look of total shock which slowly turned into confusion as the light illuminated the ‘unexpected guest’. “Becky?” He stammered. She acted fast. The knife was hidden in her purse, she had been holding it for comfort and reassurance all night, he never saw it coming. Two quick stabs to his stomach, she couldn’t stab a third time as he grabbed his stomach, still in shock. The alcohol made him slow to react, the pain hadn’t fully sunk in yet, he staggered backwards. She took a step into the apartment and kicked the door shut behind her. Her eyes never leaving him as he hit the floor, his face finally revealing the fear she wanted to see. Lights flashed in the apartment, followed almost immediately by a loud thunderclap as the rain grew heavier outside. She took another step close to him and knelt beside him, she wasn’t done yet. With tears in his eyes, he reached for her arms; he needed to tell her something. Fountains of blood flowed from the hokes in his abdomen, she reached for his arm and pulled him close to her, resting his head on her laps. She had a soft smile on her face all this while, “I’m sorry, Becky… Please forgive me” He whispered. Patting his head slowly, she whispered to him, “I know you are, Chuka. I’m sorry too.” She kissed his forehead… and slit his throat.
She left his apartment in a trance, the emotions finally came in torrents with bile rising to her throat. It was still raining outside as she made her way out of the building, cold heavy drops hitting her face and washing the blood stains off her. Becky cried not because she was hurt but for the relief her action brought to her, maybe now she would find peace, she knew better than to believe this. Her phone rang, it was the cab man, he wanted to know if she still needed him. She told him to meet her at the Unilag Junction Bus stop in 45 minutes. It was a long walk from her current location but she needed it for what was still to come.

8 Months Ago

Becky was just out of an abusive relationship, nothing physical, but she had endured two years of verbal abuse. Femi was a great guy, her colleague at work, but his temper was something ugly and vindictive. He was the type of guy that would hurt you just because he felt hurt. He would make you feel his hurt, whether or not you were the cause of it. She couldn’t take it anymore and since her well-being had to come first before her feelings for him, she quit. She got an offer from an online retailer, Chuka had helped her get the job and she gladly switched. Chuka was her best friend, she had known him for close to a decade, nothing special, she saw him as the brother she never had. They had both been there for each other in the past, through heartbreaks, the loss of his parents; her folks knew him and encouraged the friendship. They often teased her about dating him, but she was always firm in telling them they were just friends and nothing more.
Growing up an only child was tough; her parents spoilt her silly which should have been good but they never took the time out to really know her. They were always busy chasing their careers, so she was raised by her Grandma and several nannies. Her parents felt parenting was all about providing comfort and being able to afford the best of everything, hence she was entrusted to others. Sometimes she yearned for proper conversations whenever they were around, she had a lot of things to ask her mum, but her mother was either planning events or hosting functions. Daddy was no better; he was always texting on his phone or having conference calls. When Grandma passed on, she had no one to talk to, then Chuka came along. He listened, he understood, he was a brother she never had, and she was thankful.
During her breakup, Chuka was away for his Masters. They spoke a lot on the phone and video calls, and though he was far away, he was always there for her. He returned some months after and she was looking forward to hooking up with him. They were supposed to meet by 7pm, at a bar not too far from her office. She was excited and couldn’t wait to finish work for the day. She couldn’t concentrate much, and 7pm felt like a week away. She got a cab at 6.30pm and was there in 15 minutes. It was fun, she had a lot of things to talk to him about, and they caught up on old times. He was planning on getting married soon, he met someone during his Masters in the US, and he thought she was the one. Becky was excited for him, finally he was ending his “Baby Boy” life. They finally got to ordering food and drinks but she had to go to the bathroom before their orders arrived.
She returned and her drink was waiting, he was a still a gentleman she thought; he didn’t start eating before her. After a few sips, Becky felt nauseous. At first, she felt it was her previous excitement but she started to panic when her vision got blurry and her speech slurred. “Are you ok, Becky?” Chuka asked, with an odd smile on his face. She wondered why he was sweating, she felt oddly cold. “I don’t… know. I feel a bit… woozy… must be the drink.” She got up, trying to walk the feeling away, but she slumped and Chuka caught her. He slowly guided her towards the exit as she faded out of consciousness. The last thing she remembered was the cold breeze on her face as darkness engulfed her.

3:45pm

Becky remembers waking up in a room with white bed sheets; she had been having a nightmare. As weird as dreams were, she was skin diving at some exotic island. The sea water was clear blue and beautiful; it almost felt like staring out a car window. She was enjoying her swim when suddenly arms from behind grabbed her waist, restricting her movement. The biceps she could see were bigger than her thighs. She was going to die, she thought. As she struggled and tried to wrestle with her captor a figure was moving towards them. She felt hope course through her as Chuka came swimming to her rescue in the dream. Help is here, she thought as he got next to her but instead of trying to save her, he reached for her neck, squeezing hard with that odd smile on his face again. She woke up.
The room smelled like cigarettes and cheap perfume. “Where am I? How did I get here?” She tried to move but everywhere hurt. She pulled the sheets off her body and realized she was naked. How? Panic gripped her. “Don’t panic Becks”, she tried to calm herself. “You are probably in Chuka’s place”. She couldn’t help but notice the desk phone by the bedside and a menu with phone numbers for room service. “A hotel?” She said to herself. “Why would Chuka bring me to a hotel?” She rolled out of bed, searching for her bag. She should have painkillers in there somewhere. The bulk of the pain seemed to be from between her thighs, neck and breasts. “God, let it not be. Please God. It can’t be”. She found her bag at the other end of the bed and in it, the painkiller she need. She dry-swallowed four tablets and searched for her phone. Her SIM card was missing. She hurriedly got out of bed, wincing at the pain she still felt. She found the bathroom and her clothes in a bucket… Wet. She had to get out of here, she thought to herself. She took her clothes out of the bucket and squeezed repeatedly. She shook the dress hard and placed it on the air conditioner to dry for a while. She checked to make sure her wallet was still in her bag, it was, thankfully. Her only thought was to leave the room; she would process her situation on her way home. Ten minutes later, she was in a cab heading home. The hotel room had been paid by the gentleman she came in with. He had told the hotel manager she was drunk and she couldn’t drive home. That was the information she got from the hotel receptionist. The tears came in monster waves. She had been raped. Chuka, her best friend, the one person she would have trusted with her life had done this to her. How long had he been planning this? He must have spiked her drink while she went to the toilet, but why? What did she ever do to him to deserve something so demeaning? What happens next? These and many other questions plagued her as she made her way home.
Becky was broken afterwards. She kept having that same nightmare of being drowned. She had no friends to talk to. There was no one to confide in. The one person she would have run to was her assailant. She was scared and contemplated telling the police, but she had no proof. Would they even believe her? She had heard stories of rape victims being mocked by the police. This is Nigeria, she thought. People got raped every day and nothing was done about it. If Becky was an introvert before, she became a recluse after her rape. She couldn’t trust anyone. She built walls around her thoughts and emotions, letting no one close. Her folks gave up asking what was wrong with her; she rarely spoke to them anyways. Sometimes, she was thankful she had no recollection of the actual rape, it was easier to deal with, she thought. She stalked Chuka on all the social media platforms he was present, as he had not called her since that night. There were no apologies; he carried on like that night never happened. She did a lot of research on date rapes, in her bid to understand how he carried out his plan. Rohypnol (aka Roofies); that was the drug he used. It is tasteless and odorless, a pre-operation anesthetic, strong enough to temporarily incapacitate a person, leaving no traces in the body, 24 hours after ingestion. This must have been his tool. She wondered how many other women had fall victim to this monster. His Instagram was filled with happy pictures, same as Facebook. When he stopped posting as much as he used to, she resorted to follow him about every Friday night. She had been doing this for months now; she was accustomed to his pattern. She never knew why she did it, she just knew the immense hate she felt for him because of what he had done to her. It was on one of such nights that the thought had crossed her mind. A thought she couldn’t shake off, it fed off her hate for Chuka till she became obsessed with it. She knew what she had to do
It was still raining as Becky got to Unilag junction. “It is almost time”, she thought, as she sat on the commuter’s bench at the bus stop waiting, and silently dreading what was still to come. She checked her purse to make sure the contents were not wet, thankfully, they were not. The bus stop provided sufficient shelter from the rain; she will be fine till Baba gets here. She thought about the events of the night and decided she wouldn’t change anything if given the chance. She brought the bloodstained knife out of her purse; its blade was so sharp from days of sharpening. She touched the edge of the blade to her left wrist, it felt so cold, a shiver ran down her spine. She’d been so deep in thought her mind had grown numb to the cold her body felt. With a deep breath she pressed the blade on her wrists and cut as deep as she could. Incredible pain seared through her body as blood poured from the severed arteries. The pain lasted a few minutes as adrenaline shut through her body, numbing her. All that was left now was time, she thought, this was how it was supposed to end. An end to the perfect script her life had been before that night. She did not know how to deal with the demons that had tormented her since that night, death was the only reprieve for her, she was certain of this. Dizziness embraced her as everything around her began to fade. She couldn’t hear the raindrops anymore, her senses failing her. With what felt like her last strength, she brought out the note from her purse and placed it on her chest. Baba would find this when he gets here, he will know what to do when he reads it. She remembered something that made her smile; “it’s over now” she whispered. Her life used to be as simple as ABCD, ironically, it ended just as that, ABCD: About Becky, Chuka & Death…

I'm glad you all like it.
Thanks

Sometimes waking up seems to be the hardest thing in the world (second only to ironing & folding laundry). You pop one eye open and then the next as you silently swear at the alarm for doing its job. Did I say “sometimes”? Ok… it happens to me all week except weekends. It’s not like I’m lazy, but I’m definitely not a morning person. I love to sleep till I’m tired of sleeping; we all do this, right? Ok. Moving on…

5:00 am, March 11th, 2012

This was supposed to be one of those lazy days I talked about earlier and as usual 6 hours of sleep seemed like a 20 minute nap. The harsh, wicked-evil sound of the alarm (personally, I think this is the most ANNOYING sound in the world) jolted me from one particularly interesting dream I was having. I was on a yacht with the 2 Evas (Longoria & Mendes). I’ll forgive you for thinking ‘Alordiah’. It was a boat cruise from Manchester to some exotic island, we were getting bored when we found weed on the boat then ‘someone’ suggested we have a threeso… Ha! Ugh! Damn mosquitoes… So the alarm spoilt the best part of my dream and all my attempts to go back for at least 30 minutes was useless.

So I grudgingly peeled myself from between the sheets and stumbled in the direction of the bathroom. I fumbled as I searched for the light switch in the darkness and cursed as I walked head first into the open bathroom door. Getting set for work was a 30 minute cycle, done in auto-pilot without much thought and with time spent persistent on my mind. It’s a ‘Casual Friday’ like we call it at work, so my outfit is a pair of khaki chinos pants, a navy Polo shirt (tucked in as usual) and black high top converse sneakers. My ear plugs complete the look as I never go anywhere without them.

The first rays of sunlight were slowly escaping from behind heavy clouds as I made my way to the bus stop. I really hope I get a bus out of ‘The Island’ before the bus stop gets filled with grim looking passengers eager to get to the next phase of their boring lives. I mutter to myself about how easy my life would be if I had a ride as I search for my favourite song ‘Stay – Rihanna ft Mikky Ekko’ on my mp3 … I can’t explain it but this song gets to me. The harmony, the lyric… The subtle beat that makes me both sad and happy all at once. Strange as it might sound, sadness helps me think clearly most times.


“All along it was a fever…
A cold sweat, hot-headed believer.
I threw my hands in the air said “Show me something”.
He said, “If you dare come a little closer”


I heard the loud high pitched shrill of screeching tires as I tried to get my attention back to the scene unfolding in front of me. A Mercedes 911, thrown into a mad spin was heading my way as I stood confused and slow to respond. Clearly the driver had no control anymore as he pulled frantically at the steering wheel trying to steer the vehicle away from the path it was headed… Me! I could see fear & terror written all over his face as I was pretty sure my face had never looked more identical to any other like it did to his in that split second. Maybe if I wasn’t so engrossed in my music I might have spotted the vehicle earlier. Maybe I could have pulled one of those famous Tom Cruise moves from Mission Impossible but I’m no stud and my athletic basketball playing days are ancient history. All I could mutter was the one word, known across all races. One word with no particular meaning but used still to explain the severity of one’s current situation or feeling… “Bleep!”

Excruciating pain soared through me as I heard my ribs and shoulder bone snap simultaneously and I was flung a good distance. Pain so great, the only way my body could respond was by going numb. My face is swollen so much that my eyes have to remain shut. The first stage of shock and confusion had kicked in. I wasn’t unconscious yet but I couldn’t move either. I lay with my chest facing the now bright clear sky, I try to look sideways but my body doesn’t respond. I feel muscles in my wrist and feet twitch but I couldn’t move my limbs either. I hear horns and the sounds of people gathering but I’m still forced to stare at the sky. The clouds look even further from my position as they race along like nothing here on earth bothers them, slowly forming shapes and then losing them. The religious sentimental in me half hoped a face would peek from behind those clouds and assure me everything would be fine. I wish I could laugh at that thought but I couldn't…


“Not really sure how to feel about it,
something in the way you move…
Makes me feel like I can’t live without you.
It takes me all the way, I want you to stay”


As I lay motionless on the hard concrete floor away from the side-walk, my brain switches to auto-pilot as it tries to deal with the trauma. I feel my thoughts wonder as I slip out of consciousness. I should have been paying attention to my surroundings, how could I have been so stupid? My mind drifts to my family as I envision my parents and their reaction to the news of my… I quickly banish that thought. Dear God, I don’t want to die. Not yet, please. Not here and definitely not like this…

As I lay perfectly still like a mannequin broken and abandoned, I think about the last few years of my life and how I’d lived it. I think about my younger brother, Seyi… I should have been more of an older brother to him but I abandoned him to grow up alone. Being a loner shouldn’t have been an excuse for not getting to know him properly. I scolded him all the time, bully him when I could and make him feel like an outcast most times when the problem was me. Would he miss me when I die? Or it’s going to be ‘good riddance to bad rubbish’? I try to shake off that thought. I think about my sister Tosin… I let her go through school alone with no support. I barely even talk to her about her academics. I wasn’t there to console her and advise her during her first heartbreak. Instead I chastised her for having a boyfriend in the first place. I never remember her birthday or buy her anything. Would she miss me too? Or she’ll be indifferent to my absence.

As I lay broken like many pieces of a fine china teacup, I think about my friends and colleagues at work. I try to do a mental list of those that would genuinely feel my absence. A list of those that would hurt for months if I died, people whose hearts would forever have a vacuum if they hear I was gone. I couldn’t think of any. Why can’t I answer these questions with any certainty? Am I really terrible? Maybe death wouldn’t be a bad idea after all.

"… It’s not much of a life you’re living.
It’s not just something you take, it’s given.
Round and around and around and around we go.
Ooooooh! Now tell me, now tell me, now tell me, now you know"

As I lay still and abandoned like a corpse and the clouds move high above me like hungry vultures, I think about my ex-girlfriend Lauretta… *Sigh* I claimed to love her yet I hurt her at every chance I got. I was selfish, greedy and unappreciative; whatever she did was never good enough. She was my girlfriend yet I told her a lot of lies. I didn’t trust her enough to let her in. And when she decided to leave I didn’t try to stop her. It’s ironic I’m thinking about her now when her parting words were “I hate you and I curse the day I ever met you”. She’d probably hiss and spit at the news of my death. I feel tears trickle down my swollen eyelids as fear strokes my spine and tickles my feet.

I can hear the slight thuds of footsteps approaching me now, and voices too. A male voice speaks in Yoruba, “Shey eleyi ti ku ni?” (Is this one dead?) “E je ka gbe kuro loju titi ki ambulance toh deh” (Lets carry him away from the road before the ambulance comes). Thank God, I thought. An ambulance has been called. I feel hope nudge me slightly. Another voice quickly urges, “E je ka rora gbe o. Iwo gbe owo e, ki emi gbe ese mejeji” (Let’s lift him carefully. You lift his hands, while I lift his two legs). They lift me slowly and place me gently on the side-walk; I could hear the wails of the ambulance siren as it approached. All was not lost, help is almost here. I try my best to fight the darkness I could feel trying to steal the little consciousness I had. The siren is louder now as the ambulance parks and doors are slammed shot. I hear a male voice shout at the crowd to move back. I hear a sound I assume is the clattering of the gurney’s wheels as it draws closer. A face suddenly blocks the racing clouds from my view. It could have been an angel for all I care. I feel hope spread and embrace my entire being. The paramedic lifts my right wrist and feels my pulse. He gives me a faint smile as he looks back at the crowd and signals for the gurney to be brought closer. “Make una comot. Let us do our work, pls”. I hear another voice to my left, as two new faces fill my line of vision. I’m exhausted now and can’t fight the darkness anymore. They lift me unto the gurney and push me to the ambulance. The first paramedic draws close to me and whispers, “You’ll be fine young man. We’ve got you”. I take a deep breath as I submit completely to the darkness… My last thoughts were of Blue Bunny Ice Cream and 01 Shawarma as I remembered I’d forgotten my wallet in my rush to get to work on time.


“Ooooh the reason I hold on,
Ooooh cause I need this hole gone,
Funny all the broken ones but I’m the only one who needed saving,
Cause when you never see the lights it’s hard to know which one of us is caving”


Who I am doesn't matter at this point. What matters is that I now dwell in your sub-conscious. I am that part of you that would serve as a reminder that your days are numbered and your breaths borrowed… A reminder that your thoughts are governed and tailored by your beliefs and your actions should be a reflection of those beliefs. Make the most of your life today, because tomorrow is certain but not promised and the lives you touch today and the happiness you bring to others are your one true legacy…


THE END

Segun had been on my case for at least 2 years.
I met him one hot Saturday as I was waiting for a taxi on Harvey Road in Yaba. He pulled over and asked where I was headed. I don’t ever talk to people on the road but this day, the look of the mist on the window of his air conditioned car made it difficult to ignore him given the extreme heat I was exposed to.
I stepped into his car, grateful for the ride, yet determined to let him know I was no cheap girl that jumps into available cars.
“Thank you so much, Sir, for the ride. I normally wouldn’t do this but I have been standing outside in the sun for at least 30 minutes. The cabs come in trickles and are either taken or too expensive. No one is interested in going my way”

“Where might that be?” He asked, totally ignoring every other thing I had said.

“I’m going to Ikota but I’ll drop off once we get to any major road where I can find a cab”.

“You’re in luck. I’m actually going to VGC but I need to get to Surulere first. So I can either drop you off at a taxi park or you accompany me to Surulere and then I drop you off at your doorstep.”

In as much as I was so eager not to overuse help being rendered, I opted for the latter option. I was in no hurry whatsoever to get to my empty home. Mum and Dad were on their way to Abeokuta for a week long engagement and my younger siblings were all in school. My best friend, Mololu had kindly volunteered to spend the week with me but she would not be getting to mine until Sunday night so that meant I’d be spending Saturday night by myself with only Cesar, the dog and Malik, the gate man, for company.

I looked at my wristwatch, with its recently cracked screen and declared,

“Well, it’s just 1pm and I’m not in a hurry so I’ll go with you”.

I got to meet him properly. His name was Segun, a businessman who was into the oil and gas business. He had been working for himself in Libya before moving to Nigeria earlier that year. The Nigerian side of his business was only just growing and was already facing major challenges but he was scheduled to have a meeting in Abuja two weeks from now and that would determine if a major stumbling block would be removed and his license would be granted. He saw an RCCG band on my wrist and asked me to pray along with him. I promised to.

As he dropped me off at about 4pm that Saturday evening, I felt like I knew him already. Segun was very chatty, divulging a lot so quickly. During those hours we spent together, I also found out that he has a 5 year old daughter by a white French girl he dated all through his university years in France. The lady had gone on to marry another Nigerian and they lived in Port Harcourt with his daughter, Amélie. His dad was long gone and his mom had raised him and his siblings by herself. I did what I do not ever do. I gave him my phone numbers and my pin and from there, we became friends.

The problem with Segun was with his way of showing concern and love. My primary love language is ‘Quality Time’ and I’m not really the type to get all mushy too early. So it came as a bit of a rude shock to me when I received my first “love you baby”, 2 weeks from the day we met. I really didn’t know what to make of the message and it abruptly ended our chat as I did not respond. To be fair to him, I assumed he was simply overjoyed as he was granted all necessary permits we prayed for, that he spoke out of turn.

About 4 hours after, at 1 am, I got another message from him telling me how much he’s so into me and how he feels like he has finally found what he had been looking for and if I would be okay being a second mom to his daughter and how he wants me to meet his mom. I read it and responded with a “BRB”. Later in the day, we met up for a meal and then I explained how, though I appreciate his feelings, it was all too soon for me and I would appreciate if I am given a bit more time to be on that kind of level with him. In the meanwhile, I suggested that we remain friends. He looked a bit disappointed but accepted and declared that he was in no hurry and would wait for me however long it took me to realise my feelings for him or develop them.

Segun was extremely generous to me, almost worryingly so. Once he travelled and brought me an orange Hermès’ Birkin 40cm bag which retails for about $2000. I was shocked and despite loving nice stuff, I didn’t want to take it from him initially but I eventually did mentioning it to him that he really didn’t need to spend that much on me and he should focus more on growing his business.

Mololu usually saw one Harrods or Neiman Marcus shopping bag or the other and was always encouraging me to “stop fronting and say ‘yes’ to Segun before a sharp girl does”. I guess because of the manner in which he approached me, it made me a bit overly cautious since his asking out was more like a proposal and he seemed so sure of his feelings for me. I slowed things down a lot and out rightly refused to meet his mom for the first three months. I didn’t want to get carried away at all and kept praying and taking things slow. Despite our living so close to each other, I hardly went to his and since I come from a relatively strict home, his visits were sparing as well (of my doing).

About six months after we met, work commitments took him away from Nigeria for a long while. During that period, he would come to Nigeria at least once a month, bombarding me with all manners of gifts. Even when he was not around, he’d randomly have flowers delivered to my office.

He would send handwritten letters by DHL and whenever anyone was travelling to Nigeria, he would have them deliver something to me, however small. There was a time he sent me a bottle of Lucozade because I had lamented that the Nigerian one tasted different. When it came to giving, Segun was without fault. But in my opinion, there was more to consider than how generous a man is.

Sometime, five months ago, Mololu was sent to England for training to last 3 weeks. She used the opportunity to shop and ended up having 2 extra boxes. She complained over the phone to me telling me the airline was overcharging her and then, partly because I felt it right to help and partly because I had ordered some things which she was bringing for me, I decided to ask Segun if he could help out since I knew he always travelled light and never uses the extra allowance granted to him. He accepted to help bring the extra boxes and I gave her his hotel address to drop them off a day before her flight. He was due in Nigeria a week and half after.

My suspicion was first roused when, upon his arrival, he took the bags to Mololu’s in Ogudu, instead of as I expected, bringing it to me and having us sort ourselves out. I asked for the favour. I mentioned to him that my stuff was included in the box so it came as a surprise to me when he drove all the way to hers the next day to drop the boxes off. When I asked him why he did that, he said the boxes were quite heavy and that he was going that way and decided to drop them off. I had more questions but felt since I was not his girlfriend, there is a limit to the questions I can pose without looking funny. My pride got in the way and I decided not to mention it anymore.

The calls reduced. The texts were shorter. The usual “love you” closing went missing. ‘Mololu too reduced her communication with me. Then one day, she drove to mine and after lunch asked the most random question, ‘Are you and Segun in a relationship?”. She looked like she had struggled to ask that question but at the same time, as though that was her aim for coming to mine.

“Why do you ask?”

“Nothing at all o. Just wondering ’cause you have known him for a while and you said you were praying a while back for direction and was wondering if maybe God said ‘No’ since you are not dating him”, she mumbled.

“Omololu, did I say we are not dating?”

“Oh sorry. But I kinda know you are not”

At this stage, I knew she and Segun must have spoken about our relationship status and so I decided to cut to the chase.

“Did Segun mention it to you himself?”

She looked down and playing with her perfectly manicured nails, said yes. I had noticed she brought a brand new car to mine with a new plate number. She had the black of my Hermes bag too. Wow! I didn’t want to believe what I know just had to be the truth. It was written all over her face. I don’t know where I got the strength but I said not a word after that. Awkwardly, she picked up her bag and car keys. I noticed then it was a Hyundai. It must be the Sonata she always wanted ever since it was released last year. She would always point at every 2011 Sonata she saw on the road and say she’d one day, get it.

To cut the very long tale short, my best friend Omololu and my 2 year old toaster are now together. Segun drove to mine 2 weeks after Omololu did and said some things to me. He first of all apologised. He said he was not sorry for moving on but sorry that it had to be someone I knew simply because of the sake of his consideration of my feelings and not because it was wrong. He said, as I never for once, declared any form of feelings for him during our almost 2 year friendship, he does not feel he had wronged me in any way. He said he would always be grateful for meeting me as, through me, a door of everlasting joy had been opened to him and he would like my blessing as he walks into it. I was weak.

To be honest, I’m not hundred percent certain which hurts more, the fact that I’m losing a really nice and eligible suitor, that I lost him to a ‘friend’, the sneaky way it happened or the fact that I almost executed the deed for them by creating an enabling environment.

I really wanted to know how it all happened and so I demanded the tale, not from Mololu, but from Segun himself. He told me that the week before he travelled, when he saw her at mine, they had got talking whilst I was in the bathroom and she had mentioned she would be off on training and that she would be doing crazy shopping for her new apartment. They had a few ‘moments’ that day but they did not exchange numbers. It was the day she brought the bags to his hotel that the sparks went flying. She had gotten to his hotel at about 12 noon and they went to out together and he dropped her off at her hotel at about 9pm. Early the next morning, at about 5 am, he drove down to her hotel to take her to the airport himself and from their journey, they got even closer. According to him, he knew that morning that he was ‘home’. That conversation sounded painfully familiar and I couldn’t help my grimace. At that juncture, I held up my hands and told him I was satisfied with the information he furnished and that they both have my blessing. He hugged me and left.

That evening, Omololu updated her status with these words “Those that wait on the Lord will rejoice. I rejoice. Behold, my Boaz!” His picture was her DP. I remember that picture. I took it with his iPhone whilst trying out an app. Each day, a new picture of him would be put on display. There was even one of herself, Segun and his daughter. She had firmly ingrained herself in his life.

Due to how serious I know Segun is, it came as no shock to me when she told me they were getting married and she really wanted me to be her chief bridesmaid though if I felt I could not do it, she would understand. According to her, she was doing that for the friendship we once shared which she hoped we could revive. I refused. But not before letting her know that I could be counted on if she needed any assistance.

At about 12 midnight, I got this email from her,

“Sweetheart, I love you. God knows I do. I apologise for how I might have hurt you but despite all, I would be a liar to say I would or could elect to do things differently if given a second chance.

Oluwasegun has brought me the type of joy I thought was only for the fairy tales. But through him, I have my very own fairy tale. I love him with all my being. I know I might come across as insensitive and selfish. I am sorry. But please, try and find a place in your kind heart to let go of any hurt you might be experiencing and enter into a place of happiness for me, Omololu, your sister and best friend since our Corona days. It should not be heard that we are fighting over a man and remember, my darling, you never were in a relationship with Segun.

You never took the plunge; you shielded your heart from hurt and refused to commit to anything. I know you babes. When you truly love a man, you have no time for such long due diligence exercises. If you want to be sincere with yourself, you would admit that Segun never did anything to your heart. Your heart did not skip beats with the sound of his voice. Your body never quivered with the touch of his hands. I understand you two never even kissed. You clearly never felt love for him.

However, I cannot discount the friendship you shared. Till date, he still goes on and on about how you are the only friend whose loss moved him to his core. I can testify too of your level of regard of your friendship and respect for him. But my dear, friendship and respect are not solid foundation enough upon which to construct a marriage. You knew this and this is why you stalled. What did not grow in 2 years would most likely never grow.

I hope you understand that the aim of this email is not to throw in your face the fact that Oluwasegun and you never had anything concrete but to let you take a proper, honest and dispassionate look at goings on. If you do, forgiving me would come, naturally.

I can’t stop loving you dear. I am sad that the vow we made to each other 16 years ago to be each other’s maids of honour even if one got married first would not be fulfilled. Please, re-examine your heart and find a place in it to forgive me.

Yours now and always,
‘Mololu.”

The tears came pouring down. I couldn’t say exactly why and they were not asking. I felt sorry for myself. I felt sad because I really wasn’t crazy about Segun but we could have made it work, I guess. Omololu now was benefitting from all the prayers I invested in Segun, all the fasting. That, more than anything hurt me. I would have married Segun. I just needed him to pass one more test and voila, I’d have said yes to him. I never thought he’d stop loving me. I never thought I’d lose him and certainly not to my friend, my supposed best friend.

***

I eventually decided to be her Chief Bridesmaid and muster strength to be happy for her. There was no faking the look of intense joy on her face when I told her I changed my mind. She jumped on me in her usual boisterous fashion, laughing and crying at the same time.

God has been helping me. It has been hard. Especially when I see the look on Segun’s face as he looks at her. He never looked at me that way, I must confess.

His business has been doing greatly and he is sparing nothing for his wedding. His daughter, upon Omololu’s request, will be both the little bride and the flower girl. Omololu’s nephew will be the ring bearer. Her Elie Saab dress is absolutely beautiful. Segun flew us both to England to get it. She asked for a size bigger and I suspect she is pregnant.

With each day, the feeling of hurt and betrayal gets slowly taken over by happiness for her and hope for my own future. I still haven’t met anyone worth reporting on and despite this, I have joy. Not happiness, but joy; joy that all will turn out well. But for now, I still can’t help from asking myself each time I look at Omololu, “How could she?!”
Would you accuse Omololu of being a conniving, scheming friend? Or would you blame the writer for being a slow person who forgot that time waits for no man and who possibly had started taking Segun for granted? Or should we lay the blame at Segun’s feet, the slimy bastard who had the nerve to move from one girl to her best friend? Or is there really anyone to blame? Could it not be argued, and successfully too, that when love takes over, restraint is hard, if not impossible, to practise and maybe, as Omololu stated in her letter, Segun was never destined to be with her friend?

… Proverbs 4:23, a Happy Spirit and the Blazing Sun…

Ok, so many weekends ago, I caught up with a friend of mine, Bankole. He is one the most amazing guys I know (I got the most princely of them though!! Yes o!). Anyways, I finally made it to his home after many failed promises. He lives in a nice place tucked away in an almost sleepy crescent in Gbagada, Lagos.

The first thing I noticed beyond the sheer beauty of his simple home was a certain twinkle in his eyes. He looked, to me, as a man who had found something or who came upon good news he was still trying to hide. As I sat down, I started to tease him (that’s my favourite past time) about his growing pot belly from his wife’s culinary skills, and how his buttons don’t close up anymore. What he said to me in the most sacred manner has since remained in my heart.

Looking every inch serious, he literally leaned forward from the couch and said, “Dami, i'm sorry to have had doubts about Carol, she finally won my heart!!!” Tell me about it!! Was I touched or what?

Bankole is one vibrant, “Myles Munroe Disciple” ready to take the future, trying his hands on many businesses and actively engaging his mind in the enterprise of dreams. He is the guy who’s promised to bankroll at least one of my books, along the road of life. You get his spirit? Yeah! He dresses well, fancies colognes, speaks some ‘kain’ English and has read more books than most people I know, and well, he is not bad looking. So that’s Bankole.

Before graduating from the University like six years ago, he broke up with his babe because in his words, “she wasn’t ready to fight for her future”... Let me spare you the details of what that phrase meant to him. Anyways, after a few years with no serious relationship, we, ‘association of friends’ naturally started to ask questions now and then. He always seemed so disinterested.

Well, I got a call from him one sunny Tuesday, and he was so desperate to see me...when I couldn’t make the dates he planned, he opted for a Saturday MTN-MTN call, and gave me the gist. He had found a babe!!! Hurray! He said she was nice, very cool, mature and really homely. Then he punched me with “she is not exactly my kind of girl...But she is okay”. I was my excited self, screaming over the phone that my friend had caught the love bug. He kept chuckling like a shy guy. I asked a few questions about the babe, we talked some more and then I took the bold step to pray about what he had shared with me, even though I was sure he would make jest of me.

Yeah he laughed at me after the last “Amen” and said, “We never serious reach that one o, I still dey shadow the babe, she fit be the one for me”. Oh please, Mr Fantastic, always feeling like he is the one doing the woman a favour if he courts and marries her. By the time our conversation was over, certain facts had emerged.

One, the babe in question, Carol, was a reserved and enterprising first daughter of a family of five, having quite a huge responsibility to care for her siblings. She was a self-sponsored graduate of a Polytechnic and was now into Catering and a bit of Selling. Bankole had said, “She is not the typical kind of chic o, but she no ‘who-woh’ ”
Second, I could tell that my friend found her attractive in a way he could not explain. He didn’t exactly consider her very gorgeous, but he liked her deeply. He had said she was easy to talk to and he had started looking forward to going to her house from the Office. You get the scenario?

Third, Bankole was struggling with whether Carol would ‘fit’ into his world of dreams, adventure, business and more business, as well as his tight circle of friends, all whose babes were thriving in MTN, OandO, British Council, DStv and USAID. He had real concerns that if he started to court her, she would be treated like the ‘girl from the back side of town’.

Ok, to cut the long story short, Bankole asks out her out and she says yes like he expected, so the story just goes round among friends that the ‘Big Boy’ finally hooks a woman and a lot of people particularly, in church were looking forward to the lucky damsel. He takes her out with his friends and their babes, and what he did expect happened. They didn’t really accept her, because she didn’t ‘quite fit in’.

I knew babes wey dey curse the boy “rubbish, what’s wrong with him? So he left all of us to go and date that Poly girl! Oh please! I heard she sells cakes and Ankara materials…” Na your own be that o! Bankole was of course unhappy, and I remember him sharing with me his doubts about his babe, giving many justifications why he might not continue with the relationship, but I said to him “Guy, leave all these your flimsy excuses, it’s because your friends think she doesn’t measure up that you want to leave her. If she touches the deep places of your heart and you feel at home with her, you better stay!”

So fast forward 10 months, we are now seated in his cosy sitting room, and with the widest grin ever, my friend says, “Dami, I’m sorry to have had doubts about Carol, she finally won my heart!”. What had changed? They went ahead with the relationship and the babe started to blossom in the loving arms of my friend. Her heart and warmth started to show… She was a special woman. I can’t pretend to you, she may not sell on the cover page of a magazine, but she is so beautiful in her heart.

Bankole talked about her patience with almost tears in his eyes, how she’s loved him patiently in the midst of his weaknesses and mistakes… never complaining. She is a fabulous cook and cares for her husband like the prime assignment of her existence. He said she was given to prayer and carried him in her heart…always bringing them before God in prayer. She would never refuse to welcome him with a smile, regardless of whatever happened before he left home. Wow!!

He said “Carol is my miracle, Dami, she’s made my life beautiful. When she smiles, it’s like the sun is glittering at me. She’s not the prettiest, or even the smartest but she’s the best!” So we both sat there, smiling at the thought of a miracle woman!

As I think about this event and the things my friend shared with me, my conviction is further reinforced that the best things in life can hardly be measured by physical parameters! Women will try their best o, we go try to fine and to be hot... Because we know its appealing to the eyes of our men, but can we plead that you see past how we look to the women we are within? Let’s say my figure is 18 and not 8, Guy, abeg no judge me finish na!

And sisters, this matter reach una too! Can we beseech thee that you refrain from giving up on a good man because he doesn’t drive a Prado, can’t buy you bags by Prada, and has two and half packs, not 6, plus can’t yet pay your treat to Oriental or Marcopolo. Especially those entrepreneurs, don’t they just vex us sometimes…plenty dreams, no dollars... Na vision I wan chop? Actually, yes, na vision we wan chop o… Sister, a visionary man doesn’t only pay the bills, he’ll feed nations.

With girly giggles, some philosophy and Flat Shoes by Qupid...

Oluwadamilola...
www.epictemi. for more of my blogs... Thank you and Enjoy!

Oh yes! I know what a 'balrog' is, as i have always been a fan of the movie "Lord of the Rings"... Same way as i've always been a 'Street fighter' addict. (Balrog is also a character "a boxer" in that game)... Let's not get carried away by the name please. The most important thing here is the message passed across by this post. I believe every male that has a problem with this post feels intimidated cos they do not measure up. And yes 'Good men' do exist! It starts with your heart, not the size of your wallet or the mediocrity of your thinking... Thanks once again for the read.. Cheers.

Lol! Don't have a facebook account... Thanx for the comment though!

This is an Ode to a good man and the woman perceptive enough to discern him, for though he is about the best thing that might happen to you after salvation, sometimes, he is a subtle miracle…. One that could be missed!

I don’t know where you are in your journey of love, but babe, am dropping by to tell you not to give up on a good man, if you’ve found one. If you are not in a relationship, hang in there, your man is right on the way. If you are in one or even married, and you know God’s given you a truly good man, regardless of the broken places of his life, please choose to love him and stick with him… It would matter more as life comes along!
May your heart be full of light to tell when a gift has landed in your life and never to walk away from a sheer miracle!

My eyes are misty right now *sigh*… A good man is a gift only a good God can bring!

A good man is a shelter from the storm. He will shield you from the hard things of life. He will stand with you when rough times show up, he will work hard to see that he takes the blows and keeps you untouched or relatively so, when the midnight moment knocks on your door. You will need him so bad, you will be glad you said yes to him when these times show up, because they will, sweetheart, they will. He won’t turn to the other side of the bed, when he hears your gentle sob at past one a.m.

A good man is a knight in the night. On the day when the world looks bleak and despair grips your heart, he will be your answer, lift your burden and show you a better day. He might not have all you want, but he would be who you need. He will brighten your face with his smile, lighten your soul’s candle, and bring some sunshine to your darkest moments. He will make you laugh through your tears, because he is your friend!

A good man is the applause at your orchestra. When your dreams begin to take shape, small yet real, he would be beside you, believing in the unseen. He will stay awake with you, in the quiet of the night, planning and praying about that big move. He is the wind under your wings, a pat on your back and a push from behind. He won’t compete with you, or shrink in the face of your success, because you are his baby and he stands tall in his own calling.

A good man is fire in your bed. He will love you and love your body, because there is only you. He won’t ravage your womanhood like a predator, squandering your soul with selfish sex that leaves you worse than the last time. He will gather you gently into his arms and reach for your being, together into realms of intimacy where words lose their voice. He will delight in you and find your rhythm, you’d be happy it’s him you married. Every moment would be memorable….thirty years on!

A good man is a stream in a dry place. He will supply your needs and meet your desires. He will cater for you and do you good. He will lavish you with his substance, for he knows you’ll be his reflection. He will surprise you with the fine things, saving the best spoils for you his woman and draping you in his affluence… you’d be the envy of many! You would be untouched by the economy, for he will gush forth provisions season after season.

A good man is oil on your head. He will be the head of your home, a priest at your altar and prophet over your future. He is God’s son, so he will hear His Father’s voice and lead you along the best pathways for your lives. When he puts his hands over you, strength and grace will rest in your spirit. He will make your dwelling, the home of God’s presence, and he will teach you and his children the precepts of the Ancient. He will be your covering, God’s earthly minister to you!

A good man is a legacy for your offspring. He will give your children good living, show them the best of the world and be their hero through life’s audacious voyage. He will play football with his sons, go to piano classes with his daughters and they’ll never miss vacation! When the curtain closes long after, he will bequeath to them memories of his love, ideas, wealth in many currencies, great values, but most importantly a good name. He will be GOLD in their eyes.

A good man is a tickle for your dimple. He will make your days beautiful! He will make you laugh, sing your favourite songs, forgive your failures and take you just as you are. He will hold you by the waist to dinner and drive you to church on Sunday. He will be your buddy, winking at you in a crowded room. Even when things get real busy, be sure you are in his heart, and when the contract is signed, you’d play hide and seek in the bedroom!

A good man is a gift from God, if He’s brought you some guy who doesn’t seem to have it all together, yet you find he’s got a good heart…one that truly loves God and is willing to learn how to make you happy, might be nice to stick with him. Hugo Boss, Salvatore Ferragamo and Pierre Cardin…Honda Accords, Range Rovers, Prados and LR3s….fitted tee shirts, Bespoke blazers and Timberland boots…Boardroom Meetings, Presentations and Sales Target….at the end of the day, what we really want is a good man!

To every good man, with true goodness in his soul, who loves the Lord and deeply loves his woman like a covenant, my thumbs are up for you! Your babes might not get it right all the time, yet make sure you keep this love groove going… It’s the highest realm of living!
If you are a good man, from whom a woman walked away… May your loss give way to the triumph of a better and sweeter love that lasts a lifetime!

With warm smiles, plantain chips, and crazy deadlines…
Oluwadamilola..