MCLA Reader Writes-A Love Rekindled

Written by Abasiama Obi-Chinedu

Dara couldn’t wait to get to the airport. She had looked forward to this trip for so long and now, the day had finally arrived. The Lagos traffic wasn’t helping her case at all, but she had set out four hours early so there would be no sad tales to tell. Kiishi and Zuwairah had been pinging her all day. They had checked in already. “Oga you go take another road oh, make I no miss my flight”. This cabbie was story for another day. All she could do was sit it out. And curse the demon that normally brought on the kind of traffic nobody prayed to encounter when they had a flight to catch.

“O’baby!” That was her cue to start screaming as well. One of their classmates had taken to calling her O’baby right from her jambite days because she was always so well dressed and looked nothing like the other freshers, and the name just stuck to her like white on rice. Her friends were waiting for her at the entrance of the arrival lounge. Relief washed over her…seeing familiar faces when one is that frazzled is always such a blessing.  She had missed her friends and was so happy they were finally going to spend time alone eight months after she last saw them at her wedding. They’d all met at the university and had remained close friends even after school. “Pastor Mrs!! Thou art glowing. Marriage becometh thee”. Zuwy couldn’t get over her marrying a pastor and never missed an opportunity to tease her.  And as usual, Dara never missed her own opportunity to go King James on her friend. “Member Mrs! Behold the handmaiden of The Lord”. They had all looked forward to being together again. “This girl, you have started doing the sweet thing abi, see how you are glowing. Pastor must come and pay more dowry oh,  haba! Meanwhile this your bag, I have been trying to afford it, i claim it in Jesus name”.  Kiishi was just a catalyst, she stoked the fire for a living. All Dara could see was the long check-in queue. ” Abeg let me check in first before socials. Thank God I have just my hand luggage. As for this bag, you will buy yours at Michael Kors shop, OLE”.

Checking in had been a breeze, thanks to some divine intervention. There was so much to catch up on and so much had already been shared on the boarding queue. Their laughter was infectious and other passengers couldn’t help but notice them. Few bold ones dared to talk to them.. “Oh, pay us no mind, we’re just happy to be reuniting after eight months”. Few of the other ladies couldn’t help but look at them funny, not that that they cared anyways. When these three got together, hardly anyone or anything else mattered. This was going to be a very long six hours and they intended to use it well. Five days in Dubai would not be enough to play catch up so maximize six hours in-flight, they would.

Kiishi had no filters. No subject was off-limit. “Oya, start talking..how is married life?” The silly look on her face was an obvious pointer to the fact that all she really wanted to know was how good sex was for her newly married friend. “I will answer when you ask me exactly what you want to know. Amebo” Zuwy could never get over Kiishi’s brazenness, this girl was constantly on a roll. It shocked her the things Kiishi said most times, and just when she thought she had gotten used to this zany female, she always managed to shock her some more. ” IteOluwakiishi Otegbola, kai! You are wasting your father’s money studying Law, you should be a gossip columnist. That’s how you were harassing me when I got married too. Do and marry oh so that you will give us a blow by blow account of your doings. Wallahi, you need Jesus in large doses!”. There was no stopping her though, she would get the information one way or the other.  Not that Dara  minded anyways, she enjoyed talking about her husband. Chimdi was the love of her life. He made her feel all warm and mushy inside. She never believed she would come to love him this much or even marry him, but she thanked God everyday that she had. Everyday before he started getting on her nerves, that is. She had needed someone to talk to for so long and she was glad she had her friends here and she could finally let it all out.

The tiredness kicked in slowly and finally, they all began to slip into their private worlds one after the other. Dara was happy to be left alone with her thoughts for a while. Chimdi…she missed him so much already but she was still so mad at him. The first day she invited her friends to church, he was outside talking to some people while they waited for the first service to end so they could attend the second. He was the kind of man you would never fail to notice. She never stopped wondering how a man so tall,  not-so-dark, and drop-dead-handsome could be a pastor. He was neat, always very well put together, friendly for the most part, and just starring at him would give any female life. “Who’s that fine specimen of protoplasm? Some people can be fine oh”. Kiishi was the first to say anything about him. Dara went on to tell them he was the pastor in charge of the Singles Fellowship, could sing and preach up a storm at the drop of a hat, most of the ladies in church were falling over themselves to get his attention but up until then, he was still very single and if Kiishi was interested she could pick a number and join the queue. She herself had had a crush on him the first moment she set her eyes on him, but the crush lasted for all of twenty seconds. Dara was like that, she didn’t dwell on such things for long. Besides, there was a long line of church workers and other “spiritual sisters” she was sure would make the cut, so that had been that about that. “But this pastor makes sense oh, God created this type on the eighth day, I could just stare at him for days”. Dara couldn’t believe Zuwy too would notice him, she was usually reserved and unaffected by “fine boys”. “Oya oh, you too pick a number and join the queue”.

Chimdi just happened to be at the bank on the same day Dara had gone there to transact. He noticed her first and walked up to her. When she looked up to see who had tapped her shoulder, the only thought that crossed her mind was “Fine boy pastor”. He had noticed her at church a couple of times, and was wondering if she was new in town. He was so pleasant and easy on the eye..the kind of man Dara liked. He was going to wait for her to cash her cheque and would drop her off wherever she was going. They became fast friends. He was more like a big brother, always making sure she was okay and had no issues in school or at her off-campus residence. If she needed a ride back from church, he volunteered to give her one. When he couldn’t drop her off, he always got someone to do that. He would show up in her school for the flimsiest of reasons. “I just came to drop your lunch”, “I just came to take you home”, “it was raining and I thought it would be nice to come take you to school”. They had agreed they just wanted to be friends so Dara never understood why her friends kept telling her that Pastor Fine Boy was loving up on her. “Gosh, you girls amaze me, WE ARE JUST FRIENDS!”. She said that so often, she actually started to believe it.

Of course, some people in church had taken notice as well. Who was this mere mortal that suddenly had this man’s attention? She wasn’t even a worker or one you would consider “spiritual”. Some of his co-pastors would openly make statements to that effect and one day, when Dara had had enough of it, she had to vent. “I am so tired of getting nasty stares or openly rude remarks whenever I am around you. You need to cut me some slack going forward. I will take a cab to and from church, and you don’t need to come to my school either. We are just friends but obviously, your fellow pastors and some workers have an issue with that so please, leave me alone. Even the few people that I talk to in church have suddenly started acting nasty towards me because of you, as though i am snatching their boyfriend. I want to be left alone”. Chimdi could not believe his ears. He had constantly brushed the comments off, hoping that Dee would not notice. He really liked her, cared for her in a special way, enjoyed her company and her Calabar recipes, and was happy to finally have a friend that wasn’t just raving about his looks, but truly cared to relate with the person he was. They spent quite a lot of time together and few of his single friends who liked Dee would always ask him to hook them up with her. They would laugh about it and he told her he would introduce one when a serious one showed up. Life was just easier and sweeter with Dee in it. He missed her sorely whenever her school vacated and she had to go be with her family in Lagos. And of course he always found a reason to be in Lagos during the holidays. Now she wanted to be left alone. Nothing he said could persuade her to just let it go. He decided he would give her some space and time if that was what she needed. He wasn’t going to let his friend go just because some people didn’t think she was “ministry material”.

Zuwy and Kiishi had lots of comforting to do because Dara was inconsolable. And angry. Inconsolable because she missed Chimdi more than words could express, and angry because human beings had a way of minding other people’s business. Church folk…they were the worst kind. Why did she have to be like everyone else to be considered spiritual? She loved the Lord,  she lived for him, valued her growing relationship with him, she thought that was nearly enough. She hadn’t joined the Work Force because she had too many commitments in school and didn’t think it was right to always give excuses as to why she couldn’t always be available. She loved her dresses and her jeans, it was hard having to live by a colour code every Sunday. She wore a toe ring because she loved her beautiful toes and thought the ring made them prettier. Chimdi told her he was in love with her bow legs and full ankles so he bought her an anklet and begged her to wear it. He’d noticed she and stopped wearing one few weeks after she joined the church. She later explained that she had worn one all her adult life but she didn’t like the looks church folk gave her so she stopped. He said there was nothing wrong with wearing one, as long as the Holy Spirit did not convict her otherwise. He had plans to buy his wife a belly chain and that to Dara, was then definition of a deviant pastor. Everything was going well till church folk started talking. Now she missed Chimdi sorely and staying away from church was supposed to help her get him out of her life, but it only fueled the loneliness she felt. “This girl is in luuuuuurve! I thought you guys were just friends oh, according to you”. Kiishi got “The Look ” from Zuwy and that was enough to silence her for the rest of the day.

The separation did not last long. Chimdi was tired of missing her and off to her house he went. She was not there. So he waited. She never took his calls or replied his text messages anymore. She even took him off her BlackBerry. He wanted to slap himself for not having any of her friends’ phone numbers but that wouldn’t solve this, would it? He’d waited for a bit when thankfully,  his Dee walked through the gates. He knew she was going to try and act all cool and unaffected by his presence and he was just going to hug her and tell her how much he missed her, and that he didn’t care what anyone thought, he just wanted to be with her, if she would let him. He went home that night wishing they would quarrel more often just so that they would make up and it would be this sweet all over again. He was going to do all he could to protect her from side talks, he was a full grown man and had made his choice, he would marry his Dee and they would be happy forever. Dee was the kind of woman he wanted; smart, focused, neat, warm hearted, family oriented, friendly, God-loving and all. It didn’t hurt that she was quite the looker too and most importantly, she didn’t drool over his looks,  as a matter of fact, he had laughed his head off the day she told him she preferred to date and marry a guy people would refer to as ugly because she didn’t have time for “fine  boys and their unending drama”. She was just easy to be with, easy to love, she was every woman in one. He was taken aback by the fact that she was attending a Bible School when he met her, she didn’t look the type. She “just wanted to know more about God so she joined the Bible School”.  And those church folk, they would never know that about her, would they? She just wasn’t spiritual enough in their eyes.

Two years flew past and they got married in the most intimate ceremony ever. The joy was palpable, one could actually breathe it in. Their love was beautiful, the type most people only dreamt about. They had their ups and downs but that made it more beautiful. Dara had no doubts she would have a happy marriage,  but she also knew there would be down times and she was glad she had a God who would walk her through those times, and she was confident they would come out of every down time better than they had gone in. Married life was blissful. Chimdi was a man and a half. She felt like God’s last child, nothing could be sweeter. Out of the blue, Chimdi  was told he had to go start a new branch if the church in Asaba. He didn’t know how to take that piece of news. He had just gotten married, he was trying to settle in, his wife was about to start a new job and they had to leave all of that behind and just up and leave Abuja  for Asaba! Dee..she was speechless for days. “How on earth do you expect me to leave everything and move to Asaba? Was this our plan? What about my career, my business, everything..we just got married, Chimdi, and why Asaba of all places. I don’t even know where that is on the map. I am not going!” He knew better than to make an issue out of it, if the Lord was sending him there, He would make Dee come around. It was important to him that she supported the move, much as he wasn’t too pleased about moving from Abuja to a seemingly obscure corner of the earth. He knew she wanted to pursue her career as a diplomat and her chances were slim in Asaba, still he trusted God enough to know that He had better plans than he or Dee could ever have for their lives.

She was tired of agonizing over the impending move. She had learnt to trust God even when she didn’t understand where He was taking her through. If God wanted them in Asaba, He would make all things work together for their good.
Chimdi had assured her everything would fall into place. She believed him, just as she believed every other thing he had told her and things always panned out the way he had said they would. She hadn’t seen her friends after the wedding as Zuwy lived in Calabar with her medical doctor husband while Kiishi was away in the UK for her Masters. Her parents had come to say their goodbyes and assured her everything would go well in Asaba.

Asaba turned out to be a sedate town, unlike Abuja in many ways. She was glad Chimdi was  Igbo , so that barrier had been broken to an extent. “Maybe I will finally get to learn Igbo now that I’m in Asaba” , but she knew it would take a miracle. English, French and German were work enough, adding Igbo to it would be an overkill, still she would try, for Chimdi’s sake. Planting a church was no picnic. She found renewed respect for church overseers who were able to plant several branches of their ministries around the country. She would do her best to support Chimdi and she prayed everyday that the city would accept him and his ministry. Some days she was on a high, on other days, all she wanted to do was run away to Abuja, where she had some friends,  knew familiar faces, could start her career, had a church of at least familiar faces….

Weeks turned into months and things began to look up. She was happy. She even started to laugh whenever people referred to her as “Mama”, something she really hated and found absolutely unnecessary. Chimdi told her they would go on their honeymoon as soon as church was settled and she looked forward to that. She had taught it would be as automatic as building a structure on which the church would run, having people in place who would fill in the gaps when they were away and all would be dandy. Chimdi always told her that spiritual things could not always be calculated the same way physical things, but she was sure things would go her way. She hoped they would, for both their sakes.

Everyday brought on new challenges. It was difficult making new friends in church because most of the ladies were older than her and she imagined they wouldn’t take it kindly that such a young girl was the pastor’s wife. Few people had an issue with the fact that she was a fashionista. They would never know that Dara always wanted to study Fashion Designing until her father said “not in this house”, after which she decided to pursue her plan B: a diplomatic career.  Her mother was quite a fashionista too; this apple didn’t fall too far from the tree. When few people began to seek her advise on things she considered were not her business to know, she became scared. “Chimdi…what am I to say to these people? What do I know about a cheating spouse or a twisted sexuality? How do I counsel someone struggling with their sexuality? This is way beyond me, I just want to run away. Why did you bring me here?”. Chimdi let her cry her heart out and he just held her close and let her know it was going to be alright, she would have to rely on the Holy Spirit to help her and she would have to learn to pace herself. If she really wanted to work, he would help her look for a job and she didn’t have to kill herself if she couldn’t get a job, she could start her fashion business which she had always dreamt of having. That sounded comforting a bit but she couldn’t help saying to him: “One day you will just wake up and discover that I have run away to Abuja and you will be in this town all by yourself doing ministry”. He couldn’t help but smile very widely, he knew his Dee was going nowhere, she loved him enough to stay by his side through all of this, and that was one of the few things that made sense to him at that point in his life.

If Chimdi had learnt anything in these few months of planting a church, it was that working with people with all kinds of mindset was one of the hardest hurdles to get through. He was constantly dealing with one issue after the other and Dee always told him he could only do his best and to always remember that this was the Church of Jesus Christ and He would take care of it. That was a hard pill to swallow, but he would try. Trying wasn’t good enough, for he began to get so engrossed in the work of the ministry and he and Dee began to drift apart. All he wanted to talk about was church: the choir, workers’ meeting, auditions, out reaches, church and some more church. He spent more and more time studying and doing the work of ministry, he didn’t even notice his Dee begin to slip away. He would always think “my baby is still angry we are in Asaba…she’ll get over it”. Things began to pick up in the ministry, he was a happy man, he just didn’t notice that Dee had stopped being excited about the growth and all the wonderful things that were beginning to happen. If her marriage was the price she had to pay for the growth and influence the ministry was currently experiencing, then God was a wicked God, period!

He was excited the date for her trip with her friends was fast approaching. Surely, some fresh air, sun and the girls would do her good. Oh, and shopping. Dee loved to shop. The fashionista in her was evident in everything she did and he was always so proud whenever they went places and heads turned to look at his wife. She was stylish beyond her years. The very thought of that made him not mind the hole this trip would bore in his pocket. He just wanted her to have a break. He was tired of hearing her whine about the fact that their honeymoon was nowhere in sight and he needed a break before the stress of ministry rendered her a widow before her time. “Baby, you really need to take a break oh, don’t render me husbandless before my time. Anyway, na you go lose because one sharp man will come and marry me”. He loved to hear her pidgin, it reminded him of how she always said she was his “Sofisticat” outside and his “Mgbeke” indoors. “Babe, leave that thing abeg, Jesus boy no dey die. Who go fit marry this my calabar princess”. That brought a smile to his lips. He loved his Mgbeke so much…much more than words could ever express.

“If you girls don’t wake up now I promise you I will eat your food”. That was vintage Kiishi. Everyone was jealous of how she seemed to eat just about anything she wanted to and miraculously remained skinny. She loved to eat, but hated to cook. “Foodie of life, no try yourself oh, I am wide awake”. She hadn’t slept a wink. She’d been to lost on memory lane and didn’t even notice she had started crying. She was sure that by then, Chimdi would have seen the stinker she left him on his pillow. She had been so upset that he was insisting she stayed in Dubai for twelve days when she and the girls had planned to stay for just five days. Clearly he needed her out of his way so he could do more ministry work and counsel all those girls with their never-ending issues that they refused to talk to her about, but had no issues talking to her Chimdi about. HER CHIMDI..she wasn’t going to share him with all those church girls, those sharp Igbo and Delta  babes that thought she was a “Calabar girl” in name only.

The first few days in Dubai passed quickly. The girls couldn’t help but notice just how distant and uninterested she was in all the activities they had pre-planned. Zuwy knew they had to stage an intervention but knowing Dara, she would become defensive and the goal would be defeated. Left to Kiishi, she would have just asked Dara point blank what the problem was but Zuwy was having none of that. “Marriage is not this one you are always doing fire brand oh, you will approach the matter carefully and with a lot of wisdom”. To this Kiishi rolled her eyes and silently thanked God that she was not yet married and didn’t have to deal with all these married women issues. They had to leave for the Gold Souk any moment though, so Dara had to be woken up. This was their last day together and they had to make the most of it.

Dara was spent. She had cried so much her head hurt. When Kiishi jumped on her bed in her usual wake up call, the reaction she got made her do a double take. “What the hell is wrong with you? Jumping on my bed like an insane person. Are you out of your mind? Get the hell off my bed before I do something very nasty to you”. Zuwy could only stare in shock. They knew she was dealing with stuff but this outburst was just off the chain. “I want to be left alone, please, just go away”. The girls weren’t having any of that . “Lai lai! You have been on your own since we arrived here. You were the one looking forward to this trip, you took the effort to plan it and now we are here, all you have done is shut us out as though we are the enemy. Whatever it is, we will resolve it now. You will not go back to Naija a sober mess. Oya, start talking. You don’t have to tell us the details but at least tell us what the problem is”. Kiishi had had enough of the long faces and stated in clear terms that this was the moment where they would have to talk and cry together before things got out of hand. Dara felt powerless to fight two caring women, she knew the time had come to let it all out. She just pulled the duvet over her head and cried forever. Her friends got on her bed and held her and just let her cry till she was spent and she slept off.

When she woke up, her girls were still there. “What time is it?”, she asked no one in particular. “Time to rise and shine. Go shower, you stink! And your boo has been calling you all day”. Chimdi! She hadn’t even called him since she arrived. Her phone had been on silent mode and that was on purpose. She couldn’t get over the fact that her friends had been so busy pinging all day, everyday, since they arrived. “Lucky them…Chimdi  probably doesn’t even care that I haven’t called him”. Oh well, she would just go shower and go out with the girls. She had seven more days to stay here alone so she would not pressure herself to shop today. The shower did her good, she felt brand new and was quite surprised that none of the girls had started shouting for her to come out already. “Let me have mercy on them and come out now oh”. She toweled her body leisurely and for once, she actually started to look forward to going to the Gold Souk. She was going to buy a new belly chain today “that’s if Chimdi will even notice”.

As she made her way back into the room, she was already teasing her friends “shoppers, no vex oh, I really needed that bath”. Her friends were nowhere in sight. In place of two girls, she saw that fine, six feet three inch specimen of protoplasm, the one that made her heart skip several beats once upon a time. “Baby…I’ve been calling you for days. I’ve missed you so much”. He wasn’t sure how she would react to his presence and reading the stinker she left him had scared the living daylights out of him. She had said she wanted to go back to Abuja when she arrived, she wanted a divorce and he could marry the church, since that was all he had come to care about. What she didn’t know was that he wanted her to stay an extra week in Dubai so he could surprise her by coming over and whisking her away to their honey moon suite. She was weak from all the crying, too weak to be angry, but not too weak for the tears to come rushing down all over again. He didn’t need to be told that she needed him to hold her and tell her everything would be alright from here on. In one single step, they were on each others’ arms and the tears flowed freely…

“So you want to leave me abi? Who do you want to marry your own husband? You want me to die an unhappy man…I though we said we’d be together forever no matter the weather, what changed?” Asaba. That’s what happened. He didn’t need a prophet to tell him that much. “Babes, I’ve told you, you need to stop obsessing, just pace yourself and flow. I’m not pressuring you to be a Pastor’s wife. Can you just take the labels and tags off and just be Chimdi’s wife? Stop obsessing about the pastor’s wife mould that people have created. Be you. I married you for you, I didn’t marry a pastor’s wife. If you hate Asaba so much, maybe we should relocate cos I can’t be doing ministry when my marriage is not working. And I know I’ve been too engrossed in all of that and that’s why I asked you to stay here so I could surprise you with our honeymoon but you have been so angry with me, you didn’t even read my text messages.” Whenever she got that angry, he always had a way of taking her back into a good mood. She felt so small…his love had a way of making her see how irrational she could be. ” I’m sorry” she could barely talk as the tears choked her. “No, I am the one who’s sorry, I should have paid more attention. Forgive me babes”.

He couldn’t stand her crying so much but he knew he had to let her get it all out. He was even more scared she had thought about divorce, especially as he was of the opinion they both agreed their marriage was a house without doors for exit, only windows for ventilation. “Baby..would you really ever just walk out on us  if things got really bad? Divorce…that’s such a strong word, how do you just bandy such a word that easily though?” She knew he would not fail to bring that up. “I’m sorry, I was just trying to get your attention. I really am that overwhelmed by all this ministry thing going on all at once, and those girls always wanting to see you with their tall tales they can tell only you and never me. Especially that Amaka..I swear that girl has got the hots for you”. He couldn’t believe his ears and couldn’t help but laugh his head off. “Daramfon Archibong Chimdi-Uma, shame on you! Amaka of all people? Abeg now, gimme some credit here. Amaka? By how? Kai this woman you are a riot!”. Now she felt really foolish. But you know, with these men, you never know. This  she quickly amended to “this is My Chimdi, not these men”.  She would have to just try and get past this but his riotous laughter wasn’t helping her in any way. “Let me get dressed so we go look for the girls, yeah? What’s the plan…what are we doing today? I’m hungry” The girls were the last thing on Pastor Fine Boy’s mind.  “Err..the girls…i paid them off to go shopping for the next three hours…we’ll all do the dinner cruise tonight so I can hear all the things you told them about me, tomorrow we leave for our honeymoon suite and we’ll take it from there. I know buying you a belly chain is in the works somewhere, but for now, no need to get dressed, you look yummy in your skin and i’m hungry too”. She knew that tone, something delicious was about to go down. “This boy! You’re such a baaaad boy!” His deepest baritone crept up on him, “You know this, babes, you know this..come here…”

Written by Abasiama Obi-Chinedu

Abasiama is a graduate of Foreign Languages and Literatures from the University of Port Harcourt. She’s a bilingual translator/interpreter by profession and runs a fashion retail and merchandising business. She’s married and co-pastors a thriving church with her husband.

Help! Mom and Dad say no!

Hey people!!!

Hope you’re well. Let’s take a stab at this guys! The abridged version was published on Bella Naija earlier today This is the original /unedited draft.

Enjoy!

***

Niran and I met a year ago during one of those Nigerian Job forums in England. It was an exhibition featuring some of the best employers in Nigeria and it was a ‘strictly by invitation’ event. So we all pretty much felt honoured to be there and there was this look of respect you had for the next guy because you know immediately that he must be an academic G.

It was at the GTBank stand that I saw him. I was asking the lady at the stand if they would employ a Law Graduate with an MBA but no BL (Nigerian Law School degree) when he stood beside me eagerly waiting for their response.  I looked up at him and could not but smile. I’ve always had a problem with fine guys, they were my  Achilles Heel. He was no exception. Tall, slim built, yet muscular, fine facial structure. He was very clean looking. The lady had started responding but there I was, still admiring God’s work of art. Quickly, I slipped out of my reverie in time to catch the last few sentences. Then I promptly moved on to the next stand, embarrassed at myself.

Hot!

‘You didn’t get what she said, did you?’, a deep voice said behind me. Lo and behold, it was Mr. Hotstuff again.

‘Erm, some of it’, I mumbled.

‘I noticed you were a bit distracted and given her open ended, non-specific response, I would have expected some sort of questions to follow from you’.

He then went on to explain the lady’s response to my question. To be honest, I really didn’t care for what he was saying as much as how he was saying it. He was really hot.

I found out he was doing his Masters at Jesus College, Cambridge after having finished with a First Class and also second best in his year in Ife. It took a while to become friends because I had to first of all get over my infatuation with him. That took a few weeks of totally ignoring his calls and refusing his self invite to Manchester to see me and also refusing to go to Cambridge to see him. I don’t know when exactly or how exactly it happened, but I stopped being so ‘star struck’ and started seeing him in a normal light.

The next time we saw was during the Festival of Life programme in London two months after we first met. He had come with his church bus and my friends and I had driven from Manchester because we could not make the timing of our church bus. We planned to meet up during the Testimony Time and we did. We strolled to the very back to get water and I realised I was nice and easy around him this time. We talked for a few minutes and went back to our different seats.

When he offered to come see me the following weekend, I did not protest. His friend was also in Manchester University and he would use the opportunity to see him too. He came on Saturday afternoon and went first to his friend’s to drop off his little bag and then came to see me. I had such a great time. We went shopping for his dad’s birthday present and got him a Sheaffer pen. His little sister was going home and would deliver it to him. We then went to see a movie and then had dinner at this lovely Asian restaurant at Piccadily Gardens called Rice afterwards. On Sunday, he met up with me and we went to church together, had lunch afterwards and then I saw him off to the train station to get his 5:15pm train back.

As I waited for a bus back to my house, I was reeling with excitement. I could not believe what great time I had had. You see, as someone who likes fine guys, I know very well that most of them are either cocky, stuck up, stupid, unintelligent, proud, taken or all of the above. So you can imagine my feeling of good fortune when I found out that Adeniran Ola-Baker possessed not one of those vices. He was so humble, respectful, kind, intelligent and fun to be with. I also found out he comes from a family of geniuses. His father is an alumnus of Oxford and currently a dean at Unilag. His mom has 2 Bachelors and 2 Masters degrees. His younger  sister was in the final year of her PhD programme at Nottingham at just 26! I felt a bit intimidated but he was quick to credit it all not to their hard work or natural gift but to God’s grace.

We carried on with our friendship for another 3 months till he asked me to be his girlfriend with the hope of one day becoming his wife. I was so excited. I said  a fast yes. I had prayed about him and felt so much peace in the relationship. It was as if God had come to wipe away my tears because I had kissed a few frogs in my 25 years on earth. When thoughts of him would fill my head, this song would spring up in my heart:

“Oti mu mi gbagbe o ibanuje igbakan. Ashe were ni ishe Oluwa. Obati a pe toun je“

The song translates thus: You have caused me to forget my past sorrows. You work speedily. The God upon whom we call and he answers.

I was indeed in a very happy place.

Our Masters programme ended and it was time to go home. We both decided against getting the Post Study Work visas and went straight home. I had met his sister, ‘Lope. She was not the geek I expected her to be. In fact, she was exceptionally fashion conscious and an ‘it’ girl for a PhD student. I just assumed all PhDers were geek glasses wearing and braces wearing. We became good friends during the  period I was in the UK.

Niran and I were on the same flight back home. My mom and 2 sisters came to pick me up whilst his mom and dad both came to pick him. That was the first introduction of our families and it was short and sweet. Two weeks after arriving Nigeria, he invited me to his parents’ to meet them properly. It was such an ordeal deciding what to wear. My mom had said ‘no English outfit’ but my big sister was the other voice saying, ‘be yourself and wear what you’re comfortable in’. In the end, my mom won and I wore a really nice yet simple Ankara dress and kitten heeled pumps. I had my hair in a bun and wore my favourite earrings.

His parents live in Unilag somewhere along a street called Ozolua. He had come to my house at Shonibare Estate to pick me up that Saturday. We got to his and his mom welcomed me with the biggest hug ever. I felt immediately at home. She was a plump woman with friendly eyes and happy disposition. She was extremely welcoming. She apologised that her husband  was on a call upstairs and would be joining us shortly. It was a very relaxed meeting and it went well. If Niran’s mom is described as friendly. His dad would be described as funny. He told one joke after the other and had me in stitches all afternoon. It was also interesting to watch his mom laugh so hard at his jokes after 32 years of marriage. It was a good afternoon.

On our drive back as Niran dropped me off, I asked,

‘Niran, I saw another girl featuring a lot in your older family albums. I thought ‘Lope was your only sister’. He went quiet for a while and I felt bad thinking maybe she had died and I was scraping at healing wounds.

‘Yes I do. We are three kids. She’s older than I am. She’s 31 this year’.

‘Oh wow! What’s her name? Where does she live? Is she also a genius like you guys?’, I asked smiling, relieved she was alive.

‘Her name is is ‘Lade, Omolade. She lives here in Lagos. She has some problems’, he said dismissively.

‘Oh, what kind of problems’, I probed.

‘She was committed to the mental institution two weeks to her Bar Finals when she was just 20. Last year was her 10th year in the Psychiatric Home. She graduated with a First Class from Ife at 19 but never got called to the Bar’. He said this as a matter-of-factly with zero emotion. I was literally open-mouthed for 5 minutes or so.

‘I’m so sorry’, I gushed, not knowing the appropriate words to speak. He dismissed it and apologised for not telling me all along. We had already gotten to my house by then. He dropped me off and left.

As soon as I got home, Charlie’s Angels were waiting for me in the living room. Charlie’s Angels are my mom (who we’ve given the pet name, Sisi Joke, as all her numerous female friends call her that), my older sister, Sisi Lara and my younger sister by 10 months (we were both born in 1987), Sisi Bisodun ( she is a December 25 baby hence the ‘Bisodun‘ which translates thus-born into festivity. I have no brother so my dad is the only male figure in the family. I should also add that there is a strong influence of my mom’s sisters in our lives. They are all very close and very involved in each other’s family. When we were younger and offended my mom, one of the 6 sisters was sure to come by to give us a good telling off. It’s like we have 6 mothers really. Anyways, back to Charlie’s Angels.

‘It went so well. His parents are so cool. I had a great time. I found out he has an older sister who’s not well’, I said of the meeting at Niran’s.

‘Eh yah, what’s wrong with her?’ Bisodun asked.

‘Erm, she’s ill’, I mumbled. How does one say it? I thought to myself.

‘What kind of illness?’ Impatient Lara quipped.

‘She’s insane. She went mad during her Bar Finals 11 years ago’, I blurted. To hell with the political correctness.

‘Oh my God’, ‘What?’, ‘Damn!’, the three of them said at the same time. We all bemoaned the poor girl’s fate for a while and then changed the topic.

At about 1:30am, my dad and mom strolled into my room, interrupting my Dexter.

My dad was fumbling with his fingers. My mom on the other hand, sat down on my bed and began,

‘My dear, your dad and I have discussed things long and hard and there’s no way we are going to sit back and watch insects crawl into our eyes. You are a young girl and you have your whole life ahead of you. You can’t marry into a family where madness runs. It is hereditary and I won’t have a mad man for a son-in-law nor have mad grandkids. You need to break it off with him and fast too.’ My mom was emotionless. She spoke as if she was a newscaster speaking about some remote girl’s fate and not like she had just shattered my very being.

I sat there mute, looking at my dad as if he should help me and save me from my mom’s unreasonableness. ‘Dad’, I began.

My dad cut me off saying, ‘the earlier you break it off, the faster you will heal. We spoke with Aunty Biola whose husband is a psychiatrist at John Hopkins as you know. He told us unequivocally that madness induced by studying is hereditary meaning your offspring is susceptible to it and in fact, also Niran. I’m sure if we dig deep, we’ll find out about other members of the extended family who also have the problem. I’m sorry dear but I withdraw my blessings on your relationship’.

I was devastated as I watched my dad speak. My mom is known to make decrees and still change her mind. But my dad is soft and so hardly speaks BUT when he does, we all know no Jupiter can make him change his mind.

***

I confided in Lara about it. She’s a non-conformist and I chose her because I knew she would support me. She did but gave me reasons that I myself could not rationalise, insisting that if the worst comes to worst, I should go get myself married at the Ikoyi Registry and tell my parents I’m married. She also blamed me for telling them accusing me of always telling my parents everything and never learning from my past experiences of how badly they handle sensitive information.

I eventually spoke with Bisodun. Bisodun has always been the family oracle, very intelligent and also extremely rational and pragmatic. She is also a lover of God so I knew I would hear the truth from her, even if painful. Here were her words,

‘Sis, this is indeed a toughie. Whilst I believe in the power of prayers regarding these issues of hereditary diseases, the truth is our parents’ faith is not on that level. And you must get parental consent. You absolutely must. I don’t support you going ahead not because of the disease of the mind of his sister but because of dad and mom’s resolve. Hold it off for now and begin to pray hard. I’ll join you and we can even start fasting from tomorrow. Now Sis, our prayer is not for mom and dad to change their minds, no. Instead, it is for God’s will to prevail.

I love Niran and you together and when I place him besides the losers you have been with, I am personally pained at the thought of you guys not being together. However, sometimes, the devil brings a counterfeit of God’s plan for our lives. It looks so good, so perfect, so right but it is not from God and his blessing is not upon it. And consequently, one trouble or the other will keep rearing its head. I will never tell you that being with God’s choice will mean there would not be challenges, NEVER. There still will be but guess what, ‘Ishe Oluwa kole baje-God’s work cannot be hindered. So if it indeed is God’s plan for you, we need to call on God and tell Him, Oh God, you gave me this and the world wants to destroy your gift and take it from me. Arise and show up in my favour. Let your perfect will prevail in this matter. He will definitely show up and defend his handiwork.

You need to quit this starvation you’ve put yourself on and all this weeping. You need to encourage yourself in the Lord and I know God will definitely answer our cry like he answered that of David when the Amelikites invaded Ziklag and took all in 1 Samuel 30. BUT remember, David first of all inquired of the Lord whether or not he would recover his possessions. It was not until God told David that he will surely recover all that he pursued and then overtook. So hun, this is our period of inquiring. Let’s first of all seek God’s will, the rest will follow. The heart of the king is in the hands of the Lord and like a river of water, He can turn it as he so wishes. So babes, forget mom and dad for now, they are not the real matter at issue. When God says yes, they dare not say no so let us hear God say his yes first.

***

As great as Bisodun’s words were, I’m still torn. There’s no way God can say no to a love so true. Why give me someone that brings me so much joy only to snatch him away? Why should I leave Niran because of fear, not even mine, my unbelieving parents’? He is not mad and can never be mad and I know I can not have a mad child.

I still speak with Niran and we still hang out. I have found reasons to give him for him not coming to mine anymore and for dropping me off at the Estate Gate when he does come. How can I tell him my family rejects him because of something that brings his family pain? How?

According to Bisodun, I’m to tell Niran I want to seek God’s face for something for a while and during that period, I’m not to communicate with him. She says I need a severance from him in order to hear God speak clearly. That is easy to say and I know myself, it is just impossible to pull it off. Plus, our relationship has never been that way. We discuss all our problems and pray for each other so this ‘problem’ I have that requires solitary confinement would definitely have him raising an eye brow.

So many questions running through my head: my parents are not such strong believers. Is it not praying parents you obey implicitly? Is his sister’s illness really hereditary? Why did I open my big mouth to tell my mom? Why did I not make my parents find out after the wedding? Should I go crazy and get married without their approval? Should I open up to Niran about my predicament? Would that not make him judge my family? Should I go ahead and have a clean break from him whilst I pray?

What do I do?!

***

Let’s muse guys!

Temiville.xoxo

Help! They hate her!

Hi people,

I’m a 31 year old guy who has been dating Funke for 10 months. I proposed to her 2 months ago. All my siblings live in England and have been there for a while so they have never met her before. Funke finished her Bar Finals in August and was going to be travelling to England to unwind before her NYSC begins. So I told her to go see them in Birmingham were they all live. I have 3 siblings-all girls, Tunmininu and Tunmishe are 28 year old twins and Tamilore is 25. They are all studying for their MSc at Birmingham University and could easily pass for triplets. The twins are not totally identical but it is clear they are siblings. Tamilore and Tunmishe are the ones who actually look like twins thereby making all three look so much alike. They are also extremely close and have always been. I value their opinion as my sisters and I have made decisions based on their views in the past.

***

I was so convinced Funke would get along with them. She is very respectful, well behaved and humble and I had no doubt they would hit it off like a house on fire. So convinced was I that I asked her to spend the weekend with them. I wanted them to get along so much. Funke had met my mom and dad and they love her. To cut a long tale short, Tunmininu and Tunmishe called me on Sunday night complaining bitterly about Funke. They called her lazy and unhelpful. They said they had to do some shopping at the market and she said she was too tired to come along with them and had to rest.

Tunmishe said,

‘Olumide, it was really disgraceful. I mean, she’s meeting us for the first time. She could not even ‘tiju‘ and just accompany us. It’s not like we were walking. We were taking a bus there and a taxi back so I don’t get it. When we got back, there she was-sleeping. When she eventually woke up, shebi she’ll at least have some shame and offer to help us cook or something. She went to the living room and started watching the Kardashians and gisting about them with Tami. It was really a shameful sight. When it was time for dinner, she refused what we offered her and went to the TESCO’s downstairs to get packed salad. What is she trying to say? That her perfect size 8 body would be destroyed and become like our own size 12 bodies abi? Ahn ahn kilode. Omo Yoruba ni wa o (we have a rich culture of respect and hardwork as Yorubas)and it is not done anywhere.’

***

I was weak. Anyone that has sisters knows that when they conspire, there’s nothing you can do but hope God confuses their language because otherwise, that Tower of Babel is going straight up! They told me not to tell her but that they were sorry, she was just too lazy for them and too vain and materialistic with her Gucci bag and Louboutin shoes. I could sense some envy but I dare not say that. You see, Funke is from an extremely wealthy home, the kind where even all her grandparents were trained in England and had serious old money. Her grandparents live in all those old Ikoyi homes and basically, she had never lacked anything. Aside of her parents’ wealth, her older brother ran a good business and she was on his monthly ‘payroll’ though she didn’t particularly work with him. Her combined monthly allowance from parents, grandparents, brother and  the occasional cash gifts from uncles and aunties was more than some people earn in 5 months. Despite this, I saw in her humility, love for those that lacked and a helpful nature. I know of at least 3 kids whose education and upkeep she is responsible for. And she didn’t tell me all these, I just randomly found out.

***

Even her parents are like that. I know of some managing parents who would grill you about how well your parents are doing and if your ‘Akinyele’ is of the Minister’s side. The day I went to theirs and met them, not once did they ask about any irrelevant information. They were loving and nice and genuinely happy to see their daughter in good hands. I drove into a house that looked like they were running a car dealership with my 2006 Camry and yet, every one, I mean every single person treated me as though I was the wealthiest person in the world and I could  see where Funke got her good nature from.

Even when Funke comes to mine, she’d help my mom in the kitchen. Gist with her about any and everything and my parents really like her. So now that the three most important girls to me all find her repulsive, I am really confused.

***

I asked Funke how the weekend went with my sisters and she responded, ‘Great! I really love them. They are so sweet and helpful and let me rest because I was having terrible cramps. I didn’t tell them because I didn’t want to be nursed but they were so kind to me. They made me breakfast. It was so nice.  All my fears about meeting your sister were all unfounded. What a lovely threesome!’

What to do?

***

Guys! This happens all the time. We claim we want to have amazing sisters in law and yet we are beastly to ours. We need to learn to show love to our in-laws and in-laws to be, especially the female ones since they are coming into our homes. We must receive them in genuine love and make them feel welcome. I’m not saying we should be fake and ignore every wrongdoing BUT we must treat them the EXACT same way we want to be treated by our husbands’ families.

Let’s stop being bitchy and quick to notice every wrong. Let’s make excuses for them and understand that backgrounds are very different. Not everyone grew up in a home where you wake up and resume duties in the kitchen. Not everyone is used to the whole saying yes to every offer in order to be polite. Not everyone has learned the politics of handling in laws. Let’s be accommodating. My mom is such an inspiration in this regard. Those girls are just plain lucky. They are on her BB and their pictures go up as her DP randomly with lovely status messages. I saw her chats with them once and they are really cool. That’s seed sowing in my opinion.

***

My prayer now is that God gives our brothers/sons great wives-not the ones that have come to kill, steal and destroy: kill the love they have for you; steal all they have and destroy relationships they have with their family. Because, I would be a liar to say there aren’t some Jezebelic women out there who all they think of is how to use the man dry. Their favourite song is ‘Chop my money!’ and they don’t ever intend to build the man and think up ideas to generate wealth for him. They make the man buy they the most expensive gifts on his relatively meagre salary. I mean, what business does a man earning 160k per month have buying a girlfriend 700 GBP Louboutin shoes? Priorities people. I’m all for being generous but wisdom is the principal thing. These women have no business with Proverbs 31 and some are even fetish. So I think we should pray that God separates our men from such vile women. We really should not be part  of those complaining bitterly that a woman is lazy etc.

Why can’t we all just get along?

God help us mehn!

Any thoughts?

Temiville.xoxo

What to do with the ball?

Yesterday Ola got rude to me. Well, not quite rude but he gave me one of these his famous frank responses that hurt to the marrow. Truth be told, I can’t stand his straightforwardness. He comes off as rude a lot of the time but I’ll keep quiet. No use ruffling feathers and waking the sleeping Rottweiler and to be honest, that’s just one of many issues I have with him. Ola is my boyfriend.

Last week, Enitan got engaged. The man of her dreams finally proposed to her. To be honest, only Enitan was amazed at the news. We all saw it coming. Her boyfriend, Moses (wow Lara, you need to get used to calling him her fiancé) had been the serious type from Day 1. He’s the exact type that seems to elude me, the type who wants to settle down forsaking all others. Enitan is my sister.

Enitan is my only sister but in between us are two boys, Olumide and Olufemi. So you can understand the little tinge of pain I felt when baby Enitan called me screaming/crying/hyperventilating over the phone that her boyfriend of 16 months proposed. I was glad for her but sad for me. Moses was 28 when they met and she was 22. But he was your very mature type of 28 year old male; the type whose maturity extends to his dressing. I hardly saw him in jeans and when I did, they were smart looking jeans. His idea of casual dressing was Chinos and Polos.

Enitan had always been the luckier one with guys. Though there is a 4 year gap between us, I had to admit that she had a way with men, they just couldn’t get over her. Of the two of us, I’m the prettier and more academically inclined but she is more street wise and discerning. All through our growing years till date, it was never unusual to find me, the elder sister, calling up Enitan for advice. Even our dad found in her a buddy. She was the stronger one and whilst I was daddy’s pet, she was daddy’s paddy. She and dad would discuss issues on politics, football, F1 etc. for hours. They would argue, fight, and laugh into the night sipping on Brandy while mom and I retired to bed. We were the girly girls who were more concerned with watching the Kardashians on E! than CNN.

Enitan was very firm with Moses from Day 1, firm but loving and kind. I admired their relationship and it was very clear who the stronger person was in it. After their 16 months together, Moses could now hardly make a decision without dialing Enitan’s number to seek her opinion.

6 months into Enitan and Moses’ relationship, I met Ola. Ola was 29 and was self employed. He was running a catering business. I found this weird at first but that was before seeing the passion with which he handled the business. It was his mom’s business before she passed on 3 years ago and ever since he completed his MBA, he totally immersed himself in the company and has single handedly worked on its expansion. Now, they operate in three states-Lagos, Abuja and Calabar.

I saw Ola as the ideal husband for me and would do all in my powers to make him happy. I took it as my assignment to ensure I keep him happy. My mom has always been the perfect wife to dad and I dreamed of being able to do all that for my own husband someday. I cook, clean, wash and even learned how to make Calabar dishes for him (His dad is Yoruba but his mom, who he was closer to, was from Calabar). Despite my efforts to please him, he ended up cheating on me…

Beeba, my cousin and best friend, thinks what transpired is not cheating. She says guys are really bad out there and I should be grateful for the kind of man I have. Then I ran what happened by Enitan who told me in her ever straight shooter fashion that it didn’t get any worse than that.

I found out Ola was ‘talking to’ another girl. Well, she was actually the one doing the talking but he was not exactly fighting her off. She was one of those extra wealthy girls whose fathers have a hand in almost everything going on in Lagos State. She obviously felt she has something to offer and it was painful to see that he was falling into her trap. I told him I wasn’t comfortable about the frequency of their communication. She calls him almost every day and they would exchange BB messages endlessly. His response to my concern was that she was merely a business contact and he was looking into securing some contracts through her dad and that it was high time I started seeing her as a sales lead and nothing else.

I went through their chats in his presence. Yes, he told her point blank that he is in a relationship. Yes, he told her he was happy in it (the useless girl actually asked). But how happy can you possibly be in your relationship if you always respond to her messages? I saw some chats timed at 1:05 am and he responded by 1:07am! Even if you are awake, it’s only decent to reply in the morning. I think.

It didn’t stop at this. The real thing that got me mad was that she invited him to an event hosted by her father’s friend at his residence. It was painful enough that he went with her as her date but even worse that he lied to me about where he was that day. I just didn’t have peace all through that evening and the next day I drove to his house. I saw a BBM that read thus,

‘Thanks so much for being my ‘date’. You looked really dapper in that suit. I know I kept on telling you but I just have to say it again. Btw, everyone says we’ll make a cute couple. I think so too. Goodnight hun. ‘BBM kissing smiley’

His response made me go red (yes, I literally went red as I’m very light skinned).

‘Lol @ making a good match. You’re very pretty so that cuteness will majorly be contributed by you. I had a great time too. Thanks for inviting me. ‘BBM hug smiley’.

I immediately confronted him and told him that it’s either he deletes her and stopped further communication or it’s over. Ola looked into my eyes and told me that if I’m not mature enough to see the whole thing as mere networking then maybe I’m not mature enough to be in a relationship with him. He said to me that I’m very insecure and the very thing that made him like me was my confident gait,  carriage and demeanor and that I was beginning to lose that and he’s not sure what to say about that because a confident woman is very essential to him.

He told me that at my age I should know that if he was intending to cheat on me, he would do it easily and I would never find out. When I asked him why he felt it right to lie to me about his whereabouts the night before, he claimed that it was because he knew the kind of woman he was with-the type who would never understand and would be unreasonable and ask him not to honour the invitation. I asked him why he didn’t accept and then offer to bring along his girlfriend. He said it was ‘bad for business.’ Bad for business?!!!

***

Enitan has come to her conclusion-let him be. But I guess that’s what would work for her. I love him but would be happier if he were more loving and less mechanical and brash. He says he can’t let go of friendships because of me and now I am being forced to humble myself and accept it when he picks her calls and BBM her in my presence!

Is this not akin to him selling himself? Is this not like some degree of prostitution where you lead someone on with the hope that you gain something from them because they think you are a potential? Is this not wrong? I’m really unhappy about this but I don’t know if it is enough to let go of him for. He says he still loves me and that the ball is in my court.

What do I do with this ball?

Unplayed Symphony…

Two days have gone past since we met. I am not one to fall in love. I am not in love but I think this is it, my final bus-stop. After all the searching and attempts made at finding a wife, I have no doubt in my heart that Kemi is the real thing. We met a wedding reception. As is my (bad) habit, I skipped the actual wedding and strolled into the reception with the rest of the guests. I really did not feel like going out. My mom had called that she was feeling a bit under the weather so I had to go to my parents’ after work on Friday and stay with her. It turned out she was just missing me. Either that or she miraculously received her healing as soon as I walked in.

The wedding was all the way in Festac. My car was overheating and most importantly, I was really in no mood to meet with the people I knew would be in attendance. But my friend, Ofo, would have none of my excuses. He had driven all the way from Magodo to pick me up from my parents’ in Oniru so there was no way I could say no.

You see, I had many reasons not to want to attend the wedding. The major one, however, was because I had dated the bride, Olabisi for 6 years. Yes, 6 years: all the way from my 300 level till two years ago. I had gotten over her but our relationship, though it did not end mutually, had not gone completely sour. However, to be seeing her getting married to another man, especially when I was still very much single was a bit more than I thought I could handle. So I decided not to go. Ofo dragged me there, citing maturity, Christian values as his reasons. As soon as we walked into the hall, I got glances from almost all the tables and those who had not previously stared did so after being whispered to by their table mates.

Everyone knew the Afolabi/Olabisi story. We had had a very public relationship and no one thought we could ever break up. I was already married to her in my mind. We were just waiting for the time to be right for us to do it right. It turned out that Olabisi was unhappy in our relationship. She was from a financially struggling family but had one of the best attitudes a woman could have. She was next to my mother. Hell, I even thought she was better than my mom sometimes.

She was very warm and friendly. She had impeccable manners and could cook well. She was born with a silver spoon which got snatched away when her dad died. She and her sisters had attended the best primary and secondary schools in Lagos. Her dad was killed in an autocrash when she was just in SS1 but despite how difficult things got, her mom made sure she completed her secondary education in Atlantic Hall, just as her sisters had before her. Things had gone from bad to worse but despite all the challenges the family faced, Olabisi had remained focused.

I had no idea how bad things were for them. She and her sisters always looked good. It was only after getting so close to her that she revealed things to me. I took it upon myself to be her provider. It turns out that was my greatest blunder. I have heard that men always try to fix things. I guess it’s true. I tried to fix their financial situation. I gave her a car because I was not comfortable that in my parents’ house were 6 cars just lying there whilst they had not even one. So I took one I knew my parents would not notice whether it was there or not and asked the driver to drive it behind me as I drove to their Ayobo home.

Well, it turned out that was a bad idea. She refused it blatantly and seemed almost insulted by the gesture. ‘Is it because I told you something in confidence that you are embarrassing my family this way?!’ I did not get her. I thought I was doing something good but that car had to go back home with me. I tried giving her money so many times but she always returned it with a smile. She hardly complained about not having money but one day when we at my house, she received a call from her mom about something, she went deathly cold as soon as she hung up and it was then I knew I had to look for a way of forcing the money on her.

I asked her to lend me a thousand naira one day and asked for her account number to pay it back into. When I was returning the money the next day, I paid in a hundred thousand naira. She received notification on her phone and then she called me. I was scared she was going to refuse it again but to my amazement, all she said was a solemn ‘Thank you’ and then she hung up. That was how I started paying for everything for her and even her mom. I was happy because I was helping her. I come from a wealthy home so there was no way I would sit and watch my girlfriend wallow in poverty. Six years down the line, she explained to me that because of all I did for her, even when she was upset and frustrated, she felt the need to keep mute as she was indebted to me.

As a sign of gratitude, she gave me the one thing she vowed to keep untouched for her husband. And slowly, gratitude was all she began to feel for me. We were no longer equals and friends. I became the guy through whose link her mom acquired business deals that helped her run her home. She told me that there were times her mom was upset with me because I had driven into their home really late to see her but she could not speak. She didn’t want a rescuer, she wanted a friend. She could not marry a saviour so she broke up with me.

As devastated as I was, my level of respect for her soared. All my friends were her friends. I knew it must have been hard letting go of obvious abundance which I represented. It was then I knew I had lost a treasure. Not many girls will do that, if any at all.

I watch her throw her bouquet in the air, giggling. I watch as the ladies scramble for the flowers. No matter who it is that catches those roses, they cannot match up to that bride, I think to myself. I’m happy for her husband. He is a lucky man. He is not wealthy but he is not struggling either. I hear they plan on starting a business together. That has always been Olabisi. She always wanted to contribute to the lives around her. I guess with mine, she supposed I was complete, needing nothing thereby making her useless. The only thing she knew she shouldn’t give, she gave. I raise a toast to the life I never had with the most beautiful woman I have ever known.

A lone tear slips down my right eye and thankfully no one notices.

***

It turns out someone did notice. That someone was Kemi. She managed to strike up a conversation and carefully avoided talking about the tear. Wise her.

It has only been two days but in a way I feel like I have reached my destination. I can see me loving Kemi but she will need to be strong for both of us because day and night, I will pine for the love I lost. Day and night, I will compare her to the love I lost-her carriage, her cooking, her dressing, her being. Day I night, I will long to dance to that unplayed symphony with my ex-soulmate. She will need to be patient with me because I will move on and she will turn out to be the best thing that has ever happened to me. Eventually.

The love I never had

I’d always loved Onus. He was what everyone would call the perfect man. Every female loved him. The three month old gurgled and laughed at his every tickle. The three year old cried excitedly, ‘Uncle Onus cawwy me!’ The 13 year old thought he was the best big brother figure in the world. I mean who else will let you drive their car from the car park to the gate. The 23 year old was in love with him. The 53 year old wished him to be her son in law. He was just almost perfect.

We were close. Too close. Despite this closeness, he kept details of his relationships to the barest minumum. The only give aways on his love life were the ‘I’m with her’, ‘we’re having problems’, ‘it’s over between us’ statements. I never probed.  He’d always been a man of few words and this is among the qualities that endeared me to him. It always felt like there was more to him than he gave off and there was.

He was with Slyvie for almost 4 years. Theirs was a rocky relationship, off and on. Secretly, I was the happiest person on earth when he announced to me that they had finally decided to go their separate ways. She had found someone new and although he was still single, he had a few ‘maybes’ on the side and wasn’t too keen on anything serious for now. I was very elated by the news though I hid it well. I comforted him and called on him as often as I could manage. He seemed to be dealing with the break up quite well.

Why couldn’t Onus just see that I am perfect for him! Veronica and Simeon my other best friends said it was my fault that Onus just couldn’t see me as a potential. I was not sexy. I would drive to his house in my unbathed body wearing yesterday’s clothes. I would fart in his presence and carry on talking like nothing happened. I looked at the line up of girls he had dated. Ayomikun was the least pretty and she was pretty. Well, maybe not pretty but what she lacked in facial beauty, she made up for with her toned, athletic physique. Shola was the most beautiful and she was always well put together. His most recent ex, Sylvie, was the most intimidating of the lot. She is mixed race so in a way hers is an unfair comparison.

I decided to take the advice I was given. ‘First ditch this ‘Team Natural’ business and invest in a relaxer. You don’t even need to fix. Just have straight hair. Wear less boot cut jeans and more skinny ones. Add on a few heels and for the love of God, shapen those brows that are threatening to merge’.

This makeover cost me my entire salary for the month of August. I went to shops in Adeniran Ogunsanya and bought some fitted skirts, skinny jeans, sheer blouses, high heels and even make up! I never used more than powder and lip gloss but now I had a full make up bag along with some training on how to use my new purchases. God bless that attendant who took out a whole hour to show me how to use a mascara, eye pencil and blush!

My next stop was Make Me, also in Surulere. Blessing almost passed out when she saw me holding a pack of relaxer.

‘You are not planning to use that, are you?’ she asked.

‘Actually, I am’.

After almost 10 minutes of finding out if I was sure, she put the first scoop on my virgin hair. I had been natural for 23 months. But if having natural locks was making me lose out on what could be the best thing in my life, then it’s gotta go. I must admit the result was impressive. My hair had grown so long. I had them put rollers in it and straighten the curls out after. My makeover for Onus’ love was almost complete.

We attend the same Church in Yaba and so the next day was supposed to be my day of showing forth. I picked out skinny brown pants Veronica had given me six months ago which I just didn’t know what to match it with. I decided to wear one of my new sheer blouses, the cream one. As much as the idea of colour blocking intrigued me, I was going to play safe today.  I completed the look with my four inch beige platformed shoes. After almost 30 minutes of making up, I was ready to go!

It was a Sunday morning so I figured if I tell a lie, I could go to Church and ask for mercy and so I told a lie. I dialled Onus’ line. ‘Hey dude, wassup? (Shoot! Veronica warned me against calling him ‘dude’. Too tomboyish, she said. ‘If you don’t have the courage to say ‘babe’ then just call him his name’)

‘Hi Temilade, how are you doing?’

‘Good good. Onus, my car is having issues (I figured saying ‘issues’ made it less of a lie)  and I was wondering if you could come pick me up to Church or maybe Aunty Gbemi can drop me at yours on her way to her Church’.

‘No issues. I’ll come get you. 9:25 cool?

‘Yes. That’s fine’.

It was 9:05. So I spent the remaining 20 minutes refreshing my makeup . I added more blush then reduced it then added a little more. I dabbed on red lipstick thinking my nude colour was too boring. And then, I went to the living room and looked at myself in the floor to ceiling mirror for almost 3 minutes. Just as I was smiling at my reflection, a BBM came through. It was Onus telling me he was outside.

I quickly picked up my clutch and my Bible and jotter and almost tripped as I reached for the door. Mental note to self: you have to walk carefully in these instruments called heels. As I asked Musa, the gateman to open the door, I patted my hair down for the umpteenth time staring at my reflection in my little sister’s Picanto. Calmly, I walked to the gate and opened it to see Onus’ tinted red Mazda. I carefully navigated myself to the right hand side and opened the door ready to place my heeled left foot in. To my shock, a girl was seated there. Not just a girl, a beautiful girl. Onus had outdone himself this time.

I sheepishly proceeded to the back seat. I had to move an overnight bag in order to be able to sit properly. I also had to ask the girl to adjust her seat as my legs are quite long plus the heels added more inches. To make matters more awkward, the babe goes, ‘can you stretch out your legs to the back of Onus’ seat so that way you are less discomfited?’ Discomfited? Who uses such words except in books? I wonder internally.

After a few minutes of putting into action her suggestion, Onus says, ‘Lade, meet Ibiso, my girlfriend. Ibiso, this is Lade’. She turns around and gives me the brightest smile I have ever seen. ‘Hi Lade, I have heard so much about you’.

I was mute.

 

***

Disclaimer: *a piece of art on a lazy Friday morning*

Stay blessed!

Temiville.xoxo

What is wrong with me?

I cannot seem to identify the problem with me but I am hundred percent sure something is not quite right. It is getting so frustrating these days. I know what I am doing is not right. I am sure I going down the wrong path. I have been warned. The admonitions and warnings are all so familiar to me. Even I have passed on these nuggets of wisdom in the past to erring friends. I know my wrongs, yet I do them. Before I proceed, I will give you a brief run through of who I am.

I am Omolara Owolabi, a 23 year old who just finished her Masters in Information Technology with Management from Loughborough University. I am tall, dark skinned and slim. I’m not exactly Miss World and neither am I Princess Fiona from Shrek. I am just there, really, but with MAC on my side, wonders can take place.

The issue with me however is that I can’t seem to like the decent guys around me. Ok, please don’t pre-judge me. I am not a loose girl. Not in the least bit. I am a good Christian who loves God and wants so badly to do His will. The problem is that once I find out a guy likes me, I begin to lose interest. I prefer those that I have to run after. The ones whom I call but don’t pick and when it is about 12 midnight, they ring back. I can’t stand those who remember my birthdays and buy me flowers and chocolates. I prefer those who forget and even when told, don’t bother buying anything and when I ask, they complain that I’m being materialistic, a nag and overly fussy. When a guy is all nicey nicey, I think he is slow, boring and generally ‘dulling’. I prefer the ones whose phones I have to keep checking, in whom I have no trust. The ones who keep my heart racing, who give me no peace whatsoever. I know I am being hard on myself but I am so frustrated with all I have been doing and the decisions I have been making lately.

I have been so sad all day. So sombre. So ‘burnt’. All my fears regarding Deji have come to pass. Yesterday evening, Deji came visiting. He used my laptop to check his Facebook account. As soon as he finished with it, I took it off him to check mine. I then noticed that the web page said ‘Do you want Google Chrome to remember this password?’. I thought to myself, ‘no I don’t’. Another part of me argued, ‘of course you do’. After much internal debate, I fell. I saved his password and as soon as he left, I sat down over a cup of coffee and logged into his account.

Nothing on God’s green earth could have prepared me for what I saw. There were chat messages with three different girls. In all these messages, he denied being in a relationship. He was toasting one and apparently the other two girls were a done deal. I then proceeded to his inbox. There was nothing compromising at all. Until I saw his conversation with his friend Kolade. Kolade asked,

‘Guy how far…the job don click?’ I was puzzled so I checked his response to Kolade. ‘Omo e don click oh. The two of them sef. Those girls are fine!’ It was then I understood what ‘job’ stood for. Those girls were the jobs. The jobs ‘clicking’ implies that they had succumbed to his advances, where in terms of a normal relationship or simply to sleep with him, I don’t know. Only God knows if I too was one of the jobs of which Kolade asked with regards to sleeping with me.

Deji and I started our relationship in Covenant University in our final year. I found him way more appealing than Steve who was also asking me out then. Deji was fun. Steve was boring. Steve was very kind and good to me. Deji was usually quick to dismiss me and was never there for me. Yet, in him I found fun and excitement and for that reason I held on. Steve was in the choir and usually hung out in the Chapel. Deji, on the other hand, was always with his clique of friends in Bashan in the Cafeteria. Despite the fact that I was aware that I was not the only girl he was asking out, Deji could do no wrong in my eyes. I fell for him, hook, line, sinker. He had swag. Steve, however, was entirely swagless. He was not my type and I really could not bear to be engaged in conversation for too long with such a bore.

Eventually, I started dating Deji but since our relationship began, I have not known peace. He leaves me to pick his calls and when I ask why, he complains that I nag. He passworded his Blackberry after I saw some suspicious messages. Even if he wants to quickly nip into the loo, Deji must take both phones with him. On his BB, he ends all his chats so there is absolutely no way of knowing wassup with him. As you must know by now, the mere fact that I am interested in knowing ‘wassup’ with him is proof that I don’t trust him. I don’t trust him. Yet, I can’t leave him.

We started Masters together in the same university. I got admission into the best university in the UK for my course but because I didn’t want to be without him, I accepted Loughborough which is the one he was going to. It is not because I was going to miss him so much that I took that decision. No! It was because I didn’t want him to be by himself. I wanted the whole school to know he was taken. His status on Facebook says, ‘In a relationship’ but no matter how hard I asked, pleaded with and even begged him to connect it to my profile, he refused. So I made up my mind to make it clear to all with whom he was in a relationship.

I am not much of a party person, not in the least bit. But because of my resolve to hold on tight to my man, I had to go for countless parties. All through the night, I would hold his arms firmly, dance with him in ways that will make my mom cringe. I did this all in a bid to put my stamp of ownership on him. Yet, he only got worse. I heard of his trysts with girls all over England, from Manchester, to Birmingham, to London and even all the way in Dundee, Scotland. I ‘heard’ but I never had any proof. I didn’t want any proof either.

The worst of all is that Deji has started getting physical with me. The other day, I was having a conversation with a male friend on the phone and Deji was seated next to me on the couch in the flat he shared with his friend, Eddie. I was totally fed up with Deji’s dodginess so I decided to spur jealousy in him by being flirtatious on the phone. He had no idea who it was I was speaking to. But I was laughing and using my sexy voice. Before I could say ‘God is good’, he grabbed the phone from my hand, cut it and gave me a thunderous, ear deafening slap.

‘In your life, don’t try that kind of nonsense with me again!’, he roared.

I held my cheek in shock as the tears began to flow of their own accord. I was speechless. I wasn’t expecting him to be pleased with my phone conversation but I certainly was not expecting a slap. I got angry, screamed at him as I put my shoes on and picked my phone to call a cab. He shouted back, calling me a whore. The next minute, he was on his knees, begging me and saying,

‘Lara, I don’t know what came over me. I love you so much. I just can’t bear to see you with another man. Please baby, don’t go. I love you.’

As I listened to him, I knew he had me hooked. As soon as he noticed me softening, he smiled and said,

‘no matter what I do, you know you can’t leave me. You are mine and you can’t go anywhere’.

He then hugged me. I was cold for a minute but I eventually hugged him back, tightly too.

‘I really need divine intervention’, I think to myself as I now log on into my Facebook account. Could Deji be right afterall that I will never leave him? I love him so much and this has made me endure his behaviour for so long.  I just can’t seem  say, ‘ Otito! E don do!! Enough is enough!!!’

What is wrong with me?

Feyisayo Adelekan

Feyisayo

I fell in love with Feyisayo slowly. Well, I’ve never been one to ‘fall’ in love so maybe that’s the way romance worked for me. I had been in about 5 relationships before Feyisayo but only  3 serious ones. We met at NYSC Orientarion Camp in Iseyin, Oyo State where we both served. I remember that hot October afternoon like it was yesterday. Possibly, because of all the drama that ensued.

I had not noticed her immediately but instead I had my eyes on her friend, Onyenachi. Nachi was a beauty to behold with her very striking features. She was tall, possibly 5 10″ which I had even imagined would suit my 6′ 2′ frame perfectly. She had dark skin and was what you would call a black beauty. Her slim body made a her look like a model, a healthy one though and it was absolutely impossible not to notice her as she walked. Nachi and Feyi were having a conversation with one of the soldiers on the camp about where to go to register, hand in their Call up letters and get their numbers for the year.  I was behind them and listening in because I, too, was lost.  The soldier pointed to an office and we all walked towards it. I was keenly observing them as they walked. They seemed so close so I guessed  they must have gone to the same University.

We got to the office and there were so many forms to fill. We sat down and started filling them out. At some point, we were asked for our passport photographs. They accepted mine and Feyi’s but rejected Nachi’s because she had smiled in hers. It was then I saw a side to her that was ‘scary’ to put it mildly and promptly repelled me. She got angry and went on a loud rampage asking why they would reject her photo. The man who had rejected it calmly told her to approach the many photographers outside, take a photo and then come back, promising her that her space would be kept for her.

This had not pacified her at all and she became even louder screaming,

‘This is the problem with this useless country! All these unprofessional people who do not realise that they are offering a service!’, she spat.

All through, Feyi had tried to calm her down to no avail. The man got angry at her outburst and told her to walk out of the office. She did but not before calling him a ‘useless man’. Feyi went to the man and starting apologising on Nachi’s behalf and even at some point knelt down asking him not be mad anymore. Her attitude did the trick but Nachi still had to take another passport photo. At that point, I was drawn to Feyi. She was so soft spoken and appeared very gentle and humble in comparison with her hotheaded, though beautiful friend. From that day, I looked around for her but never saw her. She was in a different platoon and this made finding her harder.

Four days into camp, I spotted her. I promptly left the ‘guys’ with whom I was having drinks and suya and rushed off to speak with her. She turned out to even be better than I had imagined. She was trying to adjust her khakis at a tailor’s in Mammy Market, the general hang out zone in the camp and it was there we got talking. She recognised me so that made things a bit faster. I found out that she and Nachi had in fact attended not only the same university in Ghana but had also gone to secondary school, FGGC Shagamu together. They had lived on the same street in Opebi  since they were both really young and so were ‘practically sisters’, she said.

They had grown up together

She seemed a bit shy, looking at the floor and fiddling with her phone as we spoke and never for once did she set her gaze at me. I was attracted to her personality more than I was to her physically. She was good to look upon but was not as pretty as Nachi. She was curvy and about 5 7′ compared to Nachi’s 5 10′ frame. However, what Nachi lacked in character, Feyi had in surplus and at my age, I knew I would pick character over looks anytime, any day.

That day was the beginning of what became a very solid, strong and loving relationship. We grew so close and spent every spare time together. We would sneak out into town together, sometimes with Nachi who I found out was not so bad afterall, just too headstrong for a woman in my opinion. I believed  a woman should have a meek and gentle spirit, someone you could be sure would be submissive and not try to control you. That was who Feyi was. She was very humble and respectful to all around and took all the ‘rubbish’ Nachi would never condone. Our love grew…strong.

***

Feyisayo and I had a good relationship. We were both so in love. Thoughts of her constantly filled my head. She was everything to me and I made that perfectly clear to anyone who cared to listen. She was my queen and my angel and my everything. She treated me likewise. She always doted on me and listened to me. She was very gentle and submissive and her soft voice made her sound even more so.

I had served late. I finished from Obafemi Awolowo University in 2005 but went straight to the US for a 2 year long masters programme and then did a work placement for about 9 months before returning to Nigeria. So by the time I was to serve, I was already 27. Feyi was 23. She was going to be ready to settle down in marriage in about 2 years. I just wanted to secure a good job, get a nice apartment in a nice area, save some money and then, I would be ready. Two years was therefore, just perfect for me.

She was posted to First Bank in Marina and I was posted to Afribank which was just 5 minutes away so I made it a point of duty to drive her to work each morning. I lived in Ilupeju so I had to drive back into Maryland and then Opebi before making the return trip back to Ilupeju, then Jibowu and then Third Mainland Bridge then into Marina. Her parents felt I was bothering myself and that they could arrange for her to get dropped each morning by their driver or she could get on the staff bus from General Hospital (Ayinke House) in Ikeja. I had assured them that it was no bother whatsoever. Little did they know the great deal of joy it brought me to see Feyi each morning. Feyi too was good to me. We usually met up for lunch each afternoon but she insisted on bringing packed lunch for me at least 3 times a week because ‘it was too expensive to eat out every afternoon’. I did not mind but her gesture further proved to me that she was a real woman, not like the money loving ones who would squeeze a man till he was dry.

Feyi was not like that. Once when I had invested a lot in a business and was broke, she had sensed it and had offered to pay for my fuel for the week using the pretext, ‘my dad says I shouldn’t go with you if I can’t pay for the fuel at least once in three months’. It was hard to say no at that point but being the person I was, I’d rather have starved than take the money off her. However those little things made my love for her soar. She was Little Miss Perfect to me soon to be Mrs Feyisayo Biodun Daniels. Nothing could have sounded better…

***

I really can’t place my hands on how it happened or when exactly it started but Feyisayo changed from the sweet and loving girl I fell in love with and loved into someone I didn’t recognise nor know how to handle. Her change was drastic and unexpected.

She got retained at First Bank but I was lucky to get a good job in EFCC which is what I really wanted. She liked to hang out with friends but only if I was there. Her normal response to people’s invites would be, ‘If Biodun is coming, I’ll be there’. I used to urge her to go without  me but deep within me, I felt proud when she used to say, ‘baby, there’s no way I’m going out without you’. She was a very introverted person who could easily be mistaken for snobbish. She was totally dependent on either me or  Nachi to act as her ‘support’ when we went to gatherings. Nachi, however, had travelled to England for her Masters so I was the only friend she had left.

I became very busy juggling business deals with my regular 9-5. Our regular Saturday hanging out reduced. We had to depend on phone to communicate as I had to do a lot of travelling around the country. I thought she took it well. She never complained which I thought was unusual for a woman. Most girls I know would have had started nagging but she was always so understanding. On our anniversary, we had planned a dinner which I cancelled at the last minute because I had to seal an unexpected deal in Abuja. It was too good to miss out on and I could not trust anyone else to represent me. I had braced myself before making that call to Feyi to cancel the date. I had a carefully planned speech.

‘Baby, I’m so so sorry I won’t be able to make it on Friday. Something came up…’ Before I could finish the sentence, she caught me off with, ‘I understand dear. You have to do what you have to do. We can always have that dinner some other day. Just make sure you call me sha’, she said with a laugh in her voice. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe my luck not just for that situation but with the type of understanding wife I would have, the type who wouldn’t nag and stress me out if I had to make business trips often. I was elated. God had indeed given me a perfect woman, I thought to myself.

I called her on our anniversary as I promised. We spoke everyday so when she said ‘call me’, I knew it meant ‘call me every free moment you have’. That was exactly what I did. From 12 midnight up until the afternoon, I would sneak out of meetings to make quick calls just to let her know how sorry I was that I could not be there and how much I loved her. She dismissed all my apologies and sounded happy. At about 10 pm, I got back to the house I was staying in Abuja and rang her again. The background was noisy so I asked her where she was.

‘Oh Im just hanging out with friends’, she replied in her usual soft tone.

It took a while to process that information. Not that it was a big deal for her to hang out ‘friends’ but I wondered why she did not tell me of her plans when we spoke earlier and who these ‘friends’ were. It took all my strength to do it but I decided not to push it and act like I was controlling her. So I talked with her for a few minutes and asked her to have a good time.

That was the beginning of her going out and hanging out ways. From cinema to bars to clubs, Feyi became someone else before my very eyes. Her occasional partying turned into an every weekend affair. She then started making long distance trips. Her nameless friends were either getting married in Ilorin or their grandparents were getting buried in Enugu or their dads were turning 60 in Abuja. I started hearing stories about Feyi’s wayward ways. The first person who was bold enough to tell me was my brother, Deji. For the information he gave me, he got beaten up badly. I don’t know what came over me. I pinned him to the wall and punched him over and over again till my sister called my dad to come and wrench me off him. That was not before I warned him never to repeat such words again. I guess I was angry because my worst fear was being confirmed and I just could not accept it. I could not!

It did not take long for me to quit the lies I was telling myself. I discovered that Nachi, whom I had labelled ‘bad’ was actually better. She was just uncouth and loud but definitely more decent. Feyi had become as good as an aristo girl with reports of her escapades with married people filtering into my ears on a regular basis. She bought expensive things that I knew her First Bank salary could not provide and from my knowledge of her parents, there was no way they would churn out N150, 000to buy an iPhone 4 for a girl who had a Blackberry and an iPad for a girl who had a functioning laptop and a desktop in her room. She started buying designer bags, claiming they were gifts from her boss for her excellent output at work. It broke my heart to little pieces to admit it but I had come to the realisation that Feyisayo had turned into a monster. I was determined to make things work. I blamed my busy schedule for her straying. Maybe if I was more ‘there’, she would not have done this, I reasoned. So I thought to work on myself and make my relationship work. I just could not let Feyisayo go.

Self Deception

***

She eventually started dating Abdulazeez Bamgboshe, the son of the oil tycoon, Alhaji Olayiwola Bamgboshe and broke up with me without explanation. All she had to say is that, ‘it just isn’t working Biodun and it has not been for a while’. I was devastated. I almost lost my mind. I tried begging her parents to make her change her mind. They responded that there was nothing they could do. I thank God for my family who stood beside me throughout those horrible days. My mom  physically packed my load from my my Allen Avenue apartment and transported me back to our Ilupeju home. I had lost so much weight and almost lost my confidence as a man. I had thought depression was a western concept but those days, I felt what it meant to be depressed.

Nachi heard about the whole episode and kept calling from the UK and sending me comforting BB messages because the news of my drastic weight loss spread like wild fire. Apparently, they had stopped talking months back because she noticed Feyisayo’s wayward ways and called her to order in her usual brash, no-nonsense manner. Feyisayo had told her to ‘rot in hell’ and Nachi decided to cut away from her. We got closer and closer over the weeks.

Nachi had calmed down considerably and was doing very well at school. She had joined the youth organisation for poverty stricken Brazilian children and was channeling her energy to good use. I ended up falling in love with Nachi. She had not stopped being so blunt but in my opinion, it was better being with a real person than a snake. Three months into our e-friendship, Nachi  finished her Masters and got a job with an NGO in Lagos. I was planning to ask her out officially as soon as she arrived to take up the job.

On the Saturday of the week Nachi was due to arrive, Feyisayo came to my  house (I had since moved back to Allen). She looked a bit chubbier than I had last seen her. She had come in a taxi and has soon as she saw me, she paid him and walked up to me. She was crying. She begged and begged as I watched on, expressionless.

‘I was mad, I was a fool. I had been shielded all my life so the first chance I got to taste of freedom, I misused. Please forgive me’. I stared at her and despite all the hate I thought I would feel, all my emotions could register was pity. I pitied her so much. It was common knowledge that Abdulazeez had dumped her. He was never going to marry a non-Muslim. Everyone but Feyisayo and her family knew that and the news of his impending marriage to daughter of another Muslim billionnaire mogul was all over town.

I should not have said the words I spoke to Feyisayo but I could not help myself. At that point, my pity for her had transformed to the need to make her feel the hurt I felt when she dumped me.

‘Feyi, it was over between us before you announced it to me. I refused to see it. I refused to accept it because I loved you. It hurt me then but little did I know that God had better plans for me. His plan was Nachi whom I love with my whole existence.’

She instantly stood up, paced about the room and without warning flung the coke bottle sitting on my table at me. Thank God for a good reflex as I had ducked and narrowly avoided getting badly injured. It took all my willpower not to lay my hands on her in rage. I had never been so close to beating a woman in my life, not even my ever stubborn younger sister. I physically carried her out of my apartment as she screamed and screamed expletives at me. I threw her out and ordered the gateman never to allow her entry again.

My Beautiful Onyenachi

The next day, which was just before the day Nachi was to travel, Nachi called me crying and asking what I had done. She was mad at me that I had not stuck to our plan of speaking to Feyisayo’s parents first about our growing friendship. Apparently, their families had a huge row after Feyisayo gave her account of what hsappened at mine to her parents.

I found and still find it hard to care about how hurt Feyisayo must have felt upon learning that her ex best friend and her ex boyfriend are about to be in a serious relationship. The only person that gave me any concern whatsover was Nachi who was being made out to be a backstabber by Feyi and her parents. When their daughter was sleeping around, no one fought for me. When their daughter disgraced me about town, no one spoke on my behalf. When their daughter began dating a rich man’s son, no one pleaded for me. Why now, should I care?

***

 

It’s been two months since Nachi returned to Nigeria. Thankfully, she has gotten over her feeling of betraying Feyisayo. I know there is an unwritten rule that you never date anyone your friend has had a mere crush on not to talk of dating but this is a different case. I believe Nachi and I were meant for each other from the day I met her. I was moved by Feyisayo ‘good nature’ which was all a lie.

Only a woman with Nachi’s striegnth could have handled this mess. All our ‘friends’ have divided themselves up in different camps. Some support Nachi and I whilst others are staunch Feyisayo supporters. All I care for now is Nachi’s peace of mind. She has done no wrong, absolutely none. Feyisayo and I had broken up for months before we started geting close. They had even stopped speaking so technically she owed her no allegiance. Feyisayo has an entirely different story about our break up. People are free to choose whom to believe. The truth, however remains clear. Feyisayo Adelekan is now a thing of the past in my life…

The End

***

That’s all people (for now)

Temiville.xoxo

Mother, where art thou?

Ever since dad remarried, things have gone from bad to worse and now, I can confidently say that they have plummeted to the worst. Ify, his new bride, has been an absolute nightmare to deal with. I know it is not right to hate people but I absolutely deeply dislike her with every fibre of my being. She is everything I’ve always loathed in a woman. She acts like a goody two shoes and most annoying of all, she is trying to fill our mom’s shoes. That that is an absolute impossibility! I didn’t attend their wedding despite the fact that she asked me to be her chief bridesmaid. For what? I’m sure that was just one of her strategies to get me to be on her side. One of her fellow scheming friends must have offered her that piece of advice. Well, she might as well tell them it’s not working on me!

***

Why dad had to remarry is still a mystery to me. He has us his kids. Myself, Lamide and Junior have been all he needs since mom passed on two years ago. The abruptness of his remarriage was mind-numbing not to mention the fact that he married mom’s friend’s younger sister, Ify. Who does that?

The way she schemed and wormed her way into our house and daddy’s life is quite legendary. The woman deserves a prize for her acting because I know she is fake. What happened on the 14th of September proves without reasonable doubt that she is the pretender I have always suspected her to be. I saw through all her holy holy act which dad fell for hook, line and sinker. She would pretend to be born again, screaming about the house in the mornings and robbing us of sleep yet all manners of deception lie in her.

My trusting dad

She plotted her way into being dad’s wife by making food and bringing it to the house in her big warmer. The first time she tried it, I emptied the contents of the container into the nearest bin. Dad was upset but quickly calmed down after a few minutes. I generally had my way with daddy. We were very alike. Both stubborn, yet loving at heart. However, my shrewdness and intuition, I got from mom. Dad fell easily for all the gimmicks that would never have swayed mom. The difference was that once my old man had his mind set on something, that was it.

I explained to dad that Saturday afternoon Ify brought food over that it was not necessary to eat the food because I had cooked all morning for the week and it would go to waste. My reasoning didn’t make much sense in my ears as I voiced them but they worked on dad. I was doubtful of her motives from Day 1. Who goes cooking for a man who has a 21 year old daughter? I could cook like crazy and Ify knew it so what was her point? Mom had instilled the importance of knowing how to cook in us to the extent that even Junior who is just 14 makes amazing beans.

Ify, like the sharp and crafty woman that she is would come to the house when I wasn’t in. She knew my routine and was aware that I would be on campus from Monday till Friday every week and that Lamide, my sister, was too nice to protest like I would. She was a softy like our mom. I was no softy. I took after my dad and that is why it hurt so much to watch him crumble before this woman.

***

All manners of ills have taken place since they got married and she moved into the house. Dad has stopped eating on the dining table with us all as was our tradition. He now questions us when we ask him for money. Even Junior gets questioned too. He no longer cares about the curfew he and mom set up for Lamide and I. He doesn’t care even if we come home or not. He barely notices our presence…or absence. He’s too wrapped up in his new bride.

He reduced our allowance without notice. He gave Ify the keys to mom’s car. The very same car he bought for her 45th birthday and had made mom cry in glee. He allowed all mom’s pictures in the living room to be put away despite my protests. Even Lamide, who is usually quiet, spoke out that day. We all wept bitterly. It was as though he wanted no more reminders of mom, forgetting that she and she alone can ever be our mother. He told me to keep he pictures in my room as it was ‘unfair for Ify to be seeing them day in day out’. Who gives a hoot what she feels?! In addition, he goes on impromptu extended holidays with this woman and asks his sister, Aunty Clara, to come and stay with us. Ify also had the nerve to redocarate the house from the biege, brown and cream theme mom, myself and Lamide had chosen and painstakingly sorted out to her totally off colours.

These and a lot more are the miseries I have had to endure in my own home. So I made up my mind two months ago to move out with my siblings and go to stay with Aunty Clara and Uncle Akin in Okota. It was far from where we lived but that was my intention exactly, to be as far away from them as possible. Lamide had been debating it and did not want to offend dad. Junior was ready to go but recently, seemed to have started warming up to Ify. I drove home from school one Frday evening to find Ify and Junior playing ludo on the balcony!

I badly wanted Ify to be treated like the plague that she is and the message needed to be drummed into dad’s ears. I had spoken to him severally, first clamly, then shouting, then sobbing. Nothing worked. Dad kept on asking me, ‘Tolu, what exactly has she done wrong?’. I gave him  a look that read, ‘what has she NOT done? She is an impostor and she needs to leave!’

Why oh why did mom have to go? Why was her cancer not healed? Why did she even have to get it in the first place and leave us at the mercy of this merciless world? I had been strong for all of us in the months after her funeral. We were all hurting but we were gradually healing. We were doing just fine…until she came.

***

One Monday morning, as I was getting ready to go back to school, I heard a noise down the hall so I left my room to find out what was going on. I discovered the noise was coming from mom and dad’s room. It was then I heard her throwing up violently and dad soothing her and they both laughing at a joke he told. I swallowed  a big lump of something in fear and trepidation. Could she be pregnant? My worst fear has just been realised, I thought as I hurriedly rushed to my room, packed my things, rushed out of the house, got into my car and drove off.

Pregnant!

Ify was so happy

***

I avoided the house after that incident. I got away with it easily because dad was now preoccupied with Ify and everything pertaining to her. A month after, I finally came home as it was going to be dad’s 53rd birthday and my younger ones and I had planned a small get-together for him and had invited his friends, mom’s friends and our relatives. I loved my dad with my whole being and no matter how much I believed he had made the wrong choice, he was still my father. Also, I didn’t want to give Ify the pleasure of playing hostess in my own home so I took charge of the arrangements, calling a caterer and sorting out the cake and drinks. His birthday fell on a Sunday but I decided to go home on Thursday afternoon because I pretty much had a free Friday and had lots of last minute loose ends to tie.

I met Ify decorating the living room. I greeted her in my usual cool manner and walked off not waiting or caring for a response. As I walked up the staircase, I immediately noticed something wrong. Our family portrait was missing! It usually hung on the wall so you could view it as you walked up the stairs. It was so huge and beautiful. It was an oil painting on canvas and we had it done in Italy five years ago. We all looked so happy and it was the most recent picture we had of mom before she was diagnosed with the disease that eventually took her life. I was furious. I was livid. I was mad! I could feel the hairs standing at the back of my neck and my blood began to rise in a boil as I dropped my bag on the staircase and stormed into the living room.

‘Where the hell is the portrait Ify?!’

She looked at me for about four seconds before calmly responding, ‘It’s in the storeroom Tolulope. Your dad and I decided that it would be nice to have it replaced with the more recent one…’

I don’t know which had annoyed me the most, her calm response in the face of my anger, her calling me ‘Tolulope’ or the actual response she gave me.

‘Which is?!’, I screamed.

Unperturbed by my loudness, she answered,

‘Well, your dad, myself, Lammie and Junior went to the studio last week Saturday when you refused to come home’.

‘First, she is Lamide to you’, I interjected sharply, ‘only our mother ever calls her Lammie. Secondly, how dare you take that picture down? How dare you?! I’m putting right back and if you dare lay your fingers on it again!’ I said wagging my index finger at her.

To my utmost surprise, she did what she had never done before. She retorted.

‘That’s it. I’ve had enough of your disobedience and rudeness. I have tried my best to be a wonderful mom to you all but you especially have always thwarted my efforts. You have tried my patience long enough and today, I will put an end to this’, she declared.

‘Ehn ehn, I knew it! I knew you are nothing but a bloody pretender! You try and stop me and I will show you madness!’.

The Fight

‘Rasaki, Rasaki!’ I yelled calling the gateman who promptly responded. I asked him to assist me in carrying  the portrait from the storeroom. As we lifted it together, Ify kept shouting behind us, ‘Rasaki, if you don’t drop that painting, I would have you sacked today!’ Rasaki ignored her like I told him to. He had been with us for almost 11 years so there was no way he was gettnig fired and he knew it.

As Ify followed us up the stairs, she must have lost her footing and tripped over her flowing boubou. My first instinct was to rush over to help her to her feet but I thought she was just pretending since she only tripped and nothing more. So I ensured that the portrait was back in its rightful spot before attending to her. Unfortunately, I was wrong and she was not pretending. She was writhing in pain and to my alarm, I saw three spots of bright red on her pink boubou. We rushed her to the hospital where dad joined us in no time.

***

It has been two weeks and four days since the incident. She had a miscarriage. But most shocking of all is her claim that I pushed her in my anger at her putting down the portrait. God knows I never did any such thing. Rasaki, my only witness has now been sacked. Dad has banished me out of his house and insists that he does not want to speak to or see me. I now stay with Aunty Clara. Everyone has pleaded with dad: Aunty Clara, Uncle Akin, all mom’s relatives and even dad’s relatives too. Even Ify and her sister (mom’s friend) have ‘begged’ too all to no avail.

I feel bad for Ify’s loss but why she had to lie against me is still a mystery to me. What joy could she possibly derive from a father and his daughter in enmity? Why did dad have to react so harshly. He has known me for 21 years. He should know my capabilities. As much as his remarriage brought no thrills to me, I would never hurt Ify, at least not physically. I am his daughter. His first child. To think that he would pick Ify over me is painful. It makes me miss my mom all over again as I question the reason why she had to die. Life is sure harsh but this was a bit extreme. I never imagined things would take this turn. Tears mean nothing to me now, I’ve shed so much of them, they don’t move the people around me anymore. Oh mother, where art thou?!

Lanre!

Shattered, I walk into the main building. I cannot believe my eyes. Lanre? Smoking? Not just cigarrettes but something wrapped up in a white paper. I am not so exposed but without an iota of doubt, I know that must be weed. I’m not that naive. I can still perceive the pungent smell minutes after I have left the back of the school building where I found Lanre, with the rest of his gang smoking, gambling and drinking.

We were dressed the same as kids

Here was my twin brother now rolling with the gang members of campus. We have always been so close though never doing everything together. We were from a very close knit family. I was the more boisterous of the two of us. Lanre was a generally quiet person. He kept to himself a lot. He got along well with our parents and with people. He hardly argued with them but would always do exactly what was on his mind.  I, on the other hand, would fight, shout, argue and make sure I made it clear when I disapproved. He would always ask me, ‘Femi, why you dey disturb yourself dey follow dem argue?’

He was the smiley and cute one

Because of his cute and innocent looks and his amenable disposition, he was never suspected when things went wrong in the house. Whenever there was a problem, mom would scream, ‘FEMI, what have you done again?!’ She automatically attributed all the blame to me and that is how Lanre and I have lived our 21 years on earth. I knew him so well. I knew he had a strong heart that could handle much more than his face gave away but I never believed it when I started seeing signs that he had become a gang member.

Lanre had become worse since we enrolled in Ladoke Akintola University of Technology (LAUTECH) in Ogbomosho in 2009. He has always had latent tendencies to be unruly and headstrong. Despite the fact that I’m no saint, he constantly makes me appear so in comparison to the magnitude of his atrocities. His gang was not the typical secret cult. No. They were involved in fraudulent activities ranging from Yahoo Yahoo to credit card fraud to drug smuggling abroad. It was a very well organised gang. They were a minute piece of a very big puzzle and I heard rumours that they worked for Chief Philip Nduka. Philip Nduka is one of the richest men in the country. He has several companies and businesses but most people know that these businesses are just a front for the main thing he does which is 419.

The saddest part of the story is that in order to join this gang, they make you swear, take blood oaths and peform all other rituals. I shudder to think that this is the depth to which Lanre, my own blood has sunk, all in a bid to become rich, famous and powerful. What happened to all the training we got as children? What happened to all the Sunday School? What happened to the good upbringing we had.

As I walk into Malomo Hall and into the room I share with Femi and 8 other guys, the tears flow freely down my cheeks. I see people cast puzzled glances at me, wondering what is wrong. For the first time in a while, I am actually scared. It is as though I have lost my brother. He is a different person now. Seeing him smoke that stick confirmed all my worst fears about him.

Lanre, why?!

***

It has been 6 months since I caught Lanre with his fellow hooligans. He has since moved out of our campus room and gone on to live with some of his friends in town. I begged and begged him not to. As I begged, I knew it was of no use. There was this strong resolute look I saw in his eyes  and that look told me, ‘Femi, abeg don’t waste your breath. I’ve got my mind made up and I won’t turn back’. I was weak. I knew Lanre would limit his wrongdoings here on campus but living with fellow gang members off campus gave him the freedom to do as he wished. I was so sad about it. I hated to be the snitch but I badly wanted to pick up my phone and call our mom and tell her all I knew. Yes mom, not dad.

My mom is a rugged woman. Very strong. Way stronger than my dad whose soft heart won’t be able to take such news well. I dwelled on the thought for a few minutes as I watched Lanre throw in the last one of his shirts into his brown leather Samsonite box. Lanre and I were the only sons of our parents. Our 19 year old sister, Ariyike nicknamed Mami by the entire family took after my dad with her tender heart. I couldn’t tell her either. So I just stood there as he dragged the box and shut the door behind him.

This is not the brother I knew. We were not your average outwardly close twins but we shared a very deep and strong bond which cannot be explained. Lanre was not a fighter. He is a very calm person yet I remember vividly that day in JSS 3 when he had fought for me back in FGC, Ijanikin when I was being bullied by some seniors. He fought like a lunatic that day. Even I was shocked. We don’t go everywhere together but we were very ‘together’. We lived together. We could tell each other everything. We would talk for hours in our room back home every night whilst everyone else was asleep. My parents were always puzzled at what we had to discuss every single night. But that was how we were. Brothers. Friends. Twins.

I am not exactly a religious person but Titi, the girl on whom my eyes were on campus had advised that I pray and fast about Lanre. She had even taken me to see her Pastor, Pastor Eugene Ayobami, in Molete, Ibadan about 1 hour 30 minutes from Ogbomosho. Pastor Eugene advised that I become born again and begin some special prayer sessions.

‘Femi, ko si nkan ti Olorun oleshe’ (there’s nothing God cannot do), he said.

‘Adura lopa Kristiani, a oma gbadura lo in’ (Prayer is the battle axe of the Christian, we shall carry on praying).

I knelt down as he prayed and prayed, drifting from Yoruba to English to some deep Oyo Yoruba and then back to English. I said ‘Amin’ with my whole heart. Anything for Lanre. I can’t see him go down and do nothing. Pastor Eugene nicely offered to drop myself and Titi at the bus park where we would get a public taxi back to Ogbomosho. We entered his blue 504 which took forever to start up. Eventually, it responded to his kicking and we arrived at the park in Oluyole, Ibadan.

As we entered the taxi with 8 other passengers, Titi held my hands and smiled at me. ‘Femi, don’t worry, Lanre will change’. I smiled back wistfully, hoping she was right. The journey was long. The taxi was hot with all sorts of body odours emanating from it. The driver looked like an Alfa (muslim cleric) with his white cap and fairly long beard. He had Fatai Rolling Dollar’s Won Kere Si Number Wa blaring out of the rickety looking radio. I had bought LaCasera and Gala for myself and Titi from the hawkers in the park for the journey and were now happily munching away, lost in our individual thoughts. Twenty five minutes into the taxi ride, the car broke down. After about 15 minutes, a bit of pushing, putting some water in the radiator and checking on the carburetor, it had been revived agan. Titi had fallen asleep beside me and had placed her head on my shoulder.

She was so fun and happy

She was so beautiful. Very upbeat and happy go lucky. Not your average pretty girl. She had a small mouth, pimpled face and wide bushy eye brows. I smile as I remember when her room mate had begged her to get those brows shapened. I kind of liked them like that. She was very petite, couldn’t be an inch past 5 4′. She was dark skinned and had beautiful small nails, not long at all and not too short. Just perfect and very well groomed. She had an extra piercing on her upper left ear which I thought showed her wild side though she always denied its existence. I’m guessing she must be a size 8. Her hips were very well rounded but she had a small waist. Her legs were ever so slightly bow and I loved seeing her in skinny jeans and extremely high heels. Her body was made for skinny jeans and heels. Amazing!

All in all, I found her very attractive. She was a natural beauty, only putting on make up on Sundays to Church. She was fun too. Always helping me take my mind off Lanre’s wahala. She showed signs of liking me too though she was still in the ‘playing-hard-to-get’ phase. She was wise enough however not to let that hinder her introducing me to someone she believed could help Lanre. I must have slept off, laying my head on Titi’s as I thought about her.

***

The shrill sound of my ring tone woke me…and Titi up. I struggled to get the small Nokia phone out of my pocket and narrowly managed not to  miss the call.

‘Hello’, I said.

‘Good afternoon, is that Femi Oludara’, the female voice asked. She clearly was not Yoruba given the way she pronounced my name.

‘Yes, this is he’, I responded.

‘Well, Femi, Lanre your brother is in Ogbomosho Central Hospital and is being treated for stab wounds and two bullet wounds. His friends asked us to call you. I’m really sorry’.

An instant migraine developed on my right forehead and I struggled to remain coherent. ‘Erm, please, ple..please is he alive? Will he survive? Please ma please tell me’.

‘All we can do is pray, Femi. Come over as soon as you can and contact your family too. We, here will do our very best. See you’. And then I heard the beep sound as the line went dead. By now, the migraine had developed into a full blown headache that had spread throughout my entire head. Sweat beads had formed on my head as well as I looked lost at Titi.

Titi said not one word to me. She held my two hands and right there in taxi began to pray out loud. Every single person joined in and began to say ‘Amen’. Some even began to speak in tongues. I was struggling to be strong. But I am not Lanre. He is the strong one. Till we got to the park in Ogbomosho, I wept. I wept openly. I could not even join in to say ‘Amen’. Titi just kept praying for thirty minutes or so, non-stop.

As we got to the park, the driver urged everyone to get down and offered to take us to the hospital. People wished us well as we drove off. Upon arriving at the hospital, Titi handed over 3 hundred naira notes to pay the driver but he refused it and told us to run along. We thanked him and ran into the hospital.

‘Where is he?!’, I screamed. The receptionist looked lost. Titi calmly spoke to her. ‘Good afternoon ma. We are here to see Lanre Oludara. He was brought here today with stab and bullet wounds. Please where is he?’ We were taken to a room. On the door was written ‘Intensive Unit’ in red. As we stepped in, I saw several badly injured people. I scanned the beds for the one on which Lanre lay. There he was. His sides we heavily bandaged and yet, the red stains could be seen through the white cloth. He was unconscious. I went to his bedside and wept afresh. Even strong Titi could not hold back her tears as she prayed. He looked like he was beaten before being stabbed and shot. His lips were swollen. His eyes were bloodied and swollen too. He looked very bad.

‘Can I see you for a minute’ the doctor asked me. He led me into his office and I sat down as I braced myself for what was to come.

‘Things are not looking good, I must be honest. The stab wounds have caused various contusions and lacerations around his body. The perpetrator was ruthless. The bullet hit his left arm, his right side and his leg causing his tissues extensive damage. Blood and fluid have collected under his skin causing ecchymosis which is the discoloration you see as well as edema, that is the excessive swelling and pain as you can imagine. There is also internal bleeding…’He went on and on. My tears flowed and flowed. But I was not sobbing. Neither was I listening. I was praying.

He interrupted my inward prayers. ‘Have you notified your parents?’ ‘No sir’, I reply. ‘Please do so immediately. It is only right that they are aware of what is going on. Keep praying. God is a Healer’.

I know God is a Healer but when a doctor tells you to pray, it gives you reason to fear. It means they realise it is getting beyond their powers. As I leave his room, I scroll through my phone book and go past ‘Papi’ to ‘Pastor Eugene’. I told him what was going on. As usual, he tells me to be strong and that he will commence fasting and praying for Lanre. At this point, I knew I had to call my parents. I sum up all my courage and strength and ring my mom.

‘Ekasan ma’(good afternoon ma)

‘Ah Femo, how far?’, my ever funky mom asked. Within a split second, she could tell something was wrong.

‘Femi? Femi?!’, she shouts.

I am there but totally silent. I had no words.

‘Femi, please what’s going on? Femi!’

‘Mom, it’s La..nre’, I stammered.

‘Kiloshele si Lanre?’ (Whats’ wrong with Lanre?)

‘He had an accident’, I reply. How could I tell her he got stabbed and shot? Who gets stabbed and shot?

‘OLUWA OOO!!!’ She screamed.

After a few minutes, I hung up. I had given her a modified account of what happened. She and dad were now driving down from Lagos and would be with us shortly. It was Saturday night so the driver had gone home. Knowing my soldier of a mom, she would have driven down herself but I managed to convince her to call our family friend to give us their live-in driver, Mukaila, to drive her. It was Mukaila who was now driving them down this night. After speaking with mom, I was relieved. It felt good to know they were on their way.

I went back into the Intensive Unit Ward where Titi was with Lanre. She seemed to have gone tired and was sitting with her face in her palms. She jumped up as she heard me walk in. I narrated what the doctor said and told her my parents were now on their way. Together we watched Lanre. Praying, looking at each other, lost in thoughts and then praying some more.

At about 1 am, my parents arrived at the hospital. It was just 10 minutes after they walked in that Lanre started panting and breathing heavily. In panic, Titi and I screamed, calling out, ‘nurse! nurse!! doctor!!!’. The doctor and three nurses ran in after a short while and shoved us all out of the room despite our pleas.

At the lobby, my dad was seated on the floor sobbing uncontrollably, so was I. My mom was pacing about, untying and retying her wrapper. Titi was knelt down praying in tears. Titi had organised some of her House on the Rock campus fellowship people to come over. We could hear them praying loudly.

‘Lanre, you shall not die! The devil has no right over your body! Your parents shall not bury you! With your two legs, you shall walk out of this hospital! You are made whole!’

I said ‘amen’ in my heart but wept outwardly.

‘God please save Lanre’, I prayed. God please, this last request and I will become fully born again. I will preach sef. God please’, I wept.

After about 3 hours of agony and anticipation and tears, the doctor walked briskly towards us. Upon a quick scan of the scene before him, he realised rightly that my mom what who to approach.

‘Ma’, he began.

By this time, I had used my hands to block my ears. His eyes gave the news already. I could not bear to hear him say the words.

‘After trying and struggling, we were able to revive him. He is now stable’. It was Titi’s shout and joyful leap that made me realise that it was good news indeed.

In glee, I jumped on the doctor, giving him a bear hug. So did my dad after which we composed ourselves.

We all came together and wept aloud thanking Jesus for saving Lanre’s life.

***

It has been 6 months since the incident. Lanre was transfered to UCH, Ibadan three days after we received the good news. He was still kept in the intensive unit for another 3 weeks before being moved to LUTH, Lagos so that he could be close to home. After 2 months and 3 weeks of being in LUTH, he was discharged, almost as good as new.

That’s just Part I of the good news. The greater news is that what Pastor Eugene and Titi told me all that while was true. Lanre is now born again! As in, not my own kind of born again that still goes for parties oh. Lanre is now a brother. He gave his life to Christ in UCH where Pastor Eugene used to visit him almost everyday. He underwent a deliverance programme and renounced his group. Thankfully, he had not performed the final stage of initiation which is the blood oath, though even that would have been broken by the overriding Blood of Jesus.

Mom and dad decided to have him transfered to a private university and he is starting with the next set of Covenant University. After pleading and writing extensive tests, he was permitted to join them in second year which means he will only miss one year.

Titi and I will be celelebrating our 2 month anniversary tomorrow. Yes oh, she fronted for long but it was well worth the wait. I know beyond any iota of doubt that it is she that I have been made for. She is perfect for me and she gets along so well with mom, Papi and Mami who finally convinced her to thread her eye brows. I miss the bushy brows.

I hope this encourages anyone who has a ‘bad sheep’ in their home. It could be your dad who drinks and hits your mom, it could be like me, your gang loving brother, it could be your beloved sister who sleeps around. Whoever it is, God can change them. Don’t tire of praying for them. But please, don’t cover up like me, tell someone. There’s nothing difficult for God. He does not want any sinner to die in sin. He loves sinners but loathes their sins. If he could change Saul that was persecuting the saints and made him into Paul who wrote all those great books of the Bible, if he could change Paul Adefarasin from a druggie to a renowned preacher who organises great crusades like The Experience, if he could change Lanre who is now a full time preacher to be, NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE WITH GOD OH! Hold on to him.

The only issue I have now is fulfilling my vow to God to become a preacher, lol. At least I have started with this my testimony. Like TESCO, every little helps.

NB: I have been posting frequently these days and am very proud of myself. The truth is that I might be going quieter from next week so I thought to milk myself for now.

That’s all folks (for now)

Temiville.xoxo