Dear Reader: A Must Read

THANK YOU.

I know, I know. You were probably expecting a sermon, something more colourful than a simple thank you. But what is more beautiful, what captures gratitude like the word THANK YOU?

So, here I am thanking you, the faithful followers and readers of the Hourglass. You’ve been wonderful. To those who take out time to comment, I am thankful. You make blogging fun, you make it worth it. You make the Hourglass what it is.

I hope to do better in 2015, I hope that as we close this chapter and open another in a few hours, I wish you all an amazing 2015.

Lots Of Love!

Lookout For Miss Right- 16

The story was getting more interesting. I was itching to hear more.
“So…did you know that Austin was Sonia’s ex before you started dating him?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I found out two months into the relationship but I didn’t tell Austin I was related to her.”
“Why?”
“So he’ll think I was as obsessive as she was?” Barbara said. “Anyway, the relationship didn’t last long, Sonia made sure of that. Soon, Austin and I were history and Sonia hated me. Four years later she was diagnosed with O.L.D.”
“So she’s fixated on me because…”
“You bear a resemblance to Austin. In her mental state, she thinks she can re-live her affair with Austin with you. And she’ll go to any lengths to do it.”
“Isn’t there a cure for it?” I didn’t like the idea of Sonia stalking me for the rest of my life.
“She was being treated in America. She has meds for it, but the problem is; she stopped taking them since she met you. That’s why she seems to be out of control.” Barbs slid a hand across the table and squeezed my hand. “I know this doesn’t sound comforting, but…”
I interrupted her, “So what happened that Wednesday night that we were supposed to have a date?”
She sighed. “Chief found out about it and also discovered she had stopped taking her meds. So he had her drugged, and sent me to check who her date was supposed to be with. That’s how I ended up there that night. She was asleep the whole time.”
“Wow,” I was actually intrigued. “She showed up at my place later that night, you know.
“Yes. No one knows how she managed to leave the house after she woke up. You need to know that her condition is a secret. Hardly anybody knows about it. And Chief intends to keep it that way, that’s why he’s been concerned about you. That’s why he’s gone so many lengths to keep you away from her. He didn’t want you to find out about her condition.”
“So why are you telling me this?”
“Because I feel you have a right to know. After all, you’re her latest obsession. And we need your help to get her back. She’s been missing for days now, we need to find her and have her sent back to the States.”
It was my turn to sigh. My life had just become more complicated.

“We need you to inform us as soon as she gets in touch with you. That’s the only way we can get to her.”
“I was with her yesterday. At a hotel, I don’t know if she’ll still be there. She doesn’t seem to want to be found,” I said.
“Well, that’s up to you. But I can tell you, it only gets worse.”
“If that was supposed to alleviate my fears, you didn’t succeed.” I said.
She laughed. “Now you know the truth. Let’s talk about more pressing matters.” She winked at me.
“You sure you’re not mental too?” I asked jokingly.
She laughed, diffusing the tension. “You ready to go home now?”
I stole a glance at her. “Am I supposed to insinuate something from that question?”
“I like this game we’re playing. But we’re not kids anymore, Jake. Let’s get outta here please.” She stood and held out a hand to me. “I know we didn’t start on a great note…but I’m ready to call a truce.”
I stood; there was no use causing a scene. We exited the restaurant together. She followed me to my car.
“So…you were saying?” I asked, leaning on the car.
“I find you attractive, Jake. And trust me; it’s not all the time I find a man attractive.” She said unabashedly.
Strangely enough, I was turned on by her brazenness. But something still bothered me:
“Barbara, you’re sleeping with my best friend, at the same time you’re propositioning me?” I asked.
She smiled wantonly. It was getting dark and the air between us was crackling with sexual tension. I couldn’t deny that I was attracted to her, but I had promised myself I wouldn’t dabble with anyone that Femi had claims on.
“My relationship with Femi is purely physical, you know that. You on the other hand…are different. There’s something about you that’s irresistible. I can’t quite figure it out but I intend to,” she leaned forward and I felt her lips on mine. It was a light kiss, I didn’t resist. The kiss deepened and I found myself responding. My head told me I shouldn’t be doing that, but my body refused to obey.
I don’t know what would have happened if we weren’t in a public place, but thank God we were, because soon enough we became aware of the sounds around us and we ended the kiss.
“Let’s get outta here, Jake.” Barbara whispered.
I wasn’t sure what the right thing to do was. Flee or give in? My groin was throbbing, madly. Barrbara had to be a she-devil.
“You think too much. Just stop for a moment… and don’t think.” She was saying.
“Barbara, I don’t think this is right.” Even I knew that excuse sounded weak.
She kissed me again. This time I knew she had me.

To Be Continued…

Mimi .A.(C) 2013

Tales Of A Couple (2)

THE HUSBAND

When you’ve been married six years and counting, there are some things you learn. Like the appropriate time to pretend you’re asleep.
She thinks I don’t know that she is avoiding our bed, she tries to be polite about it; pretending to have other things to attend to in other parts of the house just to avoid my touch.
What she doesn’t know is that whenever she enters our bedroom, tiptoeing across the carpeted ground; I’m not usually asleep. I only pretend to be, so she can have the peace of mind she so desires.
She doesn’t want me touching her but she’s too sophisticated to play the kind of games other women play;
I’m too tired.
I’m on my period.
I’m this, I’m that.

She does hers in a way she can easily get away with. And I let her think she does.
A part of me admires her for sharing my bed these past years. For bearing my kisses, for letting me inside her. I remember our wedding night; dark and devoid of passion. In the years when we were still friends, I had often pictured her arched on her back beneath me, her head thrown back and lips parted in ecstasy. I often fantasized about those lips of hers, full and taunting, crushed under mine. It wasn’t hard getting a mental photo of her in her unguarded moments, those times when she asked me over just to vent.
She’d be clad in modest shorts that showed off a generous amount of thighs; thighs I’d often envisioned would fit my head so perfectly.
I’m not sure what she thought as she hung around me dressed that way, that I wouldn’t look? That I was so fond of her that I wouldn’t get a hard-on?
Sad as it may sound those moments were some of my most cherished, times when we could actually talk and be comfortable around each other even though I was pining for her.
I would give anything to go back in time. To have her beckon to me just to hold her. To have her let down her guard and let me in again.
To have her not look at me with such faintly disguised hate.
I would give anything to have Ema my friend back. Was friendship worth giving up for this? I had always wanted her and I didn’t hide it from her in our four years of friendship.

Every time I proclaimed my love for her, she would dash my hopes. She would tell me in that condescending voice ;
I love you very much John. But as a friend.

It was those four words that killed me.

But as a friend.

Why spoil everything by adding that?

I promised myself I would leave her. I would stop asking. I would move on and love someone else that didn’t hurt this much.

Boy did I try!

I met Lara, Susan and Deborah. Girls that I dated for a little over one month each.

And then I stopped when I noticed they all had something in common: Ema.
It dawned on me that no matter where I went, no matter how far I ran, Ema was my curse.
Two weeks after she turned thirty-seven, she came to my house; drunk.
I was surprised. Ema never drank, she was the calm, composed woman. The steady ship in the midst of the billowing storm.
Does your proposal still stand Johnny boy? She slurred, swaying on her feet.
By that time I had asked her to marry me ten times, at least.

What proposal? My heart was racing and even though I tried to calm it, to tell it to stop being silly; it didn’t.

Yes I will marry you, Johnny.

I knew I should have sent her away or at least put her to sleep because she was obviously drunk but I didn’t. My heart pounded against my chest and it didn’t matter that she was saying yes to me in such a state, what mattered was that she said it.

Yes, yes, yes. Let’s get married! She sang again before throwing up on my living room floor.

I didn’t sleep that night. I sat and watched over her, wishing the night never to end.

I thought by the time she woke up the next day, she would have changed her mind. I dreaded that she wouldn’t remember what she had said.

When she opened her eyes the next day, the first thing she said was:
You will still marry me, right?

I hugged her then, like my life depended on it. I was a forty year old man who was like a child that’d just been told that Santa Claus was real.

I knew that if I married her, if she was eventually mine, I would never give her up. Nothing in this world would make me walk away from her. I was confident that I could get her to love me. And not just as a friend.

Six years and a few sad orgasms later, I am losing my confidence. This woman is no longer the one I fell in love with. She is now a gloomy, reserved workaholic. The only thing I know puts a smile on her face is our baby. Steph.
I watched her with our daughter one day and saw her smile the way she used to before, before she married me. And I wished I was Steph.

Sometimes I wonder if talking would help our situation but I know this runs deeper than just communication. She is unhappy. She hates me. She plays dutiful wife when need be, around friends and family. But that’s it.
Her scorn is baring it’s teeth in more ways than one these days and perhaps that’s why I seek comfort in Philomena.

Philomena who is the same height as my wife and is also light-skinned like Ema, let’s me call her darling. Philomena who agrees to wear the perfume that’s Ema’s favorite just to excite me. Philomena who doesn’t get mad or ask questions when I call out Ema’s name as we embark on our journey of pleasure. Philomena who I pretend is Ema as we make love; is the reason why I don’t bother with the games my wife is playing these days.
I won’t leave her. I can’t leave Ema. I know that’s what she wants but I’m in too deep to let her go.
Ema is my curse, my cross I will bear.

END

Mimi. A 2014 (C)

Tales Of A Couple (1)

THE WIFE

When you’ve been married six years and counting; there are some things you learn, some things you become master of. Like the appropriate time to go to bed.
You would know that if you get to bed earlier than ten pm, your husband would still be awake. He might be reading the paper or using his laptop but as soon as you get to bed, he’d abandon it all and start groping.
He would coo his favorite words;
You’re irresistible my darling.
Words that you tire of hearing. You hate the way he calls you darling. Like he’s replaced your name with it. Sometimes you wish he’d call your name.
Ema.
Maybe if he called your name instead of that silly darling, then you would remember why you married him.
Recently, you have started retiring late. You’d find every excuse to get into bed later than ten pm.
You would hover over Stephanie, kiss her goodnight almost a dozen times. Only last week you asked if you could read her a story in bed. You hadn’t done that since she was four and Steph was too excited to notice.
And when she dozed off, you had crawled into bed with her and fallen asleep too.
You know you should be happy, content. You have the life some women would want to have. At least, you have a husband.
That’s what Chinwe told you when you complained about your marriage.
You have a husband. Some do not. You have a daughter. Do you know how lucky you are?
Yes, Chinwe had a point. Being married somehow completed everything about your life. During your years of singlehood; you walked around feeling like someone with a death wish. It wasn’t about what society wanted. You wanted to be married, have someone to have and hold, someone who you could go to at night and lay your head against his bosom. You craved it especially when you saw people like Mercy getting married; throwing her ring in your face.

You and Mercy who used to hangout until she got married and declared that her husband didn’t want her spending time with single women anymore.
They could corrupt you, he said.

And once again you felt that fist in your heart, that feeling of incompleteness. You were thirty-five, you had a good job and when you bought your car, your pastor said it would chase the men away.
Women with cars are threats to men, he said somberly, touching his bearded chin.
So I should be using public transport because I want a husband? You asked.
No, no. That’s not what I’m saying. Listen Sister Ema, sometimes we don’t understand the ways of God.

Or man for that matter, you wanted to retort.

When you clocked thirty-six you stopped going to the village to see your parents. You could no longer bear the way your cousins paraded their husbands around like some trophy.

Ehen Emmanuella this is Ikechukwu my husband. He works in NNPC. Cousin Josephine would say, her eyes glazed with pride like her husband was another point on her CV.
And then you would wonder if it was your envy and bitterness that made you think such nasty thoughts.

My sister, this is Nkem. He is the brother to the secretary of Defense. Cousin Chioma would take the cue.
Women who had transformed from wearing jeans and t-shirts to wearing intricately patterned Ankara dresses.
It was the unspoken rule about how married women should dress. Tie wrappers, wear traditional every day you possibly can; it is the trademark that you belong to somebody.

Even as you thought those rules were stupid; a part of you craved to have the opportunity to choose whether to be like those conceited shallow women. At least you could choose to be different.
A husband would make you equal in their eyes. It would make them stop whispering that you used your virtue to make money.
They would stop gossiping that the car you drove had been financed by a male friend.
They would stop saying that the apartment you lived was sponsored by your sugar daddy.
And then maybe you would stop caring what they thought or what they said. Just maybe.

And so when you said yes to John, you tried so hard to pretend to be happy.
You were finally going to tie the knot. Wasn’t that what you wanted?

Yes, that’s what you told yourself as you slid into your wedding gown. It was a dream come true; you, in white. And as you walked down the aisle, you convinced yourself that you were doing the right thing.

John was no new suitor. He had been around; a true friend like his name. John. So solid and constant.
He had been there while you dated other men, the friend you talked to when your other relationships went down the drain.
You knew he was head over heels for you but you had told him off over and over again.
It won’t work, John. You’re my friend and I love you. But as a friend.
You knew he’d cried over you. More than a dozen times you had rejected him saying to yourself that he wasn’t your ideal man. John wasn’t the exotic dude you wanted. Yes, he wasn’t bad looking and he absolutely adored you but no, that wasn’t enough.

You knew what you wanted in a man and John wasn’t it.

Which is why as you walked down the aisle that day and through your veil saw him grinning from ear to ear; you wanted to turn back and run far away because you knew the reason you had said yes to him wasn’t because you loved him.
It was because at thirty-seven you were afraid you would end up alone. No husband, no children. Nothing. You believed in biological clocks and you knew yours was ticking.

You may now kiss the bride.

Your first kiss with John was inside the chapel and as you felt his warm lips on yours; tears began to roll down your cheeks.

He loves me. Was all you sang to yourself as the years passed by. He adores me and that’s enough.

Even though your body didn’t tingle when he touched you, nor did your nipples spring to attention as his lips nuzzled them.
He loves me. You repeated like a mantra while his body melded with yours and he put Stephanie in you.

It was only when you held Stephanie in your arms for the first time that you knew that it wasn’t enough to be loved; you wanted to love too.
You wanted to love with a fervency that could make you go nuts. You wanted passion, to feel it. To hold it, if possible.
And Steph became your passion. She was the reason you lived, she was the reason you were glad you had endured those nights in bed with John.

But now, six years later, you are repulsed by your husband’s touch. By the suffocating way he loves you.
No matter how much you lash out and hurt him, John always forgives. He loves you even when you’ve given him every reason not to.
And the more he loves you, the more you hate him.
You want him to hate you and maybe if he does you can squeeze this guilt away that is eating you to death.
Maybe if he hates you, you can finally find the courage to leave him.

END.

MIMI A. (C)

I Hope She Means More To You

Emeka lay there naked, watching his wife’s skinny body rise and fall on him. Her blond straight hair covered her face so he couldn’t read her emotions and he wondered how they had gotten to this point. When did having sex with his wife become more of a chore than a fulfilment of desire? When did her trying not to scream as she came start reminding him about his lover? His lover he had been with for the past six months

His lover never tried to suppress her screams, instead she let out a barrage of explicits that made Emeka know exactly that she was coming and who was making it happen.

‘Wow. Darling, that was really good. I really needed that.’ Lisa said as she fell on him all her energy spent 

‘Did you come darling?’ She raised her head just above Emeka’s hairy chest. Her eyes staring into his suggestively. 

‘Yes, yes I did babes. Thanks for asking.’ Emeka hated this; the need to ask, the please and thank you-s they said before, during and after, but he knew he would rather be polite than go through it again.

Lisa’s head fell back on his chest, her hands played with its hair, her light skin contrasting with his dark one. Emeka thought he should be grateful. This would be the first time they’d had sex in three months. She said it was a treat, he had been a good boy; patient and understanding. So they had pencilled it in the week before, and true to her word it had happened. Not that Emeka cared anymore. There was a time he would have eagerly waited for today, but since his lover he didn’t care anymore.

His lover was the realisation of every thing he thought he was missing being married to Lisa. It wasn’t even the sex that made him think of his lover all the time. He knew it was a cliché, people always said it. He even said it about Lisa once upon a time, but his lover really completed him. They would sit over a glass of wine and talk about everything, the effects of Ebola on a continent they both loved, the fact that Ed Miliband had no charisma but they still believed labour would win the elections, the next position they should try in their book on tantric sex. The one they were both looking for on the day it started.

He was looking for it because Lisa wanted it. Her best friend had told her she needed to read it, told her that reading it with Emeka would take their relationship to the next level. So in a way it was Lisa’s fault that he started the affair. At least that’s what he told himself every time he made love to his lover.

‘I love you Emeka, no matter what happens today I want you to know I love you.’ Emeka didn’t respond to this declaration of love. There was no need for him to, Lisa always did it before she got on a plane. He knew it wasn’t a sudden rush of emotion that overcame her, emotions that would need assurance or validity by him responding.

‘There’s something I need to tell you Emeka, something I planned to do but after what we just did maybe I’m going about it the wrong way. Maybe I should just tackle it head on. Running never solved anyone’s problems. Maybe after I tell you, we’ll be able to resolve…’ 

Emeka would not hear the rest of her sentence and if the truth had to be told he didn’t hear the beginning either. He hardly listened to Lisa anymore, not since he knew listening always resulted in him ending up with him spending money or another errand.  

‘Mummy, daddy, wake up lets go, its holiday time.’ The door to their bedroom suddenly burst open and two excited ten year olds ran towards them, climbed their beds and soon they were jumping on it. 

Emeka saw that look he knew too well on Lisa’s face. That look that said I can never trust you to get anything right. He wondered what he had done to deserve it, then he remembered she told him to lock their door just before they started having sex.
He caught and pulled his twin children Tobi and Tasha to him, kissing them while Lisa got out of bed careful not to expose her naked body. Soon a mad frenzy would take over their house and the fact that Lisa and him had sex that morning would seem an eternity away. Then Emeka’s phone buzzed alerting him to a text message

Lover: Can’t you steal a moment away before you leave? I really need to feel you inside me.

Emeka: I don’t know if it would be possible, I thought you were happy last night.

Lover: I was, darling, but that was until I woke up this morning. Knowing I wouldn’t have you again not for the next two weeks and suddenly I just knew I had to have you again.

Emeka: I don’t know babes, I really don’t know. I’ll try.

Lover: Don’t try, make it happen.

Make it happen! How does she expect him to do it? Emeka thought. He knew he wanted her too. He knew immediately Lisa asked him that morning if he had come, but going to meet her was like looking trouble in the eyes and then opening your hands out to embrace it.

‘Hey darling, I need you to do me a big favour.’ Lisa interrupted Emeka’s thoughts.

‘It’s Yemisi, her car broke down yesterday, so you have to go pick her up and bring her to the house.’ Emeka couldn’t believe what he just heard. Going to pick up Yemisi, Lisa’s best friend was the answer to his prayers. Now he had the perfect excuse to go see his lover.

‘Come on Lisa, we only have four hours to get ready and get to the airport, can’t she take a taxi?’ Emeka knew he couldn’t act eager to leave.

‘I’m not going to ask my best friend to take a taxi after she has gone out of her way to agree to house sit for us. You should be grateful to her, you know if she didn’t volunteer we wouldn’t be going on this holiday in the first place.’ Emeka smiled, he heard every bit of annoyance from Lisa as she said this. Good. He thought, at least when he got back late she wouldn’t be able to accuse him.

On his drive to go pick Yemisi, Emeka thought of that day in the bookshop when he met his lover. He knew who she was, knew her well but they had never gotten along. She invited him for coffee; an offer he accepted reluctantly. As they sat down and talked, they both realised they had a lot in common. Then there was that moment that made Emeka realise his feelings towards her had changed.

‘Do you want my last slice of cake?’ Another cliché Emeka thought, but it’s true what they say, it’s the little things that count. Lisa had never offered him the last of anything, in fact she constantly ate hers and then his.

Then, when their hands touched as he helped her out of his car on her drive way, something kindled in them and soon they were kissing. Kissing like they had been kissing each other forever, kissing as if their lips were carved out for each other. As if, his was always meant to be the lips destined to worship hers. When they had sex later that day, Emeka didn’t feel any guilt, he just felt awakened to the happiness he knew he had been missing out on.

Yemisi opened the door wearing a bright yellow top that along with her jeans, snugly fitted her perfectly shaped ample body. This was something he missed being married to Lisa. Lisa was too skinny for his liking, he had always had a thing for curvier women, women who didn’t feel like they would break while making love.

‘Hi,’ Emeka said trying not to show any feelings, not that it mattered if he did, her back side wouldn’t have known if he was smiling or frowning.

Emeka walked into her apartment. What first hit him was the perfume from the lighted candle — lavender he thought. Then he noticed how clean and tidy the house was. He wasn’t one to claim he loved a clean house but living with two children had a way of changing a man’s needs.

Yemisi turned and handed him a drink, JD and coke, his poison. He took it, but drinking wasn’t on his mind. He grabbed Yemisi by the waist and pulled her into him. Soon their lips found each other and their hands eagerly started to pull at belts, buttons, hooks, anything that was obstructing their skins from being with each other.

‘I just had to have you baby. I just couldn’t bear the thought of you and her having sex for two weeks while I house sit your home. My mind filled with thoughts of you.’

Emeka covered her lips once again as a response and soon he was taking her on a journey that meant so much more to him than the one he had taken earlier with Lisa. When Yemisi came minutes later, he swore he had never heard her come so loud and that made him happy.

‘When will you tell her about us?’ Yemisi asked as they drove to Emeka’s house. They had made love one more time before they left and he had started to panic. He prayed for no traffic or else Lisa would kill him.

‘Yemisi we’ve talked about this before.’

Emeka knew he loved her but he knew he also loved Lisa. She was the mother of his children and he adored his twins. He knew he would never leave them. So he’d planned to tell Lisa everything while they were on holiday. He knew she would get upset. She might throw things at him, probably not talk to him for a while, but he knew she would eventually forgive him and they would work together to rebuild their lives. Maybe, if he played his cards right she might realise it was her fault that he had the affair.

‘I’m home.’ Emeka screamed as he walked through the door.

‘I hope everyone is ready, we’ve got thirty minutes.’ That was when it dawned on Emeka. The silence. The house was quiet, apart from the noise of the faulty fridge, the one he had been meaning to fix for the past three months, there was no other noise in the house.

‘Maybe they’ve gone to the airport already.’ Yemisi said and Emeka thought it could be possible. It was the sort of sensible thing Lisa did, but then he didn’t receive any text or calls from her to say as much. He remembered thinking it was strange all the time he was with Yemisi and on the drive back home, that she hadn’t called.

Emeka called Lisa’s phone and it went straight to voicemail. He left a message, asking where she was and she should call him back. Then he ran up the flight of steps to their bedroom. When he opened the door he couldn’t believe what he saw lying on his bed.

Emeka’s cry rent the air and as Yemisi ran up the stairs as fast as her heels would let her; the screams grew louder.

‘No, nooo. This can’t be happening. Who would do such a thing?

When Yemisi got to the room Emeka was in, Emeka was lying on the floor, his normal calm soft eyes had a mad look of despair in them. He was kneeling down, his eyes staring at what lay on the bed, in his hands he held a piece of paper.

Yemisi walked closely to him and that was when she saw it — the pictures. There were two sets. One set had pictures of Emeka and Lisa’s life together. When they were dating, their wedding, the day the twins were born, dinner and birthday parties and their family christmas picture from last year, the one that had Yemisi in it. She remembered how awkward she felt being in it. There must have been hundreds of pictures of them together.

The other set had three pictures. One with Yemisi and Emeka holding hands, one were they were kissing and the last one of them making love.

Yemisi took the piece of paper from Emeka’s hand as he continued to scream, a smile happily displayed on her face. There was only one sentence written on it;

“I hope she means more to you”

 
By Dike Nsoedo

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dike Nsoedo is an IT Project manager soon to become Property developer. His writing is heavily influenced by the world he sees around him and his writing style has been described as “a continuous flowing streams of consciousness.”
His stories have been published on various e-zines, like the Nukan Niche, the Naked Convos and Naijastories.
He loves nothing more than romantic stories that touch the heart. His one inspiration is God and he is driven to make his pretty daughter proud of him.

Dreams Of A Wannabe

The nightmare began with the blinking red light on my phone.
Or maybe I was wrong and the nightmare actually began four years ago when I left my wife in Nigeria to come to Russia. And for what?
Well, it was supposed to be for greener pastures. Somewhere other than Nigeria. I was supposed to come here, get a job then start my Masters. I would make enough money to send to Naomi and my family at home. I would make my Father proud. I would finally be the kind of son he always wanted. He would stop comparing me to Paul, my younger brother who was in Owerri running his own business.
Leaving Nigeria to Russia was enough. It was a dream come true for Mama. It created the illusion that I was in a better place. I was the obodo oyibo son. Even Paul was a bit envious, I could tell from the way he quieted when my visa was approved.
When Mama rained blessings on me, she made sure to add that God blesses me enough to send money home. That God keeps me from those oyibo women who would want to snatch me from my wife.
It was a bittersweet experience for me; my eighteen month old marriage was still on the cusp of fruition.
Should we turn down such an opportunity? I asked.
No, take it. It’s what we have been praying for, abi?
I pulled her to me, her head tucked against my shoulder and I wondered when I would see her again, hold her like this. This woman that was my light in this dark world. This woman that saw the darkness in me and still embraced me.
And yet, I needed this. We needed this. Greener pastures awaited me in Russia, that was the song I kept singing to myself till I set foot in Moscow.
When the cold air tore through me at the Domodedovo Airport, I wanted to hurry back into the plane and return to Nigeria; to the warm bosom of my wife.

But then I remembered the huge smile on my father’s face when I was leaving, the beam of pride in his eyes as he looked at me. And I knew I would do anything, everything to hold that look in place. Forever.

I came to Russia with big dreams and a small suitcase. My belongings were as sparse as my knowledge of the place.
Why Russia? My mother asked when I told her. Why not Amelica or the United States?
Mama, America is the same as the United States. I responded patiently.
Ehen, the other United place then. Why Russia, Shey they don’t speak English there?
Mama, I told you that Nwankwo my friend from school knows someone in Russia who will help us out with accommodation and job connections there. That’s why.

And that was the truth. Nwankwo’s friend was waiting for us at the airport, almost choking in his woolly clothes.
The prospect of Nwankwo’s friend being connected enough to get us a job in Russia was overwhelming. It was like a miracle.

Until he took us to his work place the next day.

A hotel.

Wow. You manage a hotel? I was awed.
He laughed, a grating sound that irritated me.

No, not yet. But my job here is better than most. Some people will kill to have my job.

I was excited now. What? Tell me!

And he did.
Nwankwo’s friend Odimegwu, who had boasted about his life in Russia, was only a busboy in a hotel.
I peered into his face to be sure he wasn’t joking. Then I looked at Nwankwo, to convince me that this was one of his stunts.
You’re serious? I asked.
What did you expect? An office job? You think if I had an office job I will be living above a shop? I don’t even have a residence card yet!

And yes, Odimegwu’s apartment, if it could be called that was located at the top of a shop in Simprefol. It was a ramshackle one room apartment that was sparsely furnished.
It reeked of tobacco.
So erm…what job can we get? I asked, there had to be a silver lining somewhere.
Now you’re talking. Well, recently two of the cleaners quit and the manager has been looking for new ones. So you’re in luck. The pay is not much but it will at least put food on your table.

The pay was a little above 4000 ruble which was a measly fifteen thousand naira in Nigerian currency. I was stumped. This could not be happening to me. Not with my dreams and my promises. Not with my wife expecting a child.

There is another job opportunity, if you are interested. Odimegwu whispered.

Anything. Anything but this.

Well, there are some women who employ men as…escorts. The pay I hear, is very attractive. You will party hard and drink Stolichnaya all night long.

Isn’t that prost…

Ssshhh! Don’t say it! Escorts, that’s all you are. We don’t know what happens after that.

I wasn’t stupid. However, Nwankwo my friend was. He readily gobbled up the opportunity to be an escort.
After all, he said, I have no wife.
I took to cleaning toilets. Whenever I called home with the little kopecks I had, I would tell them I was an administrator.
It was a word that sounded good to the ears of my father. I was too ashamed to say I cleaned like a maid daily. I had two jobs. And both involved cleaning. But I didn’t tell anyone that, not even Naomi.

I wept at night in the corner of the room where I slept. My hands were decorated with blisters. And when Naomi sent me a picture of our new born son, I felt a dam open up in me and I wept like a child.
I had failed.
I had set out to be something to my family. A provider, a good husband. Something better than a cleaner by day and a sweeper by night.

Naomi emailed me whenever she could, telling me of the progress of our son who she had named Jeffery.
‘I couldn’t do a proper naming ceremony because you’re not here. But I’m sure we will when you get back ‘ one mail said.
‘He looks like you, so bright and hopeful. I miss you. ‘ another said.
At first, I had to dredge up some form of optimism while replying her mails. I didn’t want her to know I was sinking into despair, that the ten thousand naira I sent to them in Nigeria every three months was like cutting a part of my skin.

‘Send me pictures of you. I want to see whether you look like a true white boy now’ another mail said.

I was white all right, white from the cold that gnawed at my fingers, my chest; white from the lack of good food.
I didn’t send a picture, I couldn’t find the will to. It was easier lying through mails, pictures would tell better truths.

Three years passed slowly, my body adjusted to the rough living conditions, I developed a racking cough that tore through me like an enemy. It became a constant companion. Nwankwo who now went by the Russian name Alexei was doing a lot better than me.
He had moved out of Odimegwu’s room and could at least afford good food.

Sometimes I slept at night and wondered if I could ever go home. Could I face the ridicule of a wannabe? My brother Paul would revel in the fact that I had failed. Again.
And what about my wife and son?
Naomi’s mails became scarce by the time I was in my fourth year in Russia. She sent me pictures of my son once or twice a month with a kiss-kiss smiley attached.
But that was it.

She didn’t tell me she missed me anymore. She didn’t ask to see pictures of me.
I should have known something was up but I was too busy rejoicing at the fact that I didn’t have to lie to her again. The more scanty the mails, the less lies to tell.

Until that blinking light.

I woke up in the middle of the night to pee when I saw the red light. It signaled a message of some sort.
The mail was from Naomi.

‘I can’t do this anymore Matthew. I’m sorry. I know you’ve found a life in Russia that doesn’t include me so I decided to find a life for myself here too.
I want a divorce.
I’m pregnant.
I’m sorry Matthew, I failed you.
I hope whoever she is, makes you happier. Jeff says hi.

Naomi.’

I couldn’t cry. I was numb. I had lost the only thing that kept me sane. I didn’t reply her mail. I couldn’t.
The next day I visited Nwankwo née Alexei and told him I wanted to be an escort too.

END

Mimi A.(C) 2014

Because I Am A Girl

Mama says I shouldn’t sit with my legs open, she says it is what boys do. I am a girl so I should know better. Do better.
I want to tell her that I don’t mind sitting that way, that air gets between my legs better that way but I don’t. Instead I nod in agreement, bend my head in shame as my brothers snicker at me, then I rearrange my legs on the chair.
Yesterday when Ifeanyi and Muna were out playing ball, I wanted to play with them. Muna agreed, he would agree. He is my favorite brother and he would do anything for me but Ifeanyi was a different case, he sent me away like Mama usually did saying in his parrot voice;
You are a girl. Girls don’t play football or do you want to have yam leg?
I don’t care if I have yam leg or eba leg! I shouted back, frustrated. It is just football!
Muna petted me and then he whispered something in Ifeanyi’s ears. Ifeanyi told me to change my skirt to shorts.
But you know I don’t have knickers. Mama refused to buy for me. I pouted.
But if you kick the ball, your skirt will fly. He said.
I will hold it.
Coconut head. He snapped at me but I didn’t care, at least I can play football even if I am a girl.
Is you that has coconut head. I laughed and my right leg flew back and connected with the ball.

When Mama got back home that evening she slapped me when Ifeanyi told her that I had played ball.
Are you mad? Don’t you know you’re a girl?
My cheek was wet with tears and flaming from the fire in Mama’s slap. Mama is an expert slapper, even Ifeanyi is afraid of her slaps.
Do you want to have yam legs? Or wait, don’t you know that the thing-that-makes-you-a-woman is in danger if you keep on playing ball?

What is that Mama? Even though I was crying, my thirteen year old brain wanted to know that thing in danger if I continued playing ball.
When you get older you will know. For now, let me not hear you played ball with your brothers again, nnugo?
I am thinking how terrible it is to be a girl, first you cannot sit how you want, then you cannot play the games you want.
That is how the other day me and Muna were playing a game with the mango tree; we wanted to see who would get more mangoes, so we climbed the tree together, when Mama saw us she shouted. She talked about how I was putting that-thing-that-makes-me-a-woman in danger.
Yet she didn’t tell me what that thing was that had become an enemy of mine.
One day, I told Mama I didn’t want her to buy those pink gowns with flowers for me anymore, I wanted trousers; the baggy type that would allow me sit well without bothering about whether my legs were open or not.
Mama laughed.
You want to be a tomboy abi, Mma? You think I have not noticed how you follow Muna up and down, bouncing like a boy. See, you are a girl whether you like it or not and you must behave like a girl.
But Mama…
Mechi onu! Don’t but mama me anything…Rub powder, mba! Cream eh eh! Your body will be white and you will be walking about like a boy. You are thirteen years old my daughter! Some of your mates are married in the North o! You now want me to buy you ba gini? Bag-gy trousers abi? So that when people see you and your brothers with that your lowcut, they will not know the difference! Mba! No!

If Papa was alive, he would have understood, he would have given me money to buy the trousers for myself but Papa was gone, dead from a sickness that took him while he slept.

Mama is right, I don’t care much for powder or cream, I don’t even like having any hair disturbing me. But is that bad? Yes; I don’t catwalk, I prefer to bounce like Muna does, but so what?
I think in my next life, I would rather be a boy. Then, I would have no fear when I climb trees or play ball. I would have no fear that one day I will mysteriously lose that thing that makes me a woman.

END.

Mimi. A ©2014