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