ElectaAlen's World

The cascade of bougainvillea, roses and sunflowers was always a sight to revel in. So, as I sit today on this old wooden bench, taking in the beauty of nature the park offers, I only wish I was as beautiful. I guess people would be attracted to me then, and not treat me like I didn't exist. When I got any attention, it was usually a forerunner to very distasteful ridicule. The words pierced deeper when people saw me in the company of my sister and asked where I had come from in a tone laden with a mix of surprise and mockery. This has been my life since I was a little girl. I'm supposed to be used to this already. But how can I? The wound in my heart seems to be in a never-ending cycle of clot-and-open-up-again, especially now that I've moved into the teenage years. The words seem to hurt a little more now so that I can't shake them off as easily as I used to. Not that they were ever easy to shake off though.

I hate to look in the mirror and see the outbreak of pimples spread across it. I wish there had been a break out of womanly curves instead. I once heard someone say that guys don't look the way of girls who are straight as a rule. Not that I cared about guys anyway. I liked to think I didn't care. I liked to believe I wasn't bothered that the guys didn't stop to say hi or pat my back. But deep down, I knew that wasn't the case. I craved attention. I yearned to hear some dude holler at me in his rich baritone.

'Omo, you're smart. Focus on your studies, become somebody great in life and people will flock around you. Then you'd be weary of all the attention coming your way,' Father said often, only that he did so in different ways. He was like the only person in the world who didn't love my sister more than me.
He also said, 'People are beautiful in different ways. While you think you'd give anything to be pretty, there are people who'd gleefully give away their pulchritude to have your quick mind and intelligence.' And I looked up the word, pulchritude, in the dictionary. People say I got my intelligence from him. Well, I didn't have mother around to compare him with. She died when I was 4 and Ibhade 5.

When Ibhade, my sister, fell pregnant I felt sorry for her really. I also prayed for her, that she'd find the physical and emotional strength to scale through. But there was this part of me- obscure and faraway- that thought it was good riddance to bad rubbish. Ibhade had been too proud of her beauty. While my skin was a dull shade of black that I had tried to improve with oils and lotions, hers was as smooth as shea butter and its brown colour was the hue of chestnuts. People who had met Mother said she had Mother's bright eyes and graceful gait. And she, Ibhade, dressed to kill. She was the typical slay queen. I wanted to see how she'd slay now with a baby bump. She's due in two weeks, an indication that, inspite of me and the little traces of evil lurking in my heart, God answered my prayer to help her.

I glance at my watch. 5.30pm. I had better hurry home before Daddy returns from work and begins to worry about his little girl. Besides, I was beginning to feel sleepy. I pick myself up and make my way out of the park and into the route that leads home. Immediately I arrive home and the four walls of my room, I settle into my bed to catch some sleep.

I was on a grand stage, and my teeth shone beneath the golden lights as I received an award. It seemed to have been a very important award. Perhaps a Nobel prize or something close. In the succeeding scene, I had been flanked by my husband. And as we walked down a red carpet, at least a hundred cameras clicked.

As I get out of bed, reliving the dream, I remember Father's words last week. I had been sulking over what the meanest girl in my class said to me. Father had cupped my face and looked into my eyes as he said, 'You're gold, my girl. The world cannot wait to see and experience you because what you have in you is priceless. Get up and show them what you've got!'

And I sure will show the world what I've got.

You've known her all your life. You both grew in the same middle-class neighbourhood. Perhaps you even attended the same primary school or worshipped at the same church. You were once exuberant 7-year olds playing together in the evening rain, savouring the scent that came with the refreshing water that landed on your skin. They say pure water is odourless but rain sure has a characteristic scent trailing it. You used to be 9-year olds too, playing chase every other Saturday evening. Then, you were scholarly 12-year olds exchanging books and excitedly talking about them the next time you met.

Years later, you were 17-year olds stuck chatting on WhatsApp night after night. You've been best friends. And each time you met, the time together was always fleeting, too short to say all you both had to say. That's even after five hours of sitting and talking. Talking about everything. She'd tell you about the new guy trying to catch her attention. You found his 'wooing' tactics amusing. The guy didn't know your bestie well enough. He didn't know showering her with expensive gifts isn't what would work on her. You knew better. You knew she's a sucker for love notes, love poems and flowers. You knew having the right words would be the first step to winning her. Like a protective brother, you rejoiced in your heart over his ignorance. You'd been with a bunch of guys, listening in on their sickening conversations. They talked about the games they had played with this girl and that girl. When she was done talking about Mr Ignorant, you told her about a certain girl. Voluptuous and desperate for your attention, she kept sending you photos of herself. You fished out your phone and showed each one to her. She laughed over a particular one. The girl had in that photo turned her back to the camera. You then said you couldn't fathom why girls would take photographs that way. And she took her time to explain to you. You laughed so hard your ribs hurt.

Less than a year later, you were both students of a federal university. And you remember the day you retrieved her from a night club. You had advised her not to go. She didn't heed your advice. And that day, you called her on phone. There was no response. You panicked when you realised she may be down there, clubbing. You quickly made your way to the venue and there she was- drunk to stupor. Somehow, you got her out of there and to her off-campus apartment. Anything could have happened to her that night but you, her bestie, came to her rescue.

Suddenly, you are back to reality and you smile admiringly as you stare at the couple facing the mini-crowd. Your bestie is the new bride and this is her wedding reception. Beautiful bride... she has always been stunning. Her man is light-skinned. Back in those days, she always had a thing for good looking dark-complexioned guys and swore she'd marry a tall, dark and handsome man. But she fell in love with this dude, handsome and with glowing skin the colour of milk candy.

You do not see the future though. You do not yet realise that a gulf has been built between you two. You're both 23 but now in different phases, different leagues. Six months later, you'd see her at a social function. You'd be that boy dressed in deep-blue jeans and a smart multicoloured T-shirt. She'd be flanked by her doting husband and dressed in wrapper and buba. She'd not scream your name and give you a bearhug like she did in her girlie days. She'd give a brief hug and smile and talk, choosing her words wisely. You'd notice the gentle protrusion on her tummy.

Twelve months later, you're talking on WhatsApp and she'd have to go for a nap after 20 minutes. She'd complain that she barely slept last night because of her baby. Then the next time you'd talk would be on a phone call and you'd tell her about the youth meeting you attended. She'd talk about one women organisation she belongs to. She'd also tell you about the NGO she and her husband are going to launch soon. And you both would remember the little groups you and her brought together as enthusiastic young people. You'd remember the meetings you planned together. They were always her idea and you were there to support her all the way. She'd thank you for all those years, for your unflinching support back then.

You're agemates. You were besties. But she's a woman now. You're still a boy.

'You look like you're going to fall any minute. Let me hold your hand,' he offered. The heels of my shoes were slightly higher than what I was comfortable with and it was embarrassing how obvious it was. At least, Josh had noticed it.
'Gosh. I'm so embarrassed,' I said as I placed my hand in his. I was embarrassed yet glad. Glad that we were holding hands like a couple. It felt like making a statement, like saying, 'keep off. He's mine!' to what pretty girls we'd find at the bash.
'Come on, sweetie. Don't be so shy,' he replied after a while.

The compound was so large it took a few minutes to reach the house itself. The building was stunning. It was so big it almost looked like a five-star hotel. The hue of the painting gave the structure a cool, serene ambience. I couldn't wait to see how the insides of this mansion would look. Standing at the entrance door was a man in uniform so well-ironed that the lines on it looked sharp enough to serve as razor. As we approached the door, Josh leaned closer and whispered in my ear, 'You look beautiful. Captivating.' My heart leapt. I had been waiting to hear him compliment me but he seemed to have forgotten all the while. I did feel beautiful in my ivory dress and near-flawless makeup. My natural hair was beautiful on its own and the fastidious attention I gave to dressing it completed the picture-perfect look I wanted.

As soon as we were seated in this very large yet overly decorated living room, Josh busied himself with his phone, chatting on WhatsApp and smiling to himself. My eyes wandered to and fro, observing the chubby, well-fed faces around, the sophisticated clothing many had on and the aesthetics of the room. The air reeked of the fragrance from a mix of diverse perfume brands. I couldn't wait to meet the celebrant. Josh told me she was his friend who recently returned from the US with a Masters' degree in International Studies to show for it. This was a welcome-back party in her honour. I imagined she'd be tiny, very light-skinned, that she'd sound like she spoke through her nose and have a peevish, supercilious expression etched on her heavily madeup face.

'Oh my!’ Josh said in a half-scream, looking ahead and grinning too much. I swiftly looked to see who or what it was. 'Kara,' Josh called and sprang on his feet to hug the young woman before she could get to us. They walked to me, arms locked together.
'Is she the one?' Her voice was clear and she was absolutely beautiful. She didn't have a snarl on her face like I thought she would. It was a disarming smile instead.
'Yes, my love. This is Dami... Damilola.' Josh was smiling and winking at me at the same time.
'Oh darling. I've heard a lot about you,' she chirped as she drew me into a warm embrace. 'I'm elated to finally meet you, beautiful soul.'
'The pleasure is mine, Kara,' I said as she released me. 'Welcome back to Nigeria.'
'You see, Josh told me all about how you've been there for him in my absence. In his words, you are the sister he never had. He also told me about how he had given up on relationships because of numerous heartbreaks but you ignited the fire of hope in him.' I was enjoying her speech and was eager to see how it'll end. After all, the surprise Josh promised was slated for today. She continued, 'You told him he'd find the person meant for him in just a little while.'
'Darling Dami, you were right with your words.' It was Josh this time.
I was getting nervous. Is this the part where I get to say 'I do'? I wondered to myself.
'This would surprise you, Kara.' He paused for a moment, seconds that seemed to run into eternity. 'Dami, I did find my soulmate. Kara is the one for me. I did find my soulmate like you said I would. 3 months ago when she was in Nigeria on vacation. Thank you for helping me get through my despair, sweetheart. I'll love you forever.'

I was shattered beyond words, and it took much effort to restrain the tears that threatened to flow.
'You must be very happy for me, I'm sure,' Josh said, hugging me.
'I am. I love you too, Josh.'

Josh sure loved me, only not in that way.

'Belle?... Dami?’ I heard Josh's call. I turned to face him. From the expression on his face, it appeared he had been speaking to me for a long time and only met with silence. 'Is there a problem?'
'Oh no, Josh. I'm fine. Very all right,' I assured him. Oh Josh, you care too much, I thought to myself.
'You seemed faraway, lost in the island of your thoughts. I had to rescue you,' he teased. 'Josh to the rescue!' he added, faking a hero's accent. We both laughed heartily before he continued, 'Or would you let me in, you know, on this island of your precious thoughts?'
'Silly you. Get your eyes back on the road, dude. You don't want to get us killed,' I replied, amidst chuckles.
'Aye, my Lady,' he said, laughing.
He returned his eyes to driving, and I stared at him. I couldn't believe my luck. Josh was everything I wanted in a man. From his glowing black skin to his penetrating eyes. What about his build? It was just the way I liked it.

I really had been deep in thought, reminiscing on the day I met him. 6 months ago. It was during one of the symposia I attended. He was there, seated in a gentlemanly fashion and easily smiled whenever a speaker said something interesting.
'This last speaker was everything amazing. She's the best so far,' he said, looking at me who was seated next to him. He had that smile on his face, and I couldn't help but admire his perfect dentition. His black skin made his already white teeth even whiter.
'I couldn't agree less,' I replied.

'So here we are,' Josh said, pulling up on one side of the road.
'Thanks Josh. I had a good day,' I said, hugging him. The hug lasted a little too long, was a little too clingy. But that was because I was a little too happy.
'I cherish you dear,' he said as I unlocked myself from his arms. He seemed to have suddenly remembered something when he added, 'I'd be having a pleasant surprise for you next time we meet.' Another surprise? The shopping spree of today was already enough surprise. What else could he have up his sleeve? I silently pondered on his words as we bade each other goodbye and I alighted from his Chevrolet Impala.

He reached across the table that separated us and placed his hand over mine, squeezing it affectionately.

'Dami, you mean so much to me.' He was staring into my eyes, and I desperately wanted to avert my gaze to something else. Anything to avoid this eye-contact thingy. I boiled with confidence most times and always thought I could look anyone in the eye. So this feeling was new. I was so shy, so excited I feared I'd blush carelessly or smile too much or become breathless. Or I would wet my underwear. I was having a fairly hard time holding in the urine that threatened to escape its prison at any little provocation.

My eyes settled on the small mahogany table, and I listened as he continued, 'The softness of your voice and ethereality of your smiles calm the raging storms in my head. Thanks for everything.'
'And thanks for bringing me here. It's a beautiful place. And they have really tasty cuisines,' I said trying to ease off the tension. I felt I could look up now. I saw him nod and smile, like an understanding older brother would. He sure knew and understood my trick.

***
He dropped me off a little but safe distance away from my house. I was only being careful. I wasn't going to allow myself to become the new object for cheap gossip in my nearly overpopulated neighbourhood. As I walked on, I smiled to myself. I was satisfied. Josh had made my day once again.

I smiled yet again when music blaring from a loud speaker in front of a music shop greeted my ears. It was a popular song, and of course I had heard it several times. Only that it was different this time. Or so it seemed. It held a deep meaning now. I suddenly felt like I could relate with the lyrics. Today Ed's words seemed alive and more beautiful than ever.
'People fall in love in mysterious ways... maybe just a touch of a hand... Well me, I fall in love with you everyday,' I sang along excitedly.

It was the sight of the gigantic black gate that shielded our home from the outside world that jolted me back to reality, and I thanked my lucky stars that no one had noticed that I was grinning like an idiot as I walked home. That would have been enough to send tongues wagging.
'Love sure makes idiots of its slaves,' I thought to myself. It was a delicious feeling.

Phew! Where do you think you are going?' a voice asks in a forbidding tone.
'She stinks,' a plump woman remarks before splattering saliva on the rocky ground.

Other voices rise in the crowd and all their vituperations, or in few cases words of sympathy are directed to a little woman slowly making her way into the crowd. Her pale face hangs low in shame yet she keeps moving. She has very little strength and this makes advancing difficult and painfully slow for her. The smell from her body causes the swarm of people to disperse as though she is a plague to be thoroughly avoided. This makes her secret mission easier to accomplish. She had been troubled as she wondered how she could get to him amidst the huge crowd thronging him. As she gets closer to where he is, some distance away, her mind travels down memory lane. She remembers her harrowing experience at the hands of all the physicians she has consulted. There was the nauseating fluid she had to drink for two weeks, the painful needles injected into her body, the strippings, the surgeries et al. Each doctor she had encountered had charged a fortune off her before declaring her disease incurable.

Now she's left with nothing to her name. Nothing... Nobody. Women her age were married with two, three, four kids.
'Who would want a stinky thing like me for a wife?' she mumbles to herself.

Now just a few inches from him whom she trusts to finally rid her of this debilitating illness she has been stuck with for twelve years, a surge of determination empowers her dying system.
'If only... If I can just lay a finger on his robe, I'd be whole.' She puts all her strength into those last few steps that get her standing behind him... and she firmly touches the border of his fastidiously clean white robe before scurrying away like a mouse suddenly exposed to light. Amazingly, she no longer feels the 'drip-drip' of blood that had been landing in full drops, on the absorbent pad underneath.

Ecstasy wells up as it dawns on her that the days of battling with hemorrhage are suddenly over.
'Goodness gra...' Her subdued words, mixed with silent sobs, are interrupted by his voice.
'Who touched my clothes?'
'Master, how can you ask such a question? Here's a multitude thronging you!' one of his followers query.
'Who touched my clothes? Who touched me?' he asks again, his celestial voice tender yet unflinchingly firm. His eyes, beautiful as the clear blue sea reflecting the light of the Sun, wanders in search of her.
'It is I, Master. I did touch you,' she says as she lay at his feet. Still trembling in fright, she tells him her story within the space of three minutes.
'My daughter,' Joshua says with a loving smile spread across his fetching face. He raises her up to stand next to him. 'Your faith has made you whole. Remain healed of that disease. Enjoy your new-found peace, darling.'

(An adaptation of the story of Jesus and the woman with the issue of blood recorded in Mark 5:25-34.)

I see it walking swiftly across the room with the characteristic lopsided gait. Disgusted, I hiss and curse but I do not go after it. Suddenly it changes its direction, three of its feet balanced on the ground and the other briefly suspended in the air. It moves towards me, fearless and dauntless courage written all over it. I remind myself that I'm human and what is staring me in the face is a mere, worthless... rat.
'One, two... three, four, five... six, ten,' I count to myself with my eyes tightly shut. I open them and find it still there, staring. So I let my eyes wander in search for the nearest object of destruction. I bend down to pick up the iron rod lying a few inches from me. I raise myself up, clutching tightly on the rod suspended in the air, ready to hit this 'spy' hard. But... it's not there. I can't find it. The thought that I'd have to live in this house with that mysterious vermin hiding away somewhere gives me goose bumps.

PS: While my piece about Googoo, the slain pet chicken, is a true story, this is not. It is entirely fictitious. Thanks for reading my ratty story.😂😍

Every day, you see that young girl who lives down the street. But you've never seen her walk on her own. That's because she's with a new guy for each day. And you spit and shake your head and condemn her in your heart each time she walks past you, a guy's arm holding her by the waist. In your heart, you call her a spoilt mango. But you have no idea what she's been through. The day Chi Chi was born is the same day her father disappeared because she was female, the fifth female child in a row. Her mother was left with the herculean task of raising her girls alone. Mother is not one of those tough women, and the throes of life easily broke her down. She's too broken to show her daughter what love is, to tell her she's pretty, to give her a peck on her needy cheek like Vincent does. You condemn her but do you know... do you know that if you'd encountered half the temptations Chi Chi has faced in her 18 years of existence, maybe you'd have fallen face down?

As a school girl, she had no friends. Everyone seemed to hold her in disdain. Her worn out school uniform, the smell of fish that saturated her easily made her classmates mark her out as inferior. Yes, she smelled of fish because each morning she had to hawk till the very last minute that saw her rush off to school. There were no friends to talk to during recess...

Before Senior Secondary School, life improved a bit and she no longer had to hawk fish, yet the memories of rejection would not leave her. With each new day, life seemed more worthless, her self esteem going further down the drain. And then he came on the scene. He always had the right words to sweep her off her feet. Vincent easily caused butterfly riot in her stomach with words ever so sugary. He told her she was gorgeous and she found herself staring into the mirror more often. Vincent was quite intentional, he knew his purpose and he was patient till she gave in and let him lie on top of her. Vincent was her 'all' and she could do anything to keep him. But soon, Vince moved on to the next girl. Another guy came on the scene, and another cycle began. And so it was till she gave up on life, ready to accept whatever came her way. She welcomed virtually any guy into her life and let them do anything as long as it... as long as it gave her temporary ecstasy. There remained no self esteem, dignity and pride to protect.

Do you remember when you had this conviction to give her some of your money. You had some, yes you had. But you didn't want to give a dime to someone so promiscuous. No you wouldn't even talk to girls like Chi Chi. Do you know she needed money that day? Desmond was there to give her whatever she wanted but she was tired of living that kinda life. She was going to turn a new leaf. And then because she could not get what she was in dire need of, Chi Chi went back to her vomit. Desmond is the guy who has his arm on her waist now, her new catch. Or I could call her the catch instead. But at what price?

Author's Note:
There are so many Chi Chis out in the world. Would you please help find one, take her in your arms of love and show her the way to Yahweh.

I lay in bed, staring into space. I have just eaten the last garri in the house. I have no idea where the next meal will come from. I would have considered begging any of my neighbours but I dread the probable humiliation I'd receive. I have long become a laughing stock amongst even the poorest of persons. The poor call me poor. As my eyes move to and fro, from the cracks on the floor to the openings on the ceiling, I hear the honk of a car. A million thoughts race through my mind. Could it be a creditor? Or maybe an old friend. It takes a few minutes for me to garner enough courage to step out. I step outside to see a Toyota Venza, 2016 model parked right in my compound. I'm too shocked to move. As I stand glued to the ground, gazing intently, he alights from the car. My mouth goes open in shock, my legs are suddenly too weak to carry my weight, my eyes almost pop out of their sockets.
'Mama?'
'Eeeh... Eee... Ejike. My son!' He walks up to me, confidence oozing out of him. Ejike had always been confident. Even my kicking around and bullying back then could not rid him of his confidence.
'Mama,' he says, his long arms hugging me. He quickly releases me and asks, 'Where is my father?'
'Your... your father?'
'Yes. I have come to see him. Where is he?'

Two Years Ago...
'My wife...' he said, and paused to draw in a deep breath. 'I have very little time left here,' he continued with much effort.
'No, my husband. You're staying with me. You... you'll come out of this,' I said as I held his near-flaccid hand in mine. I stared at his bare chest and at his belly that once stood out in its massiveness. It was now as flat as a slate. The tears I had been trying to hold back were let loose and flowed unrestricted. I saw a bead of it fall on his arm. I was relieved to see that his eyes were shut. 'He's asleep. He did not see my tears,' I sighed in relief. I cried a river as I stared some more at my dying husband: his pale and saggy skin, his emaciated structure, the drool at the left corner of his mouth. It was saddening, utterly depressing to see my better half stuck in this debilitating condition for the past 2 months. All the profit he had made from his job as a mechanic these past few years, all my little gains from my petty trade had been consumed by this illness. An illness that had defied both herbal medicine and pharmaceuticals. No doctor had been able to arrive at a diagnosis.
'My dear...' I turned to see Nnamdi wide awake, staring weakly at me. I quickly made to wipe my face with one end of my wrapper. 'I wish I could linger with you. I wish I would not have to leave you now. But with each passing moment, I see my life ebbing away.'
'My husband...'
'Nkechi, listen to me...' he said before a throaty cough cut him short. 'You've been a good wife, and I appreciate you for that. But you were never a mother to my son, Ejike. He ran away from home, yes. But I strongly suspect that it was because of the way you treated him. And it hurts that I'd never set eyes on him again. I wish I could behold him one last time before my sojourn here comes to an end. Oh, I wish I had done better as a father. I let you turn me against my only child.'

My late husband was right. Only that he did not know the whole truth, the truth that would have made him die with seething hatred for me. Ejike did not run away from home, I kicked him out. Ejike, the son my husband's late wife bore him, was a handful for me. I wanted to wield total control over him, like I did with his father. But he proved to be more than I could handle. So I got rid of him, after all efforts to bring him to total subjection met with failure. He was 19 at that time. Now that he's back, and his father is 6 feet deep in mother earth, what can I do?

I sit here on a wooden stool in an ambience that reeks of the smell of garbage and urine and sweat. The odour is nauseating. The troublesome flies turn my pallid skin into a playground of some sort. But I'm too deep in thought to care. The rumbling and churning of my stomach brings me back to reality. I understand its message. It is saying that it urgently needs to be filled. It has exercised enough patience and has a right to complain at this point. But is there food? I count one to ten in a bid to build confidence, confidence to go begging for food again. After counting one to twenty, and still bereft of the needed confidence, I walk into my shack of a house. I live alone. No, I have the company of rats and cockroaches and geckos. There are also the Agama lizards that visit from time to time, sometimes running around in pursuit of their female counterparts. I stagger to my bucket of garri and pour every bit of it into the first plate my eyes find. I wearily reach for my old jug and pour some water into the waiting dish. It is then that I see it- rat excrement staring at me from my plate of garri-in-water.
'Waa-waa-what kind of life is this?' I blurt out in frustration. Still I have no choice. This is my last foodstuff. I scoop out the 'black stuff' and settle down to eat, pushing down one spoonful at a time, down my hungry throat. I think about two Bible stories. One is about the widow of Zarephath whose jar of flour and jug of oil never ran out till the drought was over, and the other about the Prophet's wife whose small jar of olive oil filled many containers. I know deep down that even if such miracles still existed, I was completely undeserving.

Kara was the first. Enchanted by her surreal beauty, he thought she was the one. He imagined mornings when he would wake up on their matrimonial bed smiling and beholding her pretty face. She was that beautiful. They talked about their wedding. It'd be the talk of the town, they both agreed. But she walked away... she left with a piece of his broken heart.

Then, it was Chioma. He had met her at Bella's wedding. She was the life of the party, and he couldn't resist her charms. 'I'd never be unhappy with such a woman by my side,' he thought to himself each time he heard her excited laughter or her cheery alto voice talking sweetly. Soon, he had her attention. Within a few weeks, they had become an inseparable duo. How would he forget how his heart leaped with joy when Chioma handed him an envelope on Val's Day? He had grown excited, convinced he had been given a card emblazoned and laced with Chioma's love. They went their ways after an evening out at one of the most expensive eateries in town. It was a happy and satiated Temi that sat on his king-size bed to look into the content of Chioma's envelope. He grew skeptical as he drew out an ivory card.

The Families of....

He read on, and as reality slowly dawned on him, his hands began to quiver, his head began to swirl, goosebumps suddenly formed on his skin. Chioma was getting married in two weeks' time. She'd be married to Chief Okoye, the middle-aged business tycoon in the East. He had only been her side-boo in the North. His heart sank as he lay still on his large bed, unable to understand why loving a woman was always a mistake.
He had thought he found Heaven with Chioma. But now all that's left of their seemingly perfect relationship are memories that haunt. Chioma had warmed her way into his heart and rid it of yet another piece.

*****
'Nne, you're so wonderful. The man that will marry you ehn, him life don better be that,' the middle-aged woman said with her gaze fixed on the young woman before her.
'Ah Aunty, you're always talking about the man I'll marry,' Naomi replied, mildly embarrassed.
'Yes, my pikin. I can't wait o. But I must advise you, shine your eye well oh. Only the very best deserves you.'

*****
'Lord, I surrender. I thought I could find my woman myself but today I'm letting you take charge. I give up.' Temi said his last words of prayer and laid down to sleep.

*****
She bends down to pick up the paper lying on the terrazzo floor and goes after the tall light-skinned man walking up the stairs.
'Hello... Excuse me.' He turns to the direction of her gentle voice.
'Ye--es. A...ny any problem, Miss?' he stutters, awestruck in a way that he can't explain.
'I think you should see this. It must have fallen off you,' she says with a warm smile spread over her face. His eyes widen as he sees the cheque.
'Thank you. Oh, thank you,' he keeps saying till she walks away in graceful strides. She was gone before he could ask for her name.

As he sits in his living room, his thoughts again wander to that scene at the Bank. In fact, the scene has occupied his thought system almost all day. There was something about her he couldn't place his hands on. There was a mystery about that young woman with the shoulder-length hair, singsong voice, graceful steps, ebony-dark skin, heart-warming smile... There's a mystery he wants to uncover. Somehow, he finds himself wishing and praying he'd see her again.

*****
'I'm sorry, Emeka... I have to turn down your proposal. I pray you find a better woman. Thank you,' she says to the person at the other end of the line at a stretch, without a single pause.
'I love you, Naomi. Where can I find a woman like you? Where? Please... just give me a chance.'
'I'm really sorry, Emeka. Please understand,' she murmurs before ending the call.

*****
'Please let her in.' He downs a cup of coffee and draws in a deep breath. He hears a knock on the door and readies to see who the talented programmer is.

'She's the best you can find. She's my friend, and I'd help you speak with her- I mean, convince her to bless your company with her magical wits. Her work is always superb,' Kola had said as they sat over lunch two days ago. He was sure this lady was the best person to work on the project they discussed.

She- the programmer- walks in, and he recognises her dark oval face. She's the lady he's been praying to meet again. Here she is standing in his office.
'Naomi Ehiane,' she says in a crisp, formal tone.
'Oh, you're welcome. Please have your seat,' he says as he gestures to the seat facing his. A happy smile subtly forms on his lips but he quickly catches himself.

*****
It has been three months since he first met Naomi. She's the one for him. He hasn't been surer of anything in his life. But there are fears, doubts lagging in his heart. 'What if she turns me down?' he asks himself, his fear taking a hold of him. Still, he'd take the step. He was sure God had his back this time. Naomi, his Naomi, is a thousand times better than Kara, Chioma and all the other women. She easily made his heart merry with her priceless words. Her words were like bread fresh from the oven and honey from the hive. And oh, Naomi loved the Lord and sought to please him.
Temi knows that friendship with Naomi would never be enough. He desires her for a soul mate, a life-long partner. He wants her face to be the first he'd see when he awoke in the morning and the last he'd behold at dusk. He had dreams, lofty dreams he would love to chase and clinch with Naomi by his side. For one would chase a thousand, and two a thousand.

*****
'Naomi Ehiane, do you take this man, Temi Afolarin to be your lawfully wedded husband?' the Bishop asks in a most solemn tone.
'Yes I do,' she says. Her usually warm smile is even warmer, gentler. She looks like a seraphim in her immaculate-white wedding gown.

I am a pretty face with eyes that glisten and sweep many a gentleman off his feet. My smile is worth a billion-dollar. My voice, its elfin timbre sends people yearning to hear yet again and drink from its melody. I am the life of every party, the soul of every gathering. Indeed, I am the envy of all and sundry. They wish they had my life, my ethereal beauty, my charm and what not.

They do not see beyond the gorgeous smile and the stunning looks and the comely carriage and the resounding laughter. They do not know that I am a dying soul, a heart in search of therapeutic cure, a woman in want of an escape from the emotional throes buried deep down in my bowels... carefully concealed from the watching and waiting eyes. They do not capture all that is underneath the veneer skillfully put up. Beyond all that is without are scars within, hideous scars that I fear to let the world see.

Matt 11:28- 'Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.'

My dear fellas, Jesus. Is. Still. The. Answer.!

Written by Elect Osemwonyenmwen Alenkhe.

Art credits: Hezron Praise.

Hezron Praise is a smart and talented teenager. He experiments with diverse materials including charcoal and oil paint. He's one of the few people with whom I can actually enjoy an online conversation(WhatsApp!) because he's smart. It's been long I set eyes on this young chap though. But hey, I am a big fan of his work and I'm sure he won't stop sharing his artistic creations with me.

PS: The title, 'Scars Within' was Praise's suggestion.

A Look Into The Mirror

BEST FRIENDS FOREVER?

NOT IN THAT WAY(3)

NOT IN THAT WAY(2)

NOT IN THAT WAY(1)

IF ONLY

FIGMENT #001

CHI CHI

STORY(2)

STORY(1)

THE ONE

SCARS WITHIN

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