by Abeni Inks
“We shouldn’t see each other again. Let’s...”
She exhaled. Inhaled a lungful of air spiced with the fragrance of his cologne.
“Let’s take this slow”
Ifekunle’s brow raised in rhetorical query.
He could guess her thoughts and heaviness clouded him.
His lack of control and her volatile response had been wonderful. In passion’s aftermath however, like most females raised with traditional socio-cultural norms, she was berating herself.
Because only bad girls feel such things. And only sluts indulge them.
His lips lifted sideward.
The hell would she run or censor her passions!
But he knew better than to say that.
“Where can I get new clothes? I soiled these like a school boy.”
Don't look. Don't...
But her eyes were already widening at the wet patch on his jeans.
His fingers slid from her and she bit her lower lip to stifle a moan. Just before he raised those fingers to his lips; gaze holding hers. Then he swallowed the fingers. Groaned. Shut his eyes in obvious enjoyment of her taste.
Ooh Gods!
It suddenly occured to Demilade that resisting this man could be the hardest thing she had ever done.
Many minutes later they walked into a shopping mall; sexual tension alive between them. Thick. Sizzling. Cloaking them in words unsaid and memories so vivid their parts still tingled.
“Do you know any good hotel or guest house around?”
Ifekunle no longer wanted to go home and narrate a day he had yet to come to grasps with himself.
Demilade reeled off names; some familiar and others never heard of. But when she started on their individual qualities his gaze narrowed like a hawk’s.
How the hell does she know so many hotels? And so well?
He envisioned a throng of faceless men drawing pleasure from her body as he had done in the lounge.
“Stop!”
“Ifekunle?”
Concern laced her voice and it pissed him off even more. Partially because he knew he was being silly. Partially because his chest was constricting so tightly, he couldn't breathe.
Darn her!
He remembered that in passion’s haze he had declared himself hers. She hadn’t returned the sentiment. He fisted his palms in frustration.
We’re being silly. We’re being very silly
It was one of the rare times he was grateful for the voice in his head.
Just this morning he hadn’t seen Demilade in twelve years. Nor had he known where she was or what she was up to. Now, few hours and an orgasm into finding her, he was acting juvenile and overly proprietary.
How does she command the power to turn me inside out? So effotlessly? And after twelve years?!
He dragged air in through his lips. Filled his lungs. Exhaled.
“I'm sorry. That was too much information all at once. I simply like my rooms clean and the air cool."
He realised he could get more. That his impromptu vacation should be a break from the world he knew.
"A water-side spot would be a big plus.”
He relaxed his facial muscles. Extended them in the smile that often charmed Aya Lagbaja. His eyes were a penitent puppy's; seeking forgiveness.
Demilade returned the smile though a shadow lurked in her eyes. She knew just the perfect spot. When they pulled up in a hotel that smelled like the sea, Ifekunle smiled and it reached his eyes.
Alone in the room, Ifekunle massaged his temples. He was bone weary from the day’s exhaustion. He hoped it was over... after all, what more could be next?
Chapter 7
"Awobiyi Ifekunle, 1omo Awonla!"
Ifekunle was looking over the hotel balcony in silent contemplation when Awo Nla’s voice hailed as clear as if he was beside him. Shocked, his head swung left. The bulbul that had perched on the railing to serve silent companionship bent its neck. Looked at him like what’s up mate?
He shook his head vigorously. Surely his mind hadn’t joined the day’s determination to serve him weirdness enough for multiple lifetimes or, had it?
"Awobiyi Ifekunle, Omo Awonla!"
Ifekunle jumped and cussed; startled.
He could not have imagined his Uncle calling to him a second time, could he? He stepped back from the railing distractedly. Rubbed his arms with his palms as goose bumps popped.
His gaze swung right where the balcony sat empty and silent. The sea splayed ahead: wild, beautiful, the risen moon cast in its waves and curves.
A buzz hummed in the air like electricity on high tensioned wires. His ears twitched. Eyes danced to catch everything in sight. And the hairs on his arms rose; alert, defensive, ready to war whatever was coming.
"Awobiyi Ifekunle, Omo Awonla!"
He hissed. Fingered the shirt he had draped over the back of the chair many minutes earlier. He slid his long arms into its sleeves and shoved the glass balcony door out of his way. The day had been a series of strange events. If anyone could have a clue what was going on, it would be 2Baba Ifa, 3Awo Nla.
Ifekunle didn’t know where the older man was or how it was that his voice called to him. Especially considering his Uncle was 4 hours and many miles away in Ile-Ife, Osun State. But he decided to rather go to him than stay in the hotel feeling like lost, cornered prey.
Three steps into his hotel room the world seemed to spin and he stumbled. Felt dizzy….
“Thank you for honouring my call, Omo Awonla”
How the apes...?!
Ifekunle spun around.
He was fairly certain that the entire day was a dream or hallucination. Or he had hit his head really hard on something and displaced some nuts in his medulla.
The room was spinning just now... It wasn't before, then suddenly it was. And now it isn't. Not anymore. But Awo Nla is in front of me. Standing! In front of me. No. This isn't the hotel anymore. I'm the one standing in front of him! Where...
"Ifekunle. Awobiyi."
Awo Nla's deliberate enunciation of his names broke his speeding thought-train.
Something was wrong. Gravely, gravely wrong. Perhaps worse than he suspected. He made to prostrate in greeting but Awo Nla reached a trembling hand out to stop him. He frowned at the older man in unspoken query. Looked about anxiously.
The walls were the light blue of the sky on a clear day. They were also curiously bare. No windows, curtains… nothing. There was a white sheet to his left hand side at the centre of the room. The shape of it looked like a sleeping person or… Ifekunle frowned.
“How has your day been?”
Awo Nla reached for his hand then. Tugged slightly and led him towards the middle of the room. His feet suddenly weighed like a ton of marble and he realised he was scared. He wasn’t sure any more that he wanted to discover why his day had seemed like the beginning of a zombie movie.
“Uncle Mi, what is happening?”
“I didn’t know you got a tattoo on your hip bone”
They were already at the sheet and Awo Nla lifted it from one end. Slowly. Almost cautiously. Ifekunle gasped.
A man was laid on navy blue mackintosh. He was Ifekunle's spitting image.
So the myth is true about 4Eledua creating humans in twos?
Ifekunle stared; fascinated. Then his brows furrowed as his Uncle's question settled into his consciouness.
His hip tatto. He hadn’t told anyone about that!
His eyes trailed the uncovered body to the hip.
Art sat there; stamped like a love note. He leaned closer. Counted. Six rings around a flame. Just like his tattoo!
It also had the space he had left for more rings to be added in the near future.
How's that possible?
“Uncle 5mi?”
“So I guess the rings are your parents, siblings, Mama Agba and me. And you are the flame?”
Ifekunle nodded but it was a mechanical jerk of his head. He was woozy and wooden. Frozen with mind-numbing shock.
"Is that... Am I... Is he...?
He couldn't tear his eyes from the body in front of him. Nor could he find words to make order of the jumbled thoughts raging in his mind.
“There is no easy way to say this and no time to explain. You died this morning.”
* * *
1 Omo: Child of
2. Baba Ifa: Priest of Ifa Worship
3. Awo Nla: Commander of the "Awo"; Cult
4. Eledua: The Creator
5. Mi: My/Mine
Chapter 8
Ifekunle’s jaw dropped.
He swayed. Staggered. Awo Nla pressed him into a chair he hadn’t noticed in his cursory glance at the room.
“How is… But I’m alive. I'm alive right now. Am I not?”
His voice had decimated to a thready whisper sneaking through a throat clogged by emotions that wouldn’t be dislodged, and thoughts for which there were no words. Awo Nla put an arm around him.
“You are alive, yes. Yet also dead. There are many realms, and you are in the confluence of Earth and the Heavens.”
“Akudaaya?”
Awo Nla nodded.
Over the course of countless short holidays he had told the boy who had become a man many stories. Stories which were thought to be mere myth by the uninitiated. But it had been the boy’s heritage. His birthright.
Awo Nla sighed. He could never have dreamt that it would also someday be his reality.
Now that we finally found her... Just now
The words floated in Ifekunle's subconscious and he laughed. The sound was harsh. Painfully empty. Bereft of his signature happy mirth and music.
Fate was cruel. Certainly. All his life he had waited for her. Taken no other in lieu of her. And now she was within reach. Now, somehow, he had found her.
He had repeated to her face words he had told her countless times over two decades, in dreams. He had discovered the sweetness of her lips. The unbelievable rightness of her body against his. And now….
His palms fisted and he looked up at Awo Nla; his eyes a watery mist. This can’t be fair... Or right.
“Listen very carefully, Ifekunle. The world thrives under the illusion of separateness. That earth belongs to the living and spirits are interlopers from somewhere in the skies or beneath the seas. No one must know what you are now, except those who by their own powers discover. Even then, never let it be heard from your lips. Many in your world are exiled from their first homes but you are not. You must however respect the divide between the worlds, Ifekunle; and this is the most important commandment.”
Awo Nla removed a string of cowries from his wrist, reached for Ifekunle’s left hand and wore it on him.
“You are a son of the gods, Ifekunle Awobiyi. You have the protection of your fathers and their fathers before them.”
Awo Nla looked up, held Ifekunle’s eyes.
“You remember the stories I told you, Awobiyi?”
Of course he remembered. He loved the stories.
He had visited Awo Nla every holiday so he could hear and memorise them. They were fabled mythic explanations of the world in Yoruba cosmology.
They were supposed to be the stories he would tell his children to illustrate their progeny. The famed exploits of their great grands.
Children; little human photocopies death has decided we would not have.
What good had come of all his sacrifices then? What good; his upright, almost-sanctimonious life?
He was assailed by numbing pain. His eyes watered and rivulets flowed down his cheeks. He had never felt so weak in his life. So helpless. Empty bereft even of will.
Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop…
The droplets became music of some sort, falling on the denim of his jeans.
He could neither disguise nor control his pain. His heart felt wrenched from his chest and laid bare. His palms clasped over his head.
Goodness! How could this happen to me? What unforgivable wrongs did I committed in another lifetime?
His body shook violently; wracked by pain words could not express.
He fell to his knees. Bowed into the familiar scent of Awo Nla’s dress. He was overcome by the desperate need to clutch on to the older man.
Surely, if I clinch onto his cloth, this nightmare would finally end?
I'll wake to life resumed as normal?
Awo Nla lifted heavy hands to pat Ifekunle’s head.
His heart was twisted in a thousand ways he had never thought possible and tears trapped rainbows on his lashes. He had long stopped trying to breathe with his nose and focused instead on breathing deeply through his mouth. To hold on to his ragged bits of control so he didn’t bellow under the force of pain burning up his chest.
Of all people, the destiny to live in shadows of worlds shouldn’t have been Ifekunle’s.
Oh! If he could turn back the hands of time!
He would negotiate with all the powers of light. He'd beg that they re-script the events of that morning. Give whatever was requested of him.
Awo Nla trembled and tried to gather him
All was not lost. Their forebears had established a lineage that served the gods. Insured hundreds of generations of the Awo Nla dynasty.
All would never be lost.
Chapter 9
Dear Diary,
I ran into Ifekunle today. Ifekunle Awonla.
Secondary school if-dreams-come-true, love-of-my-life, knight-in-shining-armour, never-asked-me-out Ifekunle. That Ifekunle
He's now handsome-as-sin, smooth-as-baby's-skin, cuter-than-my-dimples very delicious, savvy bad-boy Man. He asked me to dance. Surely that's a step up from before?
And... he made me lose my mind.
I, Demilade Ajayi... Me...
Omo iya Ijo. Model daughter and choirester
I let a stranger finger me in a club. In. A. Club! And there were other patrons in it o!
You should have seen the way he shielded me with his body. Heard when he begged me to cum on his hands. Then he ground against me and he came too!
Like, he was as affected as me! Or maybe that's what I want to believe sha. Because he acted someway not long after. And he didn't argue when I said we should take it slow. Though the way he kissed me when I dropped him off at his hotel! I almost forgot everything and begged him to... you know?!
Gosh!
It's a good thing I said we should take it slow. At least I've drawn a line. I might have acted shamelessly at first but I've redeemed myself.
But God!
Who would have known Ifekunle Awonla could get sexier than he already was? Liiike! Dude has grown into all that handsomeness. His eyes are dreamy, smile bewitching.
I almost can't believe it still. Ifekunle Awonla.
In the flesh! Wow!
Maybe dreams could still come true? Can I have a second shot at love? Would he maybe want kids? Marriage?
Sigh
I'm already getting ahead of myself. Painting elephants in unknown skies enh, Demilade? Lol.
Anyway, Dear Diary,
I met the love of my life again after 12 years and I think he's all I've ever dreamed. Wish me luck!
xoxo
The flicker of hope flared to life as Awo Nla recalled the pact of his ancestors with the gods they had served. The gods in whose service he was chief priest.
He latched on to it like a baby sighting a nipple for the first time in two days. Shelved the immediacy of his loss to don his cap as representative of the gods. Custodian of oaths and promises.
"Nothing has changed, Omo Awonla. Nothing at all”
Ifekunle’s head shook in vigorous disagreement.
Eventually he found his voice. Lifted his head to look his Uncle in the eyes.
“How would I live, Uncle? Do I get a new identity? Another job?”
Awo Nla’s lips curved upward in a tight quasi-smile.
The sudden invasion of joy overwhelmed him. Threatened to shred the thin facade of control he wore.