by Seun Odukoya
But then, maybe it is true what they say about love leaving grown men speechless and tongue-tied, awkward like new born babes. So for all his creativity, he could not come up with a solution to save his relationship with her or tell her how he really felt so he stayed in his house, depressed.
Two days later, he was in his house putting some finishing touches to a portrait and staring at his phone at regular intervals, slightly worried that she had not tried to call him. He decided to fix himself something to eat and then call her. As he put some Indomie noodles on his doorbell rang.
He hastily wiped his hands on a table towel and walked towards the door, asking who it was.
A feminine voice responded and he opened the door hastily. She stood there, looking painfully fresh; as though it was just three minutes ago he saw her last. A searing pain; similar to being stabbed with a red-hot needle worked its way through his chest and he stood there mutely, wondering why he missed the memo on ‘love hurts’.
She pushed into the house and he shut the door and stood aside nervously. He probably would have stood there, staring at her as she looked back at him had he not suddenly smelled something burning – the noodles he was cooking. Stifling a curse, he ran into the kitchen and carried the pot off the fire. And then, blowing and sucking on his burning fingers, he went back into the sitting room.
She was still standing where he left her, just on the threshold of his apartment. He asked her to have a seat but she declined, saying instead that she just came to tell him that she was going back to her boyfriend. As she spoke, she looked closely at him obviously searching for a reaction. But she got none, his face remaining politely interested while his heart pounded heavily, his stomach churned and the needle was pushed deeper into his heart.
She asked him what he thought; he said it was good news and that he hoped she was happy. His condescending attitude annoyed her and she slapped him suddenly. And then, with tears in her eyes she spoke the only dialogue in this entire story;
“What do you know about happiness?”
He was too shocked to respond. He probably would have finally gotten over the fear that kept his lips sealed, but suddenly there was no time. The sharp bark of a horn cut through the moment, and he saw her smile through the tears in her eyes. Carefully she wiped them and walked outside to sit in the car beside her boyfriend. They drove away and she did not look back. Not once.
And that is the end of that one.
chapter 12: my little girl
“But Daddy, shebi if this bread was Nigerian made now, shebi people will start saying they are using juju. See how people are plenty on the line.”
“Baby, the bread is Nigerian made. It is made in Nigeria by Nigerians.”
“But Daddy, shebi you said that Shoprite is a South-African supermarket? Shebi that’s what you said.”
Sigh. My wonderful daughter.
The lady standing in line behind us looks amused. For a moment I wonder why my daughter is standing beside me and not running up and down the aisles like most other kids. She stands beside me with silent dignity, looking up at me with an expression of genuine childish curiosity on her face. I sigh and lean over till my face is on the same level as hers.
“Yes indeed, it is South African business. But you don’t expect them to bring bread down here everyday now, do you?”
She looks thoughtful, placing her hand on her chin as though she is actually considering what I’d said.
“But how does the bread taste so different from all the ones we’ve been eating?” she asks.
“Because they probably have their own recipe, imported and all. So what they do is to bring a supervisor who probably mixes the flour and everything…” I pause to see if she is listening.
“Hmm-mmm,” she nods seriously, paying rapt attention.
“And then he just supervises the baking. That’s most likely why it tastes different from everything else,” I finish and stretch, wincing a little bit from a pain in my waist. This is starting to become an inconvenience, I think.
“Thank you for explaining daddy. Mummy says you’re the smartest man she knows,” my baby says.
That makes me sad. If she thinks I am so smart, why did she leave me?
I can’t find an answer.
Twenty-something minutes later we step up to the bread rack, dump two hot loaves into our nearly-full basket and head towards the cash register, my little girl skipping ahead of me. She gets to the fruit stand, raises herself on tiptoes and lifts the largest bag of apples she can carry. Carefully raising it, she shows it to me, silently asking for my approval. At my smile she bravely tugs it to the least occupied cash register and waits for me to show up. I get there a few minutes later – having stopped to organize a few surprises for her.
Right in front of us is this annoying young couple. They keep touching each other lightly, teasing, smiling and laughing at each other. They are clearly in love; it is as though they are the only ones in the store. They have eyes only for each other.
Some old women and men on the line smile indulgently, probably recognizing it for what it is. I frown because I recognized it for what it is; two people making fools of themselves over something that is not destined to last. From the left edge of my vision I see my little girl looking at me, definitely wanting to ask me another question. I keep my face straight and frown deeper. She leaves me alone.
Finally we get out.
I ask her to wait by our stuff while I go get a cab from outside the parking lot. You should get a car; I tell myself. Definitely makes things easier all around. By the time I return, she is talking with two young girls who are in their early twenties, dressed as though they are headed for a D’Banj video shoot. I politely but firmly shoo them away and load my daughter and our stuff into the cab.
And then we head home.
“Don’t you like women anymore Daddy?”
You would expect that I would be used to my daughter’s curiosity and strange questioning techniques by now. Sorry to let you down.
“Where did that come from?” I ask, reluctantly turning away from the window to look at my daughter’s upturned face. She really is beautiful.
Her brows gather together as she concentrates. “Well, we’ve been together for two weeks now and you haven’t said hello to any woman except the cleaning woman and grandma’s friend.” She pauses for a bit. “Mummy says you need female attention,” she concludes.
“Mummy should learn to mind her business,” I mumble under my breath. My ex-wife is a model and therefore she never lacks attention. And while I understand it is not to make me jealous; it was that way even when we were married. I do not like it.
“I just want to spend time with you. You’re the only woman I need right now,” I say. She smiles briefly at that, and then that thoughtful look appears on her face. Not this time; I think grimly and quickly ward off what I know is coming.
“I have a friend,” I confess, half truthfully. “I would have brought her to meet you but I wanted this time with you – just you and me. Haven’t you missed me?” I say, acting hurt.
“I have – and you know, Daddy,” she says, sliding across the back seat to hug my arm. “Okay. But when can I meet your friend?”
Problem child.
“She wants to meet you,” I say as I get off the examination table, quickly putting on my shirt again. The paunch I have grown over the past three months is embarrassing, and I don’t want her seeing more of it than is necessary.
“Your back is bust,” my physician says. “I think you slipped a disc – your hips are slightly bruised. But nothing a couple of injections and medication won’t cure,” she finishes.
I nod, suddenly feeling awkward. It is because she has not answered my question, and I understand why. It implies a different level of commitment…one she probably is not ready for. I am not even sure I am ready myself. We have seen each other socially a couple of times, and we are genuinely fond of each other even though we agree that it is not serious.
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br /> She pushes her glasses back on her nose and smiles. “Why are you hiding your belly? Potbellied men are sexy you know, and haven’t you heard Wasiu’s song, ‘give the money to the man with the belly’?”
I am thankful I do not have water in my mouth. I would have bathed her; the way the laughter is naturally forced out of me.
On my way out after my injections and prescription, she gently lays a hand on my sleeve. “I would love to meet your daughter. When would you want me to come?”
I am proud of my daughter tonight.
Whatever else my ex is, she knows how to raise a daughter. She has done herself proud with ours.
At her first sight of my friend my daughter kneels down to greet her properly. My friend is so overwhelmed, she hugs my baby firmly. When she was finally lets off, my daughter asks, “What do I call you?”
My friend is taken aback. She looks at me for help, and when she does not get any she sighs. “Well I don’t stand on ceremony, so you can call me by name. It’s -”
My daughter interrupts. “Mum will kill me if I do that,” she says seriously. “I’ll just call you auntie.”
‘Auntie’ looks over at me, eyebrows raised behind spectacles. I shrug.
Dinner is a huge success. I am the guest.
They get on so well I am amazed. It is as though my little girl is determined to make a point. It is incredible. Finally, after auntie leaves it is just me and my little girl on the couch.
“So…do you like my friend?”
She thinks. “That’s not what’s important to me daddy.” She pauses, and then continues, “does she make you happy?”
I burst into tears.
chapter 13: sweetness ii
The okada stopped in front of the address I’d given him and I hopped off, paying him with some of the change I collected from the fruit woman before heading inside the house. I waved to the sometimes over-sabi gateman standing outside the gate and made my way to my apartment which was in the back.
Opening the door, I went in and closed it behind me, moving into the kitchen and dumping the pineapple on a tray there. I continued to my room and changed into a t-shirt and shorts before returning to the kitchen to prepare the pineapple and to continue thinking.
We woke up, Sunday morning – or rather I woke up and made tea. Usually she would already be up, and in fact be the one to wake me but I guess she was exhausted. She did not wake up until I kissed her gently and she responded, putting her arms around my neck and almost spilling the tea I was carrying all over the bed. We laughed self-consciously like two kids and she collected the tea from me, refusing to taste it till she brushed her teeth. So I made her stay in bed, brought the necessary toiletries and a bowl for spitting in for her, and she brushed right there in bed. As I carried away what she used and handed her the teacup, I caught her looking at me strangely. But she liked it and she was happy – or so her eyes told me.
Very happy.
We spent the day indoors, only stepping out briefly to buy chicken and burgers at the KFC stall in Shoprite Alausa and then coming back home to eat. That was when she mentioned a trip to Benin to see her folks.
She would be travelling the following day, to return three days later. They had not seen her in a while and were getting concerned even though she called them regularly. I understood, even though my folks when in Lagos and I had no such issues. Much later in the day she left for home, almost in tears as she entered the cab taking her to Iyana Iba. She kept giving me instructions; to warm the efo stew, and to boil the ewedu and to air out the yams and plantains and… I paid the driver and he zoomed off, taking the one great love of my life away.
We spoke on the phone after that, and all the way through her trip to Benin. She called to tell me she had gotten home and we would speak later. I in the meantime had made arrangements with a friend and had gotten an exquisite piece of jewelry. It was time to make it official.
But she never came back. Not to me.
I came to myself to find that I had stopped peeling the pineapple halfway through, and I had laid the knife aside. I picked it up again and continued where I had stopped – and did the exact same thing with my memories.
It’s been three months, and the only thing I know for sure is that she’s alive and well…well.
Early the following morning she had called and we had had quite a lengthy conversation that ended on the note of her saying she was missing me so bad – and couldn’t wait to be back. I held the exquisite piece of jewelry in my hand and told her I couldn’t wait too. And for the first time in the seven months we had been together, I told her I loved her. I actually put it in words.
She cried.
We hung up and continued with the day – and sometime in the course of the day I got a text saying she was so busy, she was sorry but we would talk. I replied saying no problem – she should take all the time she needed. That night she called and I spoke with her entire family. They sounded like they liked me and the idea of us together. But you never know.
I was a happy man. I made arrangements for some chocolates and cakes and candles and the like. I made plans for a huge dinner – after which I intended to propose to her. Somehow I floated through the day.
And then she called sometime that afternoon. The moment I picked the call I knew something was wrong…terribly so. She spoke and it was her but at the same time it was not. Something had gone out of her voice; something that made the phone conversation feel as though I was listening to a pre-recorded message. She spoke and I felt the bottom drop out of my world. I felt the lights of my life go out; I felt how Uriah must have felt when looking down from heaven (or hell) and realizing he had died because he had a beautiful wife the king just so happened to covet. I think I died a little that afternoon.
Sounding like a cracked-up Lady Gaga on auto-tune, she told me it was over between us – that she could not be with me anymore. She said things had changed; and it was best if I just forgot about her. She thanked me for the most beautiful seven months of her life; and that she hoped I would find someone who would love me like I deserved. And then she hung up.
I must have stood at my desk, holding the phone with my mouth open for several minutes. Even if she had a given me a chance to say something I doubt I would have been able to. As it was, she did not.
In shock I called back. The phone just rang. After a while, it was switched off. I was confused.
No. I think I died.
The day after that I did not go to work; choosing instead to stake out her Iyan-Iba apartment. I must have left that area sometime after eleven at night, and she did not make an appearance. Not for the next one month.
It was all just so crazy and I know this sounds so unreal; like something you would find in a movie or a book – online or somewhere else, but it’s the truth. That was that for me and her.
I took some time off work; I could not function properly. Not after that severe a shock. It took a while, but slowly as the shock began to wear off I started feeling a strange kind of anger. A really violent anger that had me lying awake late at night hurling curses and calling her all sorts of names. It got to a head when one day, on my way from Shoprite, I nearly killed an okada man who nearly hit me. As it was, I broke two of his ribs and his jaw. I was arrested.
It was sobering for me – me who never lost his cool. I was afraid of this person I was becoming, just because I’d lost someone I thought was forever. It was all too much.
I was released that same day, and I made plans and travelled to Jos the following day. I knew no one there, but I did not care. I just wanted to get as far away from Lagos as possible. After a few weeks, the anger had receded, leaving only some sadness and a dull ache somewhere in my chest region whenever I thought about her. I returned to Lagos shortly after that.
When I arrived Lagos, I made some half-hearted attempts to find her but was stonewalled. I gave up, went back to work and tried to continue living as I knew how. But I also knew things would never be the way they
were. Not with me.
I kept the ring, placed it somewhere on my dresser and looked at it every morning. What made the pain so drawn out was mostly the fact that I had no idea what went wrong. Friends kept asking me what happened…all I could say was I don’t know. And though they mostly thought I was just trying to be vague, I had no idea.
And I hate loose ends.
I finished cutting up the pineapple and poured the cubes into a bowl before placing it in the refrigerator. As I poured myself a glass of cold water, while eying the half-full bottle of McDowell’s Premium Whisky, a series of knocks sounded at my door.
“Coming!” I shouted, shutting the fridge door and placing the cup on the sink before wiping my hands on a red towel. “Who is it?” I asked as I approached the doorway.
“It’s me,” a sing-song voice replied and I froze, almost losing my reasoning. No way; I thought. It couldn’t be!
It could not be. It should not be. I ran to the door and tore it open.
Of course it couldn’t have been. And it wasn’t.
It was Ayanfe, my landlady’s daughter bearing a message from her mother. I quietly closed the door and went back to my pineapple.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll find someone else to make me happy – someone else to peel pineapples and chill them before serving them to me. Or maybe that ‘someone else’ would prefer oranges…or might not even like fruits.
Maybe tomorrow. But today…
I mourn. The pineapples don’t taste as sweet as they used to.
SWEETNESS
chapter 14: skit iii: public service announcement
They say love is beautiful. Now I don’t know about that; really – but I do know it’s not as perfect, as easy & as squeaky clean as 90% of the movies wants us to believe. Love can be as ugly and as menacing as the lead character from that horror movie that scared you as a child.
Imagine with me.
A girl is in love with a guy who is absolutely determined to self-destruct. This guy abuses his health steadily. Prescription pills, alcohol, hard drugs, spirits – he’s determined to kill himself. It’s like he has a deal with himself; ‘I must die before I’m thirty’.