MY AIRPORT EXPERIENCE

There was something about the woman that made me look twice. I don't know if it was the glassy sadness in her eyes, or the way her shoulders dropped in defeat, or the deep dark circles under her eyes.
She was staring at three children playing around in the waiting lounge. Her eyes scanned the mother of the children, as though she was comparing herself with the woman, as though she was questioning God about something. The woman made me curious, there was so much sadness emanating from her.
She looked about forty years old. I could tell she was a very rich woman from the way she was dressed. She sat down, legs crossed, lips pouted, straight faced. She looked like a queen. She looked like someone who was trained for royalty, but still she looked incomplete. I didn't know if anyone noticed but I did, it was glaringly obvious that she had a problem. Though everyone at the waiting lounge in the airport looked like they had a problem, hers was different. Was it sickness I thought, was it marital problems. Then I saw her eyes lit when a baby on the mothers shoulder smiled at her. Her eyes lit for a second, for a second it seemed like she was a different person entirely. She smiled so heartily. Then her countenance changed, she remembered something and a heart breaking, mind drenching, brain bursting sadness filled her face. Her eyes glistened with tears. The sadness came back again but this time harder and stronger. I could see her body vibrate in pain. Her hands shook terribly. That moment I caught it, I knew it. I knew the woman was childless. I knew she was barren. I knew the reason why she looked incomplete. I knew the reason why she looked at the mother of the three children with so much envy. She had an emptiness inside her, that emptiness that can only be compared to losing someone you love, that emptiness that can kill you, that emptiness that you can't do anything about no matter how hard you try, that emptiness that won't go away, that emptiness that forces you to cry in public places, that emptiness that makes you give up on life, that emptiness that makes you question God, that emptiness that makes you feel alone.

I wondered how long she had wanted child. I wondered if she had a supportive husband. I wondered if her in-laws were on her neck, I even wondered if her husband married a second wife who has children for him.

I wanted to go talk to her, hug her and tell her everything would alright. But her flight was called, she was going to Abuja, I was going to lagos. As she stood up and walked towards the departure hall. My eyes lingered on her back.
A childless woman is a broken woman. Worse still a childless woman who knows she is the cause of her childlessness.

GOD'S TIME

'You are alright, perfectly okay; the both of you'. I have said this a hundred times, I just wish you can stop coming here, and wasting money on check ups'.
'Thank you doctor'. My husband said. He held my hands tightly. I sat there, stiff and motionless.
'Madam I know your plight' the doctor said. I looked at the frame standing on his table, and the one hung near his bookshelf. Three girls and a boy. He has four children and he is saying, he can understand my plight. I wanted to scream. I wanted to pull at my hair, and use his beautiful polka dotted tie to squeeze my neck. I wanted to push everything on his table to the floor, climb over the table, pull him forward with his tie, look into his eyes and say 'You don't bloody know my plight'. But I just sat there and listened to him say what he had been saying for the past ten years. 'Mr & Mrs Ezeugo you have to put this matter in God's hands'.
We walked to the car in silence, small beads of sweat form a half moon line on my husbands face. 'Kamara, everything would be fine' he said to me like he always did. I nodded a non chalant nod. I didn't want him to console me, it made everything worse.

We got to Rapuluchukwu's house in Lekki peninsula, she was having her childs naming ceremony; she already had five. I knew I was better that Rapulu; I had a husband who wasn't a drunkard and a woman beater. Yet, I still felt jealous of her. In our university days, she was notorious for her hot pants for men. She had five abortions that I know of, but she still has children. And me? Good girl, best student in my class, best student in law school, Harvard law graduate on scholarship, Virgin till 23 and i was barren, twelve years of marriage and nothing to show for it.
'Sweetheart', Rapulu said, as she threw her hands around me in such an ostentatious manner, it made me sick. I smiled, trying to match her fakeness. 'Congratulations my dear'.
'Thanks God o! He is the one that keeps blessing me'.
'Yes thank God' I said. She walked us into the big garden were the celebration was taking place. Sitted in one corner of the garden were her friends dressed glamorously, in red suede wrapper and gold blouse with matching gele. I walked fast, I didn't want them to see me, but Rapulu, with her big mouth asked me to sit with them.
'I would sit with my husband, you know how he hates being alone in public'.
'Larry, would survive without you for 30 minutes, and that corner is reserved for my friends'. I pinched Larry, hoping he would come to my rescue.
Finally, I went to sit with them. We exchanged pleasantries. I knew all Rapulu's friends because we all attend the same church. 'How is the family, How is business, How is your mother' they asked. I kept saying fine, I felt my mouth would get stuck saying it. I pulled a chair to sit down when Chiwendu, the leader of the catholic mothers association said 'Kamara what are you doing?'. It was difficult to comprehend the question. 'I am sitting of course'.
'You can't sit on this table',
'Why, if I may ask'.
'This table is for mothers'.
It was as though someone slapped me in the eyes.
'Rapulu said...' I stammered, then stopped. I could feel the tears building up. I pushed the chair back in place. I waited for a minute, for any of this church women, who gave large donations in church, who carried Rosary and Scapula everywhere they go, to say something that wasn't spiteful, but they all sat there like demons.
'It's not the way you see it, it's the rule'. One of them said, I didn't look up to see who. I felt humiliated and frustrated as I walked to the car. Larry followed me outside.
'Babe what is it' he said, as we got into the car. 'Nothing'.
'Don't tell me nothing, you are crying'.
'Rapulu just humiliated me, she knew that table was only for mothers, and she asked me to go and sit there.'
'Is that why you are crying?'
'Why won't I cry, goodness gracious, Larry, I am getting to forty, forty years and I don't have one single child. I can't even boast of an abnormal child. Nothing! I am just a piece of flesh and bone walking around.'
'Don't say that babe, you are the most intelligent person I know, the best goddamn lawyer in this country. You are awesome.'
'It's nothing without a child, I feel so empty, I am not awesome'.
'Gods time is the best.' He said. 'Let's get out of here.
We drove home in silence, in all the years of our marriage, I have never been able to understand the man I married, he was an enigma.
'What are you thinking about?' I asked him.
'How much I love you'.
'Funny you'.
'I am serious, babe, I don't think I could be with anyone else',
'I love you too baby'
'Can you do me a favor'
'What hon?'
Let's forget about this baby issue, please don't ever bring it up'.
'Hon, I try, I try so much.'
'You have to try harder babe, you have me, and God would give us a child when he deems fit'.
This wasn't normal, how could he always be like these, so undisturbed about my childlessness. He hadn't spoken to his mother in six years because she told him he had to choose, Me or her. And he choose me.
He was no longer the 30 years old Larry that swept me off my feet, he was a now a man, who was always thinking. I squeezed his hands, as we listened to the music playing on the car stereo ~ Luther Van dross, I'd rather ~
'I'd rather have bad times with you, than good times with someone else' He said to me.
For the first time that day I smiled a genuine smile. Fuck Rapulu, and her wife beater husband, and fuck those Stupid women. I had love.

SAVE ME

It had to be a dream. It couldn't be happening. 'Stay with me baby, just stay with me'. He was shaking uncontrollably, blood was gushing out of his head. 'Jesus please save my baby, don't let him die'. I wanted to cry but I couldn't, my heart was going to shut down from fear. Oh god, the blood, it was everywhere. I tried to move my legs, but I couldn't feel them. 'Mummy' he whispered. 'My head'.
'You would be fine baby, just hold on, just stay with me'. I could see blood dripping from his head. I feel dizzy, everything was falling apart right before me. I wanted to sleep, but I couldn't leave my son. I couldn't die and leave my baby. I wanted to hug him, but I couldn't feel my legs. I was really tired, my eyes were closing. I didn't want to sleep. 'Somebody help us'. I screamed. All I could hear were the chirping of birds, and the growling of animals. We were in the middle of nowhere bleeding to death. My damn phone, i stretched my hands to get them, and I slept off. All I could see was nothing, darkness.

NEW SERIES ALERT!

Hello peeps,
'I’m not saying I’m gonna change the world, but I guarantee that I will spark the brain that will change the world.'
    - Tupac Shakur

I want to say a big thank you to y'all for reading my blog *Shines teeth* *dishes out hugzz*. I am most grateful. It would definitely be frustrating if I write, and post the links on my facebook, twitter, bbm etc, and I stalk my page views and see that no one has even mistakenly opened it! Trust me, it would just kill me moral. But, reverse is the case here o! Even though you guys don't comment (plus I have fixed it, you can now comment with anonymous).
I want to inform you guys that as from tomorrow, I would be posting a new series. I would officially release the title tomorrow. I would be posting the stories bi- daily, and I would make it as short as possible so you can enjoy reading. Till tomorrow *dancing Skelewu*

BLOOD IS THICKER THAN BLOOD

He is your brother, not just your brother, your twin brother. You shared the same womb at the same time, suckled the same breast at the same time. Was it not plausible that you die at the same time, in the same space, breathing the same air - just the way you came into life. You feel like all the life in you has dried up at once. You feel like a tree in a dessert, because life holds no meaning for you. The only thing you believe in - Love. Has left you, because of you. Yes! He died because of you, and in some way, you think, you killed him. If only he had listened, a little longer, been a little more cautious, maybe he would be here, with you, in Somali, saving lifes.

It started with the 'Igbo', not the normal one, this one was darker, and stronger. Mayor called it 'Skunk', but you preferred calling it Igbo; Skunk made it sound dangerous. Mayor, your mother's younger brother, used to bring it home from work. All of you; you, Chimezie and Mayor, would go to the back of the house, and like ants gathering a cockcroach that has fallen on its back, three of you would gather around the Igbo. Chimezie, knew how to wrap it perfectly; He knew how to do everything perfectly. He would spread the rizzler - which was like a special kind of paper - pour a certain amount of Igbo in the middle, then he would wrap it, slowly and carefully, after which he would lick the end with his tongue, so that his spit would seal it. He used to say wrapping Igbo was an art, and you agreed with him, because you used to try, but you always failed to make the tip thin and pointy like Chimezie's. Mayor taught you and Chimezie how to do so many things aside smoking Igbo. He taught the both of you, how to drink kai kai. But, of all the things he taught you and Chimezie, the one you were good at was stealing. After smoking Igbo, the three of you would go to the market, were people swarmed in and out. Mayor, who somehow knew where people kept their purses or wallets, would tell you 'Chidozie, see that man, the one wearing blue. He has money in his back pocket, go and collect it. You know how I taught you'. You would nod obediently, because Chimezie had collected his own, and nothing happened to him. You would walk gently, fear gripping you legs. On getting to the target, you would take a deep breath, you would think of Chimezie the perfectionist, your twin brother who did everything better than you, then as always you would try to be better than him at this one. And, you were better than him, at picking peoples pockets. You always did a clean job. Using just two fingers, your middle and index finger, you could lift any kind of purse or wallet from any kind of pocket. At last, you too had found your art.

It wasn't too long before Mayor took you and Chimezie to work. His office was an uncompleted building at the towns outskirts. He had three co-workers, Jumbo, Yaya, and Sniper. The first day you met them, you almost bolted in fear; especially Sniper. He had too much of everything; he was too dark, too tall, too fat. His eyes were too big, and he was too scary. But it was Sniper that was by far the kindest. You remember that day you were scared, and couldn't pull the trigger on a policeman that was chasing you. That was the day they took you and Chimezie on your first mission. Sniper did it for you, he shot the man in the back of his head with his own gun. Even though the mission was successful, when you got to the office that night, Mayor was furious. He had given you a hard slap at the back of your head, and said 'So after spending my time teaching you how to pull a trigger, you couldn't shoot an ordinary policeman. So you want to die abi. I have told you several times, this game is for the fit, not for babies'.
You had cried that night. You cried because of that policeman. You cried because you had disappointed your Uncle Mayor. Chimezie crawled next to you and hugged you. He made you a promise, he said 'If you don't want to kill, I will kill for you. Whenever we go on a mission, and you have to shoot, but can't shoot. Just call my name, and I will come and save you'.
You never needed to call him on any mission, because as time flew past, you became stronger at heart. On missions, you would shoot anyone that threatened your life. You and Chimezie, became very rich. The biggest and most notorious armed robbers in Enugu. Sniper retired, so did Uncle Mayor, Yaya and Jumbo. You and Chimezie had your own gang - Fidelis, your cousin joined the both of you. Nnamdi, your childhood friend was also initiated. You and Chimezie built a house for your mother in the village. You decided never to get married. You had Chimezie, his love was enough for you. Moreover, a woman would ask questions. You hated questions you knew you couldn't answer.

Your life was moving in the best way possible, until you went on that mission that changed your life. It was the mission that was supposed to give you the money you had always wanted. You planned as usual, smoked plenty of Igbo. Your guns were in the right places, your team was on top of their game. You hugged Chimezie, as usual. If you had known, it would be the last hug, You would have held on longer. But, you didn't.
It was mid afternoon when you entered the bank, walking casually. Your guns were neatly stacked in your pocket. The banks metal detector couldn't detect your guns, because Nnamdi had paid the bank a visit the previous night. Chimezie strolled in next, then Nnamdi, then Fide. You said a silent prayer, that you didn't have to kill anyone. You entered inside the bathroom, and wore your mask, so did Chimezie, Nnamdi and Fide. Everything went as planned. You waved your gun in the air and calmly told everyone to lie down and keep quiet, they obeyed. You saw some shivering, some peeing on their clothes. You had outgrown feeling pity for your victims. Nnamdi and Fidelis, got busy throwing money inside the big 'Ghana must go' bag, while you and Chimezie, made sure no one moved. It took 30 minites to get everything done. It was when you were set to go that you heard the police siren, they were bursting in on you and your gang. You were scared. There was a back door, all of you exited through the back door. The police sighted you, and they began to chase you, you ran inside the car and Chimezie sped off. Two police vehicles were behind, you wished he would drive faster, but you didn't say, so he wouldn't panic. You could hear your heart drum out of your chest. Chimezie said he had to park the car, because there was a check point in front, and he was sure the police had alerted them. Nnamdi was crying, Fidelis was blinking hard and fast - the way he behaves when he craves Igbo. You all jumped down from the car, and ran inside a thick bush. The police was closing in on you, you didn't stop running. Your legs vibrated in pain. You heard gunshots but you kept running, there was no one in sight, and you didn't care because you were scared. Then, you heard a voice, calling out for Chimezie, you didn't know if it was Nnamdi's or Fide's, fear had contorted the voice. A few seconds later you hear a gunshot, and you hear Chimezie, screaming in pain. You heard him call your name, then you heard another gun shot. And, in your heart, in your bones, in the blood that flows through your veins you knew that Chimezie was gone. The air became stifling, the clouds became darker, and you felt the trees crashing in on you. You fell to your feet and began to cry, because you knew that Chimezie ran back to save you. You knew that he thought you were the one calling out to him, and like he promised years ago 'Just call my name and I will come and save you'. He did come to save you, only that it wasn't you, It was Fide that the police had caught, it was Fide that called out to Chimezie, and he ran back thinking, that once more you were 15, and needed him to save you, thinking that he couldn't leave his brother to die. In the blink of an eye, Chimezie left you...in a world that no longer made sense to you.

Now, you are in Somali, spending all the money you stole on sick children. You will never hold a gun again, and for Chimezie's sake, for God to accept his soul in heaven, you will travel round Africa, helping sick and impoverished children. And, every night before you sleep, you hear his voice, that one last time he called your name and you wish you had died with him.

YOU CAN'T KNOW WHERE IT PINCHES EXCEPT YOU HAVE WORN THE SHOES

I grew up in a family were we always had tea and bread for breakfast. My mother always bought novels and books for me and my siblings and forced us to read them. As a child, myself and my siblings always waited for my daddy at the door post every evening, knowing that the first person to take his bag, would always get the promo meat roll (gala) inside the nylon of the loaf of bread, along with the compulsory cheese balls biscuit, and yogurt ice cream he always bought for all four of us on his way back home from work. We would lick the ice cream sluggishly, looking at each other from the side of our eyes to know whose ice cream would finish first. In the home I grew in, we ate rice and stew with chicken every sunday and on Christmases, Easters and birthdays we had additional salad and Vita malt to go with it. In the home I grew in, going to church was a culture, I attended block rosary every evening and knelt down with bare knees on the concrete floor in penance for my childish sins which to me then were very terrible. I received Holy communion regularly and went for confession every month even though I had nothing to confess. My mother taught me to love God. My father taught me to love myself. My parents were far from rich but I had a comfortable childhood with rich memories.
Even though things have changed. Even though I have experienced so much more since then which had changed me, the days of my childhood are still the days I relish whenever I want to get in contact with my real person. The days of pepper snacks and speedy biscuits, the days of Zobo and kunu drinks, the days of baba dudu sweet.
My childhood days formed me, they made me who I am. It is a vital part of my life. It is part of my lifes story. Everybody has a story. I turned out the way I am because of how I was raised, because of the people around me, because of my parents, because of the wonderful experiences I have had, which I hold on very tightly to. Some people aren't as fortunate as I am, Some people have worst childhood days. Some people don't know the meaning of family because they have never had one. Some people have lived all their lives homeless and hopeless, sleeping under bridges at night and wandering during the day. Some people have never had anyone buy them biscuit and ice cream. Some people have never read a single book because no one bought or encouraged them to read. Some people have never seen the four walls of a school because they couldn't afford books talk little of tuition fees. Some people have been sick all their lives. Some people have never been told about God. Some girls were raped and abused as children. Some boys were taught as children, that the way to survive in life was to steal and kill, by people who their childish heart trusted. Some people have watched their siblings and parents die because of poverty. Some people have gone days without food begging on the streets with tattered clothes and lice filled hair.
Everyone has a story. A story that makes them who they are. A story that has moulded them into what they are. A story that broke or made them.
Never Judge a person without knowing his or her story. Never say you are better than someone if you haven't been in his or her shoes. It's only the one who is wearing or has worn the shoes that knows where it pinches. Never look down on people. Never conclude about people, because behind every man or woman there is a story. A story that might shock you.

THE BRIDE

'It is your marriage but their wedding' My aunty Nene told me when she noticed my deep frown. I gave a quick nod and busied myself with blowing air into balloons. 'Kpa', the balloon bursted and it jolted me into reality.
'You do that a lot' she said 'When you are angry you just shut everything out. Do you think that is a good strategy? You should learn to tell people how they make you feel'.
'You want to know how you make me feel? Mad! Just let me be' I exploded.
I stumped out of the room with the busted balloon in my hands looking like my broken heart.

My head was a mess. I lay on my bed, the smell of my pillow brought back childhood memories. How could I not have been grateful then. When I had nothing to worry about except what socks to wear to school, and what type of hairstyle to wear. The door creaked, my mother stepped in smelling like fried beef.
'Can I come in' she asked
'You are already in'.
She came in and sat at the edge of the bed. Her hair tie sat loosely on her head. It so badly irritated me. I never could understand why one could not properly tie a scarf and would rather prefer it sitting on the head like a frog about to hop.
'What is the problem? Why were you screaming at Aunty Nene'
I thought of several answers to give. I tried to figure out the shortest and simplest answer, one that won't lead to my mother's usual series of advice and talk on how a decent girl behaves.
'I didn't mean to shout on her, but you know how she likes making a big deal out of nothing'.
'That has not answered my question yet'
'She annoys me, with this useless it is your marriage but their wedding. Who is their. What nonsense is that? You know what annoys me more? I know where she got that line from. I saw the movie with her. She just keeps saying that to justify the fact that she is trying to make my wedding hers. She wants the theme color to be gold. She thinks it's better I do a buffet serving. She wants the cake to have the shape of a Palm wine keg? She is just too nosy'
'Why do you hold so much anger inside? You shut people out when you are angry. It's hard for you to say how you feel and when you let it out. It's shocking for the other party'.
Tears streamed down my eyes as the true reason for my frustration clicked. Aunty Nene wasn't my problem. The poor woman was just excited about the wedding.
'I don't want to marry him' I said in a quivering voice. 'He is a good man but I don't love him, I don't even like him' I cried, burying my face in my pillow. My mother looked askance at me. ' I don't understand you at all. Do you know you are the one that brought him to this house? What exactly is your problem?'
She spread her palms apart and began a long harangue. I heard her of course, but I refused to listen. I knew she went on about how I would later come to love him. She would tell me that I should be happy with the fact that I was going to get married at this age. Then she would refer to my cousins who were striking menopause, and are still unmarried. She would end the speech with a low tone, wide eyes, her hands on her hips, and her head stretched forward, saying 'Time is never on a woman's side. You have to grab the chance of marriage while you still can'.
When she left I heaved a sigh of relief. As though the devil just wanted to frustrate me further, my phone rang.
'Hello'. I said
'Baby how are you'
'I am fine'
'This one you are sounding like these, hope there is no problem' he asked.
'I am fine' I repeated 'Could you call me back am in the middle of something'
'Okay my baby, I would call you when I get home from the market'.
I dropped the call before he could say goodbye. How can I marry someone I can't even have a conversation with. Someone who pronounces 'picture' as 'pishur'. Someone who carries a bag around his neck like a fish seller. What was I even thinking? What? How did I allow it get to this level. The plan was to just indulge him for a while, now, I was two days away from wedding him. 'Jesus help me' I said almost bursting out in tears. Even money could not blind me this time. I can't spend the rest of my life with him. I might just kill him in his sleep. I needed a plan.

It is my wedding morning, my phone is buzzing continuously, my friends are everywhere in the room, caking their faces like they were the ones wedding; selfish idiots. It's time to execute my plan. Ralph, my supposed to be husband is in the opposite room dressing up. My mother walks in with a big smile on her face, she hugs me ostentatiously. Her is gele almost touching the roof, her face looks like a make up accident. 'You look beautiful' she says to me. I smile, I try to pity her, but I can't, she too is selfish, all of them are. I send a text message. In three minutes my plan would have been executed. 'Excuse me' I say to the hair stylist. Nobody notices me walk out of the room to the car park. I sight him, he is in a 2.2 Toyota camry. I enter the car and he speeds off. I am a runaway bride.