AN EXCERPT FROM MY NOVEL

"Godwin" I called.

"Yes Aunty", he replied. I heard his fat feet stomping on the floor as he rushed into the room breathing heavily, and smiling like an excited monkey.

"How many times have I told you to stop running when I call you", I yelled at him. "Do you want to fall and break the floor with this your fat body".

He said "No", bending his head downwards and tapping his foot. The mere fact that he was fat annoyed me. That he was happy annoyed me the more.

"Did I not tell you to sweep this room", I asked, using my eyes to search for the cane I bought specially for him.

"I swept it, Aunty", he said. He was shaking, he knew what was coming next. He knew that I would flog him till he urinates on his shorts.

"You swept what? Is that not sand I am seeing near that cupboard? Is that not a biscuit wrapper close to the door?"
He was following my gaze, looking for sand and biscuit wrapper, but he couldn't see any, because there was none. And I wasn't seeing things, I just needed a reason to flog the fat and happy boy, for being fat and happy.

"I am sorry, Aunty", he said. I gave him a wicked look.

It was easier to take my frustration out on him. It helped me calm down. Mummy just looked at me, she never said anything about anything since she got sick. She only talked when she wanted water, or food, or she needed to see somebody. Her sharp voice had become something of a distant world. It was too long ago I heard it that I had stopped seeing her in that light. I could only think of her as what she was now; sick, forgetful, unable to talk.

"Go away", I said to Anthony. I watched his back, at his big buttocks that shaked as if they were packed with water.

Mukasolu walked in, and stood akimbo "Aunty, Tony is crying".

I opened my mouth to talk, but the words couldn't just come out.
She sat on a stool near the window, her long silk night gown sweeping the floor. She never took me seriously, she was never scared of me like her other sibling. It was as if she understood me, as if she could read into my silence, as if we communicated when we hardly did.

"When are we leaving here" she asked.

" The day after tomorrow".

"I don't like this village", she said.

"Me too", I told her.

"I don't like your daddy too, the way he looks at big mama", she said.

"Me too", she replied.

"I don't like men", she said, and I looked at her with my strength, with my whole soul, and she looked at me back, as if saying it was not enough, and she needed to express it, show me how much she hated men, maybe by killing a man. I remembered the day in the hospital when I asked the doctor, if she would ever forget that she was raped by her father, and he said No.

"Do you remember anything about your dad", I asked her.

"Yes", she said, looking out of the window. I could see her nipples from her silk night gown. She had large nipples, and I imagined that no man or child would ever suck it.

"I know that he was the reason my mother killed herself". She said.

"Do you think of your mother often", I asked.

"Everyday, morning and night", she said.

Muka was a defiant girl, filled with so much negative energy like me, only that she was stronger than me. While I looked for little, happy, fat boys to flog and scream at, she had defined herself as a person who hates men. It made sense to me. I didn't make sense to me. I couldn't say I hated men since I had sex with them for money. I couldn't say I hated my father since I liked to watch him talk, and I used to close my eyes and day dream about hugging him. I was incapable of strong emotions, of having principles.

"I also know what he did to me, when I was little", she said.

"Who", I asked before I realized she was talking about her dad. "What did he do to you?"

She stood up from the stool and sat close to mummy.

"It's time for her to take her drugs", she said.

"I have given her".

She was fourteen now, but she looked seventeen. She was beautiful, not in the way Aunty Nene or Ujunwa was beautiful. Hers was a more striking beauty, sharper, wicked. She didn't have large behinds like them. She had small firm buttocks. I wanted to feel them. I wanted to know if they were as hard as they looked.

"I am going outside". She left.

Mummy was snoring, her drugs usually knocks her off. She had been ill for two years. She hid it for a while. We all thought she was just quiet because of all of her life troubles, then we thought she was getting old. Until the day she fell and hit her head on the wooden handle of our sitting room sofa and the doctor said that she had high blood pressure and chronic depression. It was during the period that Janet died, and Bobo disappeared. The period when I began prostituting. Because Chidalu was in America - she travelled on holidays with one of her senator boyfriends - and Bobo was no where to be found. I had to leave school to take care of mummy, and Godwin, and Tony. I also had to fend for them. So I slept with more men than I could count in six months. In the most surprising way the money men gave me never seemed to be enough. It left as fast as it came. Mummy's health deteriorated by the day and I had to buy her more drugs. It happened so fast that I blended into the life I normally hear that people lived, a life that I never imagined would be mine.

We had been in the village for five days, Mama had finally died. She died in her sleep, peacefully. I hadn't want to come for the burial ceremony but Mummy had insisted that we came. I gave in, because a part of me longed to see daddy and I knew he would come.

For the five days I spent in the Village, moving around in the most unnoticeable way, I didn't for once speak to daddy. Not for lack of what to say to him, because I had so much to say, and lots of tears loaded in my sockets to cry. But, because he didn't speak to us - me, mummy, Muka or the boys. He didn't ask about Chidalu or Bobo. He didn't even look at us. And I knew that they - his village people - had done to him what they did to mummy's daddy. It had to be Juju. It had to be the strongest native doctor in the whole of the world that cooked the portion my daddy drank. That was how I could explain that he seeing us, feeling us, but he was not looking at us.

We arrived Lagos, in the evening, at about 6.30. My legs were aching, my back was heavy like I had balanced three bags of cement on it all day. Mummy slept through out the journey, that was what she did all day - sleep.

When we had settled in, and I had tucked mummy in her bed. I sent Muka, to buy moi - moi for dinner, while I had my bath and dressed up. I had to go and see one of the men I slept with. I had cut them down to five. I knew somewhere deep down it won't matter if they were five or ten, that it won't make me a better person, but I just did it anyway. I needed any little dignity I could scrape for myself. The man I was going to see was one of Ujunwa's contact. She had given me his number the day I called and begged her to send me some money, promising to pay her back. " Call him, tell him you are from me. This is my personal person. My biggest oga. I am doing this because it is you". She said.

"Thank you", I said with anger and shame and gratitude.

He was a short man, and immediately I saw him I knew he won't be an easy one. Short men tend to have big penis. He gave me 60,000 naira after our first meeting. As I held the wad of notes in my hands. I felt tears in my eyes that I couldn't hold back because of the stinging pain in between my legs.

"I am going to church" I told Muka, as I closed the door, and walked into the darkness of the night.

One thing I loved about Lagos was the night life. It was never too late to go anywhere. I boarded a taxi to Festac, and stopped at Golden Hotel. The receptionist was a slim girl with eyes as big as an owls. She was wearing a hair net, and her head sprang up from the table as I walked in. She was new, I could tell from the way she said "Sir, Ok Sir, Yes Sir", on the intercom as she informed him he had a guest.

I particularly liked Golden hotel because of the way the waiters didn't look at me. The way they made sure they didn't notice me. I felt less shame in the morning when I had to walk out of the hotel to board a taxi.

"Come to the bed" he said, as he lit a cigarette. I liked him because he didn't like to waste his time. He had no patience for small talks or lies. He didn't try to make me feel more important than I was. After sex, when he gave me money, he didn't say "Use it for transport", as if I could possibly use such huge amount of money for transport. He just paid me for my services without trying to pacify me after devouring my body. Having sex with him was a marathon. He could go on for one hour, of course stopping at interval, but that day he didn't last long. I wanted to ask what the problem was, but I couldn't because I didn't know how he would take it. We never discussed about things, anything at all. After sex we just slept or lie in silence, thinking. It was why he liked me, he said once, that he didn't have to try hard, he could just not do anything. I felt insulted, but then, it really does come with the business. He gave me a 40,000. That was his usual amount, I was grateful because I felt that he might give me half the money since he didn't stay long. I went into the bathroom. Everything had a mirror, even the bath tub. I saw my face everywhere. A face that didn't feel like mine, I figured if a person changed, inwardly, there should be outward change, may be a huge scar, or an entirely different face to remind me that I was no longer who I used to be. He was on the phone, when I came out all cleaned up. His short legs sticking out of the duvet that covered his body.

"I will drop you", he bounced off the bed.

"Ok", I said. I still couldn't ask him why, and he didn't explain why too. I had never felt such helplessness, such boundary between me and any human being. I slipped into my jeans, and wore my shirt, too tired to re apply my make up,

"I am done", I said to him.

We drove past Abulado busstop in silence, cold silence. I felt uneasy, sitting beside him as he drove, a closeness that shouldn't be. He would have called a cab, or told me to find my way. But he was driving me home at night, he wasn't heading my direction, or planning to see someone who stays close to my house, he really was driving me home.

He parked in front of house. "Do you know why I drove you here", he asked, and continued before I could answer "I needed to be outside, this life can really be frustrating".

I didn't know life could be frustrating for rich folks. I waited for him to spill and say what was bugging him. But he didn't, he pressed the unlock button of the car, a signal that I should get down. I hesitated a bit. I wanted to hear his problem, or tell him mine, or even stay with him. Anything that could make him feel better, but frustratingly I couldn't. I wasn't paid to care for him, he might not even acknowledge my concern, or believe that I truly cared. I could feel his sorrow as I stepped down from the car, but as I opened my door, and stepped into my house, I could feel myself dropping his sorrow at my door step and picking up mine. We all had our demons.

THE INNOCENT RAPIST AND THE SHAMELESS RAPED.

To scale through life fairly easily we need a certain amount of common sense. In other words, if you have less common sense than you should, you would have a damn difficult time existing.

Someone told me this story. The sound of his voice and his reason for telling me were really terrifying. Anyway this is it:

A girl went to visit a boy that she once had sex with. They went out for dinner, then retired to the boy's apartment. They kissed, he fondled her breast, sucked her nipples, and licked her neck. She was enjoying it, he was enjoying it, until he wanted to penetrate and she said she didn't want to have sex. He was erect, fully erect. He decided that it was wicked and unreasonable of her to work him up to that level then leave his junior standing like a soldier. At first he pleaded, but she refused. She didn't want to have sex with him. Then he forced her. He held her neck tight and penetrated her. Her pleas, cries, and squirms weren't getting to him. The only thing he wanted at that moment was to jerk off.
This story was told to me by a friend, a boy of course. He asked me, if the boy was wrong to rape her after she tempted him that way. I wouldn't really say he asked me, rather, he complained that the girl, "way-ward" girl had the temerity to cuss out the boy for forcing her to have sex. "That is not rape naa", he said "what do you expect a full blown man to do with that kind of erection. She shouldn't have started it at all if she knew she won't straff".
I was speechless at first, trying to organise my thoughts, and restrain myself from bursting out in tears at his utter lack of common sense.
This is a serious issue. Boys nowadays do not know the meaning of rape:
According to Wikipedia: Rape is a type of sexual assault usually involving sexual intercourse, which is initiated by one or more persons against another person without that person's consent. The act may be carried out by physical force, coercion, abuse of authority or against a person who is incapable of valid consent, such as one who is unconscious, incapacitated, or below the legal age of consent
According to FBI: The carnal knowledge of a female forcibly and against her will." to "The penetration, no matter how slight, of the vagina or anus with any body part or object, or oral penetration by a sex organ of another person, without the consent of the victim."
Now, that is the definition of rape. Any kind of penetration, whether the girl "caused" it by allowing him to kiss her or touch her.
It's really sad when I see boys act like dogs. It sends chills down my spine because they act with conviction. They actually feel that they are right! How do you justify forcing yourself on a woman. If she trusts you enough to bare it all for you, you should respect her enough to leave her alone when she asks. You might think she is a whore, or a teaser or whatever reason you try to give yourself while you take advantage of her, but remember that you are worse.
And don't tell me that girls too should not sleep over at a boys place if they know they don't want to have anything to do with the boy. I have one question. One simple question: Are these boys lower animals. Can't they control their libido.
It's really silly that we give girls this useless advice. Why can't boys be taught to control themselves. To respect themselves. Why do we keep blaming girls?

A woman whose husband is sleeping with her housemaid, will beat the maid to death while the useless husband who normally is older than the maid will get a tap in the back, because men are "like that", they are "naturally promiscuous".

"The man who raped a girl is innocent, and the girl who the man raped is shameless. After all she tempted the man, she lured him. After all what is she looking for in his house, or hotel room. Why did she give him green light. If she knew she doesn't want why did she collect his money, or food, or blackberry phone". This is the argument that some people make, and this is when common sense comes in. Did she force you to buy things for her? Was it not of your own volition? Didn't you have the right to say Yes or No? Did she tell you she is a prostitute that collects food and money for sex? And the most important question: Don't you have self control?

Anytime we blame a girl for getting raped, we are simply saying that men are animals of the lowest order, with no sense of reasoning, control, morals, conduct, and sympathy.

Five minutes of pleasure can't be compared to the years of torture women go through after being raped. She will keep thinking of you with hate, anger, hate. Is it worth it?
How is it even possible that one can enjoy having sex with someone who is in pain and agony?
I can't even advice girls who have been raped to speak out in this country where we lack forces that should protect us. Of course at the end of the day they will be called shameless for allowing themselves to get raped. Most times your life is even easier if you act like nothing happened. If you leave everything to karma. Because even the people you hold in high regards will blame you, your parents, your friends and even you will blame you.

Like they say; common sense is not common at all. There are some people that don't have it, and it is our responsibility to teach them some things. Rape under any circumstance is a crime. If common sense can't make you see the evil in it then it's really sad.
We should begin to raise our boys right. Teach them to respect all women, if not the big kind of respect, the one they call "respect for human dignity".

WHY?

"It's not the same, this is diffferent"

"What's different". She was shaking uncontrollably.

"I love her, Uju. This is not a fling. This is real love."

She stared at him in the eyes. It was almost impossible to recognise this person.

"What are you saying", she collapsed on the bed. "Do you understand anything you are saying at all".

"Uju, you have to calm down. Let's make a plan. Telling you this hurts real bad already. Please don't make this any harder".

The temperature of the room climbed. She felt as though she was freezing. She wanted him to stop talking. If only everything could pause, and be still, and not move.

"What should I do"

"I will take care of you, I will give you money, you can have the house. Please let me follow my heart". He said.

"Ifeanyi, you want to throw away all these. You want to give up ten years for a fling, for lust".

"It's not lust", he retorted.

"It's lust" she screamed "it's lust, it's obsession. You don't love her. She is twenty three, would you love her when she is old, without firm breasts and glowing skin. Would you love her after three kids. Would you love her when there is no good sex".

She was shaking badly.

"I am your stability", she continued "your rock. I am reliable. I loved you when you had no money for cars or beautiful houses. I love you for you. She doesn't".
He held her hands, "I loved you too, Uju. I loved you, but I no longer love you. All I feel for you is affection, but not love".

Pain sliced through her heart. She felt dehydrated, like every drop of liquid in body was congealing, turning ice cold.


"Affection?"

He threw the wardrobe open, grabbed his bag from the corner of the bed, and started throwing his clothes into the bag.

"I will be staying in a hotel for now, till you are calm enough to discuss everything".
She had no words for him. She was speechless. It was unbelievable. One minute her life was perfect. She was cooking, like she did every other afternoon, and the next minute, her husband, the only man she thought she knew, was standing in front of her, looking into her eyes, the eyes he so often said he loved more than anything, and telling her he didn't love her anymore. Instead he loved a girl she was over eleven years older than.
" I would call you", he said as he zipped his bag.
She grabbed the du ve and wrapped it around her body, as she rocked herself.
"I am sorry Uju".
He banged the door, and she felt a jab in her heart. Her breathing was seizing. How could he do this to her. Leave her, like that, with no warning. How did she not see this coming. How did she not read any meaning to his late night calls, his frequent travels, the way he smiled at nothing while looking lost. How didn't she notice that he was taking extra time preening in front of the mirror.
She couldn't cry, rather she was was choking, like a big bone was lodged in her throat.
"God why me? Why me?' were the only words her mouth could form. "Why me?"

Women, Sexuality, Men; The truth we hate to think of.

I would love to borrow this long quote:

"We teach girls to shrink themselves
To make themselves smaller
We say to girls
'You can have ambition
But not too much
You should aim to be successful
But not too successful
Otherwise you will threaten the man'
Because I am female
I am expected to aspire to marriage
I am expected to make my life choices
Always keeping in mind that
Marriage is the most important
Now marriage can be a source of
Joy and love and mutual support
But why do we teach to aspire to marriage
And we don't teach boys the same?
We raise girls to each other as competitors
Not for jobs or for accomplishments
Which I think can be a good thing
But for the attention of men
We teach girls that they cannot be sexual beings
In the way that boys are" - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie


This brings us to the topic; women and their need for male approval.

90% of the time a woman stays in the mirror to preen and look good. She is trying to impress one or several men. She wants to look good so that she can be admired (most of the time in a sexual manner). This isn't something a girl sits down to decide. Somehow it's like that.
Most women expect to be treated differently because they are women. They want to buy favours by batting their eyelashes. They want preferential treatment because they are fine. And, the day a girl would take her time, dress up and apply all the make up she can lay her hands on, and no boy walks up to her and asks for her number, or nobody even admires her, there would be trouble.


So many times a girls self confidence can be measured by the amount of male attention she gets. A girl who isn't naturally too pretty tends to suffer from serious inferiority complex, and one who is fine even though she is dumb, is all puffy and proud because boys tell her she is fine (as if she is God that created herself).





It is the truth that our brain shuts down to. That women have been objectified as sexual beings. No matter how successful you are, there is that heaviness in your back that brings you down to just being a woman, nothing else.
Especially in Nigeria, men here are quick to say 'she is a woman'. That alone is enough to excuse or trivialise anything you do.

There isn't much we can do about this situation. If a woman decides to find her own voice, she is doing an abominable thing. You must come under the canopy of a man. It's what it is. That's the way it has always been. But is that the way it should be?

We are first human beings, before we are women. Before you think 'Ha! She is a woman'. First treat her like a human being. Don't go to a table surrounded by guys, and shake hands with all of them and ignore the lady sitting there too. Because she is a lady or because something in your screwed up head doesn't think she also deserves a hand shake . Not only is it improper, it is disgusting and galling.


Men and women have different roles to play. And for all these roles, God has given us tools to handle them. If a woman tries to play the role of a man, it becomes irritating and vice versa.


Men and women are equal. We were created equal, but just differently. For the people that think that a man is the head of the house. Remember, the head rarely controls the heart.

WE NEED A PIECE OF MADIBA

"Heal the world, make it a better place, for you and for me and the entire human race" - Michael Jackson

When the lights go off, and the curtains are closed. When you are asked off the stage, and your name wiped off the cast. What will you have achieved? What will you leave behind? Will you die with a smile on your face or a frown? Will people shake their heads and move on. Or will they cry and wish you to come back. Will you have wasted God's time and yours?
Am guessing your parents will cry and your siblings. Maybe few of your friends will update their bbm and twitter and write "What a shock! Rip my dear friend. Life is cruel". But what else?
These were the questions I asked myself during Madiba's ten days memorial ceremony. And I think everyone should do the same.
Life is empty, worthless, meaningless, pointless without Love. It was the love Madiba had for his fellow South Africans that made him fight tooth and nail for their freedom. Madiba did a superhuman thing. It would have been impossible for apartheid to end without massive bloodshed if not for Madiba (look at the lifes we lost during the Biafran war which was fought between us Nigerians, imagine if we were fighting people who weren't Nigerians. People who came into our country, stripped us off our rights, our dignity, and our sense of belonging? Trust me it would have been way bloody).
But Madiba in his supernatural way ended the apartheid. Freed so many South Africans from the shackles of slavery. Madiba gave hope to others selflessly. He fought for humanity, and he was ready to die.
Madiba was humble. He was principled. He was a good man, who believed in forgiveness and love.
A man that spent 27 years of his life in prison for what he believed in. And in those 27 years never was there a time that he decided to bend. He knew what he wanted for his people and he achieved it.
We should all emulate Madiba. Let's begin with our personal lifes. We should rise above jealousy, anger, hate. We should fight for what is right and stand by it at all times. We should always ask: Is true? Is it fair? Will it be beneficial to all concerned? Will it bring goodwill and better friendship?
We should seek at all times to be like Madiba. Rise up against injustice. Ditch the "chop alone" mentality. Don't be useful to yourself and family alone. Reach out to people. If you can't give money, give a smile, give a word of encouragement or even a listening ear. Let selfless love flow out of you. It takes practice, hard work, and determination. Just today, do a little something for someone you don't know. If we can have a piece of Madiba in Nigeria then we are on a short walk to happiness.

HOW SHE DIED

Her gaze lingered on the back of his shirt as he strolled to the door. Her hands grabbed the sofa seat desperately. She knew he was going to see that woman, even though he lied that he was going to see his friends. She knew because of the way he took more time preening in front of the mirror. She felt a pang of dizziness as he banged the door, and she imagined what he was going to do with that woman. The thought of it made her cringe. She tried to wipe it off her mind, but the image of his mouth sucking on another woman's nipples stared at her.
A text came into her phone 'Don't wait up for me, I'll be late'.
A reconfirmation of the evil he was going to commit.

His arrogance, his domineering nature was what attracted her to him in the first place. That he could make up for her weakness was the magnet that pulled her towards him. Now, that grip he had on her felt more painful than ever. It made her feel worn out.

She walked painfully to the bedroom, and stood in front of the mirror. Her hair was a mess. She ran her hand through it. The bones on her neck popped out. She was growing thinner and thinner by the day. She knew it was the drugs. She went under her brown animal skin duvet, and cuddled her pillow. She was going to sleep alone again. The pillow soaked the tears that pumped out from her big brown eyes. She slept, and dreamt of an old bearded man trying to choke her.
                             * * * * * * *

She stared at the cold eba on the dinning table. She stared at the wall clock that hung near the television stand. She stared at the door. Then her vision became clouded with tears. She lay down on the sofa, and kept staring at the door till sleep came. The old bearded man appeared, and once again tried to choke her to death, and once again she was sleeping alone, and her husband was with another woman.
                             * * * * * * *

He knotted his tie, and wore his suit jacket.

'Baby' he called 'am ready to go'.

She stood up from the chair, and walked to meet him.

'Take your medications alright, and don't wait up for me I might be in a late meeting today'.

She nodded numbly. The way he lied, with ease and charm. He pressed a kiss on her cheek, as he grabbed his suit case, and headed to the door.

'Sweetheart heart get me the keys, the door is locked' he said, turning the door knob.

'Ok' she took slow steps to kitchen.

She came back to the sitting room, with the keys on her left hands, and a big gun and rope on her other hand.

'What the fuck are you doing with a gun' he screamed.

She pointed it at him.

'Be calm, I have got enough bullets to blow off your brains. Just do as I say'.

'Eleanor, calm down and put the gun down. Shit! For chriss sake, that stuff is dangerous shit'.

'I am the one with the gun, and I am the one giving the orders. And, I swear with what is left of my womb David, I would blow off your brains and damn the consequences.'

He was sweating all over. His expressions changed sharply; anger, sadness.

'Sit down' she told him pointing at the chair on the dining, with her gun.

'Eleanor you need to take your drugs. Goodness! I have been too busy to look after you. I am sorry'.
He was trying to charm her, to deceive her.

'Just shut up and sit down'. She said in a low voice. She felt weak from her head to her toe. She always felt weak.

He sat down on the chair.

'Don't move' she said, as she walked close to him and stuck the syringe in his arm. He gave a piercing sound, then she watched as he batted his eyelids. He was losing consciousness as she was just gaining hers.
                         * * * * * * *

He woke up. He tried to move his arms but they were stuck.

'No need to struggle' she said.

She was sitting directly in front of him, waving the gun in his face.

'Why are you doing this' he asked, almost choking on his words.

'Because I want to spend time with you' she replied.

'This is no way to spend time with me. Tieing me up, and waving a gun in my face'. He queried.

'I tried to get your attention but you were to busy with the other woman'

'Baby, there is no other woman'

'Shut up'. She screamed.

The lie infuriated her. Such a bastard. She wanted to dive a knife into his eyeball. She picked up one of the knifes she had lain beside her.

'I'd chop your fingers David if you don't tell me her name.

'There is no woman. I swear'. He was lying again.

Anger gripped her. She walked to his back, where his hands stuck out of the rope. She held out his index finger and started cutting.

'Fuck. Shit. Bloody Joe.' He screamed. 'Stop. Her name is Amaka. Just stop please'. He was crying loud.

She stopped, and watched as his blood dripped to the floor. It gave her sinister satisfaction.

'Ok'. She walked back to her sit.

'You deserve every bad thing I can think of doing to you.' Tears rolled down her eyes. The cold was getting the most of her. The pain was eating into her. Cancer was eating up every part of her.

'I am dying. You know I am dying and you throw it in my face. You know I have just few days to live. Yet you can't even wait for me to die before you start cassanoving.' She coughs. A wave of dizziness hits her. She gulps water from a can.

'I am sorry babe'

'What exactly are you sorry about? You have an ice cold heart David. You are so heartless you deserve to die. Don't call me babe again'.

She was shaking, everywhere felt cold. In the past month, her sickness had really kicked in. The sickness that would claim her life. She looked at him, and tears filled her eyes because she had wasted her life loving him. Loving a man that hated her so much he couldn't wait for her to die. Everything in her life, had to be different. Why did she keep loving people that wanted nothing to do with her; her husband, her father, her mother.

Now, she was going to die alone. With no one to hold her hands, and stroke her hair.
She stood up from the chair, and walked out of the sitting room. She locked the door behind her, and took slow and painful steps up to her room. She lay down, and covered herself with a duvet. Shutting his screams that pierced through her walls. At least when she dies, on her bed, he would be in the same house with her, thinking about her. No more drugs to stop the illness from taking her life. She had decided to die. There was no use waiting for a few days or weeks. Nobody wanted her. There was nobody to live for. She was ready to leave forever.

MARRIAGE: THE A-B-C OF IT

The confusion about marriage is not a 'Nigeria thing' it's a 'world thing'. But, the confusion in Nigeria has graduated to madness. Everybody is missing the whole point of this institution. It's has taken a very social meaning. It's now a responsibility that must be carried out; like emptying your waste bin every saturday. It's now a sickness; marriage fever. Men and women have been infected with this illness, and even the married ones are still not free of this social responsibility.
Let me start with the guys: There comes a time in the life of every man when he feels it's time to 'settle down'. This is when the madness creeps in. Every girl becomes a desperate-i-must-get-married-person to you. You begin to read meaning into what is simple. If your girlfriend should insist on seeing your mother, she wants to tie you down. If she talks about children, she is showing signs of desperation.
At a point no girl is good enough for you. You begin to notice that the girl you have been dating for three years isn't good in the kitchen. What of her bed acrobatics? Zero!
Your madness gets to the level that you see a girl in church, praying sincerely to her God, and you are like 'Woah she is prayerful, she would be a good wife'. Or you see a girl playing with her sisters kid, and you are like 'Woah, she is wonderful with kids. She would be a good mother'.
Isn't that madness? Isn't it madness to look for a wife like you shop for a good shoe?
You begin to pick women like they pick beans. You sieve and sieve; you complain,and complain. Ngozi is too fat. When she gives birth to one child now, she would become a bulldozer. Amara is not industrious; I don't want to marry a house wife. Gift is extravagant. She would finish my money.
Now, I am not saying that choosing is bad. I am just saying that whenever you are choosing and picking, and sieving, always remember that the more you look, the less you see. And never forget that word called change. Your angel today, can turn to a witch tomorrow.

Over to the ladies:The craziest of all. The society has unconsciously twisted your psychology - marriage is a do-or-die affair. Not that girls are totally to blame. If you are clocking thirty, and you haven't hooked a man. You become an ashawo that has lost her womb in the course of her job. In short, you are not woman enough. You have a problem. And, not that they are too wrong. Because, even you would begin to act like a mental patient. Everybody begins to look like a potential husband. Even that son-of-a-bitch that beats you black and blue. You begin to attend every wedding you can. You begin to act like a jelly fish; suppressing your personality, dulling your intelligence. So men won't find you intimidating.
Every chance you get, you would make it known to that guy that is financially comfortable, that you can cook soup, and wash cloth like a dry cleaner (essential housewife quality).
Every man/boy/thing (as far as he has a penis) becomes marry-able.
And you are ready to visit the most powerful babalawo, in the deepest of forests, if that your boyfriend you have been 'saving' for marriage gives you hint that there is another girl in the 'wife-to-be-zone'.
You turn into a Lion. If any other Lion enters your territory you would claw, tear, scatter and shed blood.

It's madness....
But we all are or would be victims of this madness. We can only pray that we don't get there. And pray that we understand that life's too short to waste worrying about things that would work out perfectly if we let them be.
Marriage is a chance to let someone else experience your life. A life that you live only once. There is no coming back and un doing your regrets. Or un marrying your husband or wife. Follow your heart most of the way, follow the voice of God (but don't be a religious hypocrite. Don't sleep in the church because you are looking for a husband).
Marriage is not compulsory, but it is extremely necessary. To have someone who would see the world with you. Who at the end of it all would be there for you. It's priceless. It's a gift from God. I believe we all deserve that gift.