Category: Relationships

The trip to Ghana was supposed to last for a week but due to an unforeseen situation, we had to stay an extra one week. The organization had a guest house in one of the housing estates in Accra and that’s where Flora and I stayed. We were very busy most days as we had to visit several locations where my outfit had ongoing projects in some suburbs of the city like Osu and Jamestown and even some communities many miles from the city.

Then a few days before our return home and with most of the work done, I took some time off so Flora could do some sight seeing as it was her first visit to the country. She had worked really hard and I believed she deserved a treat.

We visited several tourists sites including the popular Kwame Nkrumah Mausoleum. A wedding reception was taking place in the spacious garden of the centre when we arrived. Inside the mausoleum, we stood silently surveying the final resting place of the late Ghanaian leader. Close by was the grave of his Egyptian wife who the guide informed us had directed her children to bury her close to her husband after her death.

“Her body was brought from Egypt and buried here according to her wish,” the guide explained.

“Their love must have been really strong that even death could not separate them,” Flora commented as we went outside towards the fountain…

The following day Ronnie Blankson, a very good Ghanaian friend of mine called to invite me to join a group of friends that were visiting a beach resort on the outskirts of the city that weekend.

“I won’t take no for an answer. Most times you come to Accra, do your work and run back to that mad Lagos city of yours. You need to take a break, man,” he stated.

“Alright,” I conceded, not in the mood to argue with him.

“I’ll come and pick you at around 10 a.m,” he said. “And Bari,” he added. “Make sure you come with that sexy secretary of yours. I want to see her again.”

“What for? And she’s my P.A, by the way,” I corrected him. He had met Flora the couple of times he had come to visit me at the guest house.

“I like her and I want to be close to her,” he stated.

To a chronic womanizer like Ronnie, that meant one thing.

“No way, dude! She’s my staff, that makes her off-limits to you. Look elsewhere for your fun and games,” I stated firmly. Whenever, he saw a beautiful lady that he liked, Ronnie, who at 33 was the same age as me, often behaved like an excited child in a toy shop instead of a grown man.

“Thank God, you said staff and not your wife. So, why are you fencing me off? Or are you interested in her? Are you two…?” he said before I cut him off.

“Nothing of the sort. It’s just that, that girl has been through a lot and I don’t want her to be hurt again,” I explained.

“Who’s going to hurt her? Not me! Infact, I think she will enjoy what I have in mind for her,” he stated with a chuckle.

“Ronnie! You will never change!” I stated in an admonishing tone.

“You know me now! Alright. I get the message-no messing around with your precious P.A. Just come with her, though. I will just chat with her, be on my best behaviour…” he vowed.

I laughed and hung up.

Ronnie’s friends were already there when we arrived at the resort that Saturday. It was built close to the oceanfront with a beach nearby. It was a popular spot for holiday makers, weekend revellers and foreign tourists. Several of these were already at the beach when we got there.

“Aren’t you joining us in the water?” Ronnie asked Flora who had gone to sit under a canopy with the girlfriend of a guy in our group.

“No. I didn’t come with a swimming suit,” she stated.

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I can always go back to town and get one for you,” he offered.

“Thanks for the offer. But I’m fine. I will just sit here with Efua and watch you guys have fun,” she stated.

“Ah, you’ll miss a lot. Let me…” said Ronnie.

“She said she’s ok so let’s go,” I said, taking his hand and dragging him towards the sea.

“Hey, man! Take it easy! Na which kind bad belle be this as you people love to say in Nigeria…” Ronnie protested, as we left. Later, we played a game of beach volleyball which was keenly watched by a large number of the resort guests.

After lunch, we sat at the open-air bar under some coconut trees to drink and chat. Flora and the other ladies in our group had gone to the gift shop at the resort to ‘browse’ the items as Efua had put it.

“Women and shopping! They never miss an opportunity to buy stuff,” said Ronnie, taking a sip of his cold drink.

“And we always end up picking up the bills!” George, who was Efua’s boyfriend, grumbled.

We all laughed.

Moonlight rendezvous

“Hope you are having fun,” I said to Flora later that evening. We were taking a stroll on the beach after watching a live band that performed at the resort regularly. Ronnie and the others were still there dancing and grooving.

“Yes,” Flora replied as we walked along the nearly deserted beach. “I love this place. It’s beautiful. And it has such a soothing, calming effect on the mind,” she added.

She was right. The soft sea breeze which gently rustled the coconut trees, the moonlight and the sound of the waves of the sea lapping at the shore, created an ambience that could soothe the most troubled soul.

“It’s magical!” she exclaimed, spreading her arms wide. I took a peek at her, noting how the soft moonlight playing on her face, added an extra glow to her radiant looks.

“Oh!” she said suddenly, looking downwards.

“What is it?”

“It’s like one of my bangles fell,” she said.

“I’ll look for it,” I said, bending down to search for the ornament. She did the same too and we ended up colliding into each other, “Oh! Sorry!” she said, laughing as she tried to get up.

But I held her hand to stop her and drew her to me. I caressed her face as my lips slowly searched for hers. I kissed her and for a while, she was unresponsive. Then she sighed and kissed me back, holding me tightly in her arms. Her soft body, the sweet scent of her, got to my senses and I kissed her like a thirsty man who had finally found water on a hot day.

I unbuttoned her blouse as my lips trailed down her neck towards her bosom. As my fingers reached inside her blouse, my mobile phone which was in my pocket, rang. I ignored it at first but it kept ringing incessantly and it broke the spell.

It was Ronnie, asking where we were, that he wanted to dance with Flora…

A few days later, we returned to Nigeria. Life went on as usual but things were no longer the same. Before we left Accra, I had apologized to Flora about the incident on the beach, blaming it on the booze I had taken. She was quite understanding about it.

“It’s not your fault. The ambience in that place is enough to turn any one’s head,” she stated quietly.

Deep in my heart though, I knew that was not the case. My actions that day had nothing to do with that. She was the problem. It was clear to me now that I was in love with her and after that night on the beach, I just could not get her out of my mind or head. Remembering the sensation of holding her in my arms made me realize that that was where I wanted her to be now and forever. By my side. In other words, I wanted her for keeps.

And there lay my dilemma. For by this time, I had already got engaged to Nikki and we were already planning our wedding. But how could I marry one woman while in love with another?

“Dude, you have a serious problem,” my friend, Abel said bluntly, after I had discussed the matter with him.

“But one thing is clear. You can’t go ahead with this wedding,” he stated.

He explained that since marriage was a serious affair, it was foolish to jump into it. “Doing so when you are unsure, can make you jump out again quickly and end up divorced. But let me give you a tip that will help you decide. Which of these women fills your heart with joy at the mere sight of her? Whoever it is, should be your choice.”

I took his advice and my heart chose Flora. As a result, I intend meeting Nikki soon to call off the wedding. I know she will be hurt but I can no longer deceive myself. Much as I care about her, it’s Flora that I’m in love with. The woman I want to be with always. I don’t know yet what she feels for me but from her reaction to my caresses that night on the beach, it was obvious she liked me.

I know my family might not be too happy with my decision to call off the wedding or my choice of Flora for that matter. They might have objections to her being a divorcee with two children. But she’s my choice, the one after my heart. For me, it’s Flora forever.

And since I don’t care about her past, I don’t think it’s anyone’s business to do so. Or what do you think? I will like readers’ views on this.

Concluded

Names have been changed to protect the narrator’s identity.

Send comments/advice to 08023201831(sms only) or psaduwa@yahoo.com

Ennui has thus become the most common ‘affliction’ in the

land, affecting millions irrespective of social status. Keen observers of the nation’s affairs in the past couple of decades or so, should have seen this state of affairs coming. For afterall, there’s so much battering the human body and soul can take before it reaches breaking point.

So, many citizens, traumatized by years of bad, irresponsible governance, the obscene greed of the ruling class and the gradual killing of their dreams for a decent society, have finally ‘switched off,’ become disinterested in the country’s affairs. Football and other obsessions have thus, become one of the means of anaesthesising the mind against the pain of watching a once promising country reduced to a beggarly state.

But there’s danger in this attitude for an indifferent followership, is equally as bad as poor, incompetent leadership. Citizen participation is vital in a modern democracy if not for anything, but to keep the politicians and elected leaders on their toes. This can’t happen with a siddon look, ‘not my problem’ mentality especially among the elites, the professional class and others better informed and educated than the average Joe on the street who should know better. The harsh truth is that it’s everybody’s problem. Since providence has put us in this space called Nigeria, it behoves everyone to do their bit for the fatherland.

But how can we do that when so many citizens have become so unconcerned about the country? “Let me face my own life. Nigeria’s problem isn’t my business,” you might say.

Ok, so you focus exclusively on your personal affairs but you have to practically struggle to do everything for yourself. You struggle to build a nice house to stay with your family. But what about the amenities essential for making your home comfortable? Virtually none exists. The road on your street looks more like a village footpath than a city street and electricity is epileptic so you generate your own power supply with a generating set.

The same applies to other utilities like water (which you have to provide for yourself via a borehole), security, health care, transportation… Nearly everything in this country is through self-help. Thus, most of us have become our own local government councils. So, what are the real councils (and other arms of government), that are constitutionally mandated to provide these amenities for the people doing?

That is the million Naira question we all should be asking. And the reason why it’s wrong and even irresponsible to be apathetic or indifferent to the evil things happening in the country. The business of developing a nation is a serious one. It’s not something to be left to the politicians alone who most of the time don’t have a clue about what to do and whose actions are mostly self-serving.

It’s not just in Nigeria that people have this suspicious attitude towards politicians; it’s a worldwide phenomenon. The only difference is that, in more advanced democracies, the followership, knowing that politicians cannot be trusted, do things to keep checks on them, so they don’t deviate from the right track.

That is the culture we need to imbibe here. Active participation in the polity is essential because this country is our birthright and we can’t just stand helplessly by and watch a tiny minority steal our inheritance. By this, I’m not talking about contesting elections for political positions alone. There are other ways to be actively involved.

If there are essential social services lacking in your community (and I’m sure there are many), draw the authorities attention to this through petitions and other means. You may likely not get any response immediately. But don’t be discouraged, remain steadfast and even mobilize others in your community to the cause. Join protests, demonstrations and other legitimate means of civil disobedience.

That is the only way positive change can come. And not through the indifference or inertia of a citizenry who have immersed themselves in football and other distractions, unconcerned that their country is gradually falling apart.

The consequences of staying indifferent at this crucial period in our country’s history is too deadly to contemplate. It was due to the silence and inertia of the Germans for instance, during the second World War and even the years preceding it that led to the death of millions of Jews at the hands of that maniac Adolf Hitler. We pray that will not be our portion.

Concluded

It was about seven in the morning and I was on my way to work. I was running quite late so I was in a bit of a hurry. Maybe that was the reason I did not see the lone figure, a woman that suddenly dashed across the road right in front of my car. I applied the breaks as fast as possible to avoid hitting her. But it was too late. I heard a crunching sound and a cry of pain and I quickly parked and ran out of the car. Seeing the blood from a gash on her head, I initially thought she was dead. Then I heard her moan and she opened her eyes.

“Are you alright?” I asked worriedly, my hand on the uninjured side of her head.

She gazed at me without speaking, moaned again then closed her eyes. I was already late for work but I could not leave her lying there by the roadside. Besides, a few passersby had gathered and were asking questions. With their help, I placed her in the back seat of my car and drove to my family hospital.

She was admitted and I stayed for a while to ensure she would be ok. I later left for work after instructing one of the nurses I knew to call me if they needed anything.

On my way from work that night, I stopped by the hospital. I was glad to see that she was awake, sitting up and taking some drugs. Standing by the bedside was a nurse as well as another woman I had not seen before.

“How are you feeling now?” I asked her after the nurse had told her I was the one who had brought her to the hospital.

Before she could answer, the other woman said angrily:

“So you are the idiot that almost killed my sister this morning! Why can’t you these drivers look where you are going?”

“Take it easy, sister. It’s not like that…” the lady I hit, stated. Then turning to me, she said:

“Please, don’t take any notice of her. She can be temperamental at times…”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” demanded the sister.

I spoke up then.

“Madam, I’m sorry for what happened. It was an accident and not intentional.”

That seemed to calm her down a bit.

Later, I introduced myself to her sister and spoke for sometime with her.

“I’m Flora,” she said, extending her hand for a handshake. I studied her closely. The injury on her head had been bandaged and it didn’t look as if she was injured on any other part of her body. I felt relieved at that as I had feared that she could have broken a leg or hand.

“I’m glad to see you sitting up and looking alright,” I said.

She smiled a little then laid back on the bed.

Before leaving, I spoke to the nurse briefly about Flora’s condition along the corridor outside her room.

“The doctor said the injury was not deep so she will be fine. But she has to remain in the hospital for a couple of days as we need to do an x-ray to ensure there are no internal injuries,” she explained.

It was three days when she eventually left the hospital. I felt responsible for what happened so since it was a weekend and I did not go to the office, I took her home. She lived with her elder sister, Aunty Janet the one I met at the hospital.

In the house were two young girls and an older girl who looked a lot like Flora.

I initially thought the children were her elder sister’s kids.

But when we entered the house, they ran to her shouting ‘Mummy’ and embraced her.

I looked at her in surprise. To me, she looked too young to be a mother, much less, a mother of two. I didn’t even know she was married as I had not seen any man with her at the hospital.

“Mummy, where have you been? Did you buy anything for me?” the younger girl who looked about four stated.

Flora smiled and patting them fondly, turned to me.

“This is Uncle Bari. Say hello to him.”

“Welcome Uncle,” they both chorused looking up curiously at me.

I smiled at them then sat down on a chair.

Aunty Janet and the older girl who was Flora’s younger sister, Patricia had gone to where I presumed was the kitchen as I could hear the noise of pots being opened and closed.

“Thanks for bringing me home. You didn’t even have to. I could have found my way home easily,” she said, sitting on a chair to my right.

“It was nothing. As I said, I feel responsible. What if something worse had happened? We won’t be sitting here chatting like this,” I noted.

She nodded then said:

“You are right. Maybe, it’s not time for me to go yet.”

The elder sister brought some drinks later and Flora and I sat drinking for a while and chatting.

I was curious about her and there were some questions I wanted to ask her. But I didn’t, as I felt it would be rude of me to be prying in her private affairs.

I left a short while later, turning down her offer of staying for dinner with them.

“There’s somewhere I have to be in the next 30 minutes,” I explained as she saw me to my car.

As I drove off, I could see her from my side mirror, standing by the gate of the building and waving.

I did not see Flora again for a while. I was busy with work and other things that needed my attention. But I called occasionally to check on her health and she always told me she was fine.

It was about three weeks later, on a rainy evening when I ran into her again. I was returning home from a visit to a friend when I saw her standing at a bus top, taking shelter from the pouring rain.

I wound down the window on the passenger’s side and called to her.

Seeing me, she ran towards the car and got in.

“Where are you going?” I queried after we exchanged greetings.

She stated she had gone to the market and was returning home.

“The rain started without warning and I didn’t bring an umbrella from home,” she said.

I enquired after the children. Then, turning to her, stated:

“And your husband? I’m yet to meet him. Did he travel or something?” I asked.

She remained silent and simply stared straight ahead through the windscreen.

Then, to my shock, I saw tears streaming down her cheeks and onto the blue top she had on.

“Is there anything the matter? Did I say something to upset you?” I asked in a concerned tone.

She sniffed and shook her head, the tears still falling…

I opened the glove compartment and bringing out a hankie, gave it to her.

She took it silently then broke down and began sobbing.

I looked for a space close to a busy bus top and parked.

I sat, silent and waited for the weeping to subside.

It was a full ten minutes later that she was able to get control of herself.

She wiped her face with the hankie and said:

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” she stated.

“It’s ok,” I assured her. “If you are having any problem, you can talk to me. As a friend. I’l be happy to help in any way,” I added, turning to take her hand in mine.

She sighed then stated:

“Thanks for the offer. But there’s nothing you can do. You see, it’s my husband or rather my estranged husband as we are separated…

To be continued

Next Saturday, join us for Flora’s intriguing tale and Bari’s response…

Send comments to 08023201831 or psaduwa@yahoo.com

There was an omission in our recently run series titled Bride of winter. The concluding part of Part 2 was supposed to have the following passages which were omitted due to production error. Due to some readers’ complaints, we are running it here to correct the mix-up as a bonus read for our esteemed readers. Enjoy.

Patience, (Page coordinator).

****

That was how Henry and I became formally engaged. But before we could start planning our future together, a letter arrived from a childhood friend of his that was based abroad that put our plans on hold.

Syl was the friend’s name and in the letter, he had stated how he was doing quite well in the UK, had bought his second house and was even thinking of starting his own business.

“Why don’t you come over and join me? We can do something together…”

To my shock, Henry was keen on taking up his friend’s offer. I was seriously against it as it would lead to us being separated but he waved away my fears stating: “We would only be apart for a short while. Once I settle down, I will send for you. You know how tough things are in this country. So, just see it as being for our future. I’m going there to make a better life for us.” I didn’t see the need for him to go abroad for a better life as he put it. He was doing quite well in his job and with time, he could rise to a high position in his company. But Henry could be quite stubborn and once he has made up his mind about something, it’s difficult to change it.

So, despite my objections and that of his family as well to the trip, he went ahead with the preparations. And soon, it was time for him to leave and I was left all alone. By this time, we had been together for about two years and his departure left a big vacuum in my life. We kept in touch through phone calls, emails and letters but it was not the same thing. I missed him terribly.

And despite his promise to send for me as soon as possible, it was five years before that could happen. It was a tough time for me as you can see at the beginning of my story. He had returned to Nigeria and we had done the traditional marriage rites and he gone back to his base. Soon, I would be jetting out of the country to be with him and I was so excited at the thought, I was finding it difficult to sleep…

End of Part 2

Continued from last week In recent times, though, the

characteristic optimism and unbreakable spirit we are known for, seem to be waning. Hope that e go better, keep fading everyday. And the reasons for the demise of optimism, are glaring for everyone to see. Back in 1999, hope was reborn in the country after the military made a hasty retreat from politics and governance, something they had no business being involved with in the first place. The belief back then, was that after the trials and trauma the country went through under military rule, that at last, a new dawn, an era of good governance that will usher in peace, prosperity and security for the nation’s teeming millions, has come.

After thirteen straight years of democratic rule, there’s no hint that we are on the right track. In fact, the suspicion among a large section of the populace is that we are not on any track at all – that we are like a derailed train that has gone off track and is careering blindly towards disaster. Just as such a train has no control, so has the country become. And if you are a citizen living in such a country, will you be going about smiling and looking happy? No way! Now you understand the reason for the misery and unhappiness in the land.

So much has gone horribly wrong with our country that it will take more than a miracle to sort things out. How do you straighten out a country that has been nearly ruined by so much corruption and the reckless plundering of its God-given resources, the likes of which the world has not seen in a long time? And how such plundering has led to the pauperisation of a large section of the populace (over 70 percent by World Bank estimates).

With such a huge number of people living in penury and feeling like outcasts in their own fatherland, we don’t need a soothsayer to tell us that there’s trouble ahead. Because a country that stands by and watches its people suffer is in serious trouble. No amount of rhetorics by those in charge of the nation’s affairs will avert this looming disaster. The only remedy is concrete action and this can only come about when politicians and others in positions that take decisions that affect the nation, put the PEOPLE first, before politics and private interest. Sounds like a tall order. But it’s been done in other countries so why can’t we do the same here?

It’s only when that is done that developing the country becomes easy. And such challenges that look insurmountable today such as regular power supply, good, motorable roads, quality health care, good schools and other social amenities the citizens can enjoy, will become readily available. Nigerians are very easy people to please. They are not asking for the moon. Just give them the basics that will enable them live decent lives and they will sing your praises for ever. Nearly six decades after the late Premier of Western Nigeria, Chief Obafemi Awolowo introduced free education in the Western Region, he is still been praised today for his vision. That the West is the most sophisticated and educationally advanced region in the country is largely due to that singular act of a man who could see tomorrow.

My fervent wish is that we will have more leaders like him with an eye on tomorrow, the future and not those who only think of what they can gain today. They might have acquired all the wealth in the world but what legacies will they leave behind? None.

Perhaps when more men and women of vision in Awo’s ilk, emerge, then Nigerians might smile again. And who knows, regain their lost position as the happiest country in the world.

Concluded

I arrived London on a bitterly cold, winter evening. Henry met me at the airport and took me to his house which was quite far from Heathrow. I was so happy to see him that I could hardly sit still in the car which was heated because of the cold. It seemed the cold had also driven most people off the streets which looked deserted as we drove along.

“Where’s everybody?” I enquired as we drove along the well-lit streets. The few pedestrians I saw were all bundled up in thick jackets and walked very fast as if in great haste to get home.

“Mostly indoors, I guess. It’s too cold to be hanging around on the streets,” he explained.

We got to his home some time later and he showed me round the place. It was a two bedroom apartment with the two rooms upstairs and a small sitting room below.

“Welcome home, darling,” Henry said as he put my bags in what turned out to be the spare room.

Later, after we had eaten the meal he had prepared, we sat talking till very late at night. I gave him news about home, especially concerning his family.

“Your dad and nearly the whole family, including my parents and some of my friends, were at the airport. It was like the whole town came to see me off,” I stated smiling slightly at the memory. We were sitting on the couch and though the heater was on, I was wrapped up in a light jacket, with stockings and slippers on my feet as I was feeling so cold.

“And as I went to board the plane, my mum began to cry and I felt so bad, I almost ran back to hug her but that would have meant missing my flight,” I added.

“I’m glad you are here at last,” he said, turning to cradle my face in his hands.

“So am I. I really missed you. I’ve been dreaming about this day for years. It still feels like a dream, that any moment, I will wake up and I will be back home in Nigeria,” I said, hugging him close.

“It’s no dream sweetheart. You are here with me now. To stay,” he noted, as he kissed me lightly.

Then he got up and taking my hand, led me upstairs to bed.

Henry worked as a supervisor in a care home for elderly persons- a kind of old people’s home.

Most days, he left home very early before I had even woken up and he didn’t return till in the evening. I spent most days indoors cooking, cleaning and doing other chores. After a while I grew bored of being indoors all day and I began to venture outside. I would stroll round the neighbourhood just to get a feel of the place. The whole place was always quiet with very few people on the streets. It didn’t take me long to realise that most people kept to themselves and even neighbours living in the same building often did not know themselves, much less fraternise with one another as we do back home.

“People here keep to themselves. It’s their nature. They are reserved,” Henry explained when I told him about my observations.

On his days off from work, he took me to the high streets where the shops and businesses were located so I could do some shopping. With time, I learnt to move around on my own and I started to go outside my immediate neighbourhood to other parts of the city. I was happy and I had no complaints except for one thing. And it was while I was talking on the phone with my mum one day about eight months after my arrival that I began to wonder if all was well with my husband.

“So when are we getting the good news?” my mum had asked.

“What news, mum?” I countered in a wondering tone.

“The baby! When am I coming over to carry my grandchild?” she asked.

“Ha! Mum! Slow down! I just got here and I’m still trying to find my feet and you are already talking about a baby. It’s not that easy…” I said.

“What’s the big deal about having babies? I had you when I was 21 and you are already over 30. You should not wait too long as a woman’s time is short. All I want is a grand child and the earlier you get pregnant the better…” she stated firmly.

After she had hung up, I sat thinking over what my mum had said. It wasn’t as if I didn’t want to start a family as soon as possible. But my husband was the problem. Since I came to join him, apart from the first few weeks of my arrival, Henry hardly ever touched me. We could stay for weeks without his coming to my bed. I found it strange because while we were back home in Nigeria, he was quite passionate and he couldn’t seem to get enough of me.

Any time I complained about his neglecting his conjugal duties to me, he would give the excuse of tiredness, stress at work and other reasons.

“Are you sure that’s the reason? Or is it something to do with me? Have I put on weight and you no longer find me attractive?” I enquired.

“You know that’s not true. You are still as pretty as the first day I set my eyes on you in my dad’s office. You’ve not changed at all. Just give me some time, darling. I’m due for vacation soon and I promise we shall go away to some place where I can relax and have more time for you,” he said, placing a light kiss on my cheek.

I had no choice but to accept his explanation and I let the matter rest. Besides, I had another pressing issue that was bugging me then. By this time, I was bored, staying home all day with nothing to do but the house work and watching movies. I wanted to work but when I broached the subject to Henry, he was not too keen on the idea.

“Don’t I provide enough for you? What do you need a job for?” he queried with a frown. I explained to him that it was not about the money, that I needed something to do to keep me busy outside the home.

“It’s boring cooped up in here all day while you are at work. And there’s no one to even gist with as the neighbours all keep to themselves,” I grumbled. Then taking his hand, I said imploringly, “Please, honey, find something for me even if it’s part time! I just need something to do to beat boredom!”

He thought about it for a while then said:

“Alright, I will see what I can do though I’m not fully in support of your working,” he stated, wagging a finger at me.

“Oh, thanks darling! I appreciate!” I said, giving him a big hug.

“Hey, easy now! I’ve not got you the job yet!” he said laughing…

Meeting Shelly

Two weeks later, he found me a position at his place of work. It was a part-time job which would require my working three days a week for half a day. Henry explained that it would give me time to take care of the home unlike a full-time job that would take up too much of my time. I was quite happy with the offer and the following week, I resumed work.

The care home was in a two story building with a large, expansive garden that looked neat and well cared for.

That first day, I was given my duties which involved feeding, washing, cleaning up and taking care of the elderly residents assigned to me. I had never done this kind of job before but I was determined to succeed in it. And to help me with this was Shelly, an experienced co-worker, who was to oversee my work. Though born in Nigeria, Shelly grew up in the UK and had been living there ever since. She was a few years older than me and had been working at the centre since it opened.

“I was one of the first staff employed here. So, there’s nothing I’ve not seen here,” she disclosed as she took me round the facility.

Maybe because of their age, some of the residents were quite demanding, always requesting for one thing or the other.

“You don’t have to give them all they want or they will soon wear you out,” she advised me one day. This was after one of my wards, an octogenarian, had demanded for some tea which I duly brought, only for him to reject it and ask for a glass of champagne! And this was a man with a heart condition who had been warned against taking alcohol!

“At this stage, some are like children: needy, petulant and cranky as hell. As long as you give them the basic care, they will be fine,” Shelly stated briskly as we walked along the corridor.

Working in that centre opened my eyes to a certain aspect of Western society: the way they treated their old people. Some of the residents, who had relatives hardly saw them. Some would visit once a month or so while others only at festive periods especially at Christmas. The majority had no relations at all and were being cared for by the government.

“It’s strange. And sad too to see such old people with no children or relatives to look after them,” I told Shelly one day about three months after I started work. It was around noon and we were in the small room where some of the staff used to relax in between their duties. Shelly and I were having drinks and some snacks. Apart from a white colleague of ours, we were alone in the room.

“That’s the way it is in this country. Once you get old, they dump you in a place like this. That’s why I don’t want to grow old here. I want to return home to Nigeria before I get to that stage of life,” she stated, taking a sip of her tea.

“Things aren’t easy back home, you know,” I pointed out.

“I know. But here’s no paradise either contrary to what people believe back in Nigeria. Things are tough here too especially since the recession. Okay, the infrastructure is fine and things work unlike back home, but you have to pay for everything. You pay so much tax and so many bills, at the end of the day it’s like one is just working to pay bills,” she grumbled.

It was a common complaint among the people I had met so far. Henry too was always grumbling about the bills that kept coming regularly.

“These people won’t kill me in this London with all these bills o!” he had said a few days earlier when I had shown him a new stack of letters that been quietly slipped in through the slit in the front door.

The centre was run by a Nigerian lady named Milly. She was slim-built and fair-complexioned and had been living in the country for so long, she had become a citizen. Henry introduced me to her the first day I resumed work and she received me in a very cool manner. That day, I thought it was probably because of pressure of work that accounted for her attitude. But her manner towards me did not improve at subsequent interactions. In fact, I had the feeling that she positively disliked me and I wondered why as I didn’t know her before.

“It’s like Ms Milly doesn’t like me,” I said to Shelly.

She glanced at me quickly. “Why do you say that?” she asked.

I shrugged.

“It’s just a feeling I have. She barely responds to my greetings. And there was even a day she actually hissed when I greeted her at the reception. Is that the way she behaves or is it just me?” I wondered.

“She’s not normally like that. In fact, she’s actually quite nice to the staff and residents though she could be strict at times,” she noted.

Then seeing the confused look on my face, she added:

“Look, don’t let it bother you. As long as you are doing your work well, there won’t be any problem. It’s just that…” she began then stopped.

I looked curiously at her.

“What?” I prompted, taking a big bite of my chocolate cake.

Before speaking, she glanced round the room. The other woman had left and we were alone.

Turning to me, she said quietly:

“Look, Abby, I know it’s none of my business but I’ve grown to like you as a sister and I think you should know what’s been going on.”

“What are you talking about? What is it?” I asked curiously.

“You see, it’s like this,” she said, then drawing close to me, she began to tell me a tale that so shocked me, I could not move from my seat for a long time. It involved my husband, my boss Milly and what happened between them when he newly arrived the country…

Continued next week.

What did Shelly tell Abby about her husband? Don’t miss the juicy details next Saturday!

Names have been changed to protect the narrator’s identity.

Send comments/suggestions to 08023201831(sms only) or psaduwa@yahoo.com

Earlier in the week, a few of my male colleagues were

watching the opening ceremony of the National Sports Festival, presently taking place in Lagos on TV. A remark made by one of them caught my attention and got me thinking. One of them commented on the few spectators at the event, comparing it to one he had seen some years before which was better attended.

The second guy chipped in that the organizers were lucky that night there was no match in the on-going UEFA championships that or the stadium would have been empty. “I’m sure even the chief host would have been absent and would have probably sent a representative,” he opined mischievously.

He could be right, considering how the menfolk and (some women too) have become so obsessed with football in the country. That the round leather game has captured the minds, bodies and souls of many in this country is stating the obvious. And it’s not just any football, mind you. It must be the English Premier league, leagues in mainland Europe or UEFA championships. What about our own local league? Why are people not crazy about it?

“What local league; does it exist?” some foreign teams’ fanatics would retort contemptuously when asked of their preference for foreign teams while ignoring local ones.

Many have their favourite teams and they follow the fortunes and misfortunes of these teams with the devotion that is usually shown by a religious adherent for a deity. It’s like a form of religion, a type of worship. It can create instant friendships, break old relationships and cause enmity among old friends. Whenever there’s a major league match, especially between two rival teams with strong followers, it’s like ‘war’ is about to break out.

The tension and expectation in the air is palpable. Great debates-on TV, radio, newspapers, social media, offices, homes, mama put and drinking joints, schools, even places of worship- take place. Listening to the analysis, passion and excitement displayed over games, you will think a new vaccine for a world threatening plague had just been discovered.

And seeing two fans of rival teams ‘yabbing’ each other, is great fun to watch.

“Look at you! You call your club a great club! How much did you spend buying players this season?” a fan of Chelsea for instance would taunt an Arsenal fan.

When his opponent fails to reply, the Chelsea fan would say with the arrogance of one with the wealth of Bill Gates:

“As for me, I spent over 200 million pounds this season alone buying new players. I’ve brought in ‘fresh blood’ to replace old, tired legs like the ones you have in your club! All you do is buy cheap players that can’t play!”

The other guy, unable to bear the insult any more, would retort:

“Despite all the money you claim you spent on new players, Man U still beat you to the league title! Money-miss-road club like you!”

Listening to these fans talk, one would think they have personal interests in these clubs maybe through the ownership of shares or other stakes. For as the saying goes: ‘Where your treasure is, there will your heart be.’ The shocking fact is these fans don’t have a single stake in terms of money or other interests in these clubs. All they have is their passion and godlike devotion to their teams.

But is there more behind this passion for football in the country than meets the eye? Is this obsession normal? Nothing wrong with having something one can be passionate about, something to add some spice to life, which can be dreary at times. For some, it’s their jobs or businesses while some people obsess about their spouses, partners or children. Others have certain hobbies they can’t live without.

But when the obsession gets to the level displayed by many football fans in the country, then there must be a problem somewhere.

I got a clue of what the problem could be through a conversation I had with a couple of die-hard fans of two foreign teams recently. When I asked one of them why he was so crazy about football, that he refuses to eat whenever his team loses a match, he stated:

“It’s what makes me happy. I’m annoyed with so many things in this country. So I need something to help me keep my sanity. Football does that for me so why shouldn’t I be crazy about it?”

The other spoke in like manner, stating he watches football to, “take my mind off the horrible things happening in the country so I don’t go mad. The news in the papers and TV is always bad: it’s either a multi-billion naira fraud has just been uncovered in one government ministry or terrorists have killed hundreds of people in a bomb blast. I’m sick and tired of it all!”

In other words, for many, football has become a form of distraction from boredom or ennui. Ennui is a feeling of being bored, tired and dissatisfied. Something you will agree with me is a ‘disease’ afflicting many citizens now…

More next Saturday

My words must have surprised her for she gazed at me in amazement.

“A what?” she asked.

“A P.A. Can you work as my personal assistant?” I repeated my question in case she didn’t hear me properly the first time.

To my surprise, she burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny? I’m offering you a job and all you can do is laugh?” I queried curtly.

She shook her head.

“Don’t get me wrong, Bari,” she stated. “It’s the whole idea that I find funny. I told you earlier that I didn’t finish school so how can I then work as a P.A? I’m sure you work in a very big firm. And having never worked in a corporate environment before, I will feel out of place and maybe make a lot of mistakes…”

I placed a finger on my lips to shut her up.

“It’s ok. I understand how you feel. You feel insecure, with little self-confidence because of what you went through with your ex-husband. But it’s time you put the past behind you and forged on with life. You are still young so you can have a fresh start. Learn to believe in yourself and there’s nothing you can’t achieve. And I will be there to help you all the way,” I assured her.

She was silent for a while as she stared down at her hands in her lap.

Then she looked up at me.

“Alright,” she said quietly. “And thanks so much for your kindness,” she added softly.

I smiled at her.

“That’s alright. Just work hard so I don’t regret hiring you,” I said.

“I will! So when do I start? And what does the job entail?” she asked excitedly.

Two weeks later, Flora resumed for work at my office. I worked with an international aid organization that did a lot of projects in the country and other parts of Africa especially in the rural areas. As a projects director, I had to oversee the various projects we were doing, meet with the community leaders, beneficiaries and other things. It involved my travelling out of town frequently and I needed someone to co-ordinate all my activities.

“There was a lady doing the job before but she left recently to join her husband in Canada,” I told Flora on her first day at work. She had showed up looking very smart in an ash-colored skirt suit with black shoes to match. She looked even more beautiful than usual.

“This is the kind of work you will be doing…” I said, briefing her on her duties.

“My secretary, Mary will make arrangements for an office space for you,” I said when I was through. “Do you know how to use a computer?” I asked her as she made to leave my office.

“Yes, sir. My sister, Janet has one. She taught me how to use it,” she replied.

“Good,” I stated nodding.

“And Flora,” I said. “You don’t have to be so formal with me now, because we are in the office. You can continue to call me by my name as you’ve always done.”

“But I can’t do that, sir. This is an office and it won’t be right if I call my boss by name. It will sound rude,” she noted.

“Ok. But you will stop being so formal once we are outside these premises, won’t you?” I said.

She nodded.

“Alright, then. Go and meet Mary to sort out your office space and see me later,” I stated, turning on the computer on my desk to begin work.

Nikki

“So, how are you enjoying your new job? Hope my darling here is not overworking you, giving you too much stress,” stated Nikki to Flora. Nikki was my girlfriend of several years. She had broken off the relationship about a year before when she found out about another girl I was also seeing. But we had got back together about four months earlier and in that time, she had already started talking about our settling down.

We were at my house having dinner, nearly five months after Flora began work. In that period, she had really impressed me with her capacity for hard work and her eagerness to learn. I had no regrets hiring her but I was curious to know how she felt about working with me.

“I love the job. And Bari has been very good to me,” she said, turning to smile at me.

“Ah, don’t be so diplomatic. You can say the truth, call him a slave master or whatever! He won’t fire you!” Nikki said teasingly.

Flora laughed at that and I joined in too. It was good to see her looking so cheerful and confident, so unlike the girl I first met about six months earlier. It was a Friday and she was dressed casually in a light blue top and pair of jeans. Her long hair was combed up and styled in a knot at the back, a style that suited her well as it showed off her lovely face in all its glory.

“Yes? You were saying something?” I said, tearing my gaze away from Flora to Nikki who was talking about something that happened at her office earlier that day…

“Flora’s really beautiful,” Nikki commented. It was about an hour later. My driver had taken Flora home and Nikki and I were relaxing in the living room. I sat sipping a drink while she was stretched out on the couch, her head on my lap.

“And she still looks so fresh. It’s hard to believe she’s been married and even had kids!” she added in a wondering tone.

I glanced down at her.

“You talk as if she’s a hundred years old. She’s still young. Just 26 or thereabouts,” I stated.

“Beauty and brains,” Nikki noted. “You love her, don’t you?” she asked unexpectedly, looking up at me.

“Of course I do! Like a younger sister,” I replied promptly.

“But you don’t look at her like a brother would a sister. I see the way your eyes follow her, like that of …,” she began then stopped speaking.

“What are you talking about? Don’t tell me you are jealous of the poor girl?” I queried.

“Do you blame me? See the way she looks! And she’s with you all day long…” she grumbled.

I began to laugh.

“You think this is a joke?” she said with annoyance, sitting up and glaring at me.

“You women are all the same! Too jealous! Flora’s just my P.A. I gave her the job because I felt sorry for her maybe because of the circumstances under which we met. The poor girl has really suffered. So, you have nothing to fear from her or any other woman. Trust me!” I said.

“You mean that?” she said with a serious look in her eyes.

“Yes, my jealous darling!” I said. Then jumping up, I put a CD in the sound system and soon, the plaintive sound of Enrique Inglesias’ hit tune ‘Hero’ filled the room.

“Come on, baby! Dance with me!” I said, holding my arms out to her.

She came then and I held her close to me. As we swayed to the music, her perfume filled my nostrils. But all I could think about was a lady in a blue top and jeans that showed off her rounded hips and a smile that could light up a dark room…

****

“Welcome, sir! And how was your trip?” Flora said as I entered the large outer office where my secretary stayed. They had been chatting when I got in.

“Fine. Have you all been well?’ I asked. I had been away to South Africa for a conference for about two weeks. I chatted with them for a while before going to my office.

Flora came in later with some letters and documents for me. I gave her some gifts I brought from the trip and she sat admiring the beaded jewelry, clothes and other stuff I had got for her and her children.

“Wow! These are lovely! Thanks so much, sir!” she said, smiling brightly at me.

“How are the kids?” I enquired.

“They are doing fine. They are home on holidays now,” she replied. “Good,” I said, looking at her closely, noticing the sparkle in her eyes that usually appeared when she was happy. Seeing her again made me realize how much I had missed her. During the trip to S.A, she was on my mind most of the time, superseding thoughts of Nikki. Was Nikki right after all, that I was beginning to have feelings for Flora? How did that happen and when? I shook my head to clear such thoughts from my mind…

About a month later, I had to travel to our branch office in Ghana and I took Flora along to assist me in the work I would do there. Considering the incidents that took place during the trip, it was perhaps, not a very good idea to have taken her with me…

To be continued

Names have been changed to protect the identity of the narrator and other individuals

What went down between Flora and Bari in Ghana? Book your copy of the Nation for the exciting details next Saturday! Send comments to 08023201831 (sms only) or psaduwa@yahoo.com

“Ah! Abby! I’m so happy for you! So, you will soon be leaving us to join your husband abroad. You are so lucky! I really envy you!” enthused my friend, Tari.

“Na so we see am o, my sister!” I replied in pidgin, a wide grin on my face.

I had gone to her house that Saturday afternoon to break the news to her about my impending trip out of the country to join my husband, Henry. She had screamed with excitement and though, it was over an hour since I arrived at her place, she had not stopped talking about the matter. That was the problem with Tari; she loved to talk and she could go on and on about an issue until one got tired of listening to her. But that day, I didn’t mind her loquaciousness as I was in such a good mood.

I felt pleased and happy that finally, my beloved husband and I would now be together. The journey to this point of our relationship had been long and tortuous most of the time. In fact, there were times, it looked as if there was no hope for us and I was fighting a losing battle. But through it all, I had persevered, not giving up hope until I realised my dream-of spending my days and nights for always with Henry.

There had been all sorts of talk from my family, friends and even colleagues on my long wait for Henry, who had travelled out of the country five years earlier.

“It’s not very wise to wait for all these guys who travel abroad. Are you sure he hasn’t married someone else, like an oyibo lady, for instance?”

“What if after waiting all these years and at the end of the day, he doesn’t return for you? What will you do then? Time is going and you are not getting any younger! Do you want to end up an old maid and childless?”

“I will advise you to forget about him and marry one of these guys who have been proposing to you. What’s so special about this Henry that you ca’’t forget him. Girl, wise up…” were some of the comments they made.

All these remarks and pressures put a great strain on me and it was tough coping during the time of waiting for Henry. If it had not been for friends like Tari and a few others who kept encouraging me to persevere, I doubt if I would have been able to endure for so long. That was the reason she had been one of the first persons, outside my family that I had broken the news about my impending journey to.

“I hope you won’t forget us when you leave. It’s like that with most people who travel abroad. They forget those they left behind,” stated Tari, frowning slightly.

“Even if I forget everybody, I can’t forget you and the love and support you gave me all this while,” I reassured her.

She smiled, then said:

“In that case, I better give you the list of items I want you to buy for me when you get there. Remember that dress we saw at that boutique in Surulere that I liked so much but I couldn’t afford? I want you to get me something like that and some skirts and tops, shoes, some cds and dvds, handbags, make-up, cream, mobile phone, laptop, a microwave…” she enumerated.

“Thief! Ole! Where do you expect me to get money to buy all those stuff? You want me to go and steal?” I said.

She shook her head.

“You won’t need to do that. Your husband has money-just a little amount of his wealth will take care of the shopping. Abi I lie?” she queried, a mischievous look in her eyes.

I laughed and playfully pulled at her long, braided hair, making her scream with pain…

The strange proposal

That night as I lay in bed, unable to sleep from excitement, my mind kept drifting to the past, to when my story with Henry began. You see, Henry and I didn’t meet in the conventional way that most couples often meet. It was through his father that I met him. This was how it happened.

His dad and I worked in the same office though in different departments. I didn’t know him that well and I only related to him on an official basis. But I noticed that he was always looking at me in a special way whenever we passed each other. If he was a younger man, I would have concluded that he was ‘interested’ in me but that was not the case as he was quite elderly.

Then one day, the mystery was solved when he eventually spoke up.

He had called me into his office and I had gone reluctantly, all the while wondering what he wanted.

“I’m sorry for bothering you like this, my dear, but there’s something very important I will like to discuss with you,” he began after I had sat down.

I stared at him, patiently waiting for what he had to say.

His words took me by surprise.

“The fact is, I like you. I like the way you behave and comport yourself,” he said, pausing briefly.

He must have noticed the look of surprise on my face, for he quickly went on:

“I have a good reason for saying this, so please hear me out. I’ve been watching you for some time and I like what I see. You are not only beautiful but you seem to be a girl of good character. I believe you will make a good wife. So, based on that, I want to marry you!”

To say I was surprised was putting it mildly. For a while, I sat with my mouth open, just staring blankly at him. When I eventually found my voice, I blurted out in an angry tone:

“Sir, I know today is not April 1 so this can’t be a joke. How can you be talking about marriage to someone you barely know, and one that is old enough to be…”

“My daughter!” he concluded for me then burst into laughter.

“My dear, take it easy. When I say, I want you as a wife, it’s not for me. It’s for my son, Henry. You will make a good wife for him and I know he will like you. As I do!” he stated, still smiling.

I calmed down then and seeing the funny side of the situation, I even smiled.

“Sir,” I began, “I appreciate the nice things you’ve said about me. But I’m sorry to say that I can’t accept your proposal. In the first place, I don’t know your son…”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. When the time comes, you will meet him,” he said.

“But what if I don’t like him?” I stated sceptically, trying to wriggle out of the situation as politely as possible.

He looked at me fondly, then said:

“I assure you, that won’t be a problem. Just meet him first, ok. I’ve told him about you and he’s keen on meeting you.”

After I left him, I kept thinking about the man’s proposal. I had had many marriage proposals in the past but this was the first time I was getting one like that. Not that I was keen on getting married then. I was in my mid-20s back then and I was not in a hurry to settle down. I was more interested in my career and making money and having fun with my friends.

But the manner of the proposal piqued my curiosity. So, I agreed to meet the son, Henry, though I had no intention of having a relationship much less marriage with him. But I was in for a pleasant surprise when we eventually met…

To be continued

Read the juicy details next Saturday about Abby and Henry’s first meeting!