MARRIAGE TROUBLES

(Flashback to childhood mama and papa play)

I looked at Sandra furtively, I was subtly irritated by her now, she wasn’t listening to me. My opinion on how the family should be ran, mattered little to her.  My mum listened to my dad that was what supposed to be playing out here too! I stood there annoyed, secretly wishing she wasn’t my wife that afternoon. 

I missed Nifemi, she wasn’t like Sandra, she was calmer, didn’t behave as if she was the smartest one, wasn’t as bullish as Sandra. I wished she was the one who was cooking in front of me, I wasn’t enjoying this marriage.

“We need tomato, there’s none here” Sandra turned and said to me. She must have felt I was enjoying this. This was a guess though, her countenance was rigidly expressionless.

I stared at her for a while, bewildered at what she was asking from me. That wasn’t supposed to be my job. Didn't she understand how these things were done? She couldn't just follow convention. I hissed silently. 

Was it not children that went on errands? 

I was the head of the home, my duty should be to fend for the family, give out monies, send my children on errands; stuff that Nifemi would understand, not to help get tomatoes!

 I shook my head while I went to fetch the tomatoes. I enjoyed being in control, dictating what to do. She was gradually sucking the fun out of this too, that's how things with her always turned out to be. Monochromatic. Dull. Kill joy. 

Kunle was there when I returned. Kunle was always the erratic son who seldom like to stay with the family. He had become stereotyped, not that he ever cared though. He was considerably taller than me, some would even say bigger, but all that was trivial.  I was his father now. The script was that sons listened to their father, and he didn’t do otherwise, he liked being my son, or any body's son. He was holding the baby. Rocking her gently as any older brother would, firmly in character. The look in his eyes was that of sublime admiration. I always maintained he was too good for this role, but he never really liked being a brother or friend, being a son was what rocked his boat and he stuck with it.  Today, he was no different; today he was totally following my script, pretending to do the things I asked. I like the days he behaved like this, the days his mood wouldn’t be too ecstatic and he’d forget he promised to be my son after we had agreed the day before.

‘’Daddy, welcome’’ he greeted cheerfully.

‘’My son welcome, how was school?” I quizzed, as I handed the canned tomatoes to Sandra.

She wouldn’t understand the uncanny stunt I pulled to get it, or did she? Normally a bad one would suffice but not for me. Even though I wasn’t with any money, I had arrived with a fresh can of tomatoes, how I enjoyed making the cooking not too farcical. 

She was stirring the food which was still heating. Her cooking always took long, I wondered if she was lost in the drama of the entire theme. She was too meticulous, too ‘’by-the-book’’, but I had just admired Kunle for being the same, there was just something about Sandra, something irksome.

I thought of Nifemi again, she wasn't back yet, she probably was still in school. I looked on at Sandra now, becoming half disinterested, I was already half annoyed. 

The room was musty now, it was probably because of the bad vegetables she used, or the obvious mixture of "unmixables". It only meant one thing though; the food was almost ready. I looked out the window and saw Ogijo. Not so long ago, he was my brother in the scheme of things, but he too would not visit again because of Sandra. He had abandoned us. He and Sandra were not talking to each other now. She liked to boss everyone around and Ogijo didn’t tolerate that, he disliked her too. There, I had said it, I disliked her. I wondered why I was still with her, still married to her, maybe the prospect of being a Daddy was all too good and it attracted me totally, blinding me to the vivid obnoxiousness of my wife or maybe I was just bored of the TV programs that afternoon; too close to call.

Ogijo had his own family now, apparently, Julia was his wife now and I could tell they were returning from the rear of the compound. They held different kinds of foodstuff in their hands, some had obviously lost color as usual, but nonetheless, they looked happier, no one was overdoing anything. I envied Ogijo, though I knew I would only be as happy as him, if it was Nifemi cooking beside me, if it was her that was my wife. 

‘’Kunle, your sister is crying, you don’t know the smoke is disturbing her? Take her outside” Sandra barked. 

‘’Daddy, while I’m dishing out the food, help me call the children in so we can all eat’’ she quipped. 

Daddy? She had called me “Daddy”. Nifemi would say Jindu or Darling, everything seemed so surreal with Sandra. I felt nostalgia, just yesterday when I was with Nifemi. When it was Nifemi that was my wife, everything had been so convivial, it was always more fun with her. My disinterest grew as I sat on the stool at the side of the room, the room whose ceiling was probably crawling with all the genera of cobwebs known to man. I felt niggles. I wanted to leave but I didn’t know how to tell Sandra, how would she take it? I was a little scared of her, I had to admit that. She had beat me up a few times, not that I ever admitted that though. I always preferred to say we tied.

I was watching the swarm of ants that was crawling on the wall above me, they were always so courteous, never failing to acknowledge one another, no matter the kind of hurry they were in. I marveled at them. 

‘’Daddy, call them now’’ she was sounding bullish now, obviously proud of the meal she had prepared.

I wondered if she couldn’t read my body reaction, which was screaming leave me alone, albeit as mildly as I could let out. I strutted out of the room looking for Kunle and the baby, he was at the other side of the compound, he had left the baby on the pavement, playing football with Ogijo. I wondered why Ogijo had left his family so soon. Julia was still cooking her own version of the "unmixables" when I passed her near the gate, at the rear of the compound. We had gotten the favorable spot for our own family. She and Ogijo had to make do with the shade which the tall building provided. Truth was that, normally we left our families anytime we wanted to, except of course it was Sandra playing your wife. 

Then it happened! 

“Chukwujindu’’ screamed my mother on top of her voice. 

That signaled two things; my little family play with Sandra and Kunle was over and It spelt trouble, she only ever called my full name when I erred, when I had ‘’done something’’. I dashed away screaming ‘’ma’’ as loudly as my voice could take, as I ran, I wondered what I had done, I had to think fast, I had to prepare my defense.

Was it the can of tomatoes I had collected from the fridge? 

But I had seen two there, and they had been there a long time, no way she was going to use it today, or was she? I picked up my pace and suddenly stopped, the baby (my cardigan which Sandra had folded to the shape of a baby cot) still lay at the pavement, where Kunle had left it. I couldn’t risk my dad driving in and seeing it at the front of the compound and he could drive in at any moment, a voice in my head quipped. I ran back to collect it, there I saw Nifemi and her mum enter the compound. She probably stayed back at her mother’s shop after school, I was saying a quick ‘’good afternoon ma” to her mum when I heard my mum scream my name again, this time louder, and more ferocious. I entered the living room, with palpable fear, there she was scowling.

‘’Gini ki ne me since mmu na akpogi. Your lesson teacher has been looking for you’’. 

 I looked up and saw her, Auntie Eunice, smiling away, I could see through the facade though. I had written absolute guesses on my quantitative reasoning assignments. It was deliberate, I never seemed to understand that subject and even all my brainstorming efforts still produced the wrong answers. I went into my room to get my backpack and then I thought of Nifemi again…

Chris Izuchukwu Okafor

KALLIGRAPHY gets new partner

It's funny how your pen stops abruptly when you're asked to write about yourself. You try to sell and at the same time try to avoid the uppity of seemingly over selling. It is a simple job at the surface but starting, it gets a little mundane. 

 I hail from Anambra state, from the popular arts crafting village of Igbo-ukwu. It is referenced in almost all of Nigeria's visual arts books. No pressure. I tend to believe in my quest for being para-normal.

‘The voice of the people is the voice of God’, a popular adage I don't totally agree with. Doubting? Ask Mary Slessor. Ask Martin Luther. Ask Nelson Mandela. For some obvious reasons, I'm the kind of being that believes a radical change is always needed for growth.

I believe society's thinking is usually conformed to the norms that are particularly popular or evident. Challenging it, you're normally tagged a "Radical". No pressure again.

My mentors are sort of. Chimamanda, Soyinka, Achebe, Sissulu, Von Staffenberg, Ayo Sogunro, Chude Jideonwo, Nelson Mandela. They all make me marvel at the nature of their minds, axiomatically beautiful. OK, let me not digress. 

I'm a writer, a social critic who thinks black Africa needs a psychological study really fast to determine if our leaders cannot understand that we are being left behind in the scheme of things. Why our leaders are unflinchingly determined to make sure we continue to be the destination for multitudinous aids and relief, decade after decade. Let me not digress again.

I am the story today, not Africa. I'm a theorized graduate from the University of Benin. My practical demonstration in my field of study is still very much undergraduate. Don't ask me why. In fact "lemme" tell you why. I studied a practical science course in our theory-oriented University. 

Naturally, I tend to be very critical and I try to indulge my mind in the most normal of situation. I have a thing for sociology and somehow I've come to realise I have snobbish tendency. I have come to realise that small talk is an integral part of social nexus and I wonder when I'll stop being part of it. I have a thing for Greek names and unsubtly fascinated by History. Sorry if I have not said some things I ought to have said. Describing myself became harder as I picked up the pen, or less literary, the keyboard.

Let the story begin,

Yours Truly

Izuchukwu Okafor

THE FALL

It was 5PM on Friday. The week has been a tedious one. I had just arrived from classes and was about to relish on the fact that it was weekend. I quickly dashed to the kitchen to heat the left over beans. Beans has been my nutritional diet for a few weeks now. Thereafter, I went to the bathroom.

The water was so refreshing. I felt like sleeping in the bathroom but for the intermittent banging on the bathroom door by my neighbor, Tunde.

“You never finish?” he asked in pidgin. He threatened to continue hitting the door until I leave. Even if I had frequently warned Tunde about his oppressive nature, he wouldn’t listen. He was gifted with biceps and he sometimes allowed those biceps bulge into his peanut shaped head. His head had a long occipital, like that of a calabash turned upside down.

“Wetin dey do you self?” I replied with transient rage. I was out in few minutes and rushed to the room; ignoring the oppressive hostel mate.

I removed the already dried beans from the stove. Dressed up to relax when I noticed I had gotten five missed calls from Nkechi, a sister in the fellowship. I quickly did some little run around to put things in order and then came back to reply Nkechi’s call.

Nkechi was the very description of a complete woman, you know what I mean. She had a set of blue eyes, neatly spaced tooth, pointed nose and light skinned. I started having feelings for her since we were paired as follow-up partner in fellowship. She was just a delicious dish for immoral diet.

I had been a very terrible personality until Nkechi invited me for fellowship. I decided to follow her and since then she has always been my reason for attending any Christian gathering. I started reading my bible to impress her. I even filled my phone with a lot of gospel music, especially those of Don Moen. She loves his song so much.

Quickly, I placed a call back to her. And, as if I expected a miracle to happen; I heard the haunting soft voice that reminded me about the empty account balance. I didn’t know how I successfully managed to maintain a flat airtime in recent times. Maybe Nkechi was the cause. But I liked it. I called her daily. Sometimes twice or three times daily.

I dashed out of my room to ask for airtime among my neighbors or maybe borrow cash from someone. Hah! It was Tunde I saw first. He was in the verandah. He was locking his door and was about to leave.

“Tunde my guy”, I said. Forgetting the fact that I had just shouted at him in the bathroom. “Abeg I fit get 200 box for there, I need am badly, I go pay you on Monday”.

He looked with surprise. I had never asked him for anything, let alone after the ‘bathroom-escapade’ we just had some minutes ago. It then dawned on him that this was a serious matter.

“No shaking”. He replied. He opened his wallet and dispensed the cash to me. It was like an amazing grace. I barely appreciated his gesture as I hurried to the opposite store for airtime.

As I approached the shop, I remembered that I owed Mama Nosa, the seller, N200 debt. I quickly diverted. But she saw me. She called but I refused to answer. She called again, this time, with more strength. But then I had already placed my phone in my ears and made as if I was receiving a call. It was a miracle to have avoided Mama Nosa. I had to go to the roadside to buy airtime.

I waited till I got back home before calling Nkechi. I never wanted any form of disturbance. I got home, sat down, loaded the pin and synchronized my voice in preparation for this ‘love call’. I vocally practiced the route I wanted the call to take.

I then dialed the lovely eleven digit. But no response. I dialed again and again. Yet, no response. I had already lost my eagerness when she answered the fourth time. Even in the face of this low eagerness, I still greeted, “Good evening dear”.

“God bless you” came the voice from the other side of the phone.

“Please I want to ask you a favor”; she continued. My heart skipped. Why would she cut in like that, without other necessary pleasantries? Was it money she wanted? Anyway, I told her to go ahead and ask. I knew that as far as it was coming from Nkechi, there would be no other option but to oblige to her request.

“Are you going out tonight”?

“No”. I replied.

“Promise me you will do this favor for me”. She said.

How does not going out tonight help fulfill her request? I wondered.

“Okay, I will”. I promised.

I don’t know how Nkechi did it, but she somehow found a way to my soft spot. My brain was running to and fro, trying to imagine what she would ask. Finally she spoke.

“We are having a deliverance vigil this night and we are to come with someone, anyone. I want you to come with me, remember you promised. It is going to be power packed”.

Nonsense! I felt a rumbling in my stomach, hot sweat on my forehead, cold sensation in my spine, irritation on my buttock.

“No problem” I reluctantly whispered.

I had thought of something more interesting. Was this why I borrowed money to call back? I would have just allowed her call me back instead. I ruminated in disgust.

“The program starts by 8:00 pm, I will be coming to pick you up”. She then hung up.

I dropped the phone slowly in disappointing annoyance. I tried to read and watched as the clock ticked toward 7:45pm.

Finally, I heard the knock at the door. Time to go.

I felt another level of disappointment as I put on my shoes. We finally left for the deliverance.

It was already 8:15PM when we arrived the church. Almost immediately, I was ushered a seat in the front. The very front roll, in front of the pulpit. Just then, sister Nkechi disappeared. I saw her at the back exchanging pleasantries and lining up with the choristers.

I couldn’t imagine being in the front all through the night. Indeed they say ‘love is blind’ but this time I had not only made a blind choice but a stupid one. I quickly found a way to move from the front seat to the back of the church.

After a while, I was in wonderland sleeping when a strong tapping from sister Nkechi brought me back to reality. “I can't believe you are sleeping”. She mentioned.

I manage to look at the big clock in front of the church, it was already 11:35pm. I wanted this cup to pass over me. I was supposed to be in my room sleeping away the stress of the day, instead I am in some deliverance meeting with one Nkechi. Nonsense!

“It is time for the deliverance session” she said looking straight into my eyes. She must have seen the tiredness in the bulging red eyes.

“Please be in the ‘spirit’ and stop looking about”. She quickly added.

A man in his mid-forties stood at the altar. He had a well ironed suit, a pointed shoe and a long red tie. He jerked forward, held the microphone with both hands and was continuously shouting some words that were not understood. They called it tongues. Hmmm!

Suddenly he asked us to line up for impartation. This we all did. In a few minutes I stood behind sister Nkechi. (By the way, what’s this impartation thing?)

The man in front, whom I later learnt was Pastor John, placed his hands on the lady in front of the queue and whoosh… I saw her on the floor in a flash. (Was that the impartation?) I was scared.

In a short while, the whole congregation was in commotion. All the persons that had been touched by the man-in-front were either shouting or crying. Some others were rolling and carrying out all manner of stereotypy behavior.

Before it got to my turn, I pulled my shoes and waited. Everyone pulled theirs too. It was now sister Nkechi’s turn. As the man of God breath on her, she fell like a tree. Seriously?

Hmmm, it was my now turn. I hope the power in this man does not make me break my head. A cold feeling went down through my spine. I was literally shaking on both feet. This was my first ‘impartation’ service. Whatever that means!

I watched as the man of God breath on me. But I didn’t move a muscle. That same breathing had sent a guy with a clean, white and maybe starched shirt rolling and shouting through to the back of the church.

Another shower of fear fell on me. Why was I not rolling? Am I a saint already? Is there not a demon in me? Or is the demon too big to respond to a common breathing? I wondered.

The man too looked surprised!

He laid his hand on me shouting at the top of the mic “Barisskamadaadevus”. I never knew what that meant. But it didn’t matter. All I wanted was that I find a way to reduce the attention I was already drawing from the congregation. Yet nothing happened. I remained standing.

The third time, he laid his hands on me and pushed me backward. I staggered a little and remained standing. Was I supposed to fall?

With disbelief and surprise, he told the ushers standing close to bring me to the altar.

The whole church was now a little organized with just only two girls laying on the ground and rolling as if something terrible happened to their loved ones. Everyone watched me in awe. It was as if I was the only one in recent times to have resisted THE FALL.

The pastor removed his suit and after some prayer and esoteric blasting, he declared I was possessed with seven strong demon. Just like that? My mouth was wide opened. Well I guess, that must be it, because I knew that something had made me not fall. But seven demons were too much now!

He then prescribed to the hearing of the whole church and also to sister Nkechi’s hearing that I needed a mandatory three days seclusion prayer and fasting.

Before I knew it I was escorted by four men to a prayer detention room. Where I spent the whole of Saturday and Sunday. I was kept there hungry, thirsty and tired. I wished I had never resisted the man’s so called ‘anointing’. I was finally released on Monday evening.

This all happened because I refused to take the fall. Now, I lost sister Nkechi’s attention because she now thinks I am or was possess.

I learnt a lesson though, that, anytime anyone lays hands on me, whether an evangelist, a teacher, a chorister, or even a lecturer; I must jerk, fall, shout, roll on the ground, cry, vomit, hiss, laugh or run. Yes, it is either I run or take THE FALL.

By WISDOM SHEDRACH

Wisdom is a 500 level Pharmacy student, University of Benin.