21stcenturybelle

Meena’s Diary#6

Survivor

The doctors rushed in as I got a glimpse of Sa’a gasping for breath while the hospital staff shooed us out.An eerie feeling filled the air, I shivered with goose pimples, negotiating with the creator to spare her life. My thoughts went to her little twin girls. Who would take care of them if anything happened to her?

wordle-girlstoys

I was pacing the length and breadth of the reception, too apprehensive to sit down.
” Meena,” Hawau called out to me.
“You should sit down. Let’s hope for the best.”

She looked more scared and subdued than she thought she was letting on but this was not the time or place to hassle her.

“Do you think she’ll make it?”
“I hope she does. If for anything for her girls
“Do you think Atiku would marry this new girl?”

“You might need to ask him that question Meena. I am not him, and for the life of me, I don’t know what he is thinking.”
I closed my eyes as the pain washed over me. I tried to imagine JK marrying someone else or maybe having an affair, and the mere thought was enough to kill me.I shook my head willing the idea out of my head.
“What would you have done if you were Sa’a?” asked Hauwau
“I don’t know. The thought just crossed my mind, and I don’t wish it upon my enemy. It will kill me. Sa’a might not have a choice since her culture allows it. Although we thought with Atiku being an educated man, it will be different, but with JK, polygamy is not an option.
“If polygamy is not an option. You are aware they could have affairs and mistresses outside ko bahaka ba?” said Hauwau emphasising her point in the Hausa language.
“JK would never do that. He loves me and the kids so much to toe that line.”
Hauwau laughed. “Oh my naïve friend. I am with you in your paradise of foolishness.”
I was on the verge of replying when the team of doctors and nurses who were with Sa’a came out.

We rushed out to them with hope in our eyes. The lead Doctor smiled at us and reassuring us “She pulled through but is resting now. She will be all right.”
We both heaved a sigh of relief.
“I have to go and pick the kids from school and would be back. I would spend the night with her. Shouldn’t we call Atiku?”I asked again.
“He should be here with his wife and not on some rendezvous with a God forsaken girl who sees no wrong in going after someone’s husband.”
“You have been itching to call him. Call him,” hissed Hauwau. She has been in a foul mood all day, and I was yet to get around asking her what the problem was.
I pulled my phone and dialled his number which he picked on the first ring.
“Hajia Meena, ya kike?” He greeted me over the phone.
“Kalau Atiku but there is a problem. We almost lost Sa’a today. Thank God she is out of danger,” And I started crying over the phone.
“When was this?” He asked, and I could hear the trepidation in his voice.
“This morning.”
“Why did you not call me?”
I had to lie to answer the question. “I was called in by Hauwau. Everything was happening so fast that I was so confused not until the doctor just assured us she was going to be alright, did it occur to me to call you. At least the latter part was true. Where are you I ventured to asked?” feigning ignorance
“I am in Dubai, but I will be taking the next available flight back home. “What hospital is she in?”
“Gurara Hospital.”
I whooped for joy. The situation was not that bad. He still cared for Sa’a.

Omowashe Omorishe#30

Uncle Segun

Watching the two most important women in my life walk in through the door was the best picture to behold.
One young and beautiful with the whole world ahead of her to take on while the other who has been by my side through thick and thin. I was on the thin verge of losing them both, but I was not going to give up. I was going to fight to get their affection back. To once again see the look of adoration in their eyes that spoke volumes of how important I was to them.

I mustered enough courage and faked a vibrancy I did not feel “Here come my girls!!!!”
I could sense Bimba seeking an escape as she fumbled in her bag until I heard her phone ring and she signalled to take the call which was a good excuse. However, without the call, she would have looked for another reason to get out of my presence.
Ever since she found out Lana was my biological daughter, she had moved out of our home but came to the office every day.
She had been civil and only discussed official matters. I wanted to give her the time and space she needed but now I needed to woo her back, or I might lose her forever.

Turning to Lana. “You should be home by now. It’s past your 6 hours of work.”
“Oh please Uncle Segun,” she said rolling her eyes. “I am as healthy as a horse. I do not need all the convalescence moves you have been pulling for the past couple of weeks.”
“Where were you coming from?”
“From the ………
She started to say but stopped midway.
My curiosity was piqued as I raised my eyebrows “when did you start keeping secrets from me?”
She shrugged and threw a barb at me “it starts one day, doesn’t it? You did keep who you were from me all my life.”

“If I could turn the hands of the clock backwards. I will Lana. I will say sorry a thousand times if it makes you feel better, or make the pain go away. I tried so many times to tell you, but there just was never the ideal time.

The period you moved to boarding school. I feared you would not take the news well, then you finished and passed with all distinctions. I wanted to shout it out to you, but it sounded selfish when all the hard work had been put in by others not me. You got admission to the university, and it did not look ideal to tell you at that time when you were testing the waters of freedom away from home. What if you reacted wrongly and flipped to the other side in rebellion. So I held on and kept postponing the day I would tell you.

Lana, I am sorry.” I had not realised the tears were trickling down my face as I pleaded with my daughter to forgive me.
I held out my arms hoping against hope that she would come for a hug just like the old times.
I could have leapt for joy as she ran into my arms crying a nerve racking sobs all over my crisp white shirt but what did it matter. She had found a place to forgive me, and that was what mattered the most.

*******

“Are you ready to see your birth mum?” I ventured to ask Lana.
I had taken it very slow with Lana not wanting to push her. She had not shown any interest in meeting up with her birth mum, and I had given up hoping that she would have other opportunities.

“I guess yes,” she smiled amidst the tears that laced her eyes. “I am tired of fighting. What harm would there be to hear what she has to say and make peace with her? We can’t take back the years we have lost, but we can build on the ones before us.”

I was happy at the wisdom of her words and could not be more proud she was my daughter and the opportunity I had to invest in her upbringing. I had Agnes to thank. If she had not given up Lana from birth, I would never have been this blessed to be a part of the great woman she has become. It was this gratitude I had that propelled me to help to bridge the relationship between mother and daughter. “Lana you are one smart and intelligent woman who I am happy to have known.”
“You are always filled with praise. I should have known long ago there was something beyond the uncle – niece relationship,” she smiled her eyes twinkling. Wiping her eyes and smoothening her dress, she stood up. I got to go.
“Would you try and call her today?” I can give you her number.” I got out my phone and sent the contact to her.
“I will call her now. There is no need to wait. I have waited too long to mend this relationship.”
“Come here,” I commanded and engulfed her in a fierce hug as tears threatened to drop. “My sunshine,” I murmured.
“Hmm, Uncle Segun, whatever happened to Auntie Bimba?”
“That is my number one sunshine, and you are the second.”
“Not the first huh?” Lana feigned hurt.
“No not the first. You will get married and be someone else first let my wife be my first,” I teased.
It was no hidden secret that I would choose Lana any day above Bimba after all that’s what I had always done in the past, but it never bothered her. Knowing Lana was my daughter might change all that, but I hope she could see that she was the most important person to me next to my child.
“Then you had better go there and let her know,” she challenged me.
“Since you have taken a bold step to see your birth Mum. I should take a cue from you and go declare my undying love for your aunt contrary to the rumours peddled by family members.”
“You heard?”
“I heard every word of it, and it was preposterous. Agnes is your mother and what we had has become history. She remains a friend but nothing more. I cannot love another person than your aunt. I breathe and live for her even if she is mad at me now.I intend to fight for what we have and get her back.
“I got to run, thank you, uncle. You got unfinished business here,” Lana said looking behind me.
I turned and was more surprised to see Bimba in my office.

Bimba
I strolled into Segun’s office to pick a document on a case we were working on when I heard his open declaration of affection for me. I know Segun has always loved me. There were no doubts about that fact but what I could not get around my head was his betrayal. How could he have kept such information from me all these years was my concern and how many more secrets has he kept from me?

Lana had a look I told you so with a twist of cheekiness to it as she hurriedly gave me a hug whispering, “Auntie let it go and let him love”, and glided out of the office.

Her words stunned me. The girl has grown wise over the years. Segun was not the only one who doted on her. I did not unashamedly. We both poured out our love for a child into Lana. I argued it was because she was the only niece who spent time at our place with many sleepovers and outings. Her parents were never afraid to send her over to our place unlike the rest of the family who was over protective of their children. Not that I blame them. Knowing the truth behind Lana’s parentage gave credence to the reason her parents were free to release her. After all, she was going to her father’s house.

Lana and I shared a bond fostered by her visits and time spent together talking and shopping. None of my other nieces and nephews could have bolstered the courage to book a doctor’s appointment without my prior consent and drive me there. The thought put a smile on my face which I was not aware was plastered on my face until I heard Segun clear his throat the way he did when he was nervous.

I focused my eyes on him, and I got lost with love I saw in those eyes. I felt the butterflies in my stomach and laughed inwardly at my foolishness. Why this feeling of giddiness like a love-struck teenager? My hormones must be having a joke at my expense.

Shifting my gaze way towards the file on Segun’s table, I walked past him to retrieve the document.”I came for this,” I picked the file and made my way to squeeze through the closed up space to escape as he moved towards me.
“What do I need to do to make you forgive me?” he asked brokenly touching a cord in my heart. I was not going to do this. I was not ready for a reconciliation till I had figured out what I wanted for my baby.
“You’ll go back,” a voice said to my head. As I argued with the voices in my head. I don’t know about that. I’m not sure if I wanted to go back. I could remain civil with the father of my child but to work on broken trust was a hard bit for me.
“I would work at gaining back your trust,” he said as if he could read my thoughts, his eyes darkening with a resolution I know he would fulfil
“I want to believe we can have what we had before. But I can’t work past the hurt lodged in my heart. There are days I honestly could pick a gun if given one and shoot you without remorse. There are other days I try to understand that you had a good reason but what I can’t comprehend is how you lied to me for twenty years with the reason for your lies within our reach. Every day you looked at her, and every time you made a big deal of the milestones in her life was an opportunity to tell me, but you did not and that I find it hard to forgive. You know why? Because you willfully and knowingly lied to me for all the years of our marriage. Our home was fabricated on lies.What we had is over Segun.”

My heart broke, but I knew it was the best for us. May be somewhere in the future we might find a place to work our way back to what we once shared. I was too hurt to see a way out right now and being truthful to myself was what I owed myself, and the child I carried.

I saw the pain flash through his eyes so fleeting and quickly replaced with an expressionless face.
“Do you want a divorce?”
My no was so quick and vehement, and I did not realise it until I saw the smug look on his face as he closed the gap and kissed my lips ever so lightly that I was not sure if the kiss did happen except for the feelings it evoked. I could never consider a divorce I just needed the space from him till I was able to work out my hurt. But in my quick answer and his smug look, it was easy to see his conclusion that there was still hope.

Omowashe Omorishe#29

Auntie Bimba

second-chance

Me! Abimbade Folashade Adelakun is pregnant!! The joke of the century.

Ever since the Doctor broke the news, I have been like one in a trance.A dream I had long given up on after twenty years of marriage. Days of crying, depression, shame, guilt, questions and tears of why me?I shook my head sadly.I am pregnant at a time when I had given up all hope of ever carrying my child.

The nights, Segun would comfort and reassure me with words of encouragement and how I was worth more than ten children to him, but it was enough to make the longing go away. And now I was in a place where I despised him. I felt betrayed when I found out he had a child who was part of our lives and he never told me. I was still stewing in this hurt and pain, and now this one news we had both been looking forward to since we got married could not be shared.

My hands subconsciously went over my belly, as I tried to feel the new life I carried although there was nothing to show I was pregnant but the Doctors confirmation.

For a brief second it crossed my mind, what if the doctor was wrong? A dozen of gynaecologists had told me in my quest that they could not find any reason why I could not conceive. There was no gynaecologist within the radius of the country that did not have my file with some others in the United States and the United Kingdom. Always with the same result. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

In those early days, it was if the words sentenced me further down into a dungeon of doom. It could have been better if I had an ailment like a blocked fallopian tube or some diagnosis that we could find a solution, but with none, I had to wait for something close to a miracle I never knew what it was that could happen.

I tried the IVF severally to the point I was advised by the gynaecologist to stop concluding that my body kept rejecting it.

“Allow your body rest, and in its own time, you will conceive.” I scoffed at the Doctor, I needed a child and would do a many IVF’s as possible.IVF had to stop after several failed implants that did not yield my dream and millions of naira gone down the drain.

Oh, places my feet trod in the search for a child. I once visited a spiritualist recommended by a friend but took to my heels when he requested I had to have sex with him seven times as my anecdote to wash away the evil spell that had been cast on me, preventing me from conceiving a child.

I looked at the old greyed man with a brown set of broken teeth coloured by constant eating of kola nuts. My first impression of the man wrapped in a white cloth around his loins and red beads hanging on his neck and left wrist was a disaster waiting to happen. A blind man leading another blind man.

He sat there in his filthy hut, located in a deserted bush in one of the villages on the road to Abeokuta from Lagos. How my friend, a fellow learned colleague heard about this man is still a mystery. My friend told me I would not first or the last as people from all works of life with all kinds of problems streaming to him for a solution. He was so powerful that they all got their request granted.

I was desperate for a child but not so desperate to have sex with this creature. How could I possibly live with the thought? Seven days of such a horrible encounter was as good as a lifetime of torture and misery.I imagined that every time I had to have sex with Segun, It would be relieving the madness I had with him.

Sitting in the shamble of a makeshift shelter made of leaves and supported by wood dug into the ground, so filthy I had to hold my breath throughout my stay if that was possible but I think I did.I politely informed him, I needed to go home and prepare and would be back. Of course, I never went back.This experience ended my search ten years ago. I neither visited a gynaecologist nor the miracle baby providers. I long gave up.

There were times I thought of adoption, but I wanted kids out of my womb. I could not get the issue of adoption around my head. I settled as an avid giver to motherless babies homes and was responsible for the education of five children.They were all in different stages of secondary school now, and I started from their primary school.It was rewarding to hear of their excellent performance in school and know I was contributing to society by giving them an education that would make them better citizens.

I tried to think what it would be like having Lana in our lives but there was no point crying over spilt milk. Segun’s betrayal stung like the bite of a bee and stayed like a fish bone in your throat. The pain won’t go away, and the bone won’t go away, and you are as miserable as can be until you seek help.Like a snap, I had a light bulb moment! I needed help to get past the betrayal and not keep musing expecting it to go away naturally.

“Where have my favourite girls been?” was what I heard to bring me out of my reverie. The hiss died in my mouth. I had kept a professional attitude between Segun and me at work, and no one could have suspected that we were living apart except the news from the grapevine which you can’t do without in the office gossips.

I fumbled for my phone in my bag pretending to be so busy searching for the phone. Luckily a call came through, and I did not have to fake one.I signalled, I have to take this call and took a brisk walk to my office, closing my door and turning the lock. A good thing we did not operate the open glass office. There would have been no place to escape.

I have been avoiding any discussion with Segun that was not related to work. He knew it but was not giving up either. Sometimes I did feel like putting a knife through his heart so he could feel the pain he caused me. But on second thought that would be first-degree murder and after that, my surgeon in jail or the gallows. It was not worth it. No man was worth killing no matter the crime he committed.

How could I be angry with him and still be drawn to him? I wanted to harm him and wanted his arms around me. I wanted to be far away from him but still behold his face and bask in his presence. Hate won over love, and I was yet to figure out what to do.

He had a right to hear about our baby, but I could not give him the luxury of a happy feeling. No, I shook my head vehemently. Until I figured out what to do, I would not mention the child.I dropped on the sofa at work, tired of my mental battles and took a deep breath in and exhaled, hoping to let go the negative feelings and thoughts.

What next?

Meena’s Dairy#5

Wake up

wordle-girlstoys I ran into the reception of Gurara hospital looking around for Hauwau, and there she was sitting calmly like she was not the one who had raised the alarm sending me scurrying off to the hospital like a frightened rat.

“Hey! What’s the problem, spill it out,” I commanded irritably.

“You need not be in a hurry. Only brace yourself for what you are about to see.”

“What kind of suspense is this?” My heart was beating at 70, above the normal healthy heart rate per minute and my friend was all cool and dilly-dallying on the main issue

“Follow me,” she said gravely.
I was filled with trepidation as I walked behind her trying not to second guess what I was to behold.
Once we entered the room, I almost blacked out with shock as I saw Sa’a my dear friend lying lifeless on the bed.

My knees buckled as my mind screamed. She could not be dead. No, it was not possible.
I spoke to her over the weekend, and we had planned to go to the Garki city mall to watch a movie on Friday Night.
I gripped Hauwau and asked “What is this? Is she sleeping?” I wanted to believe Sa’a was sleeping.

“She was brought in here unconscious; her house help called me after raising the alarm and a kind neighbour brought her here last night.

Last night, and I was lying on my bed being cuddled by JK while my best friend was being snatched by the cold hands of death.
“What about Atiku?” I asked. “He should be here.”

Hauwau hissed and rolled her eyes. “Atiku is away in Dubai. He left yesterday night.”
She handed me a letter, and I took it from her. Something was terribly wrong, and I could feel it.

Atiku and Hauwa were two inseparable lovebirds. We were both in the same class in secondary and went on to Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria. Their love had span teenage-hood to adulthood. Atiku was just a year older than Hauwau, but they had weathered the storm through thick and thin that threatened their love.

Their love story would make you never feel enamoured by Shakespeare Romeo and Juliet.
In her second year at the University, Sa’as father had gotten her a respectable husband. He was a dear friend of her father, a business mogul and she was to be his fourth wife. Sa’a fought tooth and nail with her father and faced almost being disowned but for the intervention of the Emir of the town who she ran to for help.

The intervention brought a twist to her destiny of being a fourth wife to marrying her teenage sweetheart in pomp and pageantry as the two families were Arewa socialites.
What I read in the note brought tears to my eyes.

Sa’a had contemplated suicide on discovering Atiku was having an affair with a girl ten years their junior and was planning to marry her. She was a daughter of a governor. I recognised the name when I saw it. We had one of the girls in our class in secondary school. I also remember she was a sworn enemy of Sa’a over Atiku. What one sister could not get the other has gotten it. Was it Sa’as destiny to be traumatised by this family?

I sat in the nearest available chair dejectedly.
“Is she going to make it?” I asked with an apprehension that had come to seat within my breast since I walked into the room.
The Doctors are doing all they can, but they can’t give us any assurance.

“Oh, Atiku! What have you done?” I whispered to myself.

“Is Atiku aware?”

“No, he is not. Like I told you he was off to Dubai. That I know because the house help said that much to me.”
I pulled my phone out to call him; he would most likely be roaming his number.
“What are you doing?” Hauwa asked making an effort to snatch my phone from my hand.

“Calling Atiku,” I answered what else did it look like I was doing. I fumed below my breath.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she threatened.

“Why?” I asked more baffled by the way Hauwau was handling the situation. Why so much anger and poison oozing out of her.

“You think he cares? The man is on the verge of taking another wife, and you are calling him?” she hissed.

“Taking another wife or not he would want to know about his wife near suicide attempt,” I argued stubbornly.
Hauwau laughed at my foolishness.

“You still think life is like all the – Mills and Boons you read in school. How many did you read? 100, 200 300, because I believe you have been brainwashed. What part of – there is no happily ever after in marriage are you finding it hard to believe?”
“My story,” I retorted upset with her and how callous she was being.
Tsk! Tsk!! Tsk!!! she smirked. “My dear Meena, wake up from dreamland before you find out that the carpet has been pulled from under your feet.
A groan from the bed where Sa’a lay got me rushing off to her side while Hauwau picked the phone to call the Nurses.

“

Meena’s Diary#4

wordle-girlstoys ” Fire on the Mountain!” came Hauwau’s voice over my mobile phone.
“Meet me at Gurara Hospital,” she said with an urgency that was uncommon to her.

Hauwau has been my childhood friend, and she was one of the most laid back people I had ever come across. Anything did not move her, and she moved nothing. She had it all together in her life and yes! I confess I was jealous. I was never tired of telling her. It was like she had the universe eating from her hand. Whatever she desired she got it cheaply and without stress.

“Is everything alright?” I asked already panicking.

” I can’t talk over the phone. Please show up quickly and leave all that your made up to perfection face at home too,” she hissed. She knew I would never leave the house without looking my best.
Whatever the problem was, it must be big. I was certain of that.

In addition to her life being on a platter of gold, Hauwau was also the worst of people to get a message across in crisis. She was either giving you her thoughts or the consequences of the issue but never the real problem at hand until you got to her.

So this is how I started my fifteen days vacation. It was not a holiday to go on any trip, but to get my home and heart in order. My life had become a roller coaster on speed off 600km per hour similar to Japan’s Maglev train without applying any break. Turning sharp bends and corners that I felt I had lost control. I did not know what day it was anymore. I was consistently missing out all the children’s school functions. Following up on their work has been so tedious that I am only able to check their home works and leave the rest to the lesson teacher.

I dropped the kids at school this morning while I attacked cleaning the house like it was the battlefield of Normandy.
It was in this state that Hauwau called me. I slipped into a skinny black jeans, sky blue sequined kaftan and a navy blue veil around my shoulders, picked my Ferragamo bag and wore my sequinned slippers that matched the kaftan top.

A quick touch of lip gloss on my mouth, pursing my lips before the mirror as I applied it. Spraying a good deal of my Jimmy Choo illicit flower perfume while using my hands to comb out my human hair. I was contemplating working on my foundation when my phone rang again. It was Hauwau.

I dashed out of the house calling on Hannah, the house help to finish up the cleaning.

Omowashe Omorishe#28

Sworn to secrecy

second-chance

I settled into my comfortable work life with the additional responsibility of checking on Auntie Bimba more regularly than I should and taking on the role of a PA, from fielding her calls and directing the ones I felt were important to her to arranging her meals

I had seen her throw up three times in one week. I asked her if she had seen her Doctor which she just brushed aside that she was not ready to use drugs hoping the bug will go away.

Auntie Bimba had started locking herself in her office, but I was not put off. Whenever I heard the noise of the flush of a toilet, I guessed she had thrown up again. I started to get worried building theories in my head that perhaps she was suffering from anorexia or bulimia – the eating disorder where you throw up immediately after eating.

I discreetly found out her family doctor and booked an appointment for her on Monday without her knowledge. I would give a fuss if I were the one but no one could change my mind when I am convinced to take action.
Monday morning saw me informing Auntie Bimba doggedly that we were going to Dr Johnson’s office for an appointment I had booked for her.

“Auntie Bimba, it’s either we go now, or I march off to Uncle Segun’s office to inform him,” I threatened.
My threat worked, and we were off to the hospital together.

Mayflower Hospital was a walking distance from the firm, but I offered to drive her there. I went into the Doctor’s office with her. I still did not trust my Auntie to tell the Doctor what had been happening to her.

“I have never been sick in my life as far as I can remember,” blurted Auntie Bimba nervously.

“Calm down Mrs Adelakun. I can see you are doing well. You have no need to worry,”

“Mild headaches and pains that went without me having to use drugs. The feel of nausea will go, once what caused it in my system is flushed out generally,” Auntie Bimba continued as though she had not heard a word the Doctor said.
Doctor Johnson was a short man with piercing eyes behind glasses that rested above his nose. His angular shaped face had a welcoming look unlike the sharp lines around his mouth that eased up when he smiled.

The man did not have the typically calm, cool and collected look of a regular doctor or the kind that left you swooning with romantic thoughts of “the boy met the girl and lived happily ever after.”

Doctor Johnson had a charisma about him that exuded trust and trust was what we desperately needed now. Someone to genuinely tell us we had nothing to fear but a bug that will pass away and all the medical jargon with pills that will make you better.

The doctor asked questions bordering on if she had recently changed her diet, what new foods she had started taking, when last did she see her menstrual cycle? And dozens of other similar questions.

“I am hitting menopause Doctor; I really can’t remember but I suppose that should be menopause.”

“And who is this charming young lady we have here? Is she your daughter?” he asked referring to me.

“She is not my daughter she is my niece. Dr Johnson, have you forgotten Lana?” she asked.
Wasn’t he supposed to know me? He has been their family doctor for years. He should be aware of their family history. I thought to myself.

But with my birth mum surfacing from nowhere and me becoming Uncle Segun’s daughter, he was not far from the truth.

“You mean the little girl you brought in with a deep gash under her feet needing stitching twenty years ago and her screams were loud enough to pull down the walls of the hospital. How we struggled so hard to give her an injection with a dozen nurses trying their best to calm her down,” he reminisced letting out a chuckle.
“Some energy she had then for a girl of only six years,”

“One and only,” Auntie Bimba smiled at the memory.
I had no memory of what they were talking about, but I could relate with the gash under my left foot representing an ugly scar about half an inch long. I had stepped over a broken glass while on a visit to Uncle Segun’s place.

When I was younger, whenever Uncle Segun came to our house, I would cry to follow him back home, and most days, I had my way. The sleepovers diminished as I grew older, but the bond grew stronger

I was filled with nostalgia and wished I could be that innocent girl climbing into Uncle Segun’s lap at every opportunity. We talked about everything then from dreams to boys, fashion to marriage, and career to parenting.

Maybe Uncle Segun had been trying to tell me in different ways, who he was to me but I never got the message. He showed up for all Fathers’ day events at my school under the guise that my own Dad was busy and asked him to represent him. All my friends in University knew Uncle Segun because he was the one who came to visit me at school most of the time. It was either he was just in the area or my parents asked him to check on me to he wanted to be sure his best girl was doing okay.

It slowly dawned on me Uncle Segun had communicated in every way that I was the most important person to him, and not because I was his favourite niece as I was led to believe. It was because I was his child.
So lost was I in my thoughts that I did not hear the rest of the discussion between Doctor Johnson and my Aunt until she tapped me to get my attention.
“Doctor Johnson was commenting that you have grown into a promising young woman and how your parents must be proud of you,”

“Thank you, Doctor,” I smiled with nothing more to say.

“Now let’s look at you Mrs Adelakun,” boomed Dr Johnson.

“Bring it on Doctor. It is not some terminal disease, is it? ” asked Auntie Bimba visibly relaxed without the trepidation I sensed when we first came in.
Who would have thought a full grown woman to be afraid of the hospital, drugs and injection?

My Aunt’s blood and urine were taken for tests at the lab while we waited in the reception watching a Nollywood movie. The type where the mother – in-law had come to make her daughter-in-laws life miserable.
“Pray, you have a lovely mother-in-law like mine. I find these stories strange because I have not experienced any of that. While your grandma was alive, she was my best friend. I could not have wished for a better mother-in-law, but there are crazy ones out there”, she said with her lips pursed in dismay.
“I would stay out of her way if I were the lady,” I said pointing to the actress on the TV. She should avoid the woman like the plague and stop fighting her husband over his mother. Does she not know she is wedging a wall in her relationship with her husband?”
We should never wish…
Her words were cut short with the lab attendant calling her name for the result
I glanced at my watch. We had spent over three-quarter of an hour waiting.
“You are perfectly fine. Your blood count is superb, and there is no malaria.”
Auntie Bimba beamed at me with an “I told you I am okay look.”
“However, you would need to rest more and not exert yourself. Congratulations you are eight weeks pregnant!”
I could not contain my joy as I leapt from my seat and did a jig of joy.
After all these years my Aunt was finally pregnant with her first child.
She sat stunned and speechless.
Dr Johnson was laughing.
“You are pregnant!” he repeated.

I did not have the words to describe the joy I felt at the realisation of the miracle in our lives.

We left the hospital after picking up the necessary vitamins from the pharmacy. Auntie Bimba was still in a daze and more quiet.

Uncle Segun will be over the moon with this news; I commented as brought out my phone to call him.
“Don’t call him, Lana, I need to tell him myself, but more importantly I need to figure out what I want to do. Things have changed for us, and I can’t spring a pregnancy on him. Please promise me you would be quiet about this. It is a secret till I am ready to tell or it sells me out.
“You can’t hide a pregnancy can you?” She chuckled. The closest to a laugh since we found out she was pregnant.

I could not get it around my head how I was going to keep this piece of news to myself.
“Lana, please do not tell anyone about this,” she pleaded.
I hate what she wanted me to do, but I had to give in. It was not my place to break such news. It was for her to tell who she wanted and if she wanted to keep the news to herself, she had a limited time to hide, at most four more months and the secret is out for the whole world.

But what is it with secrets and my family?

Meena’s Diary #3

Emotions vs Logic

Another hectic week of work but I am not complaining. It’s a lovely Friday night I have been looking forward to resting my feet and get lost in a good make believe romantic movie just that real life is a lot different from the movies.

So my weekend is suddenly turned to Nollywood and not the Hollywood I wanted. wordle-girlstoys
There is a knock at the door with a rhythm to alert you that all is not well. The urgency with each “rap rap rap” gets me racing inside to retrieve a wrapper to cover my scantily dressed self.
I rushed to the door, amazed to see my Nanny – Madam Rose as we fondly called her.
She burst into the house as soon as I opened the door wailing “My daughter is dead!”
“Your daughter is dead?” I asked numbed with shock. My thought process is freezing.
“Hey! She exclaimed holding her breasts and swaying her head from side to side in anguish.
We held ourselves and started wailing. I was crying for the loss of the child as if it were mine.
I did not ask why she came all the way to my house or where the child was.
We were just simply us, women.

Hubby steps into the living room alerted by our cries.
“What happened to her?” he asks me searching my eyes but not coming to take me into his arms.
“Her daughter died,” I responded still in tears.
He faces Madam Rose and calmly asked her “where is your daughter?”
“She is in my Pastors house.”
“Is she dead?” he asked so composed that I am wondering if is this hubby is okay.
The woman has said her child is dead and you are still asking questions. I wondered to myself.
“Can I talk to your Pastor?” He asks as she rattles the pastor’s number to him.
He dials the phone while we hold our tears, sniffing at intervals while wiping our tears with the back of our hands.
Was he calling to confirm the death of the child and did not believe the mother that came all the way from her place to ours to inform us that the daughter she sent to school this morning was no longer alive?

“My name is JK and Madam Rose works for me. We would like to know the situation of her daughter.
From the conversation, we found out that the child was not dead but slumped. Madam Rose rushed the girl to her Pastors house, left the child there and took a bus all the way to our house.

Hubby was on the phone with the Pastor who had already taken the child to the hospital. The hospital had refused treatment until the payment of deposit. We resolved the issue with speaking to the Doctor and getting his name to be sure he was genuine, money changing hands and Madam Rose going to the hospital.

I can laugh now at Madam Rose and me, how we let loose our emotions, but I also celebrate the good men we have in our lives who step into situations, take charge and solve the issues.

I can analyse and wonder if it was not a case of being swindled? The supposed Doctor and Pastor we spoke to could have been a ploy, another school of thought.

However, with so many sides to a coin, doing good might seem an act of foolishness in the environment we are, but it does not rule out the fact that there are genuine people who need help and an angel in human form.

Omowashe Omorishe#27

To be or not to be

Leave of absence! What would I be doing? The last couple of weeks I had almost died from boredom. What would happen now? I might become boredom personified. My parents have put their feet down that I must take the much-needed rest to recover before going back to work. Their argument being that the stress from work could induce a relapse.

second-chance Uncle Segun offered to pay my salary for that period if that was why I wanted to go back to work, or I could resume a role in his law firm working two hours a day.
My reasons fell on deaf ears, and I ended up abiding by my family’s wishes. What does it take for a family to stop meddling in ones’ affairs? Why is it so difficult for them to realise I am no longer a child but an adult capable of taking care of myself?

I agreed to work at Uncle’s Segun’s Law firm but insisted on four hours a day which I was obliged.

Adelakun & Adelakun Partners was an ideal law firm with about ten staff – six Lawyers, an administrative officer and office assistant. My coming on board was of no relevance to the company or so I thought. However, getting into the organisation, I could see a lot needed to be done to reorganise the office. And the myriad of paper and documents stashed in one corner of the entrance required emergency attention.

I was ecstatic to see Auntie Bimba in the office on resumption. The last I heard, she still had not returned home. Seeing her in the firm she co-owned with Uncle Segun was a good sign to me.

“Hello Auntie,” I greeted courtesying in the traditional way.

“Hi Lana, it is great to see you looking so well. One can hardly believe you were the one I came visiting looking so emaciated some few weeks back. Your eyes sparkle,” commented Auntie Bimba.
I glowed at her words. I knew I looked better than the first week I came out of the hospital but not as good as the picture Auntie Bimba painted.

“Thank you, auntie. And how are you doing?” I asked with more concern than I could hide.

“I am hanging in there, my dear,” she sighed.

“It is a lot to take in. But I see you have adjusted well,” said Auntie Bimba. It was more of a comment than the sarcastic feel of the words.

“Oops!, that sounded mean. I did not mean it that way,” apologised Auntie Bimba.

“I know auntie. You have a heart of gold. I am proud of the way you are handling it, and I know things will sort itself out,” I offered my unsolicited words of encouragement boldly.
Auntie Bimba smiled, and my heart broke at how sad she looked.
“I hope so,” she answered.

“It was disheartening to see she had lost the spunk she had for life.
Why was she walking away and not putting up a fight for her home?

“I hope you don’t find this place boring. I hear you are off work till you get much better.But the Lana I know it must have taken a whole lot to get you to give into this idea.”

“Your husband has his ways,” I said laughing as I stepped out of her office.

Questions were being asked by family members if Uncle Segun would be getting back with my birth mum.
I hoped not. How could Uncle Segun throw the years of history with Auntie Bimba to follow someone who left him in the cold with a child and now wants the whole family package back?
I know he has been meeting with my birth mum and the rumours going around by family members was that if Auntie Bimba insists on staying out. Uncle Segun was justified to bring her back after all the family was complete with, mother-child and father even if the cords that bound us together was brittle.
I was barely out when I heard the scrape of her chair on the ground, and suddenly I could hear the noise from feet rushing.
I turned back into her office and saw her kneeling on the floor of the opened toilet throwing up.

“Auntie, do you need help?” I asked worriedly.

“I’ll be okay. I must have taken something that upset my stomach.”

She washed her face and cleaned up and sat on the guest sofa.

“I will be fine, don’t worry about me. See the look of on your face,” teased Auntie Bimba.

“How did you cope in the hospital if you can’t bear to see anyone in pain?” she asked.
I smiled and quietly left the room after making sure, she was okay and had dozed off on the seat.

Was Auntie Bimba, taking the issue between her and Uncle Segun more than she was letting on. I needed to keep an eye on her and let Uncle Segun know if there was anything.

*******

“You would need to have a meeting with her. Hear her out and talk things over with her. I do not think she is asking to come into our lives. She is just asking to make peace with her child,” said Uncle Segun trying to convince me.

“You think so?” I asked.

I did not want to have that meeting. I do not know if it was out of fear of finding out that I never meant anything to my birth mum. Perhaps she was here because her conscience won’t let her live with it. It was not that she loved me.

For two whole weeks, Uncle Segun kept barging me with the question of if I was ready. I could not understand the urgency of his persuasion, but I stubbornly refused to give in. He could barge me into taking six weeks leave of absence from work without pay, start work in his law firm, but he could not get me to have a meeting with my birth mother when I was not ready.

“When do you think, you’ll be ready?” Andrew asked as we talked over the phone which had become our daily routine. We talked every day over the phone and met up during weekends when none of us was busy.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I would ever be ready. I just want to have my life the way it has always been. I don’t want the confusion of my birth mum and my adopted mum or whatever. She gave me away years ago, and I want it to remain that way. She does not owe me any explanation. Period,” I argued and upset we were having this conversation.

“Do you feel anything for her?” Andrew prodded.

“No,” I answered.

“Then why are you upset with her?”

“I am not!” I raised my voice over reacting.

“You would need to make the decision on your own. One that you would not regret some years down the line. If I were to give you a candid advice, I’d suggest you hear what your birth mum has to say and make peace.

“Make what peace?” I lashed out.

“Make peace to someone who until some few weeks back I did not know existed? Make peace with a stranger who is called my mother because she gave birth to me? Make peace to a woman who was not woman enough to sacrifice for her child?
She is but a stranger to me. I owe her nothing. I had made my peace even before she came along. She should make her peace with her maker, not me. She owes me nothing.
The silence as a result of my outburst was deafening.
I was heaving and breathing over the phone, as I held onto it tightly.
I could hear Andrew’s breath on the other side of the phone but he said nothing.
We must have held on for more than fifteen minutes, and I broke the silence.

“Okay, I’ll try and hear her out,” I said grudgingly.

“It will all work out,” he said confidently over the phone.

“You don’t owe her anything, but you owe yourself to hear her out and make your decision.”

I knew Andrew was telling the truth, so I half-promised to hear her out in my own time but not right now.

Meena’s Diary #2

Half of my Kingdom

I have been invited to a women’s forum program. Not sure if I wanted to go. We, women, are lovely creatures and fun beings but too many of us together can be disastrous. Hence my hesitation. However, when I met the convener of the program at church this morning, I was too ashamed not to give my usual reply, not this Sunday as I had done for a whole year.

I convinced hubby that I had no choice to go than to support my fellow sister. Searched my wardrobe for a dress that will bring Lagos to standstill – remember o! I was going to an all women program, but truthfully I think we women are the ones that look and size each other up.

My headgear rivalled Madam Kofo in Second chance, a sitcom of the 80’s. Make up in place. The scent of J’ardore, evoking a unique and harmonious floral fragrance.

“Babe, are you sure it’s a woman’s program? Because I think this is pure harassment,” teased hubby.
“na you sabi, No one is looking at me. I am looking at myself,” I retorted.
I grabbed my car keys before hubby decides his agenda for me.
On second thought I ask, “Sweetheart can I use your car?”
“Anything you want to the half of my kingdom,” replied my gallant knight in shining armour.

Now his kingdom is our lovely house and kids and some Naira in the bank account that belongs to all who need it.
I take his keys and mine so my car which was behind could be moved which should have been the cue only to go with mine rather than face the hassle of driving cars

I drove out in his Honda Accord 2011. Nothing is wrong with my car. But mine is Honda 2007 a brand new car when I was given still in good condition. But longer throat no gree me.
So I put in the ignition, place the gear in reverse, and drive off till I heard “gboa!”

Ye! All my shakara flew out of the window.
I have entered one chance today.
Shaking all over because half of my kingdom does not entail his car o!
I rush back to the house.
“Sweetheart” all forgotten.

“JK – I am in trouble!”
He is staring at me like I am from another planet.
Of course, he has no idea what has happened to his real babe.

“Your car, your car,” my vocabulary reduce to that of a toddler while my queens English took the backseat.
“What about my car?” he asked too casually. If only he knew.
The guy was not making it easy for me and my women’s weapon for ready tears today had taken a trip to China.

“I bashed it. I am sorry,” all coming out so fast coupled with the speed at which my 5 feet 6 inches frame got to the ground in the traditional way.
Something I have never done since our traditional engagement ceremony over a decade ago.
Unfortunately, hubby remained unperturbed.
He rushed out to see his baby and a torrent flow of the “what, why, where, how, and when questions started.
As hubby was not slowing down and none of my actions was working
I went to our room and changed.
I was upset with myself and hubby for not easily forgiving me.

“What is in a car? Am I not worth more than a car?”
I am puffing and talking using the last weapon I have – my mouth
“Haba car na car o! No be living thing,” I exclaimed.

Omowashe Omorishe#26

I dare to hope

second-chance After four weeks in the hospital, I was finally allowed to go home. I had lost a lot of weight, my eyes and cheeks sunken. I gasped as I gazed at my reflection in the mirror while trying to apply a little makeup to my face. A good sign that I was doing much better. Three weeks ago I was too sick to be bothered about my looks. I would spend my energy getting better.

Diabetes type 2! I thought I heard the doctor say that was the kind of diabetes I had. I was asking what were the chances of cure from my doctor when he looked at me quizzically.
“Who told you it’s a type 2?” He asked.

“One of the doctors I guess,” I replied.
I doubt I could have made that up or it the disease affecting my memory too.

“type 1, not 2,” said the doctor correcting me.

“Type 1 or 2 what are my chances of getting better and living a healthy life,” I asked getting infuriated not even the counselling had given me the answers I want. They have all been politically correct in their responses.

“I wish I could tell you what you want to hear but if you keep to your medication, you will be okay.”

What he was saying was what I already knew, but I was hoping there would have been a change after all the weeks in the hospital.I was feeling more like my old self.

“Your drugs and medication would be given to you before you leave. Make sure you adhere strictly to them or else you might be back here again, and it may be more grievous.You need to do all you can to take care of yourself if you want to stay alive,” said Dr Kola gravely.

I wanted to stay alive but not with diabetes. There must be a cure. Science was too advanced for there not to be a cure. There should be a breakthrough in diabetes research. I have to believe I will overcome. The diseases will not waste my body.

I was glad to be out of the hospital. I wished I had not listened to my mother and had rented an apartment of my own. I would have to get a place in the coming weeks. I went home with mum and Uncle Segun. He would not listen to my feeble protest of he did not need to bother with me.

“Auntie, can I come in for dinner? I am tired of eating at my usual restaurant,” asked Uncle Segun.

I looked at him puzzled and forgot my resolve not to talk to him and only answer his questions in monosyllables. I was still upset with him.
However, it was easier said to forgive and let go than done. I thought I had let go, but I was far from it. It did look like I had a long way to go.

“What about Auntie Bimba?” I asked.

“She moved out after I told her you were my daughter. She was shocked I could have hidden such a secret from her all these years, not that I blame her,” he answered sadly.

I was not the only one dealing with Uncle’s Segun’s betrayal. I should be glad he is getting paid back in his coin. Rather I was sad that the two people who made my fantasy of marriage a reality now had cracks in their home, threatening to destroy the fabric of their union.
No secret is worth keeping. There is always a gestation period, and the truth out for everyone. Why does it take people so long to realise that secrets were only a matter of time?

I was speechless and since I did not know what to say. I did the best thing by keeping my mouth shut. Uncle Segun and Auntie Bimba had the wisdom to sort whatever problem they encountered. It was not for me to start giving counsel I did not have.

Uncle Segun came in for a meal of Amala and ewedu soup quickly whipped together by my mum. She asked if I wanted some and apologised when it dawned on her that it was carbohydrate and should not be part of my meal. My lifestyle has become a list of rules and diet that must be abided.

I walked into my old room. The last time I was in the room was the day of the introduction. That day looked like a million years away. I was no longer that girl whose life was a filled with promise and hope of happily ever after. It was a reality of pain, sickness and dream cut short if I allow it.

I dragged myself to the bed and laid down hugging the teddy bear Bode had given me. Drawing comfort that being here today is a sign that although my life would be different from now on, I would live every day to the fullest.

* * * * *
My phone vibrated, and I picked it up to read the message.

Andrew: Are you home?
Me: Yes I am.
Andrew: Up for a visit.
Me: Yes.
Andrew: Will check on you shortly. I am on my way home.

The constant in my life have been my friends and family. They have all found time amidst their busy schedule to check on me more regularly than I would have given credit.
The other day Auntie Bimba had come around to visit. I was excited to see her and hoped I would be able to convince her to go back to Uncle Segun.
I could understand her hurt although it was deeper than mine. I was the child. She was his wife. I wondered if their marriage could ever be the same again. Trust, although broken could be restored with time.

She did not say much to me, although I did ask when she was going back to Uncle Segun. I am yet to come to terms with calling him, father.

My parents were discussing the other day of a possibility of divorce, but I did not think she would. It might take her a longer time to come around forgiving my uncle, but Auntie Bimba did not look like one who would ask for a divorce.

The visits were brief but filled with messages of hope and encouragement except for some tactless people who had gory tales of individuals with diabetes. How do you come to encourage someone and fill them with stories of fear? I have learnt not to dwell on those terrible stories, and I can tell you it’s been hard wiping them out of my memory.

One of my aunts came the other day and was wailing of my inability to get pregnant due to the disease. I had not explored that angle, but my mother was quick to shut her up that the doctor had said I had a chance to live a normal life. Secretly, I wondered if my mum was not being protective and had just made that up, but since I was neither looking for romance nor marriage, they need not bother.

Bode visited me every day that I felt so sorry for the guy.
“You need a break. You have not been able to process what has happened to us and what you want to do. You should take time off work and make plans. Find a nice girl to marry,” I said almost choking on my words.

“Someone like you, cousin,” said Bode always using that endearment for me. Although I felt like it was more a reminder to him that I was his cousin and no longer the girl who held his heart than he was letting us believe.

“I could help you. We could go through a list of my friends,” I offered.

“I am not that desperate,” said Bode crisply.
I took the cue to drop the subject.

“Have you thought of seeing your birth mum?” asked Bode.

“I don’t think of her as my mother,” I answered tonelessly.

I still did not want to have anything to do with her. She and I were strangers, and that was what we would always be. Not asking for more, especially with the circumstance she abandoned me.

“Does she know me?” I asked, for a moment fantasising that she was pining for her abandoned daughter.

“No, I have not told my family that you are her daughter. She still thinks there is a girl somewhere with Uncle Segun.

“Good. Please don’t tell your family,” I begged, and I don’t know why I wanted him to hide the fact that he nearly married his first cousin.

The truth was I could not deal with anyone asking for forgiveness or expecting more from me. I was not hurt just indifferent. I was neither curious nor interested. I preferred not to rock my boat.

****

A soft knock rapped on my door.
Without checking, I knew who it was. It was the way he knocked so gentle that you could barely hear it.

“Come in,” I said softly but loud enough to be heard by the person on the other side of the door.

Andrew came in his presence filling the space as he took his seat on the chair by my bedside.

“How are you doing today, I hope you are not getting lazier by the day? So much work is waiting for you at the office,” he teased in his usual banter that I forget many times he is still my boss at work.

“I can’t wait to be back, up and running.”

My mother came in overhearing my response.

“You need to make sure Lana takes it slowly at work. She will forget all about herself and focus on the job. We cannot afford that right now,” said my mum to Andrew placing a glass cup of orange juice on the table beside his chair and handing me a tray of spicy fish pepper soup.

I adjusted my pillows sitting up properly to take the soup from her.

“Ma, do you think she still needs to be babied? She must be enjoying all the pampering so much that the thought of work must be nonexistence in her plans,” Andrew said to my mother with a grave look on his face yet eyes crinkling with laughter.

“You wish!” I retorted rolling my eyes.

“If it were possible, I would gladly exchange with you. You can have all the pepper soup in the world you want,” I teased back.

I loved Andrew’s visits. They were lively and filled with the usual banter Bode, and I used to share. He was able to look beyond my situation and still see me. It was easy to be my old self and not get weighed down with my present condition.

I would laugh and beg him to stop. I hated when his visits ended, and I had only my thoughts of fear to entertain me. Would I beat this disease? Would I be able to live a normal life?