Women – Page 2 – 21stcenturybelle

Meena’s Diary#8

My eyes flew open while I slowly stretched on the hard seat in the waiting reception of the hospital careful not to wake Hauwau.
The things I heard still rang in my head. To think that I had always thought my friend had her life on a platter of gold and was going through a difficult marriage deeply hid in the false exterior of a fulfilled life. She had opened up to me in the hours that flew while we waited for Sa’a to wake up.

wordle-girlstoys

I gasped when I saw Atiku standing before me. I knew I was not dreaming for my eyes were well wide awake although my addled brain was still trying to process the information.
“You came,” I exclaimed with joy like a little girl who had just received a gift from Santa Claus.
“Where was I supposed to be, when my dear wife is on admission at the hospital? Stay and be working? Oh no! You do not think work is more important than Sa’a?”

I am both confused and shocked simultaneously. What in the first place brought Sa’a to the hospital? I rubbed my eyes tiredly stifling a yawn, and thinking that perhaps I must be dreaming. This was not the attitude of one willing to take on a second wife.
“Atiku, I don’t know what to think.” He did look tired, but this was my chance to broach the subject. Maybe he would have a rethink and the looming calamity over my friends’ home will be averted.
I took a glance where Hauwau lay and was happy she was fast asleep. She would have reprimanded me to let sleeping dogs lie but me in my character of saying what I thought neither paid attention nor gave heed to the warning but for the intervention of providence.

There was no love lost between Hawau and Atiku. How she managed to remain in Sa’as life is still a mystery. One thing Sa’a had not been able to oblige Atiku is forfeiting her friendship with Hawau.
Atiku followed my gaze and his tired face now replaced with a scowl. I could not help but chuckle, and he scowled harder.
“You should get used to her,” I walked ahead to leading the way Sa’as room.

Sa’a was fast asleep. Atiku rushed to her side holding her hand with so much tenderness that tears rolled down my cheek. I hoped what I heard were lies or a misunderstanding. The picture before me did not portray a man planning to bring in a second wife. There definitely must be a mistake. The look of love and anguish that filled his eyes as he watched Sa’a lying almost lifeless on the bed except her slow but laboured breathing.
“What did the Doctor say?” He asked hoarsely, and I felt so sorry for him.
“She tried to commit suicide.”
“What!” He exclaimed shutting his eyes in anguish.
“Why would she do that?”
I could see the look of confusion on his face.
“Why would she want to kill herself?”
“You have no idea?”
He was looking at me like I had a growth or something not in place on my head.
“Meena, please do not torture me further by going in circles. Tell me what I need to know to rectify why she felt the need to try to kill herself.”

A few minutes ago I was ready to give him my opinion and beg him to see reason, but common sense told me to keep shut and let this two work out whatever the issue was.
There was hope for Sa’a. A man heartbroken like what I just saw could not have been the mean guy portrayed in the story Hauwau narrated. Something was not right in the story, but the scene here was looking good.

“

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?

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#25

Wrong diagnosis

diagnosisstamp

My stay in the hospital which should not have taken more than three days took a downturn. I was not getting any better rather weaker and weaker. The Doctor kept insisting on his dehydration diagnosis. One would have thought that with all drips my body had been subjected too would have provided my system with the required fluid. Going into near cardiac arrest was what gave an indication that all was not well with me. I was grappling with more than just dehydration.

Wrong diagnosis. Andrew pleaded with his mum to take my case although she was not the doctor seeing me. After that, I was made to run series of tests using my blood and urine. All sorts of scans and prodding and poking of my body.
Did I think my family issue was the worst to happen to me? Being told I had diabetes type 2 was a more devastating news. What brought me to the hospital in the first place paled compared to the diagnosis. The doctor said that had it not been detected, my body system would have shot down due to the high glucose in my blood.

Anger and hurt are forgotten. I was fighting for my life. The first time I visited the hospital during Peju’s wedding was a giveaway symptom missed by the doctors. I have heard of how people died by the wrong diagnosis but never thought I would be a victim. For a very famous and well – recognised hospital who would have thought? How did the doctor miss it? No performing of a lab test was required just a physical examination and a concluded prognosis.

I overheard Uncle Segun ranting that if anything happened to me, he was going to sue the hospital and make sure the medical council revoked their license to operate. They were not fit to be called a hospital but a death centre.

It took the hospital Medical Director who was passing by at the time of his ranting to calm down. He insisted that I should be referred to another hospital or be handed over to a more competent doctor. The Medical Director assured him Andrew’s mum who is a clinical consultant had taken over my case.

Diabetes? Me? At my age. Diabetes was an old person disease. A terminal illness. How long did I have to leave? Would I have time to make peace with my parents and uncle before I die? Would I be able to work or would I be bedridden like my grandma and subjected to eating only protein and little or no carbohydrates with the drugs to take round the clock?

The thought of it would have killed me. Had not the Hospital brought in a counsellor to talk me through what diabetes is and is not and what I need to do and look out for to ensure I stayed alive and well? It was not a killer disease. I could manage it and live a normal life.

Isn’t it so funny how we hear about a disease so often but have our misconceptions? Yes, people do die from diabetes, but a whole more people learn to live with it and thrive without succumbing to it. How more wrong could my life go from here? I have become invalid and no more a whole person. Now I had to watch my diet and watch myself around the clock Death stared me in the face and I knew I did not want to die. I wanted to live. I wanted to come to terms with my heritage and achieve all my goals. I wanted to live, love and laugh and if possible do all in luxury and style and not with diabetes. I wanted to beat the disease.

Most days I was so exhausted that visitors’ hours were no more than thirty minutes. I could barely keep my eyes open with all the drugs injected into me.
Bode and Andrew still made for visiting hours. Sometimes as little as five minutes but they put in so much effort to see me smile. My voice was all raspy. It was tiring to talk. I would smile, nod or blink to let them know I was hanging in there while they did all the talking and joking like I was not ill.

Uncle Segun dropped in every day and my parents, but whenever I saw them, I feigned to be asleep. I had forgiven them in my way, so I thought but was not ready to face them or talk about it to them until I was much stronger.

Andrew’s mum who was now my Doctor became my friend and confidant. There are days she would stop by after her clinical rounds and just spend time with me talking and reassuring me. She seemed to read my fears and did her best to allay them.

She would tell me of her story as a young girl whose father was one of the British colonial masters and married a Nigerian. Growing up in Ikoyi then and how she left for England at age ten or how she met Andrew’s father while in the University in England and fell in love with him at first sight. She did not think twice when he asked her to marry him and follow him back to Nigeria. She has been in Nigeria since with no regrets.

She would talk about her career how difficult it was to be one of the few female doctors at the time. Sometimes it would be about her kids. The stunts Andrew pulled as a kid. It was hard to picture the same person I knew. When she talked about her daughter, she would go emotional on how she missed her. You could see the mother-daughter bond based on mutual friendship and respect.

I loved what I had with my mum but knowing she was not my birth mum made a mockery of what we shared. To think that I would argue with my elder sister then that I was mother’s favourite and was not even her daughter. I have to give her credit as an amazing woman. I never felt I was not her child. It was confusing, but I did not want to dwell on that. I needed to focus all my energy on getting better and leaving the hospital.

Meena’s Diary #1

November 11, 2016

Today is my debut for Meena’s diary. Here I was, wishing for an extraordinary day to share. Something like dining in the white house with Obama and Trump while having a Tete- a- Tete with Michelle and Melania or somewhere in the Bahamas lazing alone leaving leboo and my brood back at home. Instead, I was booked to see my Doctor for a pap smear appointment.

It was my first time using this hospital. I asked my friend Sa’a who had informed me that it is the nurses who would carry out the exercise.

I walked into the GP’s office for my appointment. I met a male doctor, and that was okay after all, it was a nurse and a female one who would perform the procedure. No hard feelings here and sorry to my Doctor friends. It’s a personal preference. I feel freer with my kindred – women.

I enter still dey form level – finest big babe. The Doc asked me questions; age, last pap smear and medical history questions which I answered. See my phonetics. I still had no clue that he was the one to perform the pap smear.

That was how the Doc said they would give me some time to change into the hospital gown and he would come around to carry out the pap smear procedure.

I ate humble pie as to say the Doc don see me finish. All my “fine girl sophisticated babe posing.”

So we got on the table, and he kept saying open up, open wider. The more he said, the more I wanted the ground to swallow me.

As soon as the procedure was over, I was dressed back in power dressing but without my full kitted confidence. I had never been so eager to see the exit of an office like I was today.

I made a mental note always to request for a female doctor in such matters. Although it was male doctors who took delivery of my two children but you all know, there is no shakara in the birth room.