10 DAYS - Episode 5

DAY 2

Njideka Ime

How is it that we fight against what we want? 

The answer is simple, it’s conscience. That crazy mechanism installed in us like a smoke detector, picking up what our excited flesh wants and raining down a shower of cold water to douse these things. It restricts us, it cages us, it… but it holds us all down to sanity.

I sigh as I kick open the door to Edisemi’s room. I have a box of chips in one hand and a saucer of three crunchy chicken on the other. I think it’s one of the very few things that can get Edisemi lively again – partially, if not wholly. I didn’t prepare these myself. I’d gone over to KFC at the next  street to get it.

I’d gone there for a couple of reasons. One was to clear my mind of the thoughts of Captain. Since that surprise kissing incidence at the party, I can’t seem to get him off my head. I keep groping for thoughts of a kiss free of every dramatic restriction, just the two of us in a dimly lit room, our erotic scent heating up the atmosphere. Yes, each passing day of my life, I wonder for what reason I refuse him and his sexual advances. Sex is not a necessity yet, rationality tells  me, but even now it’s a want that can be easily acquired, why don’t I get it? 

This first reason was a façade to the second reason, which is to see if I can catch a glimpse of Captain.
You see, Captain’s Dad bought the KFC franchise. He owns many of the KFC outlets in Lagos, most of which are placed under Captain’s supervision. This is nothing Captain told me, but when a guy persists on getting into your pants, you have to uncover certain aspects of his life. I’d seen him in this particular outlet more than once and a tattling employee had been all too eager to tell me he was the hot supervisor that hardly had words with them.

“Oga can dash money for Africa. If he tastes a very nice chicken, for instance, he will just ask for the person that prepared it and dash her plenty money. Sometimes it’s the way we attend to customers that touches his heart.” She’d said.

Generous he is, but I know he isn’t the type that gives and let go. Something must be returned. I want nothing from him, neither do I wish to give him anything, yet I was there at that outlet roving my eyes about the place in search of him.

The third reason was to get away from Edisemi. The chic hasn’t had any sleep since ending the party last night and sending Butch out of her house. She’s been crying and cursing. I’ll stay with her for a while to console and beg her to have some sleep and she’ll turn me into a crying shoulder. She deprived me of my own beauty sleep as well.

I place the items from KFC on the bed, in front of her, and think I’ll have to leave her alone in her house for some days; only I don’t know how many days would be enough for her to pick herself up and not commit suicide. Edisemi doesn’t strike me as the kind of chic to commit suicide though, but can one really tell such things?

“I’m not hungry, Njideka.”

I exhale in frustration, thinking: You have to eat these chicken and chips oh. It’s your best meal not mine.

“Your eyes are red and swollen.” I say instead. “You want to shower first, then rest, and then eat?”

She looks at me. It’s the saddest expression I’d ever see in a grown woman's face.

“He’s been cheating with Julie. Can you imagine Butch told me Julie is way sweeter than me?”

Of course, I can’t imagine that. Butch isn’t Captain. Butch has dignity, Butch knows what he wants and sticks to it. He’s not a goat. Instead I think Edisemi misinterpreted his statement. Butch could actually have told her that Julie is a sweeter person than her. That is quite different from the sexual sweetness, you know.

“It’s alright.” I rub her back. “Butch will come back to you and he’ll apologise.”

“And you think I’ll accept him back into my life?”

Then why the hell are you crying and depriving yourself of your fundamental happiness over him?

“I can’t tell you what to do, but I can tell you Butch is a nice man.”

“That’s what I used to think, Njideka, until I caught him smoking. Which nice man does that?”

I look ahead in silence and also can’t imagine Butch smoking, but even if he does, what’s the big deal? A man that doesn’t go after anything that moves in skirts and gowns and bum shorts and tight trousers is a cool man. Butch has his brains in his cranium, unlike Captain who’s got his trapped in his penis.

“I think you need to forget about him then. Eating is the first step. Try this.”

I pick one of the chicken and lift it to her mouth. 

She shakes her head and just then her phone rings. Our eyes divert to the screen. Well, my eyes alone.  Edisemi seems to know the caller. I revert my eyes to her to gain this knowledge.

“Pick the call. Hear what he has to say.”

“No!”

“He’s going to apologise.”

“I know. I don’t want to hear any of it. He should go and meet Julie.” She pauses as if to reconsider the statement.  

“That’ll only happen when I’m dead.”

“Edisemi!”

Seriously, I don’t understand this babe at all.
When we started this friendship, I didn’t like her. I saw her as one proud lady who thought she knew and had everything. She had money for real but she lacked the simplicity and warmth that drew people to other people. I distanced myself from her as best as I could, but there was Butch I couldn’t distance myself from. Butch and I have been friends for two years now. 

I met him in church. He was that one Legion brother whose life you can’t help but marvel at. Very calm. Very understanding. Very generous and free spirited. After our first conversation I knew I needed more of such conversations. He’s been over to our family house more than once and had lunch with us. It was after one of those lunches that he invited me home to Edisemi and her snotty ways. By following his example, I soon discovered that Edisemi possessed some sweetness within.

However, the lady needs to change a lot of things about herself, her orientation especially.

“Pick his call the next time he calls. Imagine you were in shoes…”

“He’s been calling all morning. If he hasn’t given me 15 missed calls already, then it’s 20.”

“And you didn’t pick any. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I’m just starting to see why you keep turning Captain down.”

My jaw drops and I surprise myself by asking, “what do you understand?”

“We both know Captain is not a nice man. Butch is no different. Birds of the same feathers…”

“This is very wrong, Edisemi. Listen to me.”

I take a sit beside her and hold both of her hands so she can look into my eyes. At first, she doesn’t look, probably ashamed she’ll see what she looks like in my eyes.

“Captain is a nice man. I have my reservations that’s why I snob him and his advances. I know what I’m doing. I’m leading him to his true self. Soon, he'll sit down and examine certain things about himself.”

“Right. Butch should do the same. Thank You, Njideka, you’re a wonderful friend.”

I’m exasperated. I get off the bed. I shouldn’t linger here any longer. If Edisemi thinks I’m inspiring her to neglect Butch, I better make myself unavailable.

“Anyway, I’ll be going home later in the day. My mom has been asking me to come.”

“No, please. You can’t leave me here all alone. It’s scary.”

“But, you’re not here all alone. You have your…”

Dog. Yes, Kingston, her ugly Rottweiler that can only bark. He’d lick up her tears if he’s asked to and jump into her arms to warm her heart a little, but what does a dog understand about human emotion? What can a dog do when it’s master grabs a rope and a chair and prepare to jump off the rotation of the world?

“You know you have to pick his call sooner or later and settle with him, right?”

“No. All I need right now is someone that understands what I’m going through. Don’t leave me here Njideka.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow evening.”

“How about I come and stay with you?”

“What?”

But I know I’ve given in already. That question was a whisper. I stand gazing doltishly at Edisemi as she rises with fresh tears gathering in her eyes and comes to give me a hug. I hate being unable to hold firm to a decision. I hate being this weak. I think dimly of calling Captain, I’ve never done it before but I’ll try it. I’m losing it, I’m falling.

“Thank you, Njideka.” Edisemi sobs into my ear. Her body judders in my arms.

“It’s okay, dear. You’ll be fine.”

But I’m not fine.


Buchi Agwu

My dad comes to check out on me and I am stunned at how old he looks. There’s always been strands of white on his hair, now they seem to outshine the black.

Of course, white should always outshine black.

“Ready to talk yet?” He asks, his head poking through the space at the door.

I drop my phone beside me and smile at him. I reminisce the day I broke a guy’s head in a bar. The guy had gotten too drunk to respect me and my opinions. There was an argument about the importance of education in this age. The man maintained that education was useless, and after disclosing to him somewhere in between the conversation that I was an artist, he decided to make fun of me. I pleaded for him to stop, I ended the argument for the sake of peace and even went to another table to be rid of him. The man chose instead to become the fly that followed the corpse to the grave and I couldn’t stand him anymore.
He was hospitalised and I paid the bills but the guilt never left me. It gnawed at my conscience the way a mice would a piece of cheese. 

Your hands are forever stained with his blood!
You are a monster!
What would you say to God when you pray tonight, that you spilled blood because someone joked about your occupation?

In as much as I tried to suppress these thoughts and go about my life in all it’s normalcy, my dad had sensed my unrest. He’d poked in his head a day later like he’s doing now to ask if I wished to talk to him.

“Go away, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Sure?”

I appear to think. 

“I think we need to talk about how fast you’re growing old.”

He smiles wanly. “We’ll talk about that too when you’re ready to talk.”

I pick back my phone and scroll absently, dismissing him. He lingers a while then I hear the door click. I turn towards it and decide at that instant to go visit Njideka. It’s a walkable distance from my house to hers. She needs to be informed about what’s going on and how much of it was induced by my plan. I can do with some piece of advise as well, before I ruin something good.

I walk out to the sitting room where my mother sits in her favourite couch peering at a booklet. Without stepping in close, I know it’s an Awake booklet. Those Jehovah witness evangelists need not visit the house anymore, my mom goes over to the bus stop every month to pick up the latest booklets. They’ve got a small stand there where they sit and wait for interested persons seeking the light in the word of God. People like my mom.

In as much as my mom loves the teachings of the Witnesses, she holds firm to her Catholic belief of heaven, hell, purgatory and the mother of God whose heart was pierced. She never argues these with the Witnesses.

“What’s this issue talking about?” I speak from behind her.

She closes the booklet primly and turns to me with a beautiful smile. I notice the smile isn’t as impeccable as it used to be. It now draws curves of weak flesh at corners of her lips.

“Same thing every issue talks about – the sincere love of God.”

She touches a spot on her cheek and I bend to place a peck there. A certain warmth fills my heart. I wonder if Edisemi knows to do this.

Would she be her children’s best friend?

“I’m stepping out to Njideka's place. I’ll be back before night.”

“We’ll be having dinner together at the dining tonight. Don’t miss it.”

“I won’t for anything. What would be for dinner?”

“Something I’m sure you’ve not had in a long time. Something to welcome you back home.”

I can’t think of that something right now because my mom’s meal is something I’ve not had in a long time. Every single dish she prepares is a special to me.

“I’ll say hi to her people for you.”

“How did I forget to add that?”

“You didn’t forget. I’m your memory.”

She cackles in that way of hers that interprets she’s emotionally touched. I step out of the house and into the hot day.

I arrive at Njideka's place ten minutes later. He mom gathers me in a hug, then turns me around to check me out.

“You’re looking good, Buchi. What have you been eating?”

“Food.” I say and we both laugh.

Her father comes to meet us at the door. He snatches me and his wife is forced to get in and shut the door behind her.

“Come and see this.” He says to me.

He takes me hurriedly to the backyard like a boy eager to show off his newest toy to his friend. Njideka's mom tags along with a suppressed smile on her face.

What I see brightens my face. My lips spread into a grin as I return my look to the old man. It’s a cradle of baby Jesus in a wooden manger. The platform stands waist high. It’s constructed like a pen with a circular shade, baring the centre to the sky where the supposed star that led the wise men waited. Sawdust covers the floor of the platform. There are small boxes filled with dry grasses at strategic points and sculpted donkeys idling beside them. A statue of Mary, Joseph with a staff and baby Jesus in a cradle of soft grasses are set at a far end of the pen. A litter of Christmas lights lie on the sawdust-covered floor.

“What do you think?” Njideka’s dad asks, pointing at the wide open space in the centre.

“You’re thinking of a star somewhere in that space. Your eyes say so.”

He claps me on the shoulder. “Only an artist would know that. How about we discuss over a bottle of beer. ”

“I’m game.”

We all move back into the main house beaming with smiles like children leaving a secret treehouse in the wood. Njideka’s mom get us each a bottle of beer and glass, uncorks the beer, then disappears to the kitchen.

I suggest to Mr Monday Ime that we could design a star in the centre of that opening, suspended by an invisible string. He tells me he’s got someone to sculpt the three wise men, each carrying a sling bag. 

It’s a project for the parish to be displayed on Christmas Eve. He’d proposed to construct a better Manger as the previous one had gotten too old. The contract was given to him the next week.

“They’d love it. You’d be surprised to see Facebook swarming with pictures of your 'Christ in a manger'.” I say.

“Not mine, the church’s.”

“Oh.” I smile and lift my glass to my lips. “What’s the Christmas plan this year?”

“My wife wants us to spend some days at Obudu ranch, just the two of us.”

“Honeymoon or what?”

“More like renewal of marriage vows.”

I laugh out loud and hard that Mrs Ime comes to check on us. 

“Men are having a nice time, woman.” Mr Ime tells her.

“Just want to be sure nobody is choking on his beer. One more for you?” She points to my bottle.

I discover it’s empty. I marvel at my beer consumption rate, and... I really do crave for another bottle.

“This should do.” I say.

A knock comes at the door. I get off my seat to answer it.

“It’s Njideka. Don’t worry, finish your beer, I’ll open for her.”

“Well...” I pick my glass of beer and tag behind her to the door.

“Mommy!” Njideka calls as she raps on the door.
Mrs Ime gets to the door then turns back to wink at me.

“Guess who we have in the house today?” She asks stalling at the door.

“Who?” Njideka calls back.

“I said guess.”

“Oh, mommy, so you’ll leave me outside in this hot sun?”

“Your husband came to see us today, sweety.”

“My husband?”

I smile and pose in wait for the representation of that question on Njideka's face as her mom opens the door.

“Let me see Njideka’s...”

But that’s as far as Edisemi could say as she pushes in through the slightly opened door. She doesn’t greet Njideka’s mom in her excitement. Her smile vanishes. 

Njideka shuts the door, greets her mom and says with a confidence her face betrays:

“Mommy, meet Edisemi, the lady I’ve been telling you about.”


©Storyestate

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