Life With Tutu

It’s funny how time suddenly grows wings when you’re having fun… especially school fun. One sunny afternoon, we were meant to have our Biology class, but strangely, our teacher, Miss Swartha, a Pakistani woman, was nowhere to be found. Ten minutes passed. Nothing. The class started getting restless. One of my friends and I decided to go and look for her. After all, we had “waited long enough.” We found her in the staff room, her head resting on the table. We paused. I exchanged glances with my friend. Then, being the slightly bolder one, I stepped forward and gently tapped her shoulder. She stirred, sat up slowly, and let out a long yawn. “Good afternoon, ma. It’s time for our Biology class, ma,” I said, adding a small curtsy for effect. She sighed deeply and replied in her thick accent, “Ayam veyi veyi tayaaaad.” “I am very, very tired.” We thanked her and left. The moment we stepped out of the staff room, we looked at each other, and burst out laughing. “Ayam veyi veyi tayaaaad!” we ...

Everything went well until it was time for vacation. The school compound buzzed with excitement. Suitcases were dragged, laughter rang out, and promises of reunion filled the air. Everyone was happy… except me. While others counted down to freedom and fun, I counted down to bondage. I had nothing to look forward to but the familiar slavery that awaited me in my uncle’s house. And so, while others laughed and waved goodbye, I cried. Silent, bitter tears rolled down my cheeks as they departed joyfully, unaware of the storm waiting for me. In my uncle’s house, hope became my only companion. I counted the days to resumption like a prisoner marking the wall of a cell. I counted while hawking soda soap under the scorching sun. I counted while scrubbing poultry pens thick with stench. I counted while washing pigsties, my hands trembling with fatigue and disgust. I counted while bending over endless rows of crops on his vast farmland, my small body working like that of a hired labourer. And th...

The lesions had virtually conquered my skin. They were relentless. I couldn’t help myself; the itch was a madness that demanded to be scratched. But the relief was short-lived. The scratching only broke the skin, releasing a clear liquid that spread across my body like a slow poison, birthing more lesions where it touched. I was a walking portrait of misery, pain, and despair. Eventually, the tide turned. Each day found me growing a little stronger. The angry sores dried up, leaving behind a map of scars on my skin—a testament to the battle I had survived. But survival came with a price. As soon as my uncle's wife saw that I was on my feet, my reprieve ended. The hawking continued immediately. In those days, I cannot say I was anything more than a beast of burden. I felt like a slave, I was worked like a slave, and in my tattered clothes, I looked like a slave. I continued hawking for three more years before my uncle decided I should resume my primary school education. When he told...

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride... that was me. A girl full of hope, clutching to promises like lifelines, believing that a better life was just beyond the dusty path that led from my village. My uncle had said he would take care of me, send me to school, make me somebody. But reality was nothing like the dreams I had allowed myself to indulge in, in my young mind.   My days blurred into an endless grind. Sometimes my uncle’s wife would place hot bowls on a wide tray balanced on my head, beans pudding, corn pudding, things I had never dreamed I’d be selling on streets. The weight pressed down on my neck and my skull like punishment. I was still a child, scrawny, underfed, invisible, but I had no choice, no voice, no say. My pain meant nothing to anyone.   At night, when the house was quiet, I would cry into my thin pillow, careful not to let the sobs escape my throat. This was not the life I was promised. This was not the story I was told when he came smili...

 Bittersweet 4 Yes, I was finally at my uncle’s  place. The place I thought would be my salvation. Fate dealt me the cruellest card. My uncle and family lived in a face-me-I-face-you house, built by him. I stayed in a room with some other cousins I met there. I was 12 but due to the ill treatment and malnourishment, I had suffered at the hands of my mother,  I looked like an 8 year old. I was only ever given leftovers to eat, after they had had their fill, my mother and sister. Truly I was treated no better than a stray dog. I was dropped off by my mom with disdain, in the evening. We had taken the first bolekaja(a bus made of wood) leaving the village to the town where my uncle resided.  My uncle was a headmaster in a local school but he had a large farm and was into animal husbandry. I remember my mother telling my uncle’s wife that I was evil and nothing good would come out of me. I can never forget those cruel words, ever. Food did not appear to be a problem at m...

The session was great to say the least. His warm brown eyes took me in, empathetic, quietly absorbing and I found myself wanting to drown in them forever My whole life story poured out. I was the first girl child that had survived, three had been lost as still births. One would have thought that since I had survived, the very first child to have lived, I would have been much loved, but, the reverse was the case. My mother took one look at my brown wrinkled face and decided I wasn’t to be the recipient of her affections, simply because I looked like her wicked mother in law, who was then deceased. I suffered many things because of my resemblance to my father’s mother. I could recall when I had issues with bedwetting. Mother would beat me severely but I noticed she went easy on my younger sister. Once, she put my school uniform under my mat and I urinated on it. She forced me to wear it to school. Oh how ashamed and embarrassed I was. The other kids ran after me mocking me calling me a b...

I knew I was going crazy. I could not afford to go crazy. I would lose clients and money, lots of it. As an interior decorator, a lot depends on being sane, clear and logical. I had to pull myself together as I made a decision. I had to see a shrink. I had no choice now. I went on line and made enquiries and I was able to get  one, an elderly male. I wanted someone who had seen life in all its ramifications. Our first appointment was on a Saturday morning. I woke up early, expectant and a little gay. I felt the weight of my grief would find relief that day. I showered quickly and threw on a gown, used a little lipstick and eyed myself critically in the mirror. I had lost a ton of weigh these past few weeks, but a little more make up would hide the hollows. I set to work and an hour later, I looked just fine I got a taxi which took me to the expansive office of the shrink on the island.  The office was a serene haven, designed to ease the mind and invite reflection. The room wa...

 It’s raining. It never stops raining here. Day and night it pours. Maybe it’s the seven day rain, it’s been on for only God knows how long.  In my mood, the cozy atmosphere of my sitting room which usually made me feel cheery, did nothing for me now Right from the feature soft, pastel colors like blush pink or lavender, with touches of gold or silver accents for elegance. Comfortable yet stylish furniture such as a plush sofa or chaise lounge adorned with decorative throw pillows complemented by a cozy rug and tasteful artwork on the walls. The  small bookshelf holding a collection of romantic novels, the scented diffuser with its hint of fragrance to the room. The indoor plants with its creation of a serene and inviting atmosphere, all did nothing for me. Rather, it all weighed down on me. The cold weather matches my mood. Cold, slushy and muddy. My heart is cold. Feels like ice is lodged right in the centre of it and me. I had cried myself to sleep, the night afore. I ...

Femi was at Wale's bedside the following day. She watched the rise and fall of his chest in bemusement. Funny how some cling to life with tenacity. Refusing to let go of what can not be held to. Whilst others pray for death, others struggle to be parted from it in an exercise in futility. Femi played the dotting wife even as she looked at her husband broodingly. She was tired of the hospital visits and wished him gone now more than ever before. Their business was finished. She could not continue wasting her time and energy on a betrayer, a back stabber and an ingrate. Another week passed and one sunny afternoon, for the first time after the accident, he opened his eyes. They were all alone in the room and she was about dozing off when intuition made her look his way. He looked bewildered and then fearful as he set his eyes on her, she looked at him unfazed, somehow she knew he wanted to tell her something. Somehow, she knew he would pass away in a few minutes. He struggled to s...

Wale's family members also came visiting. Femi's parents would also come once in a while to visit.  Femi had lost so much weight within a week. The doctors, nurses and visitors looked at her in sympathy. She would sit quietly beside her husband wondering if he would ever open his eyes, wondering whether he would be able to say goodbye. Suddenly she longed  to be the last face he would see before going to the after life.  The doctors prognosis was bad. He has a 10 percent chance of recovery he had told her because of the extent of his injuries. On Sunday, she decided to take the day off to visit her mother. Wale's sister had been insistent she would sit with him for the day. She woke up late and decided not to go church. Was it fitting she should be in the presence of God, after all she had done? She queried herself. She had a leisurely shower and told the maid to make toast, and coffee for her. She ate slowly and dressed up in slacks and a crimson top. She felt like weari...

They say love is as strong as death. Femi thought so, maybe even stronger. As Wale lay immobile in that bed, she knew she would love him forever, regardless. In life and in the after life. Perhaps, that was her reason, her stance on the adoption matter. She loved Wale too much to share him with any child. She would come everyday in the morning and leave his bedside at night. Praying silently, her lips moving in supposed silent supplication to the God who could do all things. Sometimes she would lie partially on him. A part of her willing him to rise. Another part...seeking absolution. If only he hadn’t told her he had a child outside their marriage! Things would have been so different! She didn’t know how to share, it was too late now, to learn to Her mind went to that dark, windy morning, a few days ago when her husband confessed to her his ‘mistaken' infidelity She was at the breakfast table, sipping a creamy cup of decaffeinated coffee, looking through a fashion magazine, contem...

Life can play some really cruel tricks on one…especially when one becomes somewhat complacent Femi had cause to ask herself, afterwards ‘Did I really become complacent? Was I careless? In any way?’ Their automobile business expanded, Wale was handling things beautifully and  Femi really couldn’t ask for more. Well, maybe asides the secret tears she still shed for a child. The pangs she felt whenever friends or relatives came visiting with their kids or generally whenever she ran into children. They had…. She had so much money, but what was the essence of it without someone…a child to call her own? Sometimes she dreamt she was holding kids, playing with them in the garden but, upon waking and seeing the emptiness not just in her hands but in the house, she would breakdown in bitter tears. Wale tried again and again over the years to get her to change her mind over adoption but she wouldn’t budge. On their tenth wedding anniversary they travelled to Dublin. They were away for two wee...

Days drew into weeks, weeks drew into months and then years. Time flew like the wind sometimes to Femi's dismay. Femi's mother never gave up inviting her for church programmes and either sending or bringing holy water/ oils for her to use. A one stop cure for her barrenness. Femi collected them dutifully…and threw them in the bin whilst Wale looked on in uneasiness. She had gone to see some specialists in secret and the results were all the same, nothing could be done to make her fertile. She had cried and cried and eventually wiped the tears off her eyes… and heart. Wale's relatives who depended on her more or less for their livelihood were in no position to put pressure on her, at least to her face. She had decided to be calculatingly generous to them because of that same reason.  She raised funds for herself and Wale to start their own indigenous automobile repair company with branches in Lagos and Abuja. Wale was the MD/ CEO. Femi was concerned with making her husband h...

It was night time. Femi was leaning against the window sill in her room, tears running down her face. She found she couldn’t stop the tears, it appeared her tear ducts had a will of their own. Her mother's words kept playing in her consciousness. She had promised to visit a gynecologist that week even though she knew there was no point. There never was a point to it all. Abruptly, she started pulling off her clothes, in a hurry. Finally she was left with just her bra and panties. She moved like a zombie to the standing mirror near the bed. She squeezed her flat belly as she slowly sat cross legged on the tiled floor, weeping uncontrollably, almost willing herself to get pregnant. Finally, exhausted, she spread out on the floor and fell into an uneasy slumber. Wale found her thus and not wanting to wake her up, covered her with the duvet he pulled off the bed and he retired to the guest room. Femi woke up with a start. Groggily she stood up, her muscles feeling very sore for she was...

The latest couple in town travelled to far away Greece for their honeymoon. Femi had always been a lover of Greek mythology and so she spent hours exploring with a reluctant but besotted husband in tow. Love is a beautiful thing, especially a love that transcends time. The nights were spent in each others arms, nights of endless pleasure, pleasuring and being pleasured. To their dismay, their one month honey moon was soon over and they had to return to Nigeria. Life quickly fell into a steady rhythm. Femi found herself trying to juggle being a working class lady and a wife catering to the needs of her husband and sometimes, his large extended family. Wale was from a dirt poor home and his family knew his wife was from a comfortable home and expected her, now that she was married to their son, brother and nephew to help them. Femi was initially open to assisting them as it was obvious she was earning way above her husband, but when she discovered they were greedy and grasping, she stopp...

Femi was sure theirs was a match made in Heaven. She marvelled at the strength of the love she shared with Wale. Life could only get better and better ‘ I worry about you Femi' said her father one evening. He was seated on the lone couch in her room whilst she was seated at the edge of the bed facing the couch. Femi gave him an exasperated look because she knew what was to follow ‘I wonder why you trust this guy so much. Do you know the number of girls I dated and disappointed before I married your mom?’ ‘Ah, dad, Wale is no player' ‘Oh so your father is now a player' Her father asked feigning anger Femi moved beside him on the couch, hugging him “Noooo. That’s not what I’m saying. Wale loves me very very much. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. And, he can never ever let me down. Dad, the guy is crazy about me!’ ‘Hmmm’ her father replied, pensive ‘ Trust no man, Femi. I’m a man and I know what I’m saying. I don’t want someone that will break your heart.’ ‘ He won’t!. He d...

Femi knew she was hopelessly in love…for the first time ever in..her existence. Wale was the centre of her universe. Her darling who could do no wrong. She discovered Wale was in the school on a partial scholarship. His parents were dirt poor and he had to do odd jobs during vacation to make ends meet. Femi was determined to help him as much as possible and so, her allowance plus monies she made by the side, she shared with him. They were like two peas in the pod. From year three they started winning the couple of the year award on campus up until they graduated. Femi discovered Wale wasn’t good at the practical aspect of Mechanical engineering and decided to do his project work for him, as a result he got a distinction and this adhered her to him even more. Service year brought about a separation. Femi was posted to Lagos through her father's influence whilst Wale was posted to the north. Femi had tried to persuade her father to influence her lover's posting but her father was...

She found herself going down memory lane. She was born the second child in a family of four, all girls: Oluwafemi Deborah Santos. People always thought she was a boy before meeting her and she liked it. ‘Twas fun seeing the look of shock/surprise on peoples faces. The scan result had shown she was supposed to be a boy and her father had insisted on naming his supposed first male child, even whilst in the womb, Oluwafemi. He had refused to change it when she eventually landed one cold rainy night. Her mother was able to squeeze in the name Deborah upon seeing her feisty baby girl.  She was a tomboy. Always imitating her father and hanging out with boys in school. Automatically, she was her dad's favourite. Femi would be the one to buy gas, fill the gen, change deflated tyres, climb the roof to change the position of the antennae and even go with her father for some of his….political meetings. Her father had her enrolled in martial art classes. He wanted his favourite daughter to be ...

Femi looked at the wailers seeing….yet not seeing. She had cried so much she was numb. She was seated betwist her elder sister and mother. She wondered how she would have coped….without them. They were her bulwark. The wailers were apparently tireless. As one set left another came in to continue the wailing. Idly she wondered if her late husband could see or hear them. She wondered at the state of their vocal chords and lungs…at this stage. Her eyes roamed the sitting room that had turned to the wailing room. Just a few days ago there was so much sunshine and happiness here. Her husband and best friend was still alive, vitality his middle name. She sighed and her mother looked at her with utmost concern. She tried to give her a reassuring look. The sitting room looked so dirty now. In her depression she had ordered the two maids to leave her house. Normally guests were not allowed in with their footwear, but now, no one could be bothered with those rules. What was the essence of cleanl...

Just how will this triangular relationship end? Will I remain afloat or sink? I had no close friends I could confide in around me. I thought about my bridesmaid. Yes, we were close but she was in the East. Dare I discuss this via the phone? I felt it was too weighty. Could I trust her absolutely not to betray my confidence? For days I ruminated over this. Jude had asked for another date, but I felt it was too soon. I had to think of a better or should I  say another excuse to give hubby. A water tight one, this time. It was tasking living a lie. I was excited yes, but I was also afraid. Indecision was too heavy a burden to carry. Just then I discovered I was pregnant. I had mixed feelings. On the threshold of leaving my marriage, with a baby inside me? Hubby was overjoyed, an answer to his, our prayers. God works in mysterious ways indeed. When I was two months gone, I decided to give in to Jude's request for us to have another meeting. This time at a resort. He was already waiting...