I’ve been thinking about whether to post this or not but….. “I have accepted you. I have chosen you. I see you differently because you are from my place. You are my final bus stop. If you like, I can impregnate you (he was touching my abdomen) right now and pay your bride price tomorrow…..”…
They settled into the comfy leather chairs and adjusted their sights to the huge screen before them. Arms interlocked, Jess and Bernard were the picture of the perfect couple who had come to enjoy a nice movie at the cinema. They were seated on the topmost row. To Bernard’s right, Jess’ childhood best friend, Paul,…
Sherryl doesn’t appreciate anything. And I mean anything. You could buy her a diamond-studded phone with her name on it, and all Sherryl will say is “Eric, is this all you can do?” Do you have any idea how it feels like knowing that you could donate ALL your internal organs for this woman and all she’d say is, “Is that all you can do”? What am I supposed to do? Die for her? She’d probably come meet me in heaven or hell…whichever one the Man deems fit and still not say “thank you” once.
I lived in that basement for 3 weeks in relative peace. Until the first night he and his friends came in drunk and raped me. My Uncle had sat down and watched all 10 of his friends rape me. And then more men came after that for 3 years. Anytime I got pregnant, Osas would abort the babies. Osas had had no sympathy or pity for me.
My father, even in shock, kept pressing the horn of the car, it was out of commission. He looked at me and my brother in the frontal mirror with tears in his eyes, looked at his wife, left the wheel of the car and hugged her. The last thing I heard was “I’m sorry” and then there was blankness…
What makes me an African woman? Is it my springy kinky hair that just won’t grow as long as I would want it to or is it because of my rather large behind? Maybe I am an African woman because of my knack to cook large meals that could feed nations or perhaps the idea that I can scrub and clean all day and still look after a dozen children?
Adam was the love of my life. So when he proposed 2 years later, I was on I. It’s been 8 months since then. I thought Adam would be around more for me. Don’t get me wrong, I understood the nature of his work. But, I also wanted more for me. I wanted some more “us time” but it seemed Adam traveled more after he proposed. I was happy …for about 5 months. Then, I got cold feet.
I was totally lost and all I could see were rainbows. I found myself on the bridge, then I stopped. All I could see were nature, colors, and creativity which drew my attention. I began to see colors in ways I’d never imagined.
My heart opened with a flourish like a flower waking up to the sun. With a flutter in my chest like a trapped butterfly which banished boredom to the far reaches of the mind.
I guess I am commitment phobic. But people don’t believe such a thing exists.
9 months down the line,we’ve broken up. I knew this would happen. I predicted it. So why am I still sad? Heartbroken? Confused?
Did I love him? Or not?
I’m just tired of this cycle.