A sleepless night..

June 30, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha25 Comments

She giggled softly, speaking in hushed tones as she ambled off to the restroom with her phone held to her ears.
Felix watched her vanishing back and swaying hips with a frown on his face. In the past few weeks, he noticed that Monica’s phone had been pinging and ringing off the hook; though it was now on vibration mode.
It went off every few seconds and she would rush to pick it up, finding an excuse to leave the vicinity for a private enclosure. She was not a phone addict before. Something had changed seriously. As a matter of fact, he noted that a whole lot had changed.
Her dressing was more careful, floral and feminine in newer outfits which accentuated her marginal weight loss and new shape. She preened more than ever and appeared far more confident in her own skin. These days, she barely bothered to argue with him and floated in a self-contained sheen of private satisfaction with a glint in her eyes.

As he reviewed the subtle but obvious changes, his thoughts twitched curiously. He was curious enough to want to know what Monica’s new source of change was. Her exuding radiance and delight in playing African hip-hop songs on her headphones which were on constant shuffle were all novel to him.

Flushing the toilet for the umpteenth time that Saturday afternoon, she stepped out, looked into the vanity mirror, patted her weave and teased her wavy curls into place.

“Are you having a bad tummy?” Felix asked.

“No, I am not”, she responded.

“You seem to spend so much time in the loo these days, that I wondered if something is wrong”, he pointed out.

She was a bit taken aback by his observation, but she kept quiet.

Right on cue, her phone went brr, brr in her pocket, though she chose to ignore it.

”If you can manage to peel yourself from your phone chatting for a short while, I am still hungry, so make me something to eat” he ordered her without as much as a please.

His curiosity was greatly piqued and the suspicion which had taken root in his mind was equally pulling at his heartstrings. He needed to get to the bottom of her infernal active phone.

As they retired to bed that night, he could barely shut his eyes, and as Monica snored in deep sleep, he sneakily unplugged her phone which was charging by her bedside and went into the restroom to peruse through it. To his surprise, it was locked. Disappointed and miffed, he returned it to her bedside but deliberately left it unplugged.

Sunday morning dawned with the brightness of the early morning sun streaming in through the window blades. As Monica got dressed to go to church with the children – since Felix had gradually stopped attending church service, it was a surprise to find him dressing up to go with them. It was either he chose to sleep in due to spending a late night out with friends or his new found scientific knowledge which had gradually overtaken his spiritual belief stood in his way and she was tired of fighting a battle that only seemed to widen the rift between them.

For over five years, she had looked on in envy at couples in church who seemed to be handling their union in a better fashion, even though she did not know what happened behind their closed doors.

She had prayed and fought to renew the vigor and excitement of their union but nine years of togetherness had lost its flavor and Felix was more interested in the young University girls who were never in short supply.

Another surprise followed the church service. He decided to take his family out for brunch at Symphony. Monica could not recall when last they dined out or went out together except for a family friends wedding or burial. Every time she made mention of time out with him, he would glower, remind her how difficult money was to come by, yet he was never broke on Friday night out with the boys. She gave up bothering after some time.

The constant little buzz of her phone which was lying on the table was driving needles of increased interest into Felix as he watched through lowered eyelids to see if she would open her phone so that he can phish her password, but she seemed less inclined to respond.

The dance of the snake and its charmer continued for several days and as each day passed Felix got more twisted in his gut with the burning desire to grab his wife’s phone. He noted minutiae details in her expressions and contorted meanings into every thing. He even started coming home a little earlier, hoping to catch her in the act of unfaithfulness as he was inclined to believe.

Eventually, he got lucky. Whilst she was in the kitchen preparing dinner, he lingered, commenting on the savory aroma emanating from the soup pot. Monica was unsettled, her mind was curious as to the turn of events in recent times. Felix would normally sit in the living room, flipping through the sports channels on TV, his feet put up on the center table and he will be bellowing his orders from that distance; but here he was, in her kitchen, making idle conversation. Her phone beeped, and she absentmindedly keyed in her password, it was her sister Benedicta calling for some information.

He had stored the password in his memory bank and that night as she slept, he sneaked once again into the restroom with her phone clutched in his clammy hands and his heart thudding faster than usual. His imaginations had run riot over these past few weeks, and he was not sure of what to expect, but he was fishing for sufficient evidence to nail her.

Opening her phone, he carefully scanned through her emails, her Facebook page and messenger, her Black Berry Messenger, WhatsApp, and text messages. It was a surprise to know that his wife had a twitter account, a Google+ account and instagram. He had no idea she was up to date with social media and he had practically forgotten how intelligent she was.

He wondered when his boring woman turned into a sexy mama when he looked at all the alluring pictures that she had on her pages. His eyes nearly popped out of its sockets whilst reading through the various chats that she had online with interested gentlemen.

Marveling at the obvious budding online romance she was having with a certain Jay Black; and Jay Black was a divorced handsome bastard with flat muscled abs to boot! His jealous heart felt twinges of pain and he bristled in anger. He couldn’t wait to attack her.

He quickly opened her online private diary and voraciously assimilated its contents.

He read her prayers for him and their children.

He read her doubts in him and her loneliness; not only when he traveled on business trips, but even when he was around.

He learnt how he was gradually letting go of his mantle as the spiritual head of his family and only shoved his position of the head of the family in making decisions that took them to nowhere, or in bossing her around.

He read her personal account of him as a selfish and lousy lover and her silent dissatisfaction over the years.

He learnt how neglectful he had been and how he had failed in providing for his family; not for want of not having the means, but due to his careless attitude.

He learnt that she was tired of a marriage that left her feeling as if she was a single parent most times and she only stuck to the union because she did not want to leave their children with the legacy of a broken home.

He learnt how deeply hurt she felt about all his extra-marital affairs that he thought were top secret.

It was a sober revelation and reflection.

He looked at who he had become and what would likely happen in a couple of years if they continued down that road.

The male ego part of him that bristled wanted to accuse her of dating online, of unfaithfulness, of cheating. A little niggling part of him reminded him how neglectful he had been. If the truth be told, how he had been a lousy husband and father.

He thought about his wife all over again, and knew that he still loved her. He did not want to lose his Monica to a fast talking Jay Romeo who sent her lovely poems and virtual flowers.

Rising from the toilet seat where he had sat for several hours, he stepped back into the carpet padded room, stood and gazed at his wife through the soft illumination of light coming from the restroom and heaving a sigh of pent-up emotions, he got back into bed and drew her malleable warm form into his body his mind made up to fall in love all over again.

Creative Writing · Hope · Love · Uncategorized

Slaying the giant…

June 26, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha2 Comments

Each day that dawned, was met with a fervent prayer, I was hoping for some miracle of healing and grace to occur but it seemed as if I was fighting a losing battle with a faceless giant that equally had a very big name.

I was still breast feeding my infant when I found the little bump. I mentioned it in passing to a friend over lunch and she suggested that I should see a doctor. She tried to reassure me that it was probably nothing to panic over, that I should try and do the needful to get it over and done with. I let it slide for a bit. Partially because I was in denial and maybe, I thought that the more I failed to acknowledge its presence, it would probably go away through wishful thinking after all, I was just 32 years old.

What I had also failed to tell her was that I did not have the funds to run the necessary tests. My pride stood in my way.
The fact of the matter is that the society where I came from was a society where medical intervention came at an enormous cost to its citizenry and money was not readily available. There was no available medical insurance for the commonest man and we depended heavily on local chemists for almost every ailment known to man. It was cheaper.

Yet that nagging fear could not be suppressed and I eventually summoned the courage to talk to a midwife during a routine clinical immunization for my child.
She palpated my breasts and in her exact words, told me that my breasts were turgid, possibly because I was still breastfeeding and the milk ducts were always filling up. She said that she couldn’t really feel anything and I left with a little sense of relief and hope in my heart.

Months went by and the bump became a sizable lump. I could no longer deny to myself that something was wrong. Scurrying around for much needed funds, I raised the prohibitive amount and traveled to the city to run the required mammography, biopsies, blood work and so forth. The results came back packing a punch. I had ductal carcinoma in situ – simply put, I had breast cancer.

I was numb from shock, even though a part of me was braced for any bad news, I still felt as if a wrecking ball had just hit me. I hesitated to share my news with anyone for a while. In the privacy of my closet, I simply railed at God in madness and sadness, oscillating between deep depression and the need to fight and stay alive. The pressure of it all sat heavily on my shoulders and each day was filled with indescribable heart ache.

To fight, I had to share my sad news with family and friends alike. They rallied around me, praying for me, raising money for surgery, chemotherapy and radiation. Due to the spread to both breasts, I had a double mastectomy followed by a battery of chemotherapy and radiation. Needless to say, I lost my hair along with my breasts, lost tremendous amount of weight and felt sick most of the time.

All seemed clear for a brief interlude of three years. My life had changed irrevocably and my days were perpetually dotted with Tamoxifen and a whole cocktail of other drugs. I could have lived with that, if that is what it would have taken, but just a few weeks after my thirty-fifth birthday, I started coughing continuously and suffered from shortness of breath.

With my previous experience, I did not waste time to consult a doctor. My lungs were now affected, the cancer had metastasized.
“How long”? I asked the doctor.
As gently as he could, he told me, months, a year, who knows? Just try and put your house in order.

We fought some more but time was running out. The medical approach was now palliative. I often wondered, if early detection would have saved my life? Statistically, it has been proven that the mortality rate can be reduced through early screening and detection.

I thought of my two boys and cried out my heart that I would not live to see them grow. I wept for dreams that would never have the opportunity to materialize. I tried to make peace with myself and my World. I stopped castigating myself for procrastinating when I found the first little bump. I started soaking up as much memories as I could take in (on the days that I felt strong enough), searching for laughter with new intent and purpose and I began to experience a peace of mind that I could not explain.
Documenting all my thoughts, writing little letters to my boys and my husband, I wrote each one to mark the milestones in their lives and then, I planned my own funeral.

I was laid to rest peacefully, transitioning from a familiar World to one that I could only imagine. Fortunately, I am free from cancer, free from its debilitating pain and mind boggling cost. At long last, I get to be a singing soprano in the heavenly choirs.

Nota bene: Many of us have probably lost a family member or a dear friend to cancer. We may even know someone currently battling with this difficult challenge. Let us keep praying that an absolute cure will be found for this scourge that is decimating mankind. Let us uphold those who journey through this affliction, that they receive extraordinary grace to fight and slay this giant.

Creative Writing · Musings · Uncategorized

Ticks addiction..

June 25, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha9 Comments

What manner of intoxication is this?
What manner of fascination is this?
Eyes feasting on likes and follows,
Like there are no tomorrows.

So consumed am I,
Watching in bated anticipation for the rise of the ticks,
The highs and lows of the statistics.

The likes and nudges, the pokes and comments serve as melodious balm to my eager sapping soul and a fan to the embers of my creative juices.

With glee, I keep my hand shamelessly on the click, checking and rechecking the stats, like a fisherman who has cast a bait in hope of catching a fry.

What gives birth to such desire for validation, from friends and strangers to you and I?

Could it be our preening narcissistic selves that seek such adulation and approval? Wanting to know that we are not one lone echoing voice, unheard in the cacophonous decibels of all that goes on around us?

Could it be, could it be, the simple truth, that indeed no man is an Island? That we need each other to survive, be it in the real or virtual World?

We grasp with greedy, clutching fingers at any sign of love and approval sent our little way. Are we equally as giving, of this easily hard-earned love?

What manner of sorcery and captivation is this? To the likes, the ticks, the tweets, the follows, the apps, the phones, the comments and many more to come.

It is called Digital addiction.

Creative Writing · Humor - Bellyful of laughter · Musings

Indeed love can grow; for my car at least..

June 24, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha5 Comments

Bonding is really a question of giving time to someone or something and allowing their finer qualities to get to you.

Even a disagreeable person has someone who finds him/her agreeable after a while of spending time together.

Like we say back home: Monkey no fine, but him mama like am (no matter how ugly the monkey is, his mother is quite enthused with him).

In my case, the love and bonding is between my car and I.

It’s not that my SUV is ugly. No! Far from it. But as the name depicts, it is still a Sport Utility Van. Made to accommodate my brood and I, plus the excessive grocery bags.

In my head, I am a classy diva and when my husband wanted to get me a new car, I wanted a snazzy red corvette to paint the town in lovely colors. I could see myself cruising down Beltway 8 or i10 with my sun roof down and a scarf carelessly slung round my neck and my kinky hair (not flowing like the locks of a Caucasian damsel) bouncing, maybe just a little. I would wear an over-sized pair of dark sunglasses and a whole lot of attitude. I went to sleep for several nights with a happy smile on my face 🙂

I craftily dropped hints all over the place for my Corvette desire to dear husband of mine, but he looked at me with that expression of ” where did you fall and hit your head?” promptly explaining to me, that as a matronly mama, I should have an accommodating car, so that the children can have enough room and to leave the snazzy bits for retirement or when they have all gone off to College/University. Reluctantly throwing my sunroof cruising thoughts out of the window, I grudgingly acquiesced.

We went ahead and purchased my sedate looking (white for that matter) SUV, and our romance began. Every morning, I would start her (her name is Gloria) and she will respond with a perfect hum. Gloria, has been very faithful and loving these past months. No day did she nag or grumble. No day did she fail to work as expected. She was good in all weather, rain or shine. As I am about to trade Gloria in, I am jolted with the realization, that indeed, I have come to love my dependable SUV, white color and all and that I would miss her. I could not paint the town the colors that I wanted, but she did get me around as often as I needed.

Not that I have forgotten my snazzy Corvette, there’s still a whole lot of time for that 😉

Hope · Inspiration - Motivation · Musings

Today’s two cents worth of a tip…

June 22, 2015 jacquelineobyikochaLeave a comment

Throw that fear out of the window,
For all your breakthroughs are on the other side of your fear.

Throw that fear out of your window,
It only seeks to intimidate you and hold you in bondage.

Throw that fear out of your window, I say
You’ve come this far, don’t be afraid to take a step further.

Throw that fear out of the window,
It is just a shadow of a toothless bull dog, It cannot conquer you, just believe.

Throw that fear out of the window,
And don’t allow him back in,
You have been blessed with the spirit of love and of sound mind.

Hope · Inspiration - Motivation · Love · Musings

Daddy Dearest…

June 21, 2015June 21, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha6 Comments

On Father’s day, I cannot help but dwell heavily on thoughts of you, though I am happy to say to you daddy, that today, my thoughts are light and I am not tearing up. I only feel pangs to hug you one more time, just one more time.

I may not have told you as much as I would have wished to tell you; when you could hear me say them:

That your unquestioned love, the investment of your time and support has been the greatest gift you ever gave to me.

I think of you: that Warmhearted, God fearing, Generous, Dark and Handsome gentleman that ushered me into life.

From my tot-hood now to full fledged adulthood, you still remain a solid anchor in my life.

The firm upbringing and your sage counsel have stood in good stead in your absence.

You encouraged me to be the best that I could be, standing like a beacon of hope, guidance, strength and humility.

An unassuming man of simple tastes and a humble background, you taught me the indubitable value of honesty and integrity, the tenets of hard work, discipline, generosity and compassion.

To you I owe my love for books, music and dancing, you saturated my being with stories and melodies from far and wide as I grew up.

You taught me never to give up on my dreams and to appreciate those simple things in life which tends to be overlooked.

As I watch mummy struggle to get on without “Nkem”, I realize that we took so many things for granted, that even though it is in man’s nature to die, I always thought secretly, that you would always be there and indeed you are.

Though the light of your candle on Earth may have burnt out, it sure still shines through us that are still behind.

Happy Fathers day dearest daddy. I love you with all my heart.

Creative Writing · Musings · Social critic

Unlikely thief…

June 20, 2015 jacquelineobyikochaLeave a comment

It was still a slow day in “The Hive” as it is called. Customers strolled in; in ones and twos, some lingered and some did not. She walked in pushing a baby in a stroller. Her dressing was quite interesting. She wore a pair of bright yellow gold and brown studded boots, soft flannel blue loose pants, a brown woolly top coat which hung around her midriff and a belt in the same color as her boots around her waist. The rest of her white flabby tummy was exposed. Her hair was an interesting mix of brown and orange strands.

The square aquamarine glasses which were perched on her nose were all spangled up with sparkle dusts of different shades. Her ear-rings, shoulder drop length of twisted metals with little round festive looking balls at the ends, swung and tinkled as she walked by.

Her wrists were encircled in individual bands of various designs and multicolor, each side had at least five bands with a big pink cocktail ring on her middle finger. She was a burst of colorful sight for sore eyes. She was a stamp of eccentric individuality.

The baby looked very healthy and cherubic, her short sparse brown hair capping her round plump face and ruddy cheeks.

The little one was dressed up in a short baby top and pink sweater with her little rotund stomach sticking out. Her baby bottoms were adorned with a white and purple animal print diapers and her tiny feet had nothing on them. They simply kicked the air without restraints.

Baby was just gorgeous with her folds of plump pink flesh and her dribbling mouth which had a thumb stuck in it all the while.

Ms. Bright Colors (lets call her that), took a position in The Hive and surreptitiously did a quick scan of the occupants. There were two young black men- a dread-locked chap and a nondescript one; they both had big headphones over their heads and covering their ears, with faint vibrations of the music they listened to seeping through the muzzled earpiece; their heads were bent over their laptops. A middle aged white lady sat in the corner, she was working on her needlework craft of lovely handmade and embroidered cover cloth, and a young Caucasian lady who seemed to be deeply engrossed in the book she was reading.

She gathered a couple of publications and flipped through them absentmindedly. She observed how intense the attention of the two black men and the young lady were. She observed that the handicraft lady went for bathroom call ever so often. She observed that nobody paid much mind to the scanty people seated in that corner, then she waited.

Now and again, her babbling baby fretted a little bit and she fed her from an uncapped bottle labeled cupcake. It cast the impression of a homely, caring mama, all at the same time.

Once again, the need for the lavatory arose and Mrs Handicraft shuffled off. As soon as she left, Ms. Bright Colors calmly gathered her things and efficiently swooped on the Mrs. Handicrafts bags and belongings; her precision like that of a hawk that was marking its prey. With her stolen booty nicely ensconced in the stroller beside the baby, she strolled out unnoticed, back into the San Antonio high street, into the crowd of hurrying shapes.

Mrs Handicraft came back to her seat and was aghast to find her belongings gone. She looked under the table, on the counter top by the corner and in every possible nook and cranny, her face taking different shades and splotches of pinkish red color as each second ticked past, her pursed lips muttering angry unintelligible swear words.

Raising a hew and cry, she roused the attention of other occupiers and the accusations started to fly. Her knobby fingers assuredly pointed at the two black men in accusation. The men got upset and a big row ensued. The officers were called, arrests were made, and they were shuffled off to the county jail, no questions asked. Their protests fell on deaf ears, their color was enough judgement.

Assumptions were made; a missing white woman’s bag and craft basket, two black men = two thieves. What would these men do with a craft basket? No one cared to ask. Maybe they stole it to sell her yarn and needles, and who knows, possibly for the credit card and change in her wallet?

The old lonely observer who saw it all through the designed vitrine of The Hive, tried to offer his espionage services to the officers, but no one was interested in the ramblings of a homeless, drunken black man, who seemed to be in dire need of a good bath.

Mumbling as he shuffled along, he was glad that he was not arrested along with the others.

Musings · Social critic · Uncategorized

Dylann, why? I ask…

June 19, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha5 Comments

I sit here staring at my laptop, trying to finish the story that I am writing but I simply can’t. It is not that I don’t want to, because I believe it will make an interesting read, but just that the sadness I feel at the moment almost makes it impossible for me to think of any other thing, other than the thought that consumes my mind.

I am perplexed at the senseless killing of nine people in Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church, in Charleston, South Carolina. I do not know these victims in any way, but I hurt because they are humans just like me. I hurt at the way innocent lives were cut short. I hurt over the fact that a House of refuge and prayer was turned into a grizzly house of horror.

I pulled up the photo of the suspected perpetrator and spent quite some time looking at his young face, trying to decipher how one this young could bear such amount of hatred, bitterness and racism in his heart. Trying to decipher how he could have sat for an hour in the aura and midst of these people and still shot them in cold blood?

Was the preaching not to his liking? I questioned no one in particular.

What could have triggered premeditated murder such as this? No answers yet.

Twenty one years ago was just 1994, so it is very logical to assume that neither did this young man participate or benefit from slave trade, nor did he fight in the civil war. He was not born during the time of heated racial movement, except for recent sporadic police killing; so what could be his vexation? I am struggling to deduce what could be in the crazed mind of this young fellow.

If my little knowledge of American history serves me right, it has been more than a century and half that the civil war and slavery ended on the soil of The United States of America, yet happenings in recent times makes one begin to question if the racism existing in this vibrant nation does not portend far more danger than it is being glossed over to portray. It does seem for all intents and purpose that the black race is an endangered species in The United States of America. Slavery ended ages ago, yet the ghosts of slavery and second hand citizenry lingers on, consistently raising its rancid and ugly head.

I question what precepts and perceptions he was indoctrinated with. What kind of nurturing did this young man have; what could have transpired in his life and heart to arrive at this juncture? Is love so dead to some people that cutting down lives of other people becomes a mere pastime?

He has not only shed innocent blood, but he has equally broken the hearts of so many; and I dare hope his families own too by his actions. He has injured even those who look on from afar.

Why is racism feeding fat in America?

Are there any scientific or biblical proof that one race is really superior to the other?

Does any human have other elements flowing through their veins other than red blood?

Are we not all mortals who live and die at some point in our lives; or are some privileged not to die in the way known to man?

Forgive my ramblings, but I ask these rhetoric questions in sad wonder at how we got it all wrong.

May perpetual light shine on the departed and may their souls rest in peace.

“Hatred, ignorance and greed are killing nature and hatred always hurts the hater most“. Masanobu Fukuoka.