Dance with glee…a chance to be silly

July 16, 2015July 16, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha15 Comments

I love to dance,
Indeed, I do.

My blood thrums at the
Rhythm of musical vibes.

Anything that beats, gets a rise off me

But, hold on!
Don’t be mistaken when I say that.

Don’t you start thinking of
Ballroom dancing, Waltzing, Tango and the likes.

For sure, these are such fine footwork.

But I am more into the demonstrative Afro Pop,
Waist rolling, Eye rolling, Expressions and
staccato moves. Almost like a war dance that borders on dodgy.

I think that the twirls and frills of the fine footwork,
Are more reserved for the delicate that
Can twirl and toss themselves at the click of your thumb.

Me! If you know me at all,
Almost an African Amazon,
Not small by half a mile!

I chortle in laughter when I visualize myself,
Trying to Tango, in my Bou-bou or skirt.

It would probably be like an Elephant stumping through a China shop,
And breaking the ten toes of my partner and more
Phew!

A bead of sweat breaks on my forehead,
At such a thought 😉

Now let me go and rest, after such exertion of my mind.

P.S. Enjoy the music below, courtesy of YouTube.

Image courtesy: http://www.jokes123.com

Creative Writing

The butcher…

July 14, 2015July 14, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha14 Comments

Caution: Not for the fainthearted.

His eyes and low slung purring Audi followed her. Trailing her loose-limbed steps from the bus stop, down to the dusky lit quiet street of the clandestine underground night club “The Cock and Bull”. It was a known for its open secrets of hosting nefarious activities, yet it drew the inquisitive and adventurous ones like bees to a honey dew pot. A place where no questions were asked and no answers received. A place to let your thoughts roam wild and possibly get lucky.

Watching the outline of her slight lissome built and her eclectic dressing in the dimmed haze of the night light, simply piqued his interest some more. Her profile showed attractive features (he liked them attractive) and he was on the prowl.

The past few weeks of keeping his nose clean and carrying on his normal life, had worn his patience thin and he needed the ensuing excitement that the night would offer.

Parking a block away, he quickly followed her retreating shadow into the rowdy club, and as usual no questions were asked, no answers offered.

The club which ran till the wee hours of the morning, was habitually smoke filled, darkly lit with only flashing colored light beams and very loud heavy metal music blaring from its powerful systems. Couples dotted the dance floor whilst some were ensconced in corners, getting to know each other.

“Hello beautiful”, he drawled in his smoky, melt my bones voice. He knew the effect that he had on women. They always took to him easily and he capitalized heavily on his charms. His height and well toned body never failed to draw their eyes. From his flinty grey eyes, clean shaven look that showed a well chiseled face and his short crew cut, it had all merged to radiate burnished good looks.

“Hello” she replied as she spun sideways on the high bar stool and gave him a quick once over. Her clingy short skirt had ridden up her thighs and her high boots which encased trim legs were crossed over each other.

He got an eyeful of slim and flawless thighs. As a matter of fact, she looked gorgeous from a closer view. She had a pixie face and smooth crop of shoulder length reddish blond hair, large outlined smokey eyes with thick long lashes and full bee-stung lips that shimmered from her lip gloss.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Suit yourself” she shrugged in response.

He quickly took the swivel stool beside her, perching sideways so that he can observe her some more, from a closer range.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he offered.

“If you please”, she responded.

Not too chatty, he silently observed. That suited him very well. He was not in the mood for a long chat either. He really had no desire for a “let’s get to know each other tonight kind of thing”.

His last encounter with the chatty Librarian who had practically talked his ears off before he silenced her, simply put him off talkative women.

He always homed in on the one’s that he perceived were lonely and needed someone to talk to. He was the epitome of an attentive gentleman, from the mousy teacher, to the sassy dancer, the divorced lonely curator, the stripper and so on. He had lost count of how many exactly, but between all the cities he had been in, he had left quite a good number of missing body trails.

Watching her delicate pale throat work as she downed a couple of shots of brandy, he was practically drooling and the sizzle of anticipated excitement caused his hairs to stand on ends.

He kept reaching into his denim pocket, to touch the sharp army knife ensconced in there from time to time. Each time he flexed his fingers around its smooth curved nut casing, he felt a jolt of confidence and adrenaline surge through his veins.

Her reasons for being at Cock & Bull were not divulged. She was acerbic in her responses, but for whatever reason, she obviously sought to drown her reasoning in an alcoholic binge and he obliged.

As she grew more relaxed and switched to Margarita’s, with each gulp of the pricey Margarita that raced down her throat, he grew bolder in his closeness until she was practically encased between his muscled thighs.

The drinks were done and the invitation back to his apartment was accepted. It was a quick silent drive in his plush, smoke and masculine scented ride. She sat in the warm, hugging confine of the leather car seat, and enjoyed the strumming beats of ”Eye of the Tiger”, whilst he kept running his fingers lightly over her exposed thigh.

They got back to his swanky apartment, and his whet appetite couldn’t wait to get busy, but he did not want to rush through the process. He always savored the reeling in of his victim, watching her pupils dilate in fear, the scent of blood trickling down that vulnerable neck from the first cut, the feisty struggle and the inevitable end of necrophilia.

Sometimes, he was not sure which suited him better, to asphyxiate, or the clean slice of the throat. Nonetheless, he got immense satisfaction from the startled look of surprise each of them wore in death.

His sick mind had reached it’s height of excitement and he pounced on her like a caged Tiger, menacing and ready to desecrate her body.

Her mind kicked into action. Her legs lifted, jackknifing from the knee in a hitch kick. Her arms ranged out to the sides and contracted to cuddle her body. In a flash, she pulled out a knife that was tucked into her boots and thrust, with all her might, slicing from navel up. He was stupefied in shock. Her father had taught her well.

She had been born a circus gypsy, with a knife throwing father, and a mother that she hardly knew. From as little as six years, she had struggled on her own, moving from town to town on roadshows with her dad and the circus team that practically raised her and taught her all the tricks they knew. Her deceptive small stature always led some misguided men to underestimate her strength which had been built from years of balancing on wires and jumping hoops.

Unfortunately, years back, she had been too young, too naive, too trusting and too vulnerable to stop the abuse she had suffered in the hands of some slick buffoons who felt it was fun to ambush and have their way with a teenage ‘white trash’ as they had called her. But never again, she vowed, never again.

She stepped over his crumpled body as he lay gasping and clutching his spilled guts, and made off with his valuable belongings, fat wallet and purring Audi listening to the Eye of the Tiger.

Who stalked who? You might care to ask.

Creative Writing · Uncategorized

A shout out to my neighbours. Day 3 – Blogging 101

July 8, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha6 Comments

My dear blogging neighbor,

To say that it is my pleasure to connect with a good number of you – the old hands and the newcomers might sound a bit blasé, but the truth still remains what it is; I am very pleased for having discovered such a well spring of dynamic and intriguing personalities in blogland.

Whilst foraging, I encountered a plethora of blogs: the extroverts, the introverts, the cheeky, the nerdy, the needy, the wise, the funny, the eye candies (food, fashion and photo blogs) the chatty story tellers (like myself), the inspirational ones, the humorous, the controversial, the motherly, the health, travel and everything else in between.

Some of you, I shamelessly courted their hands in friendship and they reciprocated, whilst some are still contemplating my offer 🙂

You all bring to the table, your experience, your exposure, irrespective of how small or large and your expertise especially amongst the old hands.

I graciously salute you all for your magnanimity in welcoming a newbie like me in the house and hope we can all find time to keep each other company in the blog-sphere at least.

Okay, now this is beginning to sound like a valedictory speech, so lets just jump on the wagon and enjoy the expedition and simply end the torture shall we?

Greetings and regards,

Jacqueline

Humor - Bellyful of laughter · Creative Writing

Flat butt or what?.. Silly thinking

July 7, 2015July 7, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha19 Comments

Do writers end up with a flat butt or what?

Sitting here at my desk, scribble, scribble, scribble,

type, type, type,

with a pillow under my gluteus maximus

cushioning the impact of wood on muscles

Yet I still feel the deflation of air from behind

Bringing such silly thought to my mind

What if? I question myself,

My aspirations, lead to deflation’s,

And I end up with a flat behind?

That would be a Rear End 🙂

Creative Writing · Uncategorized

What inspired my Title and ever changing Tag line? Blogging 101

July 7, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha9 Comments

Here goes. For me, there is nothing like jumping in two feet into the moment than getting tardy and feeling like I have an albatross around my neck several days later. Therefore in answer to the question why I chose the title acookingpotandtwistedtales:

For a long while, I had been satisfied spinning my yard tales for my children and family alike (even my husband likes to listen in), as well as sharing them on Facebook with friends, but I never got round to blogging. I was far too busy with other things (I kept telling myself) and writing the stories in my journal, waiting for the right time, but the right time was a list of never ending tomorrows.

On New’s years eve, after outlining my long list of resolutions, I chose to fly out the window and test my wings, but I had no name with which to express my thoughts and tell my stories, the short and long of it all.

After several attempts which did not quite settle with me, since I was in search of something that spoke specifically to me, my Ah ha moment came, whilst preparing a meal for my children and spinning a long tale by moonlight for them. I think a little fairy dropped some gold dust on my ears and whispered: acookingpotandtwistedtales and it simply clicked. For me, my title represents a medley of ideas tossed together to create a patchwork of interesting stuff.

I spend a good portion of my time cooking for my family, and funny enough, I had dabbled into catering business at some point in time in my interesting Topsy-curvy life, so it felt it was quite apt and I think I am going to keep it even though my Title and URL are the same name. Well, who knows, only time will tell what changes would be made.

My tag line had pretty much stayed the same until I joined the blogging university and fire was put under my butt to think out of the box 😉 so in the space of twenty four hours it has changed several times and might even change some more. From “Let’s spin a tale” to “Think. Spin tales: True, False and the Downright absurd”. I am trying to capture the essence of what I want to convey through my blog, which are basically centered around short fictions, my inspirational thoughts, social criticism and rants (when the fancy catches me).

Since it’s not a revolution but an evolution, I will keep tweaking that tag line until I am a hundred percent satisfied.

So, what do you think?

Creative Writing · Social critic

The dance of deceit…

July 6, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha13 Comments

The pulse of the beat emanating from the loudspeakers made even the most gauche and stiff person nod their heads, sway in their seats or tap their feet to the rhythm of music. That was the power of a medley of the latest Naija tunes, which by the way is a staple to guarantee a bubbly party.

The lavish get together at the opulent Oriental hotel was very well attended and the upwardly mobile guests were all dressed to the nines for the occasion. The gentlemen looked dapper in their native outfits and the ladies were a burst of brightness and elegance.

Most of the ladies were either outfitted in slinky dresses that showed off ample bosoms and ankles or were gorgeously bedecked in colorful tailored to fit Lace or Ankara attires, accessorized with all the necessary artillery, from expensive jewelery, to Manolo Blahnik shoes, bling clutches, bank-breaking hair weaves or artfully tied geles/head-ties, which perched on their proud crowns. Their faces were equally perfect canvases of fine artistry and their thick false eyelashes stood inches away from their powder layered skin.

It was a joyful occasion. It was the celebration and dedication of a child born after 14 years of anticipated waiting. A classy and sublime Nigerian party. Champagne and assorted drinks flowed freely without restrictions. Finger licking foods of diverse menu was in surplus rations and the Master of ceremony occasionally interjected the music with a rib-cracking joke or a little side talk to sweeten the atmosphere.

Yet every moment that passed was like ages spent in a hot seat for Coco. Her intestines were contorted in nerves of pins and needles and she could barely wait for the party to be over so that she would escape to the confines of her home.

“Who invited him here”? She muttered under her breath, sensing some serious mischief on the way, but she was unable to give him his matching orders without drawing unnecessary attention to both of them. It would take one discerning eye to tell. Just one eagle-eyed gossip, who spends more time with her/his nose stuck in other peoples affair. That was all that is required for her life to become a mess.

Another oohing and aahing admiration from a guest drew her attention back to the bundle of joy cradled in her arms. She carelessly caressed the little one’s soft, downy hair, as she listened to yet another analysis of who the baby looked like: whether he looked like her Coco or like Ben.

“My sister, I am happy for you o”, intoned Bisi. “Indeed, God is very faithful o”. “Ah! I was just telling my sister Lola in London, about your testimony o”. “Telling her to have courage and be patient, that he will surely answer in his time o”. “Hmm, your baby is so cute o”. “He is almost as fine as a girl o”. “See all the hair, see the fairness”.

“Your belle is very good o”. “See this fine pikin wey you just born as he yellow, well well, this one no resemble you at all o”. “Maybe na your husband people him resemble”, she carried on her monologue, whilst Coco responded in grunts of appreciation at the same time trying to keep an eye out for the uninvited guest. A good party with lots of liberal drinks had a way of bringing out the pidgin in you.

Soon enough, Simbi glided over to where she sat with the uninvited guest in tow.

“Guess who is in town”? she chirped in her syrupy falsetto. “I ran into him, and we got talking and I told him about your good fortune, I couldn’t help but invite him to come along with me, since I had no one to come with”. She and her husband parted ways, several years ago.

Coco raised her eyes, muttered a cold welcome through clogged throat as she fought an inner battle to keep her face as bland as possible, even though her heart beats were so loud that she thought it could be heard by anyone. Staring into his face catapulted her back to thirteen months and twelve days ago, when she deliberately placed herself in a compromising situation.

She had grown bone weary of being poked and prodded by one gynecologist or the other, subjecting herself to countless fertility tests. Then again, anything to have a baby was worth the while.

She had grown deeply tired of being looked on as useless and her desperation to cradle her own child reached its apogee, when she overheard her sister-in-law insidiously telling her husband that their new home was beautiful, but it was a shame that there were no patters of feet to decorate and warm the house.

She knew that it was a question of time before she would be faced with the challenge of a new wife for Ben, or if she was lucky, he would choose to be discreet and have the children outside with a more fruitful lady.

Every month that her menstrual cycle turned up was like an extra nail on her cross, and a heavy weight on her mind.

Her yearning had left a cavern in her soul. She had cried and sought forgiveness from God for any sin that might be an obstacle in receiving the fruit of the womb. She had danced from one prayer hall to the other. From one night vigil to the other. From one candle lit Pastor to the other, all to no avail.

She had proposed IVF, but Ben found a thousand reasons not to be keen on it.

Adoption was not such a common phenomenon in Nigeria, besides, she needed her husband to buy into such an idea.

The doctors had said that nothing was wrong with her, yet she secretly believed she was at fault. She felt that God was punishing her for all the abortions that she had committed in her youth.

She couldn’t scream from the rooftops or confide in Ben that she was capable of conceiving, based on her numerous pregnancies in the past when she was still single. That would be like a keg of gun powder for a canon!

His silent accusation of ruining her womb will join the turmoil that she was experiencing, thus, her guilt sentenced her to silence.

“Ore, what did the doctor say?” Simbi inquired as they strolled through Balogun market in search of the perfect aso ebi for Stella’s mothers burial.

She and Simbi came a long way from their school days as room mates at University of Ife. They had weathered a whole lot together.

“The same old story o, my sister”. “I have flushed my tubes over and over again, that they must resemble express ways by now”, Coco said wryly.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what of Ben”? Simbi inquired. Daring to venture into that aspect which was sacred and not open for discussion.

“Ben ke”? Coco asked

“Yes now”? “After all it is the two of you that are in this matter”.

“His doctor said nothing is wrong with him o”, Coco reported.

“His doctor”? “Did you two see him together”? Simbi queried, like a dog chewing on a bone.

Coco looked at her friend sharply. “Just what are you saying exactly Simbi”?

“Hmm! Ore, don’t be annoyed o”. “But has he really checked to see that he is okay”? “My dear sister, I remember some things o”. “We both know that you can conceive”. “I am just saying that you shouldn’t leave these things to chance anymore”. “We are getting old o”. “After forty o, this conception matter gets more difficult”. “This is the time to act”.

“So what is your suggestion?” Coco inquired. “You are speaking in parables”.

“I think you should get him to check again”. “I don’t want you to say tomorrow that I am the devil o, but if it is me, I will try elsewhere, just to see o, Simbi concluded in her matter of fact approach of speaking.

Those little subtle seeds of suggestion took root and festered in Coco’s mind for several moons to pass. She paid serious attention to Ben’s activities and carried out her own private clinical investigations afterwards. It was a shock to find out that he had low sperm count and had probably known that, all these years, but she couldn’t confront him. She could not dare give a voice to her questions. She knew it would bring serious discord which might cost her, her marriage. And since she wanted to stay married, she kept quiet.

In Africa a man can never be impotent. Ha! How can that be? It is always the woman’s fault for failing to be fruitful and to multiply children in triplicates or more copies.

But her vengeful heart knew no peace and other ideas took roots. She reconnected with the uninvited guest on social media and bid her time. He had succeeded in impregnating her in the past, during school days; though he had never been privy to that knowledge. They were just unprepared students. The seduction was timely and complete. Two months later it was a slam dunk. She was pregnant.

Ben had been ecstatic at the news of the forth-coming baby. They went on a shopping spree in London. The baby would have the best that money could buy.

All seemed well and blissful, until Simbi started making some sly and irksome comments.

She no longer felt at ease with her good friend, finding good excuses to keep her at an arms length.

Watching as her friend got down low to the music with him, she contemplated her next possible steps even as she joined her husband on the dance floor for the showers of monetary blessings.

They continued their dance of deceit, but at what cost? Who knows?

For some readers who might require the meanings of some of the words for better clarity and understanding, kindly find below:

Also note that we stretch our syllables when we speak and almost always end our sentences with a long drawn ooh when gisting/discussing back home.

Glossary:

Ankara: African prints/fabrics

Aso ebi (pronounced Asho eybee) These refers to Nigerian outfits made from matching fabric to be worn by a group of people to a party, wedding, burial or any other social gathering.

Belle: (pronounced beh-leh) stomach/belly

Gele: traditional Nigerian head wrap made of different textures.

Naija: an acronym or slang as another name for Nigeria, a patriotic name for Nigerians to show union, emotions, strength etc

Ore mi: (pronounced Awe-reh mee) My friend

Pidgin: grammatically simplified form of English

Pikin: (pronounced pee-keen) child

wey you just born: that you delivered

Yellow: refers to very light/fair complexion.

Creative Writing · Musings

Let’s get a little lost shall we?

July 4, 2015July 5, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha12 Comments

In a lighter mood:

Did someone say that Houston is hot or hawt during Summer? They should try Dubai. There is the Sun, then Planet Dubai next to the sun, and Planet Earth with every other city a million miles away.

We arrived Dubai/UAE after 16 hours flight across continents from the US, so thankful for a safe flight. These days when you take off to somewhere, you simply hope that the pilot/co-pilot does not have any form of meltdown.

As we head out in search of our rental. The heat slapped us in the face with a punch thrown in too! Yet, it was sundown!
No matter. We loaded up and set off to town, ready to settle down.

It’s Ramadan (no public eating until iftar).
It’s blazing hot.
We are hungry, jet-lagged and cranky.

Traveling with family can be a whole lot of fun when you get past the hectic leg of things and to make things easier, we always take a car rental armed with our GPS and generally try to find our square roots.

Taking the metro or taxi, with children in tow, does not really cut it for me. I don’t enjoy staring through the windows with my nose pressed to the glass, watching the city scape zip past as we zoom by. With a rental at your liberty, you can immerse yourself just a little bit more.

Luckily the fast had just been broken for the day, so we located the closest mall and delightfully found a Five Guys fast food, where we tucked into some real greasy burgers and fries à l’américaine.

You would think that with the blazing heat and Ramadan, that the city would be slow and empty. Not at all! The mall park was filled to the brim. Human traffic from all walks of life flowed in pairs and little groups and for a people watcher like me, (is there a hobby with that title yet)? Its simply a delight to my imagery senses.

A full tummy, peppered with jet lag and heat equals to potent sleeping pill. Off we go to find our new abode for weeks to come.
The pilot (dear husband) sets off confidently, whilst I settled beside him to admire the shiny buildings of architectural delight, but soon enough my eyelids droop from gravity of sleep.

Half an hour later, I crank open my eyes and we were nowhere near our destination. Our poor GPS – which by the way, we had used on a previous visit – was thoroughly confused and was not updated due to the massive construction and upgrades going on in the city. It is a city of consistent newness and growth; getting ready to host Expo 2020. Familiar routes become a maze of metro networks, new hotels/buildings, road expansions and deep excavations.

“What’s up?” I asked in a croaky voice.

“I am trying to locate our hotel, but the GPS is not picking up the proper directions”, he responds.

“Okay”. “I have a map, lets see if that can help”, I offer. Mind you, I am not sure that I will make the Worlds list of cartographers or map readers – but at least I can try 🙂

Me: Map reader

Pilot: Husband

And we manage to circle an area a couple of times until in exasperation I suggested that we should simply stop by a metro station and get one of the empty cabs to direct us, otherwise we just might find ourselves in Kuwait before we know it.

My suggestion is met with silence. A cue for me to fold my map and snatch a few minutes of shut eye. I knew we would get there anyhow.

What is it with men and asking for directions?

Is it in their genetic make-up not to ask?

We ran around a little more, and eventually we were adopted by a taxi escort, that drove in front of our vehicle until we got to our destination, and in the spirit of Ramadan, I guess, he did not collect even 1 dirham from us, waving a cheerful goodbye as he left.

Wilted like two day old vegetables, we gladly hopped into our beds after all protocol and for the next several weeks or more, we shall be calling this shiny place, Home.

Sun image: courtesy http://www.oc-breeze.com

Creative Writing · Hope · Inspiration - Motivation · Love · Musings

God gave me something..

July 1, 2015July 1, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha3 Comments

He gave us eyes, that we might behold the splendor of his creativity; That we might see each other beyond the peripheries of physical vision. Sometimes we look, but we do not really see.

He gave us mouth that we may praise him; That we may give voice to the thoughts of our hearts; That we may speak words that bring life, succor, strength; That we may speak words that edify.

He gave us ears that we may listen and understand; That we may hear and filter through the turbulence of life; That we may hear his voice whisper in our hearts, through the sights and sounds of the beauty that surrounds us.

He gave us heart that we may feel; That we may have a depth of emotions that understands, that loves, that empathizes, that endures. A heart that can be faithful, courageous and kind. May our hearts not harden that we lose every sense of love, of joy, of peace, of empathy and reason.

He gave us brain that we may reason with wisdom and understanding; That we may use the abundance of talents to his glory;That we may gain and disseminate productive knowledge.

He gave us hands that they be busy and not idle; That they are productive and profitable; That they are helping hands to raise up, to mold and not to push down.

He gave us legs that we may walk tall in Faith, Grace, Hope and Dignity; That we may stand tall in the face of adversity; That we may flee from dangers and issues that lead to destruction.

He gave us a fully functional body, in his image and likeness and for His Glory.

Today, I stand tall and proclaim that I am/You are/We are masterpieces of the ultimate craftsman; and nobody can tell me differently.

God gave me everything….

Nota bene: Welcome to July 1st

Creative Writing · Inspiration - Motivation · Love

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.