See Episode 1
In some given situation, 2km could be longer than 10km. The drive from the hospital to my house seemed like eternity. All the forces, spiritual and physical, seemed to be in a conspiracy to delay me. The traffic was unusually heavy, the shouts from vendors calling for customers seemed like they were laughing at me. Police stopped me at Oshodi demanding to know why I was driving and talking to myself; why my driving license was still so neat after four years of usage. Na wa for Police.
I saw demon on the faces of the other drivers. I cursed and shouted at them to get off my way. A vendor came to entice me into buying a gala he claimed would nourish my body. The look on my face sent him on his heels. Another came with a book titled "Secret Of A Happy Marriage." I knocked it off his hand, telling him to go to hell. A military truck passed by, trying to be at my front, I shouted at them. One of the military men at the back made a gesture with his hand that I was crazy.
And maybe I was.
Any man who remained sane after finding himself in my shoes must be suffering from an undiagnosed gentleman kolo, a form of insanity suffered by men in Lagos, Porthacourt, Aba and Kano.
A man and his family were driving by, singing along to Steve Crown's "You're Great" gospel song. I looked at how happy they were, it reminded me of my family. We were a very happy family until now. I wondered if the man was certain of his children's paternity. I wondered if his wife was cheating on him too. I was so angry with the world and with people that did me nothing.
Anger is corrosive, it eroded my mind crippling every sense of sound judgment.
I was able to make it home without smashing another car or killing someone. My children were there to welcome me, happy to see their Dad and friend. What's going to be the fate of these children from the fallout of this saga? How would they accept such a tragic news? Things has fallen apart, life would soon no longer be what they used to know. Oh, how the cookies crumble.
Chioma was in the sitting room, lying down on the couch and watching Zee World with our daughter, Kachamma Daniela. She was on a bum short and a pink sleeveless shirt, knotted above the navel. At her age and after four children, she was still as seductive as she has always been. I never could resist her with her clothes off. She knew it and used it to her advantage. The times we had misunderstanding for something she did wrong, all she needed to do was dress in skimpy and seductive night wear, and I would be showing my thirty two teeth. She would lead me to the bedroom for a holy communion of romantic settlement.
"Mma," I called my daughter.
"Yes Dad. Welcome Dad."
"Go and meet your brothers outside, me and your Mum have something to discuss."
Kachamma is a very smart kid, knowing when to protest and when to simply obey without complain.
"Okay-y." She dragged the word with a little bit of attitude and left.
Chioma looked at my face and sat up.
"Is there any problem, honey?"
"Don't just honey me."
"Hian! Atọkwa m. What did I do this time?"
"Please, I want you to be honest for once in your miserable life. Is there anything you would like to confess to me?"
"Confess kwa. Over what, biko?"
Her eyes dropped, trying to avoid eye contact. Guilty. When someone that normally looks you eyeball to eyeball starts avoiding eye contact, he is either guilty or hiding a secret.
"Who is the father of those boys you call my children?" No time to waste time, I had to go straight to the point.
"What? Father? Of which boys?"
"Shedrach, Meshach and Abednego. Who is their father? "
"Where is this question coming from, biko kwa? You're their father nau."
"In theory, yes. Who is their biological father? "
"Biology?"
"No, chemistry."
"Honey, why why why this ques question?"
She stuttered. Guilty. When someone that don't normally stutter begins stuttering, its either he's guilty or have something to hide.
"Don't let me lose my temper. Who is their father? "
She readjusted her sitting position, keeping her legs ajar for her laps to be evident. I was expecting such move, seductive hypnosis, which she had always used on me and it worked like magic. But this time is different.
"Honey, what has come over you? Are you accusing me?"
She started weeping. Emotional blackmail. Which she had used on me in the past and it worked like a charm. With her tears she melted my heart, cornered me to a position where I would be the one apologizing for a wrong I didn't do. Women na wa. But this time is different.
She stood up, letting one side of the collar of her shirt fell from her shoulder, revealing her robust breasts. I didn't lick my lips, which was how she used to know when she got me in her pants. This time is different.
"Honey, I swear to God, those children are yours."
"Please please, biko, leave God out of this."
"What are you doing to us? We're happy, is that not what really matter? "
"Being happy for the wrong reasons is not true happiness."
She made to come and hold me.
"Don't touch me."
She turned her back, letting her butts bounce in rhythm with her weeping. My wife is a seductress. But today, betrayal and anger has arrested her seductive prowess over me.
In life though, you never can say never.
FLASH BACK:
...................
(This is getting serious. Do I grab her neck and squeeze it tight or do I give her my hand to lead me to the bedroom and let a sleeping dog lie?)
To Be Continued.
Composed & Written by
Kelechi Onuoha
© '18.
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