ADAEZE: a tale of a fiesty girl

I walked through the halls of this so called new school and I hate it.

Ambrosia High school its called.

Whoever thought of the name.

There are some girls standing in the hallway staring at me.

Yes, I am a new face, can you face your front at least? I roll my eyes as I walk past the announcement board.

My first period class is in the math building. I stare at the school map in my hand. A few minutes ago, my mom dropped me off in front of the gym. She wanted to do the traditional parent thing by walking me to my class and making sure I would be fine. I waved her off. I was not a fan of this new school and would definitely not be happy to be chaperoned on this fine Monday morning.

She pulled out her wallet and took out some money, she squeezed it into my hand.

“Make sure you buy some thing from the cafeteria to eat,” she said and stared at me nervously.

I snatched the money politely from her.

“Thank you,” I muttered.

“You need to smile, this frown you have on your face won’t help you at all,” she said as she turned on the engine.

“Alright,” I replied. I was tired of hearing about my facial expressions. My mom always said it gave away my feelings instantly. I had to learn to fix my face.

Oh well.

Everyone has to deal with it.

I don’t care if they don’t like me, they just have to deal with it.

Mrs Thomas, the math teacher was standing in front of the board, class was about to start. There was an empty desk beside the door. I took the spot and instantly settled in.

“Good morning class,” Mrs Thomas greeted. She seemed to be in her early forties.

The class responded. Our eyes met. She smiled at me.

“You must be the new girl,” she sad

“I am,” I responded confidently.

“And your name is?”

“Adaeze,”

She listened and the repeated my name, “Adaizi”

With the accent, it was pronounced wrong, I had no tolerance for anyone who butchered my name, even if it is slightly mispronounced.

“Adah, azay,” I repeated slowly as I emphasized pronunciation.

She nodded thoughtfully without repeating my name. Hopefully she gets it right when she reads the roster, because I won’t have it any other way.

A girl with orange braids chuckled and I shot a glance at her.

“What’s funny?I asked.

To be continued

THE SEX TAPE (2)

“You are pregnant,” my friend Ari blurted out in shock.

My eyes were red from crying. How could I face my parents with the crazy news that I was six weeks pregnant? I had no symptoms, no nausea or the common symptoms. I just realized I was always tired and sleepy by the time i was in my third period class.

“Yes,” I replied there were so many thoughts on my mind.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” I pleaded. I didn’t want anyone to know.

“But you need to tell him,” Ari replied. I put my hands in my face as I sat on the toilet seat in my bathroom.

“How do I tell him?’I asked angrily.

How could I be so careless?

Ari gave me a questioning look. Her eyebrows twitched. “You open your mouth and tell him, that’s how,” she responded and rolled her eyes.

I know she was being sarcastic, but it was far from what I needed.

I sighed. Graduation was about a month away.

What if I started showing?

What would my parents say?

They would be disappointed. This was not what they had planned for me.

I remember standing in front of Jason at the school gym. I waited for his basketball practice to be over. I had rehearsed my little speech several times in front of the mirror. I also practiced his facial expression on receiving the news and his countenance afterward.

‘Hey,’ he said casually as he shut his locker.

“Hey” I replied quietly. He gave me a questioning look.

Are you okay?” he asked.

It was the first time in weeks we had spoken. It was an awkward encounter. I had said horrible things to him. I didn’t want to see him or even answer his calls or texts.

“Not really” I responded, avoiding eye contact.

He kept looking around as if he suspected he was being watched.

“What’s the problem?” He asked. I felt his eyes staring directly at my face. It was such an uncomfortable feeling.

“Can we go somewhere and talk?” I told him. I was not sure what his reaction would be when I dropped the bomb on him. but I also didn’t want his friends passing by and catching him in his feelings. I mean reacting.

“I have a date with Sheila in about half an hour, say what you need to say so I can leave,” he said coldly.

A few months ago, he didn’t sound like this. He was warm and friendly. Sheila decided to take my spotlight, and right now I looked like trash.

“Okay, maybe now is not a good time,” I said.

“Yeah,” he replied and began to walk away.

I watched him walk away as he pulled out his cell phone from his backpack.

I decided on the spot that I was not going to tell him.

“What do you mean by, you are not going to tell him.” Ari asked. She was at my house studying for the Biology test we were going to take in the morning.

“Sssshhh” I said. Ari spoke too loud. I didn’t want my mom, who was upstairs to hear our conversation.

“ I said what I said Ari,” I told her as I drew in my biology lab notebook.

Ari shook her head.

Three days later, after so much convincing from Ari. I mustered the courage to tell Jason. I told him to meet me at the Hamburger shop down the street from his house. We went there on our first date. I wished today would be all smiles and rosy like a first date. My heart was beating fast, but instead it was beating fast for a different reason. I had something on my chest I needed to get off. I decided to have an abortion. I prayed he would want the same too. It hurt my heart that we could have made great parents, but we weren’t ready.

He pulled up five minutes after I sat by the window. It was a fairly busy day at the hamburger shop. A few students were sitting at different tables chatting and laughing. He walked in and scanned the room to find me.

He walked towards me with a nonchalant gait.

“Hey,” he said as he pulled the chair and sat down.

I nodded in acknowledgment.

“Do you want some to eat? I am hungry, I could use a burger,” he asked.

I politely declined. He shrugged and went to the counter to order the burger.

He came back a few minutes after with a white ticket in his hand showing number 43.

“So what’s up?” He asked.

My heart began to beat faster. I stared at him, hoping he could read my facial expression, and also hoping the word ‘ pregnant’ would show up on my forehead without me saying a word. Instead, he stared back with a blank expression on his face.

“Jason, I found out something.” I began trying to pick my words carefully.

“What did you find out?” He asked.

“I am a few weeks pregnant,” I blurted out in response.

His face contorted into a frown. The reaction I expected from the beginning.

“How did this happen?” he said in a quiet but angry voice. I felt tears welling up my eyes. He was going to blame me for getting pregnant when it was a joint thing. It was me and him. He told me he loved me. I was naive.

“We had sex Jason, that’s how this came about,” I replied. My smart words stung him. The look in his eyes instantly became hostile.

“Of course we had sex,” he replied. “Have you told anyone yet?”

“No, I haven’t,” I lied. Ari was the only person who knew. She didn’t count.

“So what do you plan on doing with it?” He asked.

He just called the pregnancy ‘it’.

I was so shocked I could not reply.

“I will tell you what, I have my whole life ahead of me. This basketball scholarship means everything to me. I can’t put my life on hold for a baby, so let’s get rid of it,” he said.

I was not surprised. I tried not to show any emotion, but a tear decided to betray me by running down my left cheek.

SCANDAL OF A FIRST LADY

The coming election was dependent on the votes of the people.

I needed the votes of these people more than anything. I needed to become the first lady. I can’t remember how long I’ve been obsessed with it, but it was something I’d always wanted to be.

Since I was a child, I watched several world presidents hold their first ladies by the hand and stand in front of everyone. It was such a thrill. I wanted it.

First lady!

The first female citizen of the state. Imagine being addressed as the First Lady. Let’s practice First Lady Mrs.

Is that how it’s said? It doesn’t sound correct.

I need to ask questions.

First Lady!

Another name that the pastor’s wife is called in church. Not really. It wasn’t the kind I wanted to be. I didn’t want to sit there and take charge of all the women in church. The ones who gossiped were the ones who were hypocritical. I wanted to be a first lady in government, and so far my husband was a senator. He had given me a great life. We lived in the suburbs. Our children went to private school. I had maids and drivers at my disposal. I had women’s brunch every month with my best friends. I served in church giving to charity and orphanages. Deeds had to be public. They had to be seen, and approved by people. I had my own YouTube channel, where I sat down and became a therapist to women in bad marriages.

The ones that needed to leave, but instead they stayed.

They stayed

i) Because of the kids.

ii) Because of what other people would say.

iii) Because they didn’t think they could find love or a better man than who they were currently with.

I feel the reasons are pathetic, but who am I to judge them?

The comment section was filled with love from my fans and hate speech from women who I felt were chasing clout. I talked about basically everything feminine. I shared my wardrobe with people. The ones filled with designer stuff, perfumes, shoes, handbags, including I also V-logged my trips to foreign countries on vacation. We were in La Rochell, France last week, and Bilboa, Spain the previous week. Montego Bay, Jamaica was the next on the list with my female friends.

My husband wasn’t in support of sharing the intimate parts of my life on my YouTube channel. He didn’t want us to be a target for getting robbed. I understood where he was coming from, but with more than twelve orderely’s in the house and other domestic staff, it would take a long time for anyone who wanted to rob me to get through.

Life was good.

It was great!
Three months ago, my husband made his intentions to run for governor known to his party members. As soon as he made that announcement, it was as if all our enemies and village people had crawled out from the woodwork. Bloggers, journalists, paid and unpaid were everywhere looking for the next best story to tell about my husband and I. There were joking for the good, the bad and the ugly. I noticed that bad and ugly news were best sellers, and those would start early. Smear campaigns, poor journalism, and the comment section were guaranteed to sell out the best stories.

My personal assistant had told me about a meeting I was supposed to be having with a new orphanage that I picked to take care of. I was getting ready in front of the mirror. My husband walked into the room. He was dressed in a suit. I hadn’t seen him in a suit in a long time. This is what campaigning does. Normally he was dressed down in a shirt and jeans, but this time he was fully dressed in a three piece suit. Today it wasn’t Sunday, so I wondered where he was going dressed like that.
“Where are you going dressed like that?” I asked.
“I have a meeting. There are a few investors coming in today from France,” he replied.

“Investors?” I asked confused. “What are they investing in?”

“It’s a project that’s ongoing. I can’t tell you the details right now. I’m looking for a yellow Manila envelope that I left on the bed yesterday. Did you see it?” he asked, looking distracted.

“A Manila envelope? No, I haven’t seen any of such. Where did you leave it?” I asked.

“It’s only both of us who are in this bedroom, except for domestic stuff that comes in here to clean. I left it on the dresser, where I leave things that are of importance to me.”

I could feel the retort in his voice. I decided to ignore it. I didn’t have time for him this morning, and I didn’t want him to spoil my morning mood.
“I haven’t seen anything like that,” I responded as I powdered my nose with the foundation. “What is in it?”

I asked curiously. It had to be money. That was the only thing you put in such envelopes. The important documents, like deeds if you ask me.

“Are you trying to sell property?” giving him a sharp look through the mirror. He wasn’t staring at me. He was busy fiddling around the drawers looking for the envelope. He kicked the right leg of the bed out of frustration.

“Arghhhhh, you ask too many questions? You are breaking my concentration,” he said. His cell phone began to ring. He threw a frustrated fist punch into the air and answered the phone.

“I can’t find the document, I am running late. It may be in the office, but I am sure I left it at home. I will head out now,” he said to whoever the caller was. I lined my lips with the lip pencil and applied lipstick.

“Honey, I have to go, I will see you later,” he said and kissed me on my forehead.

“Alright darling, have a wonderful day,” I said.

He walked out of the room.

I continued with my make-up, a few minutes later I looked out of the window and saw the huge gates open. The Mercedes Benz drove out.

I walked to my purse closet and pulled out my Hermes bag from the top shelf. I opened it and pulled out the yellow Manila envelope I hid in there. It was time to figure out the contents. I opened the envelope

THE CHRONICLES OF A LAGOS MECHANIC

Christmas that year was meant to be fun.
There were so many “I just got back,” also known as IJGB. These were returnees from the diaspora who were home for the holidays. Most of these people either went to school or worked there. They come home on holidays during Christmas season. The economy booms during that period, there’s so much money to be spent, so many parties to attend. Every day from December 17th were Christmas parties, some sort of office parties, and family celebrations. There was the worst type of traffic one could ever imagine on both sides of the road. Most events were in the island, and when it was time to go, people who lived on the mainland would encounter traffic going in their direction. There are also a variety of accents everywhere. The British accent and the American accent most especially. It was all fun and games.

My shop was located in the highbrow area, and my target were rich folk. I became a master at fixing car engines, transmission and other small car problems. It was a lucrative business, but the prayer was to have a car breakdown everyday. The roads and traffic in Lagos contributed to frequent visits to my shop by the owners.
Mrs. Gentry stood in front of me, her hands on her waist. I had to think of a lie to tell her so she could leave. Her Lexus had been in my care for three days, and she had been blowing up my phone to know when she could get the car back. I was busy with other cars.
“You have been avoiding my calls, so I decided to show up. Is my car ready?” She asked as she towered over me in a red and yellow fabric. Her head tie was intimidating. She was married to a wealthy politician.
“The car is not ready yet,” I told her, avoiding her gaze.
“What do you mean by the car is not ready? You told me you were working on it,” she bellowed. She was using scare tactic. This was not going to work.
“Madam, when the car is ready, I will call you,” I said as I put the spanner I was holding on the floor. My hands were greasy.
“My daughter is coming back from the UK tomorrow. I want her to drive the car while she is around. Do you want me to pay you extra so the car would be ready on time?” she offered. I sensed the desperation in her voice. She didn’t look a day older than forty, and she was standing here telling me she had a daughter in the UK who is old enough to drive. In my next life, I want to be wealthy.
“No problem, anything you have I will accept,” I told her. She opened her red purse and pulled out a wad of one thousand Naira notes and handed it to me. I counted it. Ten thousand naira.
“ Tomorrow at noon, I will be here to pick up the car,” she said with an air of finality, and walked to the black Mercedes Benz with the driver sitting in the driver seat and the engine running.
As soon as she closed the door, the driver sped off, leaving behind dust that sprayed the next car.
One of the boys came out from under the hood of the car he was working on.
“Just like that,” Tajudeen said and laughed.
“My dear, I can’t complain,”
“What is wrong with the car?” He asked, walking towards the navy blue Lexus R350
“Nothing major, it just needs tune up,” I told him.
“Oh okay,” he replied and walked away briskly.
Just then Nwando walked toward the shop, she was the daughter of Mama Aku, who sold food. Nwando was the youngest and smartest. She was in her final year in the university studying law.
I made my intentions known to her, but she always called my bluff.
I hadn’t seen her in a long time, she looked beautiful. She was wearing a shirt yellow dress, which made her legs look longer.
She had a plastic bag which, held food plates.
“Where is Taju?” Nwando’s clear voice rang out.
“ Ah, Nwando, won’t you greet me?” I told her as she avoided looking in my direction.
“Taju!!!” She called out, ignoring me.
Taju ran out of the shed he had walked into a few seconds before Nwando showed up.
“Why are you shouting my name?” He asked.
“When I inquired about you, didn’t you hear me?” Nwando said, giving him the side eye.
“Sorry, don’t vex please, I just went inside now now,” he replied, trying to chide her. She didn’t crack a smile.
“Here is your food, two plates of rice and then plantains on the side,” she informed him.
“Thank you,” he said, and pulled out a five hundred naira note from his pocket. He handed it to her.
“Where is mine?” I asked playfully. Nwando looked at me and acted like she was about to smile, and frowned.
“Did you order food?” She asked, darting her eyes at me.
It was one of the things about her that made me fall in love. Her dimples and her piercing eyes.
“Can I order food now?” “ I asked. I wanted to see her again, so anything to make her come back.

Ada stood in front of me, she held her Iphone to her right ear while I stood waiting for confirmation. She mumbled a few things into her phone and hung up.

“Listen, you can’t expect me to pay thirty thousand naira. I just fixed the catalytic converter last week, and now it’s something else, I am tired,” she said exasperated.

Ada brought her Honda in, and once again, it was a minor problem. I was charging triple the amount to fix.

“No problem, let me give you the part number and you can buy it yourself,” I told her. If I could bet my last kobo, Ada would definitely not go and look for the parts.

She eyed me.

“I am not going part hunting, I am sorry. I will give you seven thousand naira, and when the car is fixed, I will pay you your balance,” she informed me sternly. In the last month and a half, Ada had spent close to one hundred and fifty thousand naira on her Honda Accord, which was about five years old. She didn’t have a man in her life. She had a good job and was the type of client I could milk dry, because not only was she a damsel in distress, she trusted my knowledge.

“Seven thousand is not enough,” I told her as I eyed the money in her wallet.

She gave me the side eye.

“Figure it out, I have a Christmas party to attend tomorrow, I will pick it up by 2pm,” she said as she stuff the wad of notes into my breast pocket and walked away.

Two cars had to be ready tomorrow. how will I make this happen?

THE SEX TAPE (1)

When you bury your past, avoid friends with a shovel.

I had just moved to Berkley from Arizona. I got a new job working for a lab. It wasn’t just the job that made me move to Berkely. I had met this hunk of a dude. He worked in tech, a six figure earner, and he was starting his own consultation company.

We met on Tiktok and started messaging and liking each other’s video. He planned a trip to Sedona, which was about two hours from where I lived at the time. I had a fun experience, we went hiking and also on a spa date. I didn’t want the date to end. We had a great weekend together, dining, hiking and enjoying each others company.

We decided to become exclusive. It was something I had begged for all my life. Every man I dated in the past made me feel I had to work for their affection.

This man was different. He showed care. He was empathetic. He could afford luxury.

I was on cloud nine with this man.

He lived in California, and he encouraged me to move so that I would be closer to him. I didn’t like Arizona so much. I moved to Arizona for college, and I was stuck there after college and landing my first job.

California seemed such a nice new place to start. It was a more expensive place to live in. I didn’t mind. The love of my life lived there, and I knew things would work out somehow.

I applied to several companies and got called by a biotech lab in Berkeley. I got the job. I was ecstatic.

I moved to California three weeks later.

The company paid to move me there.

The beginning of my problems started when I posted my huge win on Facebook.

“Hiya…… California, here I come. So excited to start a new life with a boyfriend and a brand new job,”

I got a lot of likes. Comments from friends and old classmates congratulating me on my huge win and new journey.

I got a private message from my old childhood friend. We lived in the same neighborhood and went to the same middle school and high school. Ari moved to New York after high school, and I never saw her again.

“Hey Cece,” she wrote.

I was excited to hear from her. I wrote back and we began chatting back and forth. She had moved to San Francisco and was working for a tech company. I was excited to have someone else I knew who lived in the same town.

“Have you heard from Jason? “ she asked me.

It reeled back a lot of memories I had vowed to forget. Jason was my first love, he was my everything. He was a tall six foot three inch fair skinned boy. He played basketball and was on the school team. He was everything, but at the time I was more into him than he was into me. I played second fiddle and loyal girlfriend while he cheated on me with Sheila, a popular cheerleader who was an only child with wealthy parents. I was angry because he cheated on me with her. I found out and got upset. He tried to play it like it was nothing. I didn’t care I wasn’t going back. It sucked because it was senior year. It was supposed to be a memorable last few weeks. He became spiteful and bitter. He probably bragged to his friends that he would get me back, and so far the plan was not working. A few days later. I found out I was pregnant. My whole world was shattered. How could I tell Jason I was pregnant with his child? He would be livid. It would end his basketball career. The career he

wanted so so bad. It was his ticket to the basketball scholarship he wanted. I told Ari about the pregnancy. She told me not to tell him. It was the biggest mistake of my life.

CONFESSIONS OF A CHEATING WIFE (7)

Present-day

I cried so hard all through the night. I had no idea when morning came. I sat on the floor by the window, lost in my thoughts. The thoughts that flooded my mind were filled with happy memories. Yemi and I had no bad memories. All he did was make me happy, and somewhere along the line, I began to ruin it, slowly.

The devil works overtime.

Or maybe it is just a case of not knowing what you have got until it is gone.

He was gone.

He had been gone for a few days.

He didn’t say anything to me.

He didn’t eat anything I made.

I felt like a stranger in the house with him.

Every single minute felt like a thousand years away from him. This had never happened before, not even when we were dating. Was he just hurt? Or maybe I didn’t know this side of him. The side that shows passive aggression during misunderstandings. It felt terrible.

He packed up a few clothes, put them in a duffel bag, and went out of the house. I saw him pull out of the driveway in his white Tesla.

Normally he would tell me where he was going and when he would be back.

He didn’t. He didn’t owe me that anymore. There were so many questions. He asked me I had no answers to.

I was so ashamed of myself.

Normally people cheat and never get caught. They do it for so many years, but my case was different. I got caught early in the act. Maybe I’ve been doing it for longer and my sins were fast catching up with me.

I didn’t want him to tell my parents. I wanted to tell them myself.

He didn’t care. He didn’t even want to tell anyone that the marriage had crashed. He told me that two nights ago. He was sitting in the living room downstairs on his laptop. For the fifteenth time, I fought the urge to go to him to talk, and the sixteenth time, I gave in.

“Yemi,” I said as I cautiously walked towards him.

He didn’t respond.

“We can’t go on like this, can we at least talk.”

He sighed. “What is there to talk about?”

“This whole thing.”

He laughed in derision at my comment. “I am listening.”

I nervously sat beside him. I looked at him. He gave me a cold look. I deserved it. I felt tears sting my eyes, but this was not the time to be vulnerable. It felt like weakness and that was one thing I never wanted to show. He spoke highly of me to people that were near him or people who would listen and I let him down in so many ways. He was like a savior. When he appeared in my life. I was reeling from the heartbreak from someone who didn’t even deserve to see me.

Took care of everything for me. Married me and made me comfortable. It made my mates envy me. Now all that was like a memory.

“Please don’t tell my family what happened, we can fight this together,” I told him.

“There is nothing left to fight, I can’t get over the graphic image of another man having his way with you in our bed. It is a nightmare that has haunted me ever since,’ he responded.

I nodded.

I could imagine how he felt. Osas was so good in bed that I probably fell into a trance while it all happened and came out of it the moment, I realized I had been caught.

“Would you forgive me?” I asked.

“It’s too early to determine that.” He responded flatly.

I regretted asking.

“This marriage is over,’ he said. He stood up and left me sitting there speechless.

I looked at the time it was 4:07 a.m. I’ve been sitting there on the floor by the window for 24 hours. It started with me kneeling down trying to pray.

How could an adulteress sit there and talk to God and expect him to listen? I knew he would listen. He had been listening to me all my life. I only called him when I was in an emergency or dealing with stuff but never when I was happy or having the time of my life. I felt like a welfare case.

I called my childhood friend a day before and told her what had happened.

She listened. All she did was listen.

I cried.

I screamed. 
 No judgment, nothing.

“Say something,” I screamed angrily.

“You have to pull yourself together, you sunk this boat yourself.

CONFESSIONS OF A CHEATING WIFE (6)

“Let’s go to dinner.” my cousin Idara suggested.

We had been shopping for her wedding since I got off work. We were currently at a bridal shop looking at veils. The whole experience was overwhelming for me especially because Idara was very picky.

“Sounds like a great idea, we can hit the bar and have a few drinks afterwards.”

“No drinking, don’t you ever get tired of drinking?”

“Nope, you need to drink once in a while to calm your nerves.”

“My nerves are fine.” Idara said and narrowed her eyes at me. “They sound bad to me especially with this shopping, you have not picked one veil that you like since you got here, I said tired of looking at veils.”

“Yes, you are right, maybe we should leave.” Idara said and looked at the store attendant who was showing us different veils.

“Take you time, I was just kidding.”

“You sound bored, let’s go.” She said and packed up her things, putting her cell phone n her purse. She told the store attendant that she would be back to look at the veils on a different day and we left the store.

*************************************************

I had not been to Food Shack in a while. It was still the same establishment, but I noticed a lot of changes. Idara and I sat in the patio area overlooking the bridge. We watched the cars move slowly in traffic over the bridge. It took me a while to figure out what I wanted to eat because I scanned through the menu several times. It also did not help matters because my phone kept ringing and I kept ignoring the calls.

The waiter walked towards us with our food. Idara moved her purse out of the way so the waiter could set the platter in front of her. The meal looked inviting. He placed my food in front of me. He asked if we needed anything else. We declined and thanked him politely. He left.

“Let’s pray.” Idara said as she put her fork in her rice.

“You should pray.” I told her.

“Sure.” She said as she recited the Grace.

We both said “Amen” after she finished reciting the Grace.

“This is nice.” I said after chewing the first fork full of food that I put in my mouth.

“I am so hungry, and the food is delicious, I am about to order a second plate.” Idara informed me.

It won’t be a bad idea, I haven’t eaten out in so long.”

“Doesn’t your friend with benefits take you out to eat?”

“Which one?”

“You have more than one?” Idara asked raising her eyebrows.

“I don’t”

“Okay, have you recently switched to someone else.”

“No, what do you mean by that?”

Idara smiled at me. I did not like the way this conversation was going, and she was really beginning to irk me.

“So, it’s still Osas right?” she asked looking coyly at me.

“Yeah,” I reluctantly replied. I hadn’t told her about Yemi yet.

“So how are things going with him?”

“I beg your pardon?” I retorted.

The fact that I was not engaged and living Idara’s current life did not make me less deserving.

“Chill I was just kidding.” she said and looked at me to weigh my response.

I rolled my eyes and put a forkful of rice into my mouth. She did the same, but her gaze was on me.

“So how is Osas doing?” she asked breaking the silence.

“He is doing great.” I said and nodded.

“Cool” she replied. She kept staring at me as if she expected me to say more.

“I mean the sex is amazing, but lately he runs home to his family.”

“He is married?” Idara asked with her eyes wide open in shock. I chuckled at her reaction.

“No”

“Are you sure?

“Yes, it’s just his siblings.”

“Doesn’t he have his own place?”

“Not yet.”

“That’s crazy.” Idara said and coughed.

“Calm down before you choke on your food.” I told her.

“I will choke on my food before you mess with a married man, what are you thinking?” she asked angrily.

“What’s your problem? He is not married, and we are just having fun, it’s just sex, calm down please.” I did not need preaching at the table. She knew what I had been through with different men and judging me was not going to help.

Idara looked upset.

“Let’s change the subject.” I offered uncomfortably. She shook her head in disagreement.

“No, I am interested in hearing more.”

“More of what? My boring life with Osas.”

“Maybe you should leave him alone.”

“Maybe he should leave me alone.” I huffed. Idara shook her head.

“Why are you shaking your head?” I asked. Idara always felt the need to say something. She was the perfect princess with the charming life.

“Why do you make poor choices when it comes to men?” she asked as she sipped from the glass in front of her.

“Poor choices?” I asked bewildered.

“Yes, you either messing with married or emotionally unavailable men, it’s crazy how you can put up with such nonsense.” Idara said.

“I don’t make poor choices, I guess those men are attracted to me and speaking of poor choices, your fiancé is someone’s ex-husband.” I spoke. Idara looked flushed.

“He is legally divorced,” she replied defensively.

“You were responsible for the end of their marriage Idara.” I told her.

CONFESSIONS OF A PASTOR

The camera crew had set up. I sat across from Ruby Regina Hewitt, one of the most popular content creators. She was interviewing me about the recent scandals I had going in my church that were splashed across the front pages of blogs and newspapers.

The church elders advised me to do an interview. It would be a form of public enlightenment and accountability for my actions. After deliberating for two weeks. I agreed. Ruby Hewitt was a tall, chocolate colored skinned thirty year old. She was a multi millionaire and owned a high profile blog. She had sent several requests to be interviewed.

I obliged. She was happy to do the interview. My secretary offered to prep me for the interview. but I declined. I was ready to speak the truth from the beginning. The image of my church was already tarnished. There was nothing left to preserve, except the image of the other innocent pastors and the congregation. My confession had a ton of consequences, which I would rather face. This game had gone on for far too long.

Ruby smiled at me and asked if I was ready.

“I am ready when you are,” I replied.

“Great,” she said and looked at the camera.

“A lovely evening to my viewers, it is 6pm and time for a brand new interview with the Head Pastor of Green Pastures Church, Pastor Lawrence. This is about the rape scandal happening in the church, and a lot of other atrocities,” she said and looked at me.

Atrocities.

Yes, I had committed a lot of them. I wanted to confess all of them. I could not sleep at night. My mind was not at peace.

The rape scandal first started as a rumor in my church and ended up on the front page of Ruby’s blog.

Muthoni, the girl who accused me of rape, was the center of attention. It should never have gone this far. She was greedy. All she wanted was a share of my money. My wife was considering divorce. Everything I had built in a short time was crumbling into pieces right before my eyes. My marriage and my ministry were my greatest investments. There was nothing I could do to stop it. It was my karma.

“Good evening Pastor Lawrence,” she greeted me. I stared at her. She was so beautiful with even the minimal makeup she had on her face.

“Good evening Ruby, and good evening viewers,” I greeted and faced the camera.

“Greener Pastures church is lit. When I say lit, it is trending on all social media platforms. As the General Overseer and Head Pastor, you have granted this interview. We want you to clear the air,” she said.

“Sure, I am ready to do so. I will tell the truth about everything.” I replied.

“So let’s start from the beginning, how did you get into ministry? If you were called to pastor a church, why are you involved in a rape case and many others that have not been discussed?” she asked.

THE BEGINNING

I never thought I would be a pastor. I cannot say I was called to be one.

I wanted to be a pastor. It was lust for me. I wanted to be a tele evangelical pastor. I wanted the good life. I wanted to fly in private jets, go on expensive trips to exotic locations. Preach in different parts of the world and get honorary. I wanted to be successful. I watched as many pastors lived their true calling, and God took care of their needs.

My parents were piss poor. We were so poor that I dug through trash to find wasted food for dinner. I got new clothing from rich relatives who came back from the Western world. My mom had six children. She was a housewife. My father was a security guard. His paycheck was good enough to feed chickens in a poultry. My mom could not work, because there would be no one to watch us. She was not educated to get a job that would pay better than my father’s security job. Life was a struggle. I attended public school, which was free at the time. All I had to do was buy textbooks and uniforms. I wore hand me downs, and so did my siblings. Some of our uniforms were hand me downs from other kids in the neighborhood.

I was in my final year in high school, when a popular preacher came for a revival.

I was amazed at how much power and authority this preacher had. It was then I decided to go into ministry. Five years later, I found myself dabbling into things just to get a shot at Evangelical fame. The financial gain was what I was after. I sold merchandise in my church. Everything that could be a resource to help a person was sold in my church. I lusted after the gifts given to pastors. Some of these gifts included cash, title deeds to landed property and cars. Brand new cars. Pastor appreciation was a big thing.

My mother was a strong Christian. She prayed a lot. Looking back, I was not sure if she prayed because she was grooming a great relationship with God, or if it was the family adversity that turned her into a prayer warrior. Her prayers didn’t put food on our table, but it kept us safe, it kept us alive. If I had a penny for every time my mother prayed, we would be living in a mansion instead of our two bedroom house that held eight people.

My father died when I was fourteen years old. He died in a bar. He went drinking and collapsed. Some said he was poisoned, others said it was a heart attack. His loss broke my mother’s heart. He had money to buy drinks when we could barely feed. His burial was shameful. We had nothing, he was dumped into the ground like an earthworm. There was no repast. We could not afford it. Debtors flocked our home, my father owed money. My older brother and sister decided to do some petty trading after school to help our mom pay off the debts. I was determined to make sure my family never suffered again. I was ready to do anything to achieve my goal.

I met someone that changed my life.

ON THE RUN (2)

His mother didn’t like me.

Since the first day, she laid her eyes on me.

I struggled for her acceptance, and each time it seemed like she found more and more things to not like about me.

I had to be myself and that was not enough for her. I should have left the relationship. It is one thing to date and marry a bad man, the choice is up to the individual. Having bad in-laws is a whole different ball game that you should never sign up for. The red flags came up in the dating process, but I ignored them. I believed we both loved each other and we would fight our problems together. That is another mistake-no woman or anyone should make. Once the odds are stacked high against you, you need to fold and walk away. The pain may linger for a bit, but at least you have peace of mind and sleep well at night.

I grew up in a peaceful nuclear family consisting of my parents and my two sisters. My parents were middle class. They were able to afford us what we needed. College was our parent’s goal for us and they made sure it happened for me and my sisters. Whatever life we chose after college was ours. They didn’t want to feel like they failed by not giving us a university education.

I graduated and became an engineer working for a top architectural firm. I met my husband at a conference, Akin Da Silva. He was a tall, handsome, milk chocolate, complexioned man. He came from money. Old money to be precise. His family owned a lot of investment properties and they were set for life. His father died when he was seventeen leaving his mom a massive estate in Beverly Hills. The rest of the property and money was split between him and his younger sister Bewaji. They were not allowed to have access to the money until they turned thirty-five. It was the stipulation in his father’s will so they had to make do with their monthly allowances or get a job. They had a college fund while the average kid applied for financial aid and worked twenty-four hours a week. He gave a talk at the conference. I was completely mesmerized by the way he talked and how he carried himself on stage. I stole the spotlight by directly asking him questions during the question and answer session of the conference.

He asked for my number after his talk on stage and we started dating. When I first met him, there was nothing that denoted wealth about him. He was just a regular guy who drove a 2001 Honda Civic. He lived in a moderate apartment and was going to grad school. We went on a few dates and became a couple afterward. I never met his family for the first three years. We spent the holidays with my family. My parents liked him, he was such a nice and humble man. My sisters hoped we would work out so they could have a brother. I smiled at the thought of being his wife someday if he asked me.

During Christmas, he asked me about my future plans and began to use the word “we” more often. He told me, that if things worked out for us, he wanted us to build a life together. I was happy. We were happy. I started grad school in January and took out loans to go to school. I was working on getting an MBA besides my engineering degree. It would be seen as a plus on my resume and that was what wanted.

A few months later, he proposed. I accepted his proposal. He was thirty-one, I was twenty-eight.

I knew no one is his family. He told me about his mom and sister. I had seen their photos. He told me his father had passed away. Those were the only things I knew about his family.

We had put an offer on a house, he didn’t want a big wedding. I wanted a fairy tale wedding but we had coughed up so much money on this nice house we were looking at. We had planned to get married the following year.

The progression of our relationship in hindsight was a red flag from the beginning.

Nothing prepared me for new revelations that were coming up.

One Saturday morning in November, we were snuggled in bed. We were watching TV and planting occasional kisses on our lips The doorbell rang. We looked at each other in surprise wondering who that could be. We were not expecting any guests and it was too early for Amazon delivery.

He got out of bed and threw on a white tee shirt. I got out of bed and followed after him putting on my robe.

He opened the door and a woman walked in. She seemed to be in her fifties, she was well dressed and had on sunglasses.

“You seem to be doing well for yourself Akin,” she said as she admired the house. Akin was silent. I took a closer look at her as she took her sunglasses off.

The woman was his mom. I recognized her from the pictures he had shown me.

“Who is she?” she asked him.

He looked at her and responded. “My fiancee.”

She eyed me up and down. I became uncomfortable. This was not the best way to be introduced to your future mother in law in my own opinion. I barely had any clothes on if not for covering from the bathroom robe I had on.

“So, she is the reason why you have lost touch with your family?” his mom accused.

I was shocked.

THE CURSE

“Wakey wakey”

I said as I strolled into our bedroom.

Giselle lay in bed, looking ever so beautiful even as she slept. Her beautiful tresses were spread across the pillow. She was such a beautiful view to wake up to every morning. Without make up, she looked gorgeous.

It was time to get dressed. We had a long day ahead of us. Our wedding was coming up in a few days. One hundred guests had seats at the beautiful wedding to celebrate our union.

The past few months were hectic. It was one drama or the other. It came from people who were close to us.

Jealousy

Anger

Resentment

Giselle finally found love, and all hell was let loose. She had a child with the man she found love with, and it became a problem. We had spent weeks praying together and going to therapy. The therapy sessions were brutal. We had to be vulnerable with our therapist, who did a great job stripping us off the walls we had built around ourselves.

At a point, I felt she was going through postpartum depression. She had different moods every day. Some days she would not want to hold the beautiful child we made together, Henrietta.

She was the happiest six month old human I had ever met. She had her mom’s beautiful eyes and smile. How could she look at the beautiful baby and not want to hold her? After a while, she was convinced she was not a good mother, and maybe someone else deserved to be Henrietta’s mom. It broke me.

I, on the other hand, had my issues with Stephanie, who was Giselle’s cousin. We were engaged to be married, but we broke up. I met Giselle and things got heated up and then complicated. Stephanie told everyone that Giselle snatched me from her. She said all sorts of nonsense about me. I tried to talk to her, but she refused. Giselle didn’t care. It put me in an uncomfortable position. Giselle was ready to ride and die for me. Family gatherings became like funerals for me. I felt like a Judas who had put two cousins asunder. If Giselle wasn’t pregnant with my child, maybe Stephanie would not have been so angry. I got used to the mean mugging, the snide comments, and the cold treatment from some family members. Stephanie’s parents were indifferent.

I stared at her as she slept. I didn’t want us to be late for our appointment. We had an hour drive, and we had to be there by noon. We also had to meet with the marriage counselor at 3pm, and dinner with her parents by 5pm. The nanny was downstairs. She watched Henrietta everyday from 9am till 5pm. I asked her to stay while we went for dinner with Giselle’s parents, and promised her overtime money. She was more than happy to oblige.

“Giselle wake up.” I called out as I walked into the closet. We had a huge walk-in closet in our bedroom. Her clothes occupied more than half of the closet.

I picked out a white shirt, black slacks, and my favorite Ferragamo belt. My shoe rack was by the door. I would wear my favorite ones. I could not understand why Giselle was still asleep. She always took her time to do everything. She had her morning routine, and she had slept through her alarm. She didn’t wake up to read her Bible in the closet, she didn’t go running three miles. She was not listening to her podcast. She must have been exhausted from running around yesterday.

“Babe,” I called out as I walked towards the bed to wake her up. She was still.

I leaned in to kiss her forehead. Normally she would stir a bit, open her eyes and smile at me. It didn’t happen. She was not breathing.

“Giselle” I called out and shook her.

She didn’t move. I felt for a pulse. There was none.

Giselle was…… dead.