Being forced to wake up every morning to the smell of my own urine now evaporated but then has left this betraying smell which now fills my airwaves. It is not a good smell I must confess and then that large creaking iron door well bolted now being unlocked by the enormous shadow now emerging and that hoarse thickly Igbo accented voice of my comptroller as I had come to call him not to his face with my mouth but in my head. He would always blare “Gett up” as though he owned me! And yes of course he did, I let him own me, I was just too proud to bring myself to believe this honest truth, I would call it dignity or maybe me just being hopeful of the better things to come.
He was a large man, 6’4ft tall and a wobbly tummy that always stuck out of his well pressed and starched khaki uniform and then that pitch dark face that would make you mistake him to be a Ghanaian not knowing that he was an Igbo man from Isi-ala ngwa in Abia, Nigeria. A stern man I must confess but very smelly in his khaki and that fat protruding tummy that would always stick out making you think that maybe the military tailors that had sewn his uniform didn’t measure him properly or maybe his large frame had already taken up the material allotted to each person. He disgusted me.
Well this was my life, always criticizing when even I had nothing to show. But I know you’d expect me to say things weren’t always like this so here’s my excuse of a story. I’d go straight to the point.
I live this story every day I lay down my head to sleep. The provoking thing being that I could never stop it because well I always had to sleep because of the turmoil I was subjected to. Sometimes I wish I had night duty so I could walk boldly without anyone seeing me but then I had “Day” and so I had to eventually sleep when night came.
As Nigerians, we all get what I mean by the whole “Night duty thing” I mean we all know the famous “Allen Avenue Babes”. That street wasn’t so far from my family’s Ikeja house back then when I lived in Lagos. I was a little informed back then about what went on there and was fascinated at the number of girls parading the roads half dressed and waving down cars that passed by. I never bothered to ask because I would be too engrossed in my father words. He would go on and on about what the Holy Spirit said to him and how the Holy Spirit manifested Himself and how glorious the service and the testimonies were GLORIOUS!
Back to my job description which entailed me satisfying married men who had left their beautiful wives at home. Satisfying their hungers as they trooped in in their numbers every morning from work either taking a break during the prescribed time or merely just coming in. I was to fan their ego make them come alive. I felt worthless when I started this, I used to cry a lot but now I just laugh at myself immediately they enter. Some would find it awkward and withdraw, others won’t and would do anything even implore violence to get that moan out and even the tears. I guess it fanned the embers of their egos. Then I would cry plain tears no emotions attached.
I had no family, no friends, and no place could I call a home, I had no people. I was lost in this strange world which when I initially began to walk I thought I knew. I couldn’t even pray any longer as much as I used to so much so I can even say I forgot God totally. But I remember I had once been the “Alarm Clock” of my family for the morning devotions. I would start and finish the prayers even when my father, the Pastor would be dozing off slightly on the chair of the huge sitting room. One time I could bet I thought I saw him drool on his large bible but the he was to ‘holy’ for that in my eyes. He was anointed and he sometimes would call me anointed too. I would basically laugh it off but when he cited me as an example during youth meetings and sometimes church services I would only bow my head down in humility, it was the right thing to do. I never took those things to heart. in fact there were too many things I never took to heart like wearing skirts or even skimpy or tight clothes or even going out to the mall or cinemas, amongst others most especially having sex. Take note, I wasn’t scared I just didn’t really believe in the unnecessary hype teenagers around me gave to it. I was well into kissing and other vices but then I just didn’t think any stupid boy was worth my virginity. Most of the time I stayed on my own in class or just walked out when the environment in class during prep got too heated up. Haha! I was eventually rumored to be a lesbian after it was noticed! What do I care?
I was “hot”. I knew it. I should have qualified to be a “pussy cat doll” without much effort but I always hid myself not by my own will though. Okay in jss2, I had a LOVER! Yes! A lover. He was in SS1 at that time and I was very young and he was the cutest in his class everybody knew that fact! Here is our story in my story.
I was a very punctual student. Too punctual for that matter and he also was but I never really cared until one particular day when we both arrived an empty school at the same time. I walked behind him stealthily didn’t say a word. I was rather too early that day. Father had to be on the first flight to Abuja so we were dropped off earlier than normal. I was bored and so was he. Well we bumped into each other while looking for activity and that’s how we got talking, he was skipping classes for me when I wanted to take my junior WAEC examinations and had nothing to do. My handwriting became a normal thing to the teachers when they marked notes bi-weekly. The teachers knew, my principal knew, the whole school about the cutest couple ever. We got matching sweaters and I always complemented his Air force 1’s with my cute ballerina suades that every girl dreamed to have and even the teachers would joke and tell us to make sure we send them our Wedding Invitation cards when the time was due and I would be shy and he would laugh and say “okay “modestly. And then he left. He stopped talking to me and changed schools. I wasn’t bothered during the first few weeks but when we stopped talking and he got a new girlfriend in his new school. I died. I missed the early morning kisses which we would have before anybody else came to school. I had practiced so well and even watched videos on how to do it professionally even though I was already pretty good he could attest to this.
That aside, when he eventually left, then could the side talks about “see wetin Pastor pikin dey do” begin to sink in and get into my ears. At this point I was super vulnerable. Before now, he had shielded from all of this, he never let me hear and never let anyone even say it. He was a freaking senior and I was a disgrace, a freaking disgrace. I didn’t tell my mother even though I knew that she also knew. My grades dropped and I didn’t come to realize the extent of the damage until now.
I was tired and scared of loving again but I did and it turned out right. It lasted for about 5 years but I wanted more because something was missing. I thought I had forgotten my secondary school bobo and moved on but when the time came for me to choose a husband I kept comparing them with him and missing him even more. He was very far away now; he had gotten over me maybe. I couldn’t say. He was happy now where ever he was and so there was no need crying over spilt milk.. I put myself together, wipe the tears that had crowded my lash line, took out my veil and pinned my dreads the way I wanted them and walked out to ”Here comes the bride”. I had made my lifelong decision; I was strong enough for this. I had become as daring as I could be.
I ran into him again.
I lived unhappily inside and had the prettiest smile ever. There was no doubt my husband loved me. I loved him too but I wanted more. I got more and more and then I wanted to cover my happiness by aching for material things that couldn’t even satisfy this hunger, this void, THIS SIN!
Now all I have is nightmares and dreams. Dreams of the comptroller which I earlier narrated, my first love now a monster and those iron bars locking me in a world of self-hatred. I regret now ever wanting him too badly and giving myself up to him a countless number of times. Damn my emotions. Now I live in this bondage! My husband ever so loving would forgive me! He already has! Every day I am taught to forgive myself and set myself free but I never always can.
I live with this heavy heart, I live in this nightmare that’s on “Repeat in my head”.
And my Self-Worth?
Another “Fictional”
Forever His ‘Dinma
C.I. Enebeli 