Ghosted!
Salamatu, where are you? Where on earth's crust did you hide yourself? You said you would be my bride soon but you lied. Yes, you lied, Salamatu! This was not your first lie nor your second or even third too. Your list of lies now makes me wonder if you ever loved me because if you did, you would have stayed; for our love's sake.
Last year when you first won my heart, it was not because of your curvaceous behind. I was not even mesmerised by those pneumatic boobs encaged in your underwired push-up bra. You said they were Iron Bras, but I cared less. Your constant “kolese” cornrows weaved neatly from the baby hairs did not repel me as it would many men of my status. I always loved to rub my fingers over them as you tell me stories of how those uncouth male customers in your canteen used to make salacious passes at you. You know your excessive dark eyeliner and tomato-red lipstick were not my favourite but you wore them proudly and then you made me clean them gently off your lips with mine whenever I held you in my warm embrace.
It was your soup, Salamatu. It was the gbegiri and ewedu-elegusi soup that imprisoned me in your web of lies. Ha! If only I knew my first taste of your paradisaic dish would ignite in me such strong feelings of love, I would have changed directions the day I walked to your canteen. That day that I perceived the pungent smell of the Yoruba Locust Bean in your ewedu, as you constantly hit the dwarf broom on the slimy vegetable; the sight for me was divine. I thought I had found my better half but did you think the same especially when you started adding extra meats on my plate, with that luscious smile on your face, urging me not to refuse. You tempted me Salamatu and I fell face-flat to the ground. I should have known you would not leaving like a momentary fragrance but if only you had the courage to defend yourself from your accuser.
Your accuser said you were a cheat, Salamatu, and you said nothing. He said you left him with a three-month old baby and now you are living the life of a single woman. His accusations were grave but you did not utter a word. Were you overwhelmed with guilt that made you mute in the presence of such serious allegations? You must have been, my dear Salamatu. I remember you stood in shock, stunned and teary-eyed, with your dark cheeks raised like small hill tops as you weep. I remember seeing you from the corner where I sat transfixed by the scene before me, the oil from your watery soup sliding down my arm.
Your accuser said he has not moved on one bit but you were frolicking in a faraway land, dressed as a local food vendor when actually you were a banker in Calabar before you left him. But Salamatu you told me you were an orphan and that you would take me to see your uncle in Ilaro who would stand in as your father on our wedding day. Did you lie, Salamatu, did you? I would have forgiven your transgressions if you had stood your ground to defend yourself rather than run out from the back door of the canteen, the faded wrapper you often tied round your waist falling off as you ran and never came back. Were you ashamed, Salamatu, of your ugly truth or were you too hurt to see me heartbroken by the allegations of your accuser?
Why did you not give me a chance to defend you? Perhaps you were hurt that I believed your accuser's story but how would I know how you truly feel when you were not there to speak for yourself? I could swear your heart beats in synchronisation with mine especially on the last night we spent together as you clunged to me in a tight embrace as if it was your farewell. I recall under the dim light that your thin eyes had this eeriness I could phantom. I asked if you were alright and you told me you wished we met a long time ago. A long time enough for you to have averted the disappointment your previous boyfriend put you through. You said I taught you to love again but now I am tempted to believe you lied to me. Your accuser was your husband and not your boyfriend.
But why did you lie? Or are you guilty of the last accusation he made of you? It gives me shivers to think that you could be what he said you were. You started to sleep in my home the moment I told you how I felt about you. You only sleep after I have slept and were always awake before I rise from bed. You sweep, you clean and cook for a living but you never told me for once that you were tired. Our nights were always divine and our days full of mirth even when I have had a bad day at my hospital. Even with your poor educational background, you had the insight of a wise woman and your sixth sense makes me really suspicious now. Are you truly an Akudaya?
Your acclaimed husband said you were and that you died from difficulty during childbirth. He said you were everyone's sweetheart until the cold hands of death snatched you and refused to let you go. He said if you wanted to reincarnate, you could have let him know and he would have taken you far away from everyone's prying eyes. He said he loved you deeply but why did you come to me? You could have returned to your doctor husband rather than make me your doctor boyfriend. Your doctor husband said you might have been alive if your mean stepmotherr had not insisted that you be buried the very day you were declared dead. He thinks your life was snatched from you untimely? Were you trying to make up for him by being with me? Will I wake up from this nightmare to find you snnugled close to me in bed?
Please show yourself again, Salamatu, as this ache in my heart will never be answered by your silence.
Last year when you first won my heart, it was not because of your curvaceous behind. I was not even mesmerised by those pneumatic boobs encaged in your underwired push-up bra. You said they were Iron Bras, but I cared less. Your constant “kolese” cornrows weaved neatly from the baby hairs did not repel me as it would many men of my status. I always loved to rub my fingers over them as you tell me stories of how those uncouth male customers in your canteen used to make salacious passes at you. You know your excessive dark eyeliner and tomato-red lipstick were not my favourite but you wore them proudly and then you made me clean them gently off your lips with mine whenever I held you in my warm embrace.
It was your soup, Salamatu. It was the gbegiri and ewedu-elegusi soup that imprisoned me in your web of lies. Ha! If only I knew my first taste of your paradisaic dish would ignite in me such strong feelings of love, I would have changed directions the day I walked to your canteen. That day that I perceived the pungent smell of the Yoruba Locust Bean in your ewedu, as you constantly hit the dwarf broom on the slimy vegetable; the sight for me was divine. I thought I had found my better half but did you think the same especially when you started adding extra meats on my plate, with that luscious smile on your face, urging me not to refuse. You tempted me Salamatu and I fell face-flat to the ground. I should have known you would not leaving like a momentary fragrance but if only you had the courage to defend yourself from your accuser.
Your accuser said you were a cheat, Salamatu, and you said nothing. He said you left him with a three-month old baby and now you are living the life of a single woman. His accusations were grave but you did not utter a word. Were you overwhelmed with guilt that made you mute in the presence of such serious allegations? You must have been, my dear Salamatu. I remember you stood in shock, stunned and teary-eyed, with your dark cheeks raised like small hill tops as you weep. I remember seeing you from the corner where I sat transfixed by the scene before me, the oil from your watery soup sliding down my arm.
Your accuser said he has not moved on one bit but you were frolicking in a faraway land, dressed as a local food vendor when actually you were a banker in Calabar before you left him. But Salamatu you told me you were an orphan and that you would take me to see your uncle in Ilaro who would stand in as your father on our wedding day. Did you lie, Salamatu, did you? I would have forgiven your transgressions if you had stood your ground to defend yourself rather than run out from the back door of the canteen, the faded wrapper you often tied round your waist falling off as you ran and never came back. Were you ashamed, Salamatu, of your ugly truth or were you too hurt to see me heartbroken by the allegations of your accuser?
Why did you not give me a chance to defend you? Perhaps you were hurt that I believed your accuser's story but how would I know how you truly feel when you were not there to speak for yourself? I could swear your heart beats in synchronisation with mine especially on the last night we spent together as you clunged to me in a tight embrace as if it was your farewell. I recall under the dim light that your thin eyes had this eeriness I could phantom. I asked if you were alright and you told me you wished we met a long time ago. A long time enough for you to have averted the disappointment your previous boyfriend put you through. You said I taught you to love again but now I am tempted to believe you lied to me. Your accuser was your husband and not your boyfriend.
But why did you lie? Or are you guilty of the last accusation he made of you? It gives me shivers to think that you could be what he said you were. You started to sleep in my home the moment I told you how I felt about you. You only sleep after I have slept and were always awake before I rise from bed. You sweep, you clean and cook for a living but you never told me for once that you were tired. Our nights were always divine and our days full of mirth even when I have had a bad day at my hospital. Even with your poor educational background, you had the insight of a wise woman and your sixth sense makes me really suspicious now. Are you truly an Akudaya?
Your acclaimed husband said you were and that you died from difficulty during childbirth. He said you were everyone's sweetheart until the cold hands of death snatched you and refused to let you go. He said if you wanted to reincarnate, you could have let him know and he would have taken you far away from everyone's prying eyes. He said he loved you deeply but why did you come to me? You could have returned to your doctor husband rather than make me your doctor boyfriend. Your doctor husband said you might have been alive if your mean stepmotherr had not insisted that you be buried the very day you were declared dead. He thinks your life was snatched from you untimely? Were you trying to make up for him by being with me? Will I wake up from this nightmare to find you snnugled close to me in bed?
Please show yourself again, Salamatu, as this ache in my heart will never be answered by your silence.
