LADY IN WHITE

10 years after………………she invades my memory still.

I have always hated the dark. Right from my formative years, I had this misconception that ‘lights out’, equals demons in. By demons, I meant the creatures in the Nigerian movies I always watched; the celestial, white-clad, long nailed, blood-stained draculan teeth whose images eroded my dreams. These demons escaping the reality of any dreams and existing in the darkness of my awaken state, and left me frightened for life every second of the night I watched a Nigerian scary movie, and I was forced to watch the clock , anxiously waiting for the call to prayer bell rings by the Islamic clerics.

The night before, we were all gathered at the living room, to watch sins of the father, during the fortunate era of family appreciation. I could vividly remember my mother’s voice “Ola, a lot of people have seen this movie, and they all said it was a scary one. Are you sure you want to watch it? As much as I wanted to leave the living room, at that very moment, I didn’t want to be jeered at by my younger sister, who unlike me, derived joy in watching horror movies.” No mum, I’m fine” I replied. Sometimes I felt I had to embark on a major research to ascertain what made siblings thick and adorable. Having had a sibling for twenty of my twenty –five years on earth, I was as clueless as ever. A good number of people I knew, had tales of selfless siblings, who could not be traded, for anything in the world. On the other hand, I was stuck with an annoying sister, who always looked for the slightest opportunity to siphon the free –given air, I was entitled to. Sometimes I blamed Mom for punishing me with one sibling. At least if I had another, I would always send sister dearest to Coventry, without a return ticket. However, I couldn’t blame her for the untimely demise of my father.

The movie had started, and half way into the movie, the electricity went off. There and then, I knew there was no way I would sleep alone that night. At least, not after the gory image I last saw of a man in white, gorging the eyes of his very victim, in a very happy state. I shuddered at the imaginations of my subsequent nightmare. At that very moment, all I think of was white stripes, white and red; demons and blood. I knew I was next……………

……….Or so I thought, as I scrambled down the stairs, in my bid to outrun my sister, who in the dark, sought ways to frighten me more. The ruffles and tumbles played out for ten minutes, where cries for mum where futile, as she had long headed to the store-room to get some fuel for the generator. Finally, I was in a sty, cum dump yard, also known as Lotachi and Ola’s room. The fact that the plate Lotachi ate with three days ago, was fast  becoming an accessory to our bed sheets, or the stench of my damp clothes that oozed the room, did not faze me or get me worried, as I had long realized that the justification of God joining two unalike individuals as siblings, is their addiction for dump and dirt. My thoughts were filled with the images of the pleading victim on TV, and THE MAN. From the blues, I was engulfed with a feeling that I would be unlucky that night. To make matters worse, the fuel in the house had finished, and it was already 10.00 pm.,

……..And I saw her. It was barely three hours into my sleep, when she came. Certainly, I knew I would be visited by my dreamland creatures and by the events of the previous night, I only waited for the evil smile of Mr. Man, but the image I was confronted with, was not in the plot. Here was this beautiful extremely beautiful lady. If she was an earthly creature, she was most likely to win the Most Beautiful Girl in the World, year after year. In my mother’s era, she would be described as an “asampete”, in mine, the riverbank where beauties were stolen from. Dressed in an immaculate-white gown, that had stars, crystal and diadem as embodiments, she defined elegance. Her hair was thick, black and very full, flowing beautifully, like I would proudly wave my Barcelona flag at the games. Her thin lips were crimson red, likewise the side corners of her head. Her cheeks were in the mix of puffy and slim, the kind you were not disgusted about, yet not questionable as to whether they belonged to a human being or a skeleton; they were carved right. I had to think” my fair lady” was written specially for her, was she fair!  Her skin shone, like it was a combination of vanilla essence, mixed with pears baby oil, and cocoa butter, like it would melt away when the sun was out. Talk about a flawless belle, devoid of any make-up or enhancer. Her eyelashes perfectly stood out, like they were perfectly selected and they were nicely shaped, revealing perfect strands. It was almost as if I was a sleeping open eye, I was dead asleep to the world, but I found life and wake with this woman.  Her gown was adorned with little precious stones like diamonds, and as it swept the floor, it shimmered at every air breath. In my bid to assimilate her beauty, I beheld her face.

 Only the second glance at this almost- heavenly face, made me realize the reason for her presence. Her eyes were teary-like, as though a torrent was about to make a mighty downpour. Corroborating her sadness was a pair of appealing, straight lips, without happiness or cheer. How her hollow eyes pierced mine could not be explained, but when it did, the awaited tear dropped. She had an unspoken message for me. She had to warn me, because she loved me……..thereafter, she vanished…she was gone.  In my daze, I was oblivious that I was drenched in Ola’s pool of pee and soaked, a reminder that I was of planet earth. For the five minutes of my mirage, I belonged to her world and we were the only occupants. As I changed to another nightie, memories of every second of my encounter flooded my brain, like a sudden whirlwind in stillness. So mesmerizing was this event, that I forgot my phobia for the dark. I had to see her again; I had to ask her what she was afraid about. Suddenly I heard her call my name” Ola, Ola.....................

“Ola, are you angry I peed on you? Please don’t tell mummy. I promise I won’t tease you about Nigerian movies.” Totally unlike her. Totally unlike me too, as I hugged her and gave her a new pair of sheets to spread on the bed. Wasn’t this my long awaited chance, to capitalise on the hot spot i had gotten her in and use it to my advantage?  However, I had more pressings on my mind. For once, I looked forward to a dream. As I forced myself to sleep, I awaited her comeback, creating images of the prettiest faces in my sub conscious. Sadly, none of these faces came close to hers .Thereafter; I knew she wasn’t coming back...........................to be continued

UN-FREE

Ife looked at the birds that sat at the top of her Toyota Highlander, and today, she wasn’t angry that they had chosen to answer the call of nature on her newly acquired number. She studied their every move, as they excreted, and marveled at the fast pace they flew away afterwards, oblivious of the mess they had created. Particularly, she was fascinated about their freedom to take off  and leave the mess for someone else to clean up. She’d imagined that the birds probably flew away because they could not stand the smell of their excreta, and decided to take succor in nicer scented areas.

Everyone should be free like birds. No one should hold on to any problem, that would deter them from living, she thought, as she let out the tears that were begging to be released, and had already formed an excruciating  pain on her throat. She wept for Aunty Irene.

Everybody loved Aunty Irene. She was that beloved aunt that the children in Meadowhall Lekki Street preferred to their mothers; which was safe for the mothers, because they knew they could entrust them to her care, in their absence.  Aunty Irene was her mother’s only sister, and had come to live with the  Johnson family when her maternal grandmother passed away. Subsequently, Aunty Irene became her second mother, and filled in for mother dearest during open day sessions, career days, and other parents, especially as her parents both worked in banks that hardly spared time for other personal  activities. She was an only child, have would have been spoiled rotten, but for Aunt Irene that was there to put her in check.

It started when she turned eight.  As usual, her mother had travelled two days before, to Kano on an audit assignment, for Guaranty Trust Bank.  She had just finished her English homework, and gone through her notes with her dear Aunt. They both slept off in her room, after reading Enid Blyton's "Adventures of the Wishing Chair". Suddenly she heard a noise at the door, and afterwards, saw her dad come in to the room, staggering drunkenly towards her aunt’s position of the bed. In her sleeping open eyed state, she could hear voices. “Irene, come to bed with me, just this once……..just this once. Your sister Mabel doesn’t have to know”. She stiffened on the bed shut her eyes tighter, for fear of being caught listening. “Brother Tunde, e mi o le se. e mi o le se, e mi o le se ( I am not doing, I am not doing).”, she could hear her aunt, repeatedly. She squinted her eyes to get a  better position of her dad. She had never seen her dad appear needy before. He looked like his life depended on whatever Aunt Irene had to offer him. It was all new to her; Daddy should be with Mummy, not here. Finally, she slept off, after dwelling on the shock of watching her dad being pushed violently out of the door, by very her angry aunt. She never forgot that experience.

Subsequently, Daddy visited her bedroom frequently, at any chance he got, especially when Mum travelled, and for every time he came into her room, she made conscious efforts to catch glimpses of the moments. Many a time she promised herself she would report such incidence to her mum whenever she returned from her business trips, but the words never came out. As little as she was, she knew she had to tell it all to someone, but she couldn’t. For the life of all sincere, she wondered why her aunt could not speak up as well. Eventually, she came to the conclusion that Aunty Irene must be enjoying every bit of the weird “game”. Thereafter,she identified the need to be free like a bird, and for every time she yearned to be free, it always ended with an excruciating pain, stuck to her throat, that she couldn’t throw up or swallow.  Things were never going to be the same.

Was she right! On her 9^th birthday, Ife was particularly excited, because Aunt Irene was coming to pick her up from school, for the first time. Afterwards, they were scheduled to be on a flight to the beautiful city of Dubai, her very first overseas trip; her birthday gift for acing her grades in school. Mum had an earlier business to call to Rivers State, but this time, she couldn’t care less. In fact, her parents were permitted to miss all of her birthdays, if their presence was exchanged with such treats.  Not even the pain from stokes of cane lashed out by her headmistress, Mrs. Kalejaiye, for not paying attention during the Social Studies class, could kill her joy. She was all set for a birthday to remember.

Certainly, time must have stood still and disappeared for Ife, because by 4.00 pm, her aunt was nowhere in sight. Every student of Tender Hearts Academy, Lekki  had left the school premises, and the school was deserted, except for Mr.  Obi, the school bus driver for the Ajah  axis, who had just returned from dropping off students.  ‘Ife, you still dey here by this time? Why you no follow ya bus” He approached her on the reception platform. “Ngwa, let me take you home, pack ya things”, as if he read her mind.  She mumbled a “thank you” as she hurriedly jumped out of the school bus, running towards her aunt’s room, and the image she saw, was to be imprinted in her subconscious for years to come.  The door to her room was ajar, but she halted when she heard sounds of pleas and voices with forceful tones. “Brother Tunde, you can’t do this, you can’t possibly want to do this. I’ve been a helping hand to your family for years. I can’t hurt my sister. I’ve been quiet all this while. If you come any further, I’ll tell her everything. “.  Ife couldn’t move from her spot. She was frozen, like an ice ring, and jolted to reality when she heard her father’s voice” she wouldn’t mind, would she? Hasn’t she starved me enough? I need my sanity. Just this once, Irene, I beg you”. She had mustard enough courage to peep through the door, enough to see what she mistakenly came across  she accidentally opened a file marked ”xxx”, on her father’s phone. She heard Aunty Irene’s hollow cry of pain, and a mighty shove, and she ran out of the house.

That was ten years ago. Aunty Irene was never identified whole again. She was moved to the psychiatric hospital in Yaba, a broken woman. The clergy men left, so did renowned psychologists and trained shrinks, without finding a panacea for Aunty Irene’s medical condition. For the remainder of years, Aunt Irene had to deal with taking shots from the doctors, to be able to mumble decent words. She watched as her aunt dealt with pain, and how no one ever noticed, when she became hysterical anytime she saw her dad. Her mum had long quit her lucrative bank job to start  her fashion design business, amidst the accusations that she had used her sister for money rituals. She never got the chance to find a decent man that she could have children she had always loved, with. The children, she loved, and had given up her painful life for.

She looked at her car, and the mess, she had to clean up.  The mess had had nothing to do with the pile of shit that had formed a meal for a heap of smelly maggots. She had just received a call from her mother that Aunt Irene had passed away the night before, on an overdose of pills.  As she cried, the pains of yesteryears were regurgitated. If only she had opened her mouth, to tell a confidant what she has had to deal with. Who could she tell that her most beloved aunty died protecting her sister’s home, and had to offer her life to keep the home front all together?   She wiped the tears from her eyes, picked up a piece of rag from her bathroom  and headed towards the stairs to clean up her car. After all these years, she was finally ready to let the bird out of the cage. Call it damage control.

DANNY'S CROSS

“I already told you I didn’t want a steady gig, I just wanted a fling, and a fling I have got. I don’t know why you are over the top about this, Adannne”. “Adanne” he usually called her, when he was about to be stone cold blatant. As usual, after an overheated argument, Nosa stormed out of the room forgetting to grab his keys, leaving a bewildered Danny  to decipher a recurring, impenetrable code. She needed no soothsayer to tell her that he was gone, another abrupt exit, one she had experienced too many times.

It was funny how she could handle the break ups, and the fact that it sunk her self esteem to the down so low, it had probably surpassed rock bottom.  Her best friend Jack Daniels had always ensured she was up and back in her business of running her fashion empire she had built in her early twenties, when she was still a student of the University of Lagos; just two glasses, and she has downed her innermost sorrow and pain. She could also deal with the fact that she might end up living alone with her cat for the rest of her life.  However, her Achilles heel, her only source of worry was her mother. She could already envision her mother’s lackluster attitude to her pain, and her concern that Adanne might never be a bride. But that day, she braced herself for the “You have just decided that I won’t call my friends to wear “Asoebi” speech”. 

Looking at Danny, one would imagine she never lacked attention from the male folk. She was a beauty to behold, from her perfect hour glass shaped body, to her crimson red upper lip, and her nicely shaped nose, like it was perfectly carved by a sculptor. As she walked, her beauty had to be stared at thrice, to be assimilated in.  It was a wonder in disbelief, when she repeatedly stated that she was always single. In the minds of many-a people, she must have very high tastes and standards and was probably looking for “the one”, and by the one, it meant the only one of his kind, which was near impossible.

Nosa  was her sixth break up in four years, and that wasn’t very pleasant.  She could vividly remember their first meet. They were both grocery shopping in Taiwo Supermarket., Ire Akari Road, Isolo, and they exchanged glances.  As she walked out of the supermarket, he was already seated in his SUV, waiting for her to pass by. As if the universe was on his side, she didn’t bring her car to the supermarket.  “Mind if I drop you off?” he said, typically.  One look at him, and she decided to throw caution to the wind.  They chatted away, like they had met in previous lives, and forever was pre-planned. In days, they were an item……….or so she thought……………….

……………………….Oh yes, did she think! Probably because Nosa never exactly asked for a relationship, or probably because the “relationship” ended before it actually began. How did it all begin? Was it impulsive and aggressive behavior she exhibited, anytime they disagreed on an issue as irrelevant as the better playing team in an English Club Match; he was a  die-hard Chelsea fan ,while she was a cheer leader for Real Madrid. The last one  ended with one of his prized glass tables broken. Even though she apologized, he never forgot.  It had to be the constant call hounding, when he was in meetings, and couldn’t come to his phone. Even after telling her beforehand that he might be unavailable to the calls kept coming, non-stop.  Times without number she would tell him of her severe dissociative feelings, and her intention to commit suicide, for every grave mistake she made. Although he never really saw her hold a knife to kill herself, he knew it was only a matter of time before it happened.

For how long was this going to happen? When was she ever going to get it right with men? It was a trail; she meets them, they bond, and the ultimate: they break. No matter how she tried, she never got it right. And for the life of her, she never knew why.

At first she sought spiritual help, many thanks to her mother, who had longed believed that the only reason why her beautiful daughter was unmarried at the age of 27 was because some unforeseen spiritual forces were behind it. They had gone from the white garment church, to the purple garment ones. They had sought mediums, prayed, fasted, and had done everything possible to get to the root cause of her predicament, yet, there were no answers.

Her Eureka moment hit her in the bath tub, as she showered on a hot Saturday afternoon. Weren’t these episodes all too familiar? Victor took to his heels, because of her very random mood swings he couldn’t deal with. In Adedayo’s case, he left her a week to her wedding, because for every second of their two year relationship, she always accused him that he would abandon her for someone else, even when he constantly re- assured her that there was nothing to worry about.  Every end to her almost happily ever after, brought about a new vice that was alien to her. However, as she poured water over her body to wash away the soap suds, everything began to make sense to her; her unstable relationships, her constant struggle with her identity and her frequent loss of self. Without further thoughts, she picked up her bag, and headed towards Boyle Medical Clinic, Isolo.

 Apparently, Danny’s cross was Borderline Personality Disorder.