Like several girls, the dream of how my wedding day would look rocked my imagination. I could see a trail of petals from the door. The sweet orderliness that invades the mind. The unquenchable thirst for girls to thrust their hips as they hurry through the crowd of Yoruba men, all adorned with white and a touch of red. The wedding would not be the talk of the town. No. Its level would surpass that. It would be the talk of the year. I could imagine girls whispering about how handsome my husband was.
I didn’t only imagine the beautiful scenes of neatly dressed ushers directing servers to the hall filled with flowers set with all the details. I just discovered I have minor OCD, but when I started imagining my wedding, my life just loved to be impeccable. I have a long list of people I would want as my bridal train. Everything was to the details, but life said no.
I would be fifty years today and I’m yet to marry. My life had trailed through mischievous issues that I sometimes wonder if I did wrong by taking life head-on instead of simply dying or turning over to some of the things girls my age did.
I grew up in a polygamous home or did I?
My father was the perfect example of men that doted on their beauty. Young and wise in the ways of the water. By the time my mom would meet him, she had three children from her deceased husband. Way younger than she, he couldn’t bare to not love her dark tone. They enjoyed each other’s company until he had to travel for a long time and came back with another woman. If I was telling a longer story, I would have told you how they fought every day, but it’s not my place to tell.
School life became easier and I fell for every whim and desire from pleasure to joy. Of course, I made mistake and by the time I was 16, I had ruined my perfect wedding image.
I was with a child.
I couldn’t take the fact that I was pregnant at that point. My world shattered. The only thing holding me together was my daughter. She was beautiful and her eyes stared back at me each time my eyes welled with tears of joy at the sight of her. I called her Queen.
Like became harder for me, especially in the community where everyone felt I was proud because I was elegant, fair, and beautiful. Maybe if I played with more people, I wouldn’t have been regarded so, but they still felt the same about me.
Then, when I felt I had met the man of my dream, I became pregnant with him again. We had dreams. Everything was going as planned even with the baby. I could find happiness holding my cheek in sweet blushes every few hours because he made me happy.
Who wouldn’t be happy when you have a man that was ready to hold your hand despite the pain? “I’ll be with you always”, he would say.
Our life was mapped out. Even with my first child. It was so happy. Then, death came. Not for me. I’m still here today. But he was gone. I just didn’t know how to handle life anymore.
In tears, I struggled to keep on. My children remained my happiness. Cupid kept stealing my dream, but it couldn’t hold me back. I gave birth to my second child, Joy. Truly, I should have felt so. With Queen with my mother, my pregnant aunt came for me. I was at my paternal aunt’s church since she was a prophetess at a Celestial Church of Christ.
Everyone was happy that someone with such a happy home would take me under her wings. Even I was happy to have her place as home. But it wasn’t so. My miserable life soon started competing with homeless animals. She would leave home and lock me outside. Some other times, I would be left to myself. She didn’t even try to care for me or the baby. No hot bath.
Despite my body frame, I still withstood the pain.
On one such occasion, when I came late from a church program, she locked me out. By late, we were looking at 9 am. That night, rain fell with its army of cold. I sat outside with the baby in my arms, trying everything to shield her from the cold.
I will avoid dwelling on that. It happened that I carried them until I met Winny. A happy guy on all indications. My world revolved around him. I took food from my house to his place. While with him, I had others trying to win my heart or be my friend. I didn’t push them off. After all, I barely had female friends.
I let them know I had someone. But men will keep pushing. I allowed the push but didn’t budge. Great cook, I had sent Joy to her grandma’s house. Queen was with me and my nephew, one lanky dark troublesome boy. But since Joy wasn’t there, I had to take of them.
The only time I wasn’t watching them was either Thursday when I had to help my mom at a family-owned restaurant for their Thursday special foods which ran into Friday night or when I was with Winny.
Queen hated all the men with passion. Sometimes, it looked like she wanted me for herself. I sometimes catch myself acting rashly against her, making her feel like it was my fault. It took me years to get through to her, but I knew she loved me and that was enough for me to keep holding dear to me.
Later, Winny left me. Rumour had it that he was snatched by the wife of his boss or something of that nature. But I just couldn’t imagine why I put my kid and nephew above him. I didn’t know why I had to agree to his coercion that we do a blood-binding promise to be together. With my nephew asleep on the bed and Queen by his side, we made the promise. Well, he left.
And not dead. Waste of blood covenant.
It took several trials, but eventually, I met Mr Rich. Coincidentally, his mom owned the house we got. By now, my niece that lived with my granny came to live with me, Queen, my nephew, and my mom that had stopped working in that restaurant. Her uncle wasn’t meeting her financial needs. She had to come home to start her mini grocery store in front of our house. We sold bread, egg, and other foodstuffs that we’ve tried selling individually at one time or the other.
Mr Rich had three daughters. One was with his estranged wife. When my mom saw how happy I was with him, she left the house for me. Oh! He met me when I was learning fashion design. I didn’t finish schooling past SSCE, which I aced, but then I read a lot- novels were my favourite. And I watched foreign movies than I can count the hair on my head. The only time I watched Nigerian movies was when I need to connect to my culture or recommendation from my sister.

Mr Rich felt like the love of my life until his ex-wife couldn’t stay happy without seeing him. His focus began to change. Life became harder for us. I knew I lost him the first time he saw her. We couldn’t see eye to eye on things we didn’t take as seriously. I was the traditional type of woman. Make my own money but still take my chores important. Sometimes, it boils from the fact that I believe no one can do it as I wished.
When I couldn’t take it any longer, I left him for my mom’s house, who had moved to my newly wedded sister’s house after she gave birth.
My relationship with men began to swing on a pendulum until I met Kingsley. A man filled with white hair that could compete with Wole Soyinka’s. I saw myself in him. Like all others, my daughters didn’t like him. He was a man suffering from a failing marriage. We became friends and it grew into something.
After six years, he suddenly came to my home, drunk and frustrated that I couldn’t marry him since he had a wife. He began screaming all sorts of things at me. My nephew and Queen were so stunned that my nephew, who had always encouraged me with him, told him to never come to our house again.
Eventually, I met Akinbowale. One that came back from the UK to meet his wife was being shagged by his pastor. After working towards divorce, he chose me. At first, I thought his presence in my life made me happy.
However, I remembered that I was happy when I had only my nephew. I was happy when I was with Queen. I was excited when I was with Joy. All I needed was a companion I chose myself. And that did it for me.
I had to choose myself first. Then, others.
That I’ve done. Akinbowale looked like the man with whom I would eventually get a wedding because we’d been planning for days. But I don’t want to go back to my imagination of the grand wedding because it’s looking like a dream I might never get to live again.
But I’m not sad. I’ve accepted my fate.
Who knows? Life can happen again and my story will change.

sadly as this story might be, someone out there have a story of this nature to tell.

our fiction is sometimes someone else reality. GOOD MORNING

germaphobe:
sadly as this story might be, someone out there have a story of this nature to tell.

our fiction is sometimes someone else reality. GOOD MORNING

You're right. I know about five people with nearly same story.

This is so sad yet so beautiful. I like how I am able to feel the sadness, see the beauty and understand the resigned tone of the character all at once.
Well done @ Divepen1

EvaJael:
This is so sad yet so beautiful. I like how I am able to feel the sadness, see the beauty and understand the resigned tone of the character all at once.
Well done @ Divepen1

Thank you oo. A boss and more