Looking for a husband in Port Harcourt is not for the faint-hearted ni.

When people said that nearly every man in Lagos is mad, hmm... them never meet Port Harcourt men o.
Those one's na principalities and powers. And if you come dey unlucky come jam the church bros among them... Ah, my sister, sister. Na weapons fashioned against you be that o.

Anyway. Na me go find trouble. No. I mustn't blame myself. It was my village people who wouldn't allow me to drink water and drop cup because I was thirty and yet to drag a man down to the village to pay my bride price.

The last time I attended our family meeting, I couldn't count the many times I was reminded of my single pringlehood. Every little pim I uttered earned me a side-eye from my mother whom I knew would have asked me to hide under the bed if she could because Ukamaka and Erimma, my much younger cousins were coming for the meeting and they were all married with kids.

I deliberately chose to be part of that meeting because...what was our slogan again for this year?

Yes, no gree for anybody.

Na single I dey, I no kill anybody.

And I'd had enough of family and friends shaming me because I didn't have a man. I'd avoided gatherings because of their sniggers and outright mockery. This year? Na me and them.

See ehn... I didn't start this adulthood that is not really adulting to be single. But all the men I have been meeting had a way of making my head scream " I want to goooooo hooooommmmeeee!"

Like...where were all those cute, loyal, well-behaved guys with a sprinkle of godliness?

Why was I meeting only deliverance cases and god forbid situations?

The story long sha, but I would tell it.

Hey, beautiful people.

It's been a long while, yeah? I have been quite busy getting books published.

And yes, I have a blog now .

Even this story I'm about to start posting here has been in my blog (a few episodes anyways.) so if you don't have the patience to wait and read here weekly, you may as well move to the blog and read ahead.

How is everyone doing?

How to access your blog

Gloriagee:
How to access your blog

hey, sis. Here is the link. https://romanceanderoticstories..com/

New episodes will be dropped here every weekend so I don't get overwhelmed and fail you all as my table is full right now. But there are three long episodes already in the blog at the moment

The blog link no dey work. Can you put as your personal signature

Welcome back 😊
Would really loved it if Kingsley had a continuation but no worries
Make I use this hold body 😃

Rosemary is finally back..
I've waited long enough..i can't access your blog link.

Rosemary33:
New episodes will be dropped here every weekend so I don't get overwhelmed and fail you all as my table is full right now. But there are three long episodes already in the blog at the moment

One

My name is Ifenkili by the way, and of course, I am a very beautiful woman. I'm sexy and I know it, thank you. Oh, oh, one more thing. My culinary prowess is top notch too.

So, before you concluded that I couldn't cook and clean and that was why this particular guy treated me like an orphaned smoked fish in an evening market, cut me some slack, inugo?

I met Diepreye at the wedding of one girl who was desperate to find a chief bridesmaid rich enough to foot her own bills.

Yes, you heard me right.

Auntie was looking for a money lady who would be able to buy her own gown and accessories and pay for her own make-up and hair styling.

Unfortunately, the lot fell on me!

She wasn't my friend. Just a random girl I met in my friend's hair salon.

The werey presented herself as a charity case while begging my friend Ale to stand as her bridesmaid, swearing with A to Z and everything in between that she had no money—she was paying for everything about the wedding...the hall, refreshments, cake and decorations, I could swear with my left butt cheek that she was buying the suit for the guy to.

With my eyes glued to my phone that had brother Oghene's six "How are you...have you eaten?" WhatsApp messages spread on the screen and my mind arguing whether to curse the living daylight out of him and then block him or to just simply block him, I didn't pay much interest in the the conversation going on around me.

Not until I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard a soft voice very close to me.

"Auntie..."

I lifted my head and it was the burden-bearing, bills-paying, loving bride-to-be.
"Auntie..."

First off, I didn't think I was way too older than she was. Two or three years older perhaps. So she shouldn't be addressing me as her auntie.

With a patronizing smile on my face, I said, "My name is Ifenkili. Call me Ife."

"Okay...eh...Ife. This auntie here said I should talk to you."

"About..." I followed the finger she wielded like a weapon to where Aleruchi was stifling a grin.

"She said you can be my bridesm—"

"Bride...w-what?"

I shot Ale a look. For what nau? How could she suggest such a degrading thing? The last time I was anybody's bridesmaids was in 2020, I was 27. The wedding had ended in a free-for-all fight which was started by the groom's family who claimed that the food being served to the bride's family had more chunks of meat than theirs.
The second to the last one didn't go well either. The couple divorced seven months after the wedding.

The previous-previous one... The woman traveled abroad for further studies and got pregnant by a white dude.

So, you see? Aside from the fact that at this age, I didn't want to bridesmaid any woman, I was beginning to think that I was a marriage crash in my former life.

"Auntie, please. I don't have anyone."

"What of your friends? Your family members?"
"They will want me to buy them gowns and take care of them..."

Before nkor? Wasn't it what you were supposed to do? Especially since it's obvious you were singlehandedly footing the wedding bill, you should take care of this too.

But wait, why did I feel that this marriage would crash too? Now call me a hater or bearer of bad news, I know...I know...

But I couldn't shake off the feeling that the marriage wasn't going to last. And God knew I didn't want to be part of it so when it finally crashed, I wouldn't add that to my name.

"Ife, please..." Aleruchi added, drawing close.

Girl if I wooze you!!!

Ignoring my glare, she continued. "Come on now, girlfriend. Do this for the community—"

"Which community?"

"The girl's community nau."

"Mba." I shook my head. Couldn't everyone see that this girl was doing pass herself and that was a recipe for failure? Like. She could shift some of the expenses she was shouldering to the lax of a man she was getting married to and then use the free money for the care of a friend or family member who would gladly pose as her bridesmaid.

"Ah, Ife... Please nau. You can do this."

"But I don't want to. Besides, I don't even know if I'll be around to attend the wedding." another besides, who walked up to a random lady and asked her to be the bridesmaid?

"But Ife, agree first. See...see...she really needs help. And don't forget you may meet men—"

"Ale get out." I interrupted and burst out in laughter when the yeye girl made a face.

"Seriously, Ife. This could be God about to finally connect you with your own man."

"God has given all his eligible sons to his most dotted daughters. Nothing is left out there for people like us. Nothing but crayfish and sungu fish walking on two legs," I said with resignation, my mind making a backflip to Brother Oghene. No. He wasn't a crayfish and definitely not an azu sungu. A fine face that could stop breaths for seconds, a talking voice that made my secret places squirm, a perfect gentleman—I heard.

But he was a mechanic! Not only that, he wasn't polished, his English...oh Jesus wept. The dude hadn't overcome the accent problem that followed him from the village—always confusing letter letter S for C. To top it all, he was every church pastor's favorite person. Oh, should I also tell all the married women in the church adored him?

Yes! Married women!

Because he was what? Nice! A simp!

Which girl wanted to be seen with a man like that? Not me, of course.

"So, are you going to do it?" Ale asked.
"Do what?"
"Be the bridesmaid now. See, I am making the bride and her train of girls up. I promise to pay extra attention to you."

"Idiot. I can make myself up," I replied.

And so went the conversation. Back and forth, back and forth until I couldn't say no.

It was another hour before I left there armed with the happy bride's phone number, a feeling of foolishness prickling my skin because, again, I had allowed myself to be talked into what I swore not to do again.

And guess who I saw standing, with his back on the road, buying bole from Mama Amazing Grace, at the other side of the road as I was about to enter my car?

Brother Oghene.

Ah, chineke nna. Could one ever catch this guy clean and fresh, without this his grease coated cover-all, and dirty smeared skin on ordinary

I've only seen him dress and smell nice on Sundays or evenings during church programs.

I didn't wait for him to turn and see me, got no time to exchange pleasantries with someone who was at the bottom of the list of the men I'd date.

You wouldn't call me vain now, would you? I talked to everyone no matter their looks, class, or education. But it was obvious what this guy wanted, and he seemed not to understand my rejection.

Maybe I should change my style.

Anyway. This story was about how I made the Depreye, right?

Two

Sorrows, sorrows, Prayers

Ife

The next time someone would suggest that I become a chief bridesmaid for anyone ehn, 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑎 𝑐𝒉𝑖, the beating I would give that person...I would flatten that person to the ground and sit on his or her chest as my grandmother did to her 𝑛𝑤𝑢𝑛𝑦𝑒𝑑𝑖 last Christmas. Death would be too good for that person.

Tell me why I just lost my newly acquired iPhone 13 Pro Max to a man I thought was one of the groom’s men but later realized he wasn’t. The dude happened to wear the same blue senator suit as the other guys, got himself busy lifting things and running errands like every other groom’s man while his eyes and mind ran to and fro like the biblical devil who presented himself in a meeting meant for just the sons of God, a meeting he wasn’t invited.

The craziest thing was I couldn’t figure out if it was while I was running around like a headless chicken, trying to please the annoying bride who suddenly turned to Cruella de Vil of 101 Dalmatians immediately we stepped out of the hotel room where she was dressed up. Or while I was busy looking at the Bestman while realizing for the umpteenth time why God said; “It’s not good to be alone,” understanding why he created a second person, and praying that I didn’t fall tikiti-tapata rolling on the floor for that fine dude’s charm.

Thinking about it an hour later, after I cried my eyes out because of my lost phone, I should have allowed myself to fall because I got sprained trying not to. That would have counted for something I achieved attending this miserable wedding. Wiping my face to enter my car, I sniffled. I wasn’t going to let another teardrop again. Not like this—drenched from hair to toe by the vengeful rain that decided to let loose its fury immediately after the bridal march was announced.

The uncaring downpour didn’t consider that I was already in a foul mood and didn’t need an additional shege as a toppling. Now, standing on the road with my hair messed up, my make-up, now a cacophony of colors running down my face, my sandals hanging on my fingers while my other hand held my dress up, I looked like a ditched understanding girlfriend.

And why was Bro Oghene covering the event? Aside from being a mechanic, was he a professional cameraman too?
He was the head of our church’s communication department, yeah, I got that but...but...he did video coverage too?

Again, remind me why the first thing he said to me, with a camera balanced on his shoulder, was to wipe something off my face. I did, thinking he was only trying to capture my face on his camera, and he wanted it flawless.

“E never commot,” he said, adjusting the camera on his shoulder.

I wiped again.

And this man said, “Na your beauty nau, you no fit wipe am commot.” And left before I could gather my thoughts to give him a reply.

Like...what? What sought of complement was that? He had sounded like an agbero in a motor park trying to woo a woman.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or get angry cos although his crudeness irked me sometimes, he could be funny and nice and...and sweet...every old woman’s crush but definitely not relationship material. Not for me at least.

“You’re leaving already?”

Eh-eh-eh... was that...

“I heard what happened.”

It’s him! The hot as a hair dryer Bestman. I turned. I was going to smile then I remembered I was looking like someone who just escaped from Yabaleft and my face fell. Yeah right. Devil well done o. When I was finally about to meet a prince charming, someone who might give me something to take my mind off this miserable wedding, you chose to turn me into a clown. Sending rain to wash away my perfectly made-up face and ruin my dress.

“I-I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

Losing my phone or the rain turning my face into a puddle of mess?

“My name is Depreye,” he said, extending his hand for a handshake.

The way he spoke, his accent, hey, 𝑎𝑛𝑤𝑢𝑔𝑜 𝑚! This was what I wanted nau, the kind of man befitting of a girl like me. And to top it all, he oozed off money...

“Hello?”

Oh, oh...

Grabbing his hand, I summoned all the charming smiles I could muster. “My name is Ifenkili.”

“You are Igbo?”

Was that going to be a problem? I could tell him I was a heavenly citizen sent down to earth as an ambassador if that would get him relaxed.

“Anambra I guess?”

Tongue-tied, I nodded.

“Wow,” he said, sizing me up. “There’s something about beautiful Igbo girls.”

See ehn I could smell out flattery from a hundred miles away. And this one was it. However, I allowed myself to bask in it.

“So, about your phone—”

“Oh, it’s gone nau,” I said, lowering my gaze. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“But there is something I can do.”

“Really?” Was he going to suggest that I should give him time to track it, or technically damage it so the thief wouldn’t be able to make use of it?

“Let me get you another one.”

What? “Eh?”

A beautiful smile spread across his lips on seeing my shock.

“No.” I shook my head. “No, please, no—”

“I’d love to,” he interrupted. Reaching out to take my shoes.

Eh? A man took my shoes? A sexy-looking hunk? Now that was a queenly treatment ha-haaaa!

“Seriously, Depreye. I can get myself another phone. I can afford it.”

“Who said you can’t? But allow me to treat you like a lady. I want to get you a new phone. Then we can have lunch or dinner sometime...anytime you want.”

His voice...so deep, sending sweet chills all over my body like the ripples upon a body of water, making it difficult for me to think.

“Your car or mine?” he asked. And before I could reply, he added, “I drive a Mercedes Benz C-Class.”

I read the pride in his voice, but it didn’t matter. Which man would look half the way this man looked, smell like crispy dollar notes, and wouldn’t be arrogant?

“Mine,” I said. Although I’d love to ride in a Benz—I’d never ridden in one before, I wasn’t going to start acting senseless now because of what—a car, and a handsome hunk.

I was about to settle in the driver’s seat when I felt his hand on my shoulder.

“Let me drive.”

W-what? I’d never given my car to anyone to drive before, anyone except my mother and Jekwu my twin brother. Maybe it was me being careful with my things or having trust issues when it came to allowing people to use my things, but I hated sharing my stuff with others, and that included my car. I turned to politely tell him no, but that smile, that disarming smile on his face.

“Okay,” I said, handing my keys to him while taking my shoes from him.

I caught a glimpse of Bro Oghene standing a distance away, hands folded a crossed his chest, watching us—me. He was looking at me.

Was that a frown on his face?

Well... none of my business.

****
𝐎𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞

That moment you looked at a guy and realized that he was another dead end. Just one date and she would be back to God like, “Hello, hello, God. It’s me again.”

I waited for them to drive away before I turned and walked back into the reception hall. The wedding was over now, the couple was exchanging pleasantries with the remaining guests, the caterer seemed to be in a foul mood, and the bride’s mother wasn’t having it that there was no food remaining for her to take home. In fact, the whole bride’s family dey rek for the caterer who on her own 𝑔𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑑𝑒𝑦 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝒉𝑒𝑚 𝑔𝑏𝑎𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑔𝑏𝑜𝑠.

It was going to be a long argument that might escalate into a fight the way the whole thing was going, and I’d love to watch. But no matter how funny it was, 𝐼’𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑡𝑦𝑛 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑎𝑤𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝒉𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑘𝑎𝑠𝑎𝑙𝑎 𝑔𝑜 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑡.

I placed the camera in my bag and looked around for Aloy, my assistant. The twenty-four years old fresh graduate with his Okpolo eye was a few feet away chyking one fine geh. I walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Oniovo come pack up make we kawa.”

The boy frowned. “But bro Oghene—”

“I cannot stay a few more minutes here, my friend.” The girl, he didn’t want to leave her yet, I get. No wahala. “Oya give me my films and everything in your possession. Meet me up in church so we can start editing. I need to be home before 8 p.m., for my online classes,” I said and his lips stretched in a smile.

“Brother Oghene! Thank you so much, sir. I’ll meet you in church, I promise.”

“Hm.” I nodded. Glance at the nervous girl he was razzling. Chai! Young men, 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑝𝑒𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑔𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝒉𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑝𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡𝒉𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝒉𝑒𝑚 𝑑𝑜𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑔𝑒𝒉 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝒉𝑒𝑚 𝑔𝑜 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑛. Wasn’t it just yesterday that I gave this guy the whole ten thousand naira I was given for this job?

It was supposed to be a free job. Emenike was my man and he needed help with the video coverage, said his wife insisted he took care of that one. So I promised to do it for him with my church’s camera, but he had to drop something, 𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑎 𝑖𝑚 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠. He sent 10K which wasn’t enough. The hiring of our camera for an outside job was 30k. However, I wasn’t going to tell Emenike that. I’d decided to pay the money for him as my man way he be.

Some minutes later I was on a bolt ride heading back to church. And for no reason, my mind went back to her. Ife my Ibo babe.

Ife fine 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑐𝒉𝑜𝑝 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑐𝒉, ah-ah!

And God, I liked her. From the first day, I set my eyes on her...no, not that day. I first noticed her early last year. She was worth a long stare but that was it. I didn’t feel anything for her until that night I had one crazy dream that had her in it.

I’d woken up with the thought of her filling my head. Throughout that day, I couldn’t get anything right because she was just there, 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑘𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑘𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝒉𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑.

And the next Sunday, I was looking for her in church. My heart couldn’t rest throughout the service. I wasn’t sure I heard a single word that was preached that day because, while pushing the camera tripod around the church, my eyes were roaming, searching.

I didn’t know what it was, that sudden eagerness to see her, to have her look at me. And although we hardly exchanged more than a few words which seemed to be enough for me then, I didn’t mind.

Days moved to weeks, weeks to months, and months to a year plus, yet I’d not forgotten that dream and how I woke up with my heart beating faster and a stupid grin on my face.

I wasn’t looking for a geh to marry or desiring to be in a relationship. Na money bin dey my mind abeg. I just wanted to concentrate on my mechanic work, and make a lot of money so I could finish paying for the half plot of land I wanted for my workshop. I also wanted to finish up with my online schooling. The thing don dey hard small, I couldn’t wait to graduate. But after that dream, it was impossible to look at her in church without feeling sweet tingles wash over me.

Several times I wanted to approach her, several times my heart stopped beating, and words dried up in my head. So the only thing I ever did whenever our gaze locked was smile and smile like an idiot. It was crazy, I was crazy. It was passionate and as I looked out for her during every church program, I felt like nothing in my life could ever be okay until I saw her and smile again like a fool.

I knew she didn’t like me. Not that much. She hardly kept her eyes on me for more than a few seconds. And when she smiled back at me, it was just out of courtesy.

I knew.

But I liked her still.

I also knew that even though I was trying to establish something—friendship for a start, I got her number from a church member and started chatting with her, I still felt like she didn’t rate me that much.
Maybe I should give it all up.

But oh...I liked her. I told God about it. If only he would make her look at me the same way I looked at her, maybe...just maybe...

The cab driver pulled into the church compound and I stepped down, paid, and walked, with the camera bag inside, into the church.

I thought of the young man she left with today and wondered where they might be going, what they could be doing.

I saw the way he was looking at her throughout the wedding ceremony 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝒉𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑦 𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑚 𝒉𝑒𝑎𝑑, 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑚 𝑣𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑛 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝒉 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛. No, I wasn’t jealous, or hating, but I could see beyond his fine suit and perfect English.

𝑇𝒉𝑎𝑡 𝑔𝑢𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑦 𝑠𝑚𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑘𝑝𝑎𝑘𝑝𝑎, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑚 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑏𝑖𝑔 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑂𝑗𝑖. A coded thief and a worthless fellow.

But sadly, Ife babe didn’t see it. Like she didn’t see that brother Michael in the choir, that one that always took song solos, wain dey like to show imself, the one she eagerly jumped into a relationship with some months ago, was an idiot who only wanted to have his way with her and bolt.

Yes, I knew so much about her life and relationship choices. I had an interest in her, and somehow, I kept getting messages about her, seeing her with these men in my dreams even before she started going out with them. And in those dreams, it never ended well.

Just like this one.

I saw it last night.

And as soon as I saw the guy today, I knew he was another dead end.

Gloriagee:
The blog link no dey work. Can you put as your personal signature

wow, really. Let me do something about it please. I will get back to you with the correct one.

Qhio:
Welcome back 😊
Would really loved it if Kingsley had a continuation but no worries
Make I use this hold body 😃

No vex. I am developing Kingsley's story into a full book for publishing. A lot has changed in it and so much more has been added 😁

Amarita:
Rosemary is finally back..
I've waited long enough..i can't access your blog link.

Sorry about this please. I didn't know it wouldn't work. Let me try and do something else about it. I'll get back to you all with the working link.

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Ifenkili



Should I, should I not?

The fried rice I ordered tasted like cost accounting, but I savored it with joy and gladness because finally, it was happening—I was on a date in one of the costliest restaurants in Port Harcourt, with a very handsome man. Even though his multi-colored jacket reminded me of Egusi soup, it fit him perfectly, and I adored his shoes, his wristwatch, and the way he smiled and laughed in New Time Roman.

A week later, he insisted on gifting me a new iPhone and took my phone number. However, he ghosted me afterward—no calls, no messages, not even to ask if the phone was working perfectly, the kind of excuses men give just to hear the voice of the woman they're attracted to. Mhm-mhm. Nothing.

I had his number too, but pride and some shame prevented me from dialing it.

"If the mountain cannot come to Mohamed, let Uncle Moha go to the mountain nau," Aleruchi suggested when I confided in him about the situation. "Do you like him or not?"

"He's really cute. My kind of guy," I admitted.

"Then shoot your shot."

But what if he was married? Or had a serious girlfriend? Or had gone home and realized I wasn’t what he wanted? Maybe my beauty had faded in his eyes. Or someone was casting bad luck upon me. The last thought scared me because some days after Preye got me the phone and ghosted, my mother called to say she dreamt of me marrying someone from my church—a dedicated church’s worker.

The way I shouted the blood of Jesus ehn, my mother thought I had been stung by a scorpion. You see, I was a Sunday-Sunday medicine kind of church member who didn’t love stress. Aside from paying my tithes, offering, and class fees, I didn’t see the reason why I would turn the church into another home when I was not the pastor’s second wife. I would never see myself getting married to a pastor or a dedicated church worker. Big no. I would not be responsible for quenching a bro in the Lord’s fire, and I didn’t think I had the capacity to operate on the same level with those spirikoko brothers who ate and breathed church programs for a living. I knew I was capable of anything I set my mind to, aside from growing tall sha—maybe I had not tried enough to achieve that. But leveling up with serious Christian brothers?

Mba nu.

The mere mention of "a dedicated worker" made me think of Bro Oghene. No, God wouldn't subject me, a rebellious daughter of Zion, to end up with someone like him—pious, overly nice to the point of annoyance, and with a thick Warri accent.

If only he were a bit more refined, perhaps then...

Abegi. My mother's supposed dream and Bro Oghene were the least of my worries during those weeks of Preye's disappearance. Besides the overwhelming workload at the office, returning to an empty house and reminiscing about the man who seemed perfect—my kind of man—yet slipped away for reasons unknown to me, was pushing me into a state of depression. God. Am I a potato? Even potatoes do potate.

The most perplexing aspect of the whole encounter with Preye was that he had been so attentive that day we met. After purchasing the phone, he assisted me in blocking my bank apps and SIM card. He even provided me with the contact of his friend working at my service provider, who could aid in retrieving my line when I was ready.

It was three weeks later, when I had resigned myself to despair, that an unknown number lit up my phone. I answered after the second ring—it was him, Preye.

Why did the mind never follow the script when it mattered most? Instead of acting indifferent or expressing anger and disappointment, my brain buzzed with excitement, neglecting to recall whether he had apologized for his sudden disappearance. All it registered was his invitation to a date, his request for my address, and the time he would pick me up.

So, here we were, finally. In a fancy place where I was busy shoveling scoops of tasteless rice inside my mouth while he told me about how he wanted to know if I’d miss him enough to call first.

That was the reason he ghosted me.

He was a man who wanted his woman to fall head over heels in love with him, to come after him so hard. He knew how lukewarm and manipulative most women could be towards men, so he was making sure he got himself a woman who, apart from a fine face and a big nyansh, could do anything to have and keep him.

Apparently, I failed the test. But that was okay. He liked me regardless.

“Normally, I don’t spend time with a woman I’m not sure would love me the way I want. But I guess you captivated me,” he said. With his fork, he picked a piece of steak he just cut out from the chunk on his plate, put it in his mouth.

As he began to chew, my insides growled in disgust. Not because of him, but the steak. I’ve never eaten a rare steak before. In fact, I didn’t even know what the rare was doing in the name until now. Nobody told me rare meant alive! I was sure that if I put my ear close to the meat I would hear its heartbeat.

“You took my breath away,” he said, cutting out another piece. “I think this can work.”

Yes, it can. It will! Why was I being negative? “I think so too.”

His phone was becoming a bit of a distraction. But I could manage that when he wasn’t pressing his phone, we had quite a conversation until his phone beeped again.

He was quite a charmer. With the way he looked at me and laughed when I said something that tickled him, I guess I could forgive him for his trespasses, both past, present, and future.

“So, where to from here?” he asked after we’d spent almost an hour.

“Home... I guess.”

“Home—Mm. Yours or mine?” He read the confusion on my face and gave me a grin. “Look, I’m not suggesting anything, alright? I live alone in a big house. I just want you to keep me company. Besides, you don’t even know where I live. I swear I’m not going to do anything to you...that you wouldn’t want to do, of course.”

When I raised my brows at him, he threw his head backward and laughed. “Don’t be a baby. I don't bite.”

My phone chose that moment to beep repeatedly. When I checked, I got a WhatsApp message and your guess was as good as mine; from Bro Oghene.

With a double-tap on my screen, I opened the message and read fast. He just thought of me and felt like checking up since I’d refused to return his call like I promised I would two weeks ago.

He heard about my phone that was lost at the wedding from the groom who was his friend and had dialed to know if the person with it would pick up so he could negotiate. But thank God I was able to get it back.

I didn’t tell him I got a new one, but I appreciated him and promised to return the call because I was quite busy at the office.

I didn’t call back. My bad. Really, it wasn’t deliberate.

“Who’s that?” Preye asked.

“Who? Oh, a friend just checking up on me,” I said, quickly typing a reply to Bro Oghene and sending.

“A friend. Male?”

I gave him a suspicious stare then. “A church member,” I said.

“Okay... I don’t mean to—”

“It’s okay. I understand,” I said. “He’s not my boyfriend. Talking about boyfriends, I don’t have one for now.”

This made him laugh. “That’s what you all say.”

“I’m serious,” I said, laughing with him.

My phone beeped again. I looked at it was Oghene. All the while, before my screen darkened, I noticed he’d been typing. I tapped on the notification and the message opened.

The first few lines of the message got me confused and shocked;

Ife, I know you’ll be wondering why I’m always checking on you. It’s because there is something I have been wanting to tell you since but I don't know how to start. Please, don't be angry o, can we see?



****

Oghene



The day way your papa go mud, on the day of his wake, uncles and aunties would travel from far and wide with promises to gallant for your side as per say na them be your guidance in the absence of your father. They would instruct you, some of them would even tell you say them go para if you no report your tough life mata to them.

All na wash.

Listen to them at your own risk.

Two years after my father died, I understood what it meant when our people say person dey yan okpata. I called the first uncle and he told me that his daughter just swallowed a generator; the second uncle was about to collect a very expensive chieftaincy title; the third one no even send me at all! He didn’t pick my call.

I scrolled through my contact list and realized that I had no one. No relative send me or my family. Everybody dey mind him business. Na so I remember Shukudi o. That yeye Ibo friend way I get for secondary school way two of us bin dey jump principal fence dey go steal him mangos from the tree. Shukudi bin tell me make I follow am come Port Harcourt, so I go fit hustle.

“Nwanne, nothing dey for you here,” he’d say to me after papa’s burial. He offered to teach me how to repair cars so I go fit see walensh chop and small-small shedas sent to my mama.

That was how I called Shukudi again and he gave me his address. The yeye friend bin dey crash with five other boys for an uncompleted bungalow and him no tell me. But na man I be, and hard life no dey fear me. It was easy to blend with the boys and the city. Learning the work was the hard part. But Shukudi was my manest man. He was patient and kind.

The first few years after learning the job, he was the one directing customers to me. Even when he rented a one-bedroom apartment, he insisted I moved in with him.

Now Shukudi was a big man, inviting me to a house opening party this Sunday.

“Shukudi! Ibo boy,” I said over the phone. “I’m so happy for you o.”

“The God that did it for me will do it for you, my brother.”

“Yes nau. Before? I must build my own house,” I said with laughter. Me too, I dey do well. I just transferred 100k to my mother make she take hold her side. In return, the woman spent closed to thirty minutes of my airtime showering blessings on me. I know that very soon, I’ll be done with paying for the land I acquired for my workshop. I hadn’t told Shinedu yet, I wanted to surprise him.

“Seriously, my man. I don’t want you absent o.”

“I dey mad? I must show, my guy?”

I had a smile on my lips several minutes after the call ended, while I reminisced about the past. Me and that guy...we’ve come a long way o. I was his best man at his wedding, and his first son’s godfather.

I sighed as I got up from the sofa to get to the kitchen where the plate of banga soup and starch I made a while ago sat on kitchen slap getting cold. I washed my hands, placed the dish on a tray, added a bottle of water and returned to the sitting room to eat.

I had swallowed five balls when I got a Facebook notification.

I checked it out and smiled. Dafe’s pre-wedding picture. The fool tagged me. The last time we met on our village youth meeting in Port Harcourt, he came hard on me with this ‘you no go marry...your mates them don marry finish,’ tease.

Hm, the pressure is really getting wesser.

I checked other notifications. Read a few posts. Scrolled. Read. I came upon one that made my heart stop for a midget of second and for that moment, I forgot everything; the ball of starch in my hand, the taste of the soup, Shukudi’s invitation, Dafe’s pre-wedding picture. My eyes were glued to the graceful image on the screen of my phone.

It was the image of Ife my Ibo geh in front of a backdrop that was celebrating womanhood. There was nothing special about it, but my heart raced at the way her smile fills the space between my heartbeats. I didn’t know what it was about her, but she lured me in so effortlessly and wrapped my heart in a net.

Did she know the way she makes me feel, the way she dey burst my brain?

Hesitantly, I glanced at the ball of starch in my hand, bit my lip, knowing that it might take a while before my appetite returned because gazing at that picture had become food to my belly.

Dipping the ball in the soup, I cut a piece of fish and put it inside my mouth with the starch while thinking; God, Abeg o. how a geh go make me wan run mad like this? Not that the attraction was instant. Na after that dream na im this craze start.

I should come out with my feelings for her. But that was what I’ve been doing for a while now, yet she’d refused to notice.

Maybe I wasn’t doing it right. A lady like her needed to be approached in a different, unique way.

That was where the problem was. How I fit run am nau? I wasn’t totally a dunce when it came to wooing women. I knew words, enticing lines that could get an average woman hooked. But the problem was that each time I came face to face with Ife I couldn’t think of anything to say. Or maybe I had way too much to say and didn’t know where to start. When I opened my mouth to speak, and she looked at me, I’d imagined a lot of possibilities in a millisecond and would become numb for a long time.

Some weeks ago, when I heard about her phone. I’d wanted to reach out to her. To help if she would allow me. But I didn’t know if she’d like it. Getting her on the phone was a stroke of luck. And when she called my name from the other end, I became frozen stiff, as if I'd been pushed onstage in a play where I didn't know the lines.

She was polite to me, friendly even. But she didn’t return the call like she said she would.

Now that I thought of it, should I call her?

Should I not?

As I balled another starch and dipped it inside the soup, it occurred to me that I could actually send my thoughts to her via WhatsApp and then waited for her reply. Without allowing my mind to dissuade me, I picked up my phone, opened the message app and began to type.

Me: Hello...

I typed more words, changed my mind and deleted them and started again.

Me: I just want to know how you are doing.

I had my right hand deep inside the soup with the ball of starch, but my eyes were on the phone. She’d read my message. But she hadn’t replied. Then I noticed that she was typing. My heartbeat picked.

Ife: Bro Oghene, hi. Thank you so much for checking on me, I am fine. How are you doing?

Leaving the starch inside the soup, I licked my fingers and got up from the floor with my phone and a bit of a smile to go wash my hands and relax on the sofa.

She wanted to know how I was. Should I tell her now? Maybe I should. My mind struggled with the right decision. My fingers fought to express what I really wanted to write. Finally, I decided; throwing my feelings to her face without notice might not be good.

But we could go on a date, then I’d be able to let her know.

Hey, you all. I am so sorry for going on Hiatus. I have a lot of projects I am trying to to complete. But I am back now. Hopefully, every week will get a fresh episode

Rosemary33:
Hey, you all. I am so sorry for going on Hiatus. I have a lot of projects I am trying to to complete. But I am back now. Hopefully, every week will get a fresh episode

Welcome back dear
Thanks for the update 😊

Qhio:


Welcome back dear
Thanks for the update 😊

Thank you for your patience. For waiting. I appreciate you and everyone who still look out for my stories.

This episode is dedicated to all my ladies who'd dated rubbish before and had the chance to walk away.

Trigger warning:
Pidgin English
Nigerian social media slang

I posted the next episode and it was deleted and I was banned. I really don't know why. Let me try posting again

𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

𝐈𝐟𝐞

𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝.

Even a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, the evil villain was a Career tenor singer. An idiot with a beautiful, structured jawbone and skin that looked like you could strike a match and it would spark a light. The evil villain was the man who just slowed his car beside me and was now calling my name from his wound-down window.

Boma Sintel.

“Ife, wait nau,” he said, rolling his car forward as I hastened my steps to get away from him.

“Ifenkili...”

Thunder from Afghanistan fire you there.

“Bernie...”

Bernie kill you there.

“Wait nau.”

I could hear the irritation in his voice but. I didn’t care. I wished he would choke with my name in his throat.

“Oya, enter the car let me drop you wherever you are going to.”

I couldn’t help the laughter that erupted from my mouth. Nice try, Boma. Nice try. But no. Even if I was walking through the valleys and shadows of death, I’d never sit my ass inside this fowl’s car. I’d rather die than accept any help from this idiot who made me date myself for years.

“Where are you going by the way?” he asked, slowly following me.

To meet a man who is much better than you, 𝑨𝒇𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒖.

Yes, you heard me right. Preye might be authoritative, even a bit patriarchal and egocentric—the little time I spent with him gave me a hint, but he was a thousand times the man Boma wasn’t. He knew what he wanted and wasn’t playing games about his feelings.
He liked me. He wanted a relationship with me. In return, he was going to shower me with every care a church baddie—I hope there was something like that, who desired a soft life, wanted.

Ale warned me that I should watch out for red flags after I told her about Preye’s authoritativeness. But come on, I could handle the guy. Besides, my own no too good too. I was stubborn and heady, my mouth could run like a damaged tap when I got angry. Preye was the kind of man who could handle me.

Boma tried sha. In fact, our relationship was going smoothly until he started distancing himself from me. At first, I thought it was because of his job. He was a professional classical singer who needed time to rehearse and exercise for an upcoming show at the government’s house. But when that was over and he wasn’t still speaking to me unless I called him first, neither was he responding to my WhatsApp messages even when he would be online all night, I complained to his friends. But they said I should be patient with him because he was going through a lot of pressure from his family. They said his father was sick.

His father was sick and he didn’t even bother to tell me himself! Why then was I his girlfriend?

They made me feel terrible for not being caring enough to know about his stress. So, I decided to give him space even though my clingy self kicked against it. But I kept sending him messages though. Self-help texts;

𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦.
𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭.
𝘛𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘓𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯...

The bunkum was busy replying ‘amen’ to all my wishes. Eating the food which I was bringing to his house on weekends like every understanding girlfriend, who wanted to take care of her man, would do.

Two months later, this 𝘕𝘸𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘻𝘢 posted a picture of a girl on his Facebook page and captioned it “My wife.”

Guyyyyyssss, I stared at that photo for two hours and the girl in it wasn’t me!

I didn’t believe what was happening until I called one of his friends to confirm it and that one developed speech impairment.

It took me almost a year to recover and stop cursing Boma and his friends who ran me street. I wished he could slip and fall and die, that he would swallow one of those mics he sang with and choke to death, and that he would develop menstrual cramps that would never go away.

To make matters worse, Judie, his elder sister that I connected with on Facebook had the effrontery to slide into my DM to tell me trash;

“You have been a nice woman to my brother. It’s unfortunate that he impregnated this girl and had to marry her...”

Ah! Haddiiibeeeennnn I knew her personally, and that she was standing before me that moment, I would have given her a dirty slap.

Anyway, Thank God he left the church and disappeared to God knows where. That helped my healing. But...but...my God would Judge him for what he did to me.See ehn, On the Judgement Day, na only God go sidon. Every other person go stand tire because of the case between me and Boma. It would be a longggg judgement day.

“I have been following you for close to fifteen minutes and it’s becoming embarrassing. Enter the car let’s talk,” Boma said. “Is your leg not paining you—walking on those heels?”

Yes. My legs hurt and I feared I might grow muscles, AKA yams at the back of my legs. But I’d prefer that a million times.

“Where are you heading to sef?” he asked again.

To where my mechanic was waiting for me to come pick up my car. I was supposed to meet Preye at a friend’s house opening party. He had offered to come pick me up, but I declined, claiming I didn’t want to bother him, while the truth was that attending the party with my car would make me independent of him. I would be able to excuse myself and drive back home when I felt I’d had enough.

I might be an extrovert, a crazy, jolly lady. But I hated parties.

It always baffled people when I told them I felt lost and useless at parties, but that was the truth. Especially when I wasn’t in the company of my gang.

“Come on, nau. Ifenkili be reasonable,” Boma said with irritation. Stopping his car. I turned to stare at him.

Disgusting, I thought. He looked so washed, so faded. What happened to him?

And how did I ever manage to date this Oporo-crayfish?

Chai, Ifenkili you have dated 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 in this life o. How did I even manage to stick to this guy all the while we were together? I saw the sign o. I did. But I didn’t realize it early enough.

You know how the body of a woman gave clear signs when it was rejecting a romantic partner? I had those. Acne, inflammation, puffiness, weight gain in one week and becoming too skinny the next week. Anxiety, bloating, constipation, hormonal imbalances, low energy, becoming less attractive...anything that was related to chronic stress that wasn’t present before.

It became clear he was a weapon formed against me the moment I started getting over him and there was an inevitable “glow up” happening in and around me over time.

Truly, sometimes, the root cause of one’s health problems could be one thorn of a person hanging around one like a bone stuck in the throat.

My relationship with Boma made me mutter ‘God abeg’ a million times.

As I turned back and continued walking, I heard him swear loudly.

“You know what? Go to hell, ugly duckling,” he shouted after me.

I smiled at the frustration that coloured his voice. Not bothered that he called me ugly and a duckling. I might be anything in the world but not ugly.

Boma knew this.

My phone vibrated and I fished it out of my bag.

“Madam, I don dey wait since, where you dey nau?”

“I am close, where are you parked...oh, I’ve seen you.”

In a few minutes, I was inside my car and heading to the party, with a satisfying smile on my lips.

It took me another fifteen minutes to get there.

I was ushered into the large sitting room where a handful of people were already meeting and greeting.

The celebrant must be a simple person because I could count just twelve guests. The music wasn’t loud either.

“Thank you,” I said to the drink server who brought a rack of 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘴 my way and waited for me to pick one.

“There are small chops too,” he said. “Over there. And food at the dining. Just go over there and make your choice.”

“Thank you,” I said again, clanging the drink open and sipping, while my eyes roamed in search of Preye.

He was nowhere in sight.

Was I too early?

But when he called while I was still dressing up, he said he was there already.

I took another sip out of the canned drink. 𝘏𝘮𝘮, this drink would go well with some balls of puff-puff.

I was halfway towards the confectionary stand when a giggle filtered into my ears. Then a familiar male laughter, followed by several more giggles.

I turned towards the sound and almost choked on my drink.

W-wait...wait a minute. 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘰𝘯 𝘑𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘴’𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵?

I-I knew that guy.

No, I didn’t.

I did. Of course, I did.

“Brother Oghene,” I whispered. Giving him a slow look over, wondering who announced the second coming of Jesus to make him baff up this good; his hair was trimmed, and so was his beard. In black Parachute cargo pants styled with a flannel white shirt and Air Jordan 1 Mid sneakers, he held the attention of two ladies standing with him while looking like their answered prayer.

Jesus, the son of David, he looked so sweet! What? Was that the bro Oghene I knew?

“O’boy eh, who is that guy?” A feminine voice breathed behind me.

I turned to see three ladies, each with a saucer and a fork, ready to pick some chops from themselves.

“Which guy?” one of them asked.

“The one in a white Tee. Over there, he is standing with Nne and Rose,” The one that spoke first asked.
“Oh, That’s Oghene. My brother’s friend,” The youngest of them said with little interest while filling her saucer with puffs and samosas.

“Is he married?” The first-to-speak one asked.

“My dear, e reach to ask o. He dey enter my eye o,” the second one added with a giggle that I found rather infuriating.

“Look at him...So cute!”

And just like that, my brain left me and started thinking wetin I no send am. For the first time in years, I saw him. I saw Oghene; his smile, his laughter, his eyes...oh, they were beautiful. And his skin, had they always been that smooth and rich brown and, and mehn...the guy fine sha.

“And look at those ladies, parading themselves around him as if he was some wife-hungry, womanizing skeeze, which he’s not by the way,” the youngest of the ladies behind me said with a puff in her mouth.

“I’d let him womanize me anyway, any day of the week.” the first one said.

Really? Did they know who he was—a mechanic with a thick Warri accent, a church boy who could be just too nice for them? “What a simp,” I muttered, not knowing if it was Jealousy that other women were finding him irresistible or because he was actually looking like a ready candy I’d love to pop into my mouth, that was making me burn inside.

“He’s quite nice.” The young one who claimed he was her brother’s friend said.

𝘉𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘦, I thought. And Oghene, no matter how cute he looked, was a biscuit. Not tough at all. I doubted if he could even handle a woman...like me. A woman like me.

Why did that even matter?

Jesus, why was I imagining the both of us in a relationship?

“So, is he married?” The first-to-speak- one asked the younger one.

“No—”

“Yes—” I interrupted, shocking them and myself. “He’s married with six children. And his wife is currently pregnant. The doctor said she’s even carrying triplets. Triplet in her stomach.” The words rushed out of my mouth before I could get hold of myself. It was their uncomfortable silence that knocked the sense back into my head. The way they were looking at me, Ah! What was wrong with me?

“Eh, I didn’t know he’s married,” the youngest of them said carefully, still giving me a suspicious stare. “Chukwudi my brother didn’t tell me.”

“Oh, ehm...” Ifenkili. What the hell was wrong with you? What demon had just possessed you? “I mean... he...he...” Well, he was my church member and these ladies, had no good intention towards him. I knew their type, extravagant baddies in search of innocent men who would bankroll their lifestyles. Oghene wasn’t their kind of Guy. He was soft and, kind and always wanting to please ladies. He didn't even have money—the kind that would sponsor their frivolities. They would squeeze blood and water out of him.

“𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥?

𝘉𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦...𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵?

[i]“𝘈 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶?”

𝘌𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭.

“Are you sure?” The first-to-speak one asked.

“Y-no. I don’t...excuse me,” I said, dropping the saucer in my hand and was about to walk off when my eyes caught his. He was looking at me, his lips curled in that shy, unsure smile I knew him with, and the next thing that happened shocked and worried me. It was like I was fainting in the middle of a desert, and he was my hallucination singing to me before I took my final breath.

Jesus! Was I supposed to feel that way?

Impossible! Impossible!

Where was Preye sef?

Why na 😭😭😭
Me that set remainder specially for today update
Pls o

The road to your blog is blocked biko. What is the alternative?.

Four
Ife
Madness has caught up with the
understanding girlfriend.

Even a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, the evil villain was a Career tenor singer. An idiot with a beautiful, structured jawbone and skin that looked like you could strike a match and it would spark a light. The evil villain was the man who just slowed his car beside me and was now calling my name from his wound-down window.

Boma Sintel.

“Ife, wait nau,” he said, rolling his car forward as I hastened my steps to get away from him.

“Ifenkili...”

Thunder from Afghanistan fire you there.

“Bernie...”

Bernie kill you there.

“Wait nau.”

I could hear the irritation in his voice but. I didn’t care. I wished he would choke with my name in his throat.

“Oya, enter the car let me drop you wherever you are going to.”

I couldn’t help the laughter that erupted from my mouth. Nice try, Boma. Nice try. But no. Even if I was walking through the valleys and shadows of death, I’d never sit my ass inside this fowl’s car. I’d rather die than accept any help from this idiot who made me date myself for years.

“Where are you going by the way?” he asked, slowly following me

To meet a man who is much better than you, Afo anu.

Yes, you heard me right. Preye might be authoritative, even a bit patriarchal and egocentric—the little time I spent with him gave me a hint, but he was a thousand times the man Boma wasn’t. He knew what he wanted and wasn’t playing games about his feelings.

He liked me. He wanted a relationship with me. In return, he was going to shower me with every care a church baddie—I hope there was something like that, who desired a soft life, wanted.

Ale warned me that I should watch out for red flags after I told her about Preye’s authoritativeness. But come on, I could handle the guy. Besides, my own no too good too. I was stubborn and heady, my mouth could run like a damaged tap when I got angry. Preye was the kind of man who could handle me.

Boma tried sha. In fact, our relationship was going smoothly until he started distancing himself from me. At first, I thought it was because of his job. He was a professional classical singer who needed time to rehearse and exercise for an upcoming show at the government’s house. But when that was over and he wasn’t still speaking to me unless I called him first, neither was he responding to my WhatsApp messages even when he would be online all night, I complained to his friends. But they said I should be patient with him because he was going through a lot of pressure from his family. They said his father was sick.

His father was sick and he didn’t even bother to tell me himself! Why then was I his girlfriend?

They made me feel terrible for not being caring enough to know about his stress. So, I decided to give him space even though my clingy self kicked against it. But I kept sending him messages though. Self-help texts;

Good morning, sunshine.
Let this day bring you everything beautiful.
Tell me what to do to help ease your stress.
The Lord is by your side, you’ll come out of this a better man…

The bunkum was busy replying ‘amen’ to all my wishes. Eating the food which I was bringing to his house on weekends like every understanding girlfriend, who wanted to take care of her man, would do.

Two months later, this nwa banza posted a picture of a girl on his Facebook page and captioned it “My wife.”

Guyyyyyssss, I stared at that photo for two hours and the girl in it wasn’t me!
I didn’t believe what was happening until I called one of his friends to confirm it and that one developed speech impairment.

It took me almost a year to recover and stop cursing Boma and his friends who ran me street. I wished he could slip and fall and die, that he would swallow one of those mics he sang with and choke to death, and that he would develop menstrual cramps that would never go away.

To make matters worse, Judie, his elder sister that I connected with on Facebook had the effrontery to slide into my DM to tell me trash;

“You have been a nice woman to my brother. It’s unfortunate that he impregnated this girl and had to marry her...”

Ah! Haddiiibeeeennnn I knew her personally, and that she was standing before me that moment, I would have given her a dirty slap.
Anyway, Thank God he left the church and disappeared to God knows where. That helped my healing. But...but...my God would Judge him for what he did to me.See ehn, On the Judgement Day, na only God go sidon. Every other person go stand tire because of the case between me and Boma. It would be a longggg judgement day.

“I have been following you for close to fifteen minutes and it’s becoming embarrassing. Enter the car let’s talk,” Boma said. “Is your leg not paining you—walking on those heels?”

Yes. My legs hurt and I feared I might grow muscles, AKA yams at the back of my legs. But I’d prefer that a million times.

“Where are you heading to sef?” he asked again.

To where my mechanic was waiting for me to come pick up my car. I was supposed to meet Preye at a friend’s house opening party. He had offered to come pick me up, but I declined, claiming I didn’t want to bother him, while the truth was that attending the party with my car would make me independent of him. I would be able to excuse myself and drive back home when I felt I’d had enough.

I might be an extrovert, a crazy, jolly lady. But I hated parties.

It always baffled people when I told them I felt lost and useless at parties, but that was the truth. Especially when I wasn’t in the company of my gang.

“Come on, nau. Ifenkili be reasonable,” Boma said with irritation. Stopping his car. I turned to stare at him.

Disgusting, I thought. He looked so washed, so faded. What happened to him?

And how did I ever manage to date this Oporo-crayfish?

Chai, Ifenkili you have dated things in this life o. How did I even manage to stick to this guy all the while we were together? I saw the sign o. I did. But I didn’t realize it early enough.

You know how the body of a woman gave clear signs when it was rejecting a romantic partner? I had those. Acne, inflammation, puffiness, weight gain in one week and becoming too skinny the next week. Anxiety, bloating, constipation, hormonal imbalances, low energy, becoming less attractive...anything that was related to chronic stress that wasn’t present before.

It became clear he was a weapon formed against me the moment I started getting over him and there was an inevitable “glow up” happening in and around me over time.
Truly, sometimes, the root cause of one’s health problems could be one thorn of a person hanging around one like a bone stuck in the throat.

My relationship with Boma made me mutter ‘God abeg’ a million times.

As I turned back and continued walking, I heard him swear loudly.

“You know what? Go to hell, ugly duckling,” he shouted after me.

I smiled at the frustration that coloured his voice. Not bothered that he called me ugly and a duckling. I might be anything in the world but not ugly.

Boma knew this.

My phone vibrated and I fished it out of my bag.

“Madam, I don dey wait since, where you dey nau?”

“I am close, where are you parked...oh, I’ve seen you.”

In a few minutes, I was inside my car and heading to the party, with a satisfying smile on my lips.

It took me another fifteen minutes to get there.

I was ushered into the large sitting room where a handful of people were already meeting and greeting.

The celebrant must be a simple person because I could count just twelve guests. The music wasn’t loud either.

“Thank you,” I said to the drink server who brought a rack of soft my way and waited for me to pick one.

“There are small chops too,” he said. “Over there. And food at the dining. Just go over there and make your choice.”

“Thank you,” I said again, clanging the drink open and sipping, while my eyes roamed in search of Preye.

He was nowhere in sight.

Was I too early?

But when he called while I was still dressing up, he said he was there already.

I took another sip out of the canned drink. Hmm, this drink would go well with some balls of puff-puff.

I was halfway towards the confectionary stand when a giggle filtered into my ears. Then a familiar male laughter, followed by several more giggles.

I turned towards the sound and almost choked on my drink.

W-wait...wait a minute. Who on Jesus’ saved by the previous blood earth was that?

I-I knew that guy.

No, I didn’t.

I did. Of course, I did.

“Brother Oghene,” I whispered. Giving him a slow look over, wondering who announced the second coming of Jesus to make him baff up this good; his hair was trimmed, and so was his beard. In black Parachute cargo pants styled with a flannel white shirt and Air Jordan 1 Mid sneakers, he held the attention of two ladies standing with him while looking like their answered prayer.

Jesus, the son of David, he looked so sweet! What? Was that the bro Oghene I knew?

“O’boy eh, who is that guy?” A feminine voice breathed behind me.

I turned to see three ladies, each with a saucer and a fork, ready to pick some chops from themselves.

“Which guy?” one of them asked.

“The one in a white Tee. Over there, he is standing with Nne and Rose,” The one that spoke first asked.

“Oh, That’s Oghene. My brother’s friend,” The youngest of them said with little interest while filling her saucer with puffs and samosas.

“Is he married?” The first-to-speak one asked.

“My dear, e reach to ask o. He dey enter my eye o,” the second one added with a giggle that I found rather infuriating.

“Look at him...So cute

And just like that, my brain left me and started thinking wetin I no send am. For the first time in years, I saw him. I saw Oghene; his smile, his laughter, his eyes...oh, they were beautiful. And his skin, had they always been that smooth and rich brown and, and mehn...the guy fine sha.

“And look at those ladies, parading themselves around him as if he was some wife-hungry, womanizing skeeze, which he’s not by the way,” the youngest of the ladies behind me said with a puff in her mouth.

“I’d let him womanize me anyway, any day of the week.” the first one said.

Really? Did they know who he was—a mechanic with a thick Warri accent, a church boy who could be just too nice for them?
“What a simp,” I muttered, not knowing if it was Jealousy that other women were finding him irresistible or because he was actually looking like a ready candy I’d love to pop into my mouth, that was making me burn inside.

“He’s quite nice.” The young one who claimed he was her brother’s friend said.

Biscuit are nice, I thought. And Oghene, no matter how cute he looked, was a biscuit. Not tough at all. I doubted if he could even handle a woman...like me. A woman like me.
Why did that even matter

Jesus, why was I imagining the both of us in a relationship?

“So, is he married?” The first-to-speak- one asked the younger one.

“No—”

“Yes—” I interrupted, shocking them and myself. “He’s married with six children. And his wife is currently pregnant. The doctor said she’s even carrying triplets. Triplet in her stomach.” The words rushed out of my mouth before I could get hold of myself. It was their uncomfortable silence that knocked the sense back into my head. The way they were looking at me, Ah! What was wrong with me?

“Eh, I didn’t know he’s married,” the youngest of them said carefully, still giving me a suspicious stare. “Chukwudi my brother didn’t tell me.”

“Oh, ehm...” Ifenkili. What the hell was wrong with you? What demon had just possessed you? “I mean... he...he...” Well, he was my church member and these ladies, had no good intention towards him. I knew their type, extravagant baddies in search of innocent men who would bankroll their lifestyles.
Oghene wasn’t their kind of Guy. He was soft and, kind and always wanting to please ladies. He didn't even have money—the kind that would sponsor their frivolities. They would squeeze blood and water out of him.

“Why are you even concerned?”

Because, because…he is my brother in Christ, right?

“A brother who you have been giving cold treatments for years even when you know how he feels about you?”

When, even though upon still.

“Are you sure?” The first-to-speak one asked.

“Y-no. I don’t...excuse me,” I said, dropping the saucer in my hand and was about to walk off when my eyes caught his. He was looking at me, his lips curled in that shy, unsure smile I knew him with, and the next thing that happened shocked and worried me. It was like I was fainting in the middle of a desert, and he was my hallucination singing to me before I took my final breath.

Jesus! Was I supposed to feel that way?

Impossible! Impossible!

Where was Preye sef?

Really interesting Rosemary33. I have really missed your stories. Please keep it coming.

IkeIgboNiile:
Really interesting Rosemary33. I have really missed your stories. Please keep it coming.

Oh, thank you so much. I am back now

Men and brethren, I don't know what to do again. I posted again and they banned me again while deleting it. It doesn't contain violence or explicit sex scenes. So I don't know what I did wrong.

Rosemary33:
Men and brethren, I don't know what to do again. I posted again and they banned me again while deleting it. It doesn't contain violence or explicit sex scenes. So I don't know what I did wrong.

Iya ah don Show,

wait, They banned you, and still delete the post,

Mail the supermod, seems that antispambot wan collect sha

do4luv14:



Iya ah don Show,

wait, They banned you, and still delete the post,

Mail the supermod, seems that antispambot wan collect sha

Let me post again and see what happens. Fingers crossed

Rosemary33:

Wait them don unban you
I had to Mail the mods of this section, when I saw your post