WANTING MORE

                                                            WANTING MORE

       It was months ago that Allen told me our relationship was not satisfying anymore. I watched him
as the words roll down sleekly from his soft lips. It was the gentility in His breathy voice as he
spoke that made tears flowed down freely as I stood facing the window of his self contain
apartment. Our years together flashed before my eyes. The sweetness of calling me auntie in this
way that only emphasized my babyness resonated as I looked at the last gift...a six years
Amphora wine. He was a connoisseur of some sort. I remember just how disappointed I was when
he told me he had not read Edgar's Cask of Amontillado. Although It gladdens me that Fortunato
surpasses him.
  
       Allen had recently put on some weight and would often stand before the mirror that overlooks the reading table and pull pound of extra flesh from his belly. Sometimes he had complain with a
desire to be told otherwise. That what he is seeing is not absolutely true. Of course he is loosing
some with liftings every day.It was on one of such days I told him. It doesn't change a thing.
He smiled sweetly and said this is for me. With a determined emphasis. Nodding his head with
a fixed gaze. It made me proud of him and question just how true my my earlier stand was.
Don't make this about you auntie. He got few minutes silent treatment before a pillow spanking.

He smiled graciously with his newly shaved head reflecting under the white bulb as the pillow
moved from one hand to the other. His eyes glistening with soft tear that never drops while his
Caramel skin emphasized the whiteness of his carefully arranged dentition.
He took off the sweaty polo and drops down on the bed in front of my open legs with a coy smile
that I have soon come to memorize. He made to put his head and I quickly closed them. He looked
up at me holding my face for a while. He parted his lips while sucking the lower part. I bent low
then. His lips tasted of spices mixed with the Amphora we had just taken. I opened my eyes
temporary and met his wide open but the explorations made it hard for mine to stay open.
'that was cute' he says  turning me over. The way your eyes were closed. I smile and he
plants a kiss on my head as he heads to the bathroom. I attempt getting up but fall down back on
the softness of the cashmere and ruminate.

We had first met at Aboy's place. I had gone to see him concerning the clientele and there Allen,
tall, big boned and cute was. It was hard to forget his scent. lavender. It warped the air graciously.
He was a student of Hydrology. Hydrology sounded so polished and it got my attention. I
wondered silently why he was still in school. Maybe he detected that or considers my friend who
speaks his language prettier but somehow I  didn't have the full attention any more. I prayed my
friend will not recount her tales of castlu. I watched as he ate the stew I had prepared at his
insistence with deep satisfaction and it made me blush. He didn't talk to me again throughout the
period we were escorted out until I discovered I  had lost an ear ring. I wouldn't stop nudging
Aboy so he looks at me and walks over to a lady who sells jewelry. His looming height over
shadows mine and for a moment there I thought how really average I must be. He got the dot
ear ring and replaced it with my missing one. He smells pleasant with his armpit raised above my
face. We said goodbye but I got his number.

Allen. I like him. His height is amazing  my friend tells me on our way back. I teased her about
tall boys and she as always 'I'm not tall na' retorts. We smiled and I told her if she would like
me to talk to him. She kept mute and I didn't push it neither did I tell her just how surprisingly
fascinated I was too.

After he complained of my only calling for business, I visited that weekend and have since been.
Mostly on and off. He speaks many languages making it easy to code mix and switch alternating
between Yoruba and Hausa, pidgin and English. I listened as he tells me stories about world
characters, drug lords and international politics. He thought the ponzi scheme was worth trying
since the return is more visible than the ten naira addition from the banks.

We had started a little garden behind the house and some mornings he had hold me in front of him  as I point to some of the newly sprouting seeds. At other times, he just nuzzles as I lay contentedly against his firm softness.  The first time I told him I loved him was when he was sick. I had return his call that evening and the quiet slowness of his voice made me wear a gown without my lingerie. When I saw his small eyes pushing to stay open, I felt his hand then wiping the tears off my face. I held them there as we locked in shared understanding and I told him I do love him too.

We harvested ugwu and added it to our tomato stew on some occasion . He cooks while I raise my palms as he drops little for my vetting. 'How is the salt'? He had asked watching my expression like a rain maker. Once I nod, he picks me up and swirl me round the small kitchen and we had kiss.

When his withdrawal started, I asked he waved it off. My visits became less while the ugwu
leaves withered under the Harmatan breeze. It was that morning he told me:

'I want more Danny..."
holding my hands under the softness of his,
 "You know I'm not there yet"
"I'm sorry'...
I understand" I told him as I gathered my toiletries from the bathroom ledge.

S.J

Memory At Seven

                            Memory At Seven

        The first memory of my mother  was at seven in our room and palor house at Egbe road. A largely populated area dominated by the very average and extremely above average people who live in one day peace one day war with their face me I face you neighbor. We had recently moved from Jaba, another small city in Kano where we left for during the Abacha stove era. My sister and I.

     I got up very early to take my shower. I looked up at the white rounded faced wall clock above the florescent light in our parlor minutes after minutes. I had recently been made the head girl of my school. I wrapped round my towel that had become deep earthen brown. The compound had two bathrooms with a slimy corridor and slippery walls surrounded by rats running ahead once the swish of matches is heard. To move the school forward was my one point agenda!

      It had rained the previous night and I had recently got a blue and white striped flay skirt with a tank top. The sun was setting. I leaned on the gate. It overlooks the street. Just across mama Mayorkun had placed a very massive pot on the fire that has three horns underneath while  Fatima and Afsat played different the same.

       Just ahead of the street I saw a woman with a yellow and green matted basket. The street no longer bustles as churches has taken over all residential homes. I stare as she proceeds with this air, this grace I could simply not understand. She smiles. I wonder.  her. A tickle in my heart recognizes her but I did not run to get her things nor embrace her. She must be tired her gait says that while the slouching of the basket indicates its heavy content. I must have been ashamed or disappointed  or maybe  to have the pity of people around when they say that is your mum and to blame my step mother for being the reason for such a rift. I walk slowly with my head facing downward while holding the black nylon where something lukewarm presses against my palms as  she scans my head and scratches off dirt with eyes of pity on us from my neighbors.

They had fight.  My father and  mother. My father for many days will simply look through the window. This recognizable stranger was who my mother had become.

S.J

JOURNAL OF A CONCERNED AFRICAN: PAPA ...

JOURNAL OF A CONCERNED AFRICAN:                                      PAPA


      ...:                                      PAPA                I remember you today as the keke stops by an obituary poster of a 48 years old ...

                                     PAPA


      
        I remember you today as the keke stops by an obituary poster of a 48 years old man. I remember yours read 58. papa do you know how my heart broke, it was in that moment I believed you had died really. I looked at that poster with your picture by the side and it hit me afresh. You in your milk color chinos and coffee brown jacket with your piercing words and dry sarcasm. Your conscious way of greeting and speaking so you don’t say the wrong things, your aloofness whenever you wrap your yellow towel as you proceed to to take your bath in that bathroom that consistently smells of poo. I could sense your deep sadness as though you were a forgotten passer by. sorrow is not a companion anyone would want to have. Did you see how Ake Nico was shouting your name,
Johnnnnnnnnn, Johnnnnnn, ndo, ndo ke fele, welcome home John. oh John, welcome oooooooooo, Johhnnnnnnnnn, it made my soul tear with pains. It was an unbearable kind. I bit into my Benchie’s shoulders and held my heart tightly afraid it was falling off from my body. I know you would have been embarrassed in your usual cynical way. The pain lurks around with every scribble.
        They say before you loose a love one, you do know. It would have been why we had talked that Wednesday and the Thursday where you couldn't send the 5000 for me? papa, do you know how I found out? David called me and said something like,  have I heard and I asked him very quickly,
'papa don die? " he said no but mama Ngozi  called me on Friday of the next week :
'Sarah, I wan tell you something, papa don die'... There was a long pause, then silence then the prolonged scream of my life,  and all my neighbors at villa suite came to Ruth's room. I remember the first sharp pain in my heart. Immediately  I put myself together because I wasn’t sure how long anyone would understand or console my broken heart. Took my bath and proceeded to the church. My next emotion was fear, who will pay my fees, Phil 4 :3 stirred in my heart. I immediately called my boyfriend, yeah I had one then. Do you know he blamed me for not coming to give you that balm I bought for you when I sneaked into kano to visit Ekene, papa he didn't even hug me, we broke up as expected otherwise that will be my first note to you, how like papa, do you know I finally met the love of my life? 
   papa, do you remember Hon. Anthony..., yes, that kind man, God bless his soul, that sheltered me when Auntie chased me away from her wadata residence? do you know he is dead too? papa he is too. I did not believe. I remained in denial for so long and blamed everything and everyone smh. Because in him I saw renaissance parenting where you could invite boys home and get teased about it or when he had take his bag for tennis or stopping by eatery some Sundays after service or his indulgence of ToyToy as I call her, just the general air of freedom that we didn’t have or didn't think we should. it was a difficult period in my life, loosing him. He represented class and exposure in my life. He was far from perfect but i eulogize him. 
         Papa Goddy is dead😭😭😭. Uncle's cries rings in a far distant voice in my heart even till this moment. Papa, this one touched me. I felt more like an onlooker. like I was not entitled to the feeling. As we step into the house, an heavy cloud was upon the atmosphere. 'akor, Goddy, goddy, ubeh bon' Goddy is gone. Auntie cries. Her tears pulls at my heart. Auntie calls him everyday and every other of her kids, her joyous smile the day he was born, a validation of her womanhood, her first and only son. The moment in which he takes his first steps and said his first words. Auntie's Goddy is gone. Ha, if you saw Auntie, my heart, Goddy had a bullet to his chest, some school riot took him away. I never met him. my heart was so broken  for the siblings my cousins ♥️ ♥️ . I still wonder how Auntie is. When the bus conveying Auntie, mama, Monica, Ruth, and the last one truffles to take off, the wailing  😭 of Auntie voice rings deep and every one starts to cry. It registers then as I watch the bus scuffles away, it is the last time , Goddy is never coming back again, then the tears flows, little drops initially then a wailing then a sob then silence and a repeated circle. Death is painful. There is no guarantee when the pain would go. I can still hear her voice saying my life is wasted, my life is wasted, Goddy I would trade places with you. Ah papa, death is painful even more  the death of a young person. Goddy was only 19. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭.  
 Rest on. I miss the moment we would have shared. The kindness you would have rob off me. I’m sorry we never met. I’m sorry my heart hurt even after a year. Sometimes I fear I cannot breath but I need you to give way to something new. As Auntie said, this kind does not just go away at once. On the day you remember, you cry afresh. 

      I still remember you lying on the single chair in your kabo yard apartment with your bed against the wall that overlooks weather head katanga, your fridge that constantly smells of indo seed and b-complex and later hypertensive, diabetes and some drugs I can't remember anymore. I remember how you would lye with your leg placed on the other as you engage in deep thoughts, I remember your continual insistence of lack of money whenever I would ask for fees, feeding allowances. I remember your dry sarcastic reply when I said something of online registration and you said,  taking a long sigh,'not only online, its on-land registration.'
   papa, you remember capt. that we use to pray for everyday when we are praying for your installation, do you know he helped me got a job? yes. God bless him. He is such a fine man now. yes I know how that works .😙
    papa, I remember our moment. In that quiet solemn evening, as you lay with your arms across your grey haired chest,with no amount of air sufficient to dry your profuse sweating, you said to me , " don't worry, no matter what, I will pay your fees". papa I have BSC now. yes a degree holder. your own daughter. All these people that they call professors, yes, one taught me and even emeritus. Papa, hey! see when I got introduced to Adichie, it was by a professor. The easy way with which he speaks signals intelligence. His words are greeted by our curious gazes and nods and jottings. His milk color chinos and a jacket , wow. Class! Simplicity! sophistication. Papa some people know book. Prof Akosu is one of those people. Prof. Shittu, Dr Andrew Abah, Nytse, Bagu, Ms Banka, ... papa do you know I speak fluent Received pronunciation of the English language now? yes ooo. Do you also know that I have read over 100  books, yes.  
papa do you know that Martha is now in California? I mean abroad. yes, colonial mentality is still lurking somewhere. but California is California. Happily married. happiness my friend just returned to Nigeria. Yes she was over seas. Papa I and celin stayed best friends, she's managing the lab now. Actually doing a fine job with it.

   Hmm, papa do you know you have 18 grand children now? yes 18. Papa do you know I have finally entered aeroplane? yes oo. I have. let me blow your mind self, it was business class I flew. I didn't even know how to use the seat belt but you know me and coordination na, just did like, do you mind? and she showed me. the quiet Hajiya. see how flew came out of my mouth, I mean who would have thought? Kai there is God somewhere. Gloria, that you will think does not have any emotion, cried the hardest at your death. enen na. You promised her that when she comes back from her last papers, you will submit it where she will get a job, then you went died. It broke her. But, she's a nurse now. yes, a nurse. wears uniform and barely makes up. will you believe that, no make up. true. papa, do you know that Ogwa has finished school? yes. A graduate finally. wow. 
  I know you are surprised as well am I am with my language and all, it was the way I would have wanted to relate and gist you things happening in my life. I miss what I imagine a family to be like. A place of solace and trust, a place of blooming love and genuine concern, a place of intimacy. a place of love! A place of father and mother expressive of emotions. I miss that concern that we never got, I miss the emotions that makes the world revolves. one thing is sure, I miss your intelligence and the whole aura of having a father in the sense of it. 

                            Memory At Seven

        The first memory of my mother  was at seven in our room and palor house at Egbe road. A largely populated area dominated by the very average and extremely above average people who live in one day peace one day war with their face me I face you neighbor. We had recently moved from Jaba, another small city in Kano where we left for during the Abacha stove era. My sister and I.

     I got up very early to take my shower. I looked up at the white rounded faced wall clock above the florescent light in our parlor minutes after minutes. I had recently been made the head girl of my school. I wrapped round my towel that had become deep earthen brown. The compound had two bathrooms with a slimy corridor and slippery walls surrounded by rats running ahead once the swish of matches is heard. To move the school forward was my one point agenda!

      It had rained the previous night and I had recently got a blue and white striped flay skirt with a tank top. The sun was setting. I leaned on the gate. It overlooks the street. Just across mama Mayorkun had placed a very massive pot on the fire that has three horns underneath while  Fatima and Afsat played different the same.

       Just ahead of the street I saw a woman with a yellow and green matted basket. The street no longer bustles as churches has taken over all residential homes. I stare as she proceeds with this air, this grace I could simply not understand. She smiles. I wonder.  her. A tickle in my heart recognizes her but I did not run to get her things nor embrace her. She must be tired her gait says that while the slouching of the basket indicates its heavy content. I must have been ashamed or disappointed  or maybe  to have the pity of people around when they say that is your mum and to blame my step mother for being the reason for such a rift. I walk slowly with my head facing downward while holding the black nylon where something lukewarm presses against my palms as  she scans my head and scratches off dirt with eyes of pity on us from my neighbors.

They had fight.  My father and  mother. My father for many days will simply look through the window. This recognizable stranger was who my mother had become.

S.J