December has always been a great moment. Father and I always had a great and fabulous time when ever December come knocking on the door. If father were to be as youthful as I was, the world would have to look for a savior to save them from us. Between father and I, it was and it’s still a hard nut to crack when it comes to saying who was and is more stupid and wicked. Birds of the same feather they say flocks together; so I have been thinking of what birds of same feather and same blood does.
Our Christmas was always a feast even before we became something else- that was when our initiator, our teacher, the devil herself- yes the devil herself my mother was alive. Our last feast before her death was that of my younger brother’s. he had on his lips al the time that he was going to tell the villagers about our secrets- I warned him, father did too even mum who hardly warn before taking actions did but he felt it was a mere threat. Mum had a contrasting nose, it was pointed and yet wide, her teeth looks like those of a gorilla- her fingers which she hardly trims were long enough to compete with those of a tiger. Her mouth was a natural pout and her neck was a ring.
It was on a cold evening that we planned on cooking him. It was best for us to do that than let him have the community burn us alive. Father was a master of magic which he had insisted I would only learn when I clock twenty five. His eyes had a blazing fire therein and his palm was enough to show he wasn’t of the normal people. His head disproportionate and abnormally large show every sign of wickedness. His legs were a yam on a human skin with healed rashes all over. His fingers were always in between his teeth maybe trying to remove the meat that got trapped therein.
That night we called Adejoh out since our compound was away from the villager’s settlement. The villagers were always of the complaint that we were dangerous but they had no clue as to what degree or how devious we were, so when Adejoh came out of the room, he held onto the rapper which he wound around his tiny waist like a young teenage girl. Aches he called; my name was Acheneje but he usually calls me Aches since I wouldn’t allow him to call me big brother. He was only nine years old.
Where is Dad and mum he asked not suspecting a thing. I held hands with him in a mother pupil fashion and led him into our secret underground abattoir. It was his first time there and would be his last.
When we got inside the abattoir, he turned sideways as if searching for something but I had no idea what. You mean this is the den where you carry out your evils? He roared. The abattoir was moderate with a large table to contain a tall human. There were lots of knife and cutlass everywhere- since we were expert we do not require many tools. A moderate frying pan, which house our ever available oil for frying sat somewhere around the corner and because we had orchards in the compound, we never ran out of vegetables or spices. We grew them all season season- onions and lettuce were my favourite on a human liver, especially when garnished on traditional fried rice. It is always sweet that one would be hitting me while eating and I won’t wobble. I love human liver so much.
Dad and mum came out dressed like a Chinese chef about to cut an elephant into pieces. What is going on Adejoh asked afraid of his own words. He tried to run out but his legs had already became heavy and stiff. No one answered him; all dad did was to sway his magical hand to make him voluntarily lie on the flat table before he finally gave up the ghost without anyone even trying. We don’t usually struggle with our victims- it was always easy since dad’s magic was effective enough to save us the trouble of making ruckus that might bring suspicion from the villagers.
We ate Adejo’s meat for almost a week and buried some when they began to spoil. His chin and ear, nose, and breast were the part I enjoyed the most. The ear and nose were just like brisket bone which I loved most when I used to enjoy chicken. The chin looked exactly like the breast of a turkey, a matured turkey. It was a normal thing for us as they there was not a single sign of remorse in us. Dad went to the community head to report that his son was missing. We cried crocodile tears for almost two weeks. Sympathizers of all kind came until everyone got the conviction that he was gone to never return. We were happy that he was gone before making a hell for us on earth. It was long enough too that mum died in her sleep. We didn’t eat her since we were very conscious of our reputation and secrets. It was after the devil herself that I got my proper initiation. Dad thought me all the magic I needed. The evil had just begun…….
There was a car moving not slow and not fast. The head lights were like the sun and the interior was a paradise. Everyone desire such a car.
It was on a dry afternoon that the car passed that road in the neighbourhood for the first time.
Lost, dejected, and sorrowful stood a young lad. In his eyes were signs of one who needed comforts.
At that moment the car needed a passenger, not one who could own and drive it. The car stopped before the lad and held hands and embrace him into its warmth. Along the line, the car met another passenger, he was not better than the lost lad but he could say everything that were within his heart. So the lad had to be ditched by the car for the new comer to come in. He was left there on the highway after he had already lost himself in that paradise.
Hadi was that car and i was that lad. Since then i am afraid I might not be able to enter any car anymore!
Each day I found myself wallowing under the frangipani trees that clustered abreast the road counting each car that whizzed past. An act that had become a life style abruptly .
The surmise were so lucid as it unfold itself gently as days turned into weeks and weeks into months. My mind took a trip down the memory lane that was clouded with pain, betrayal and a chunk of it eaten by bitter lessons.
I found myself reminiscing on the priceless and golden moment I spent with her. Endless tears that knows no bounds thrust down to my cheeks profusely as though its biding passers-by goodbye.
My heart heavy and crying like a chirping of a cricket as I pondered on those lovely moments; there were so fresh as though it took place just yesterday.
The wound was far from being healed at the first few months. Loving her with all my heart, withholding nothing with my sense out of place was insane thing to do.
The love was never reciprocated yet, I got stuck loving someone whose heart was with another; it made me feel ‘Love is blind.’
I showed to her she was irreplaceable and she took advantage of everything; I was stabbed at the back with dagger of betrayal. Breakup text was wrapped in a beautiful and astonishing case and sent to me through whatsapp on that fateful day as rain abated profusely as though it hadn’t rained for years. That day seemed to be different as I laid on my bed helplessly gazing intently at my phone.
Moving on became so hard as though my destiny was tied to her. Months rolled on yet, I couldn’t let go; I opted to do something that seemed impossible to me: to let go of her . she wasn’t looking back why should I continue to hurt myself? Why should I continue to fix my gaze on someone that derives solace in her vomit? As months kept rolling, her thoughts fades away.
A sad thing in life is when you stumble on someone who means a whole lot to you only to find out in the end it was never meant to be.
I was determined to hurt myself no more; to let go and let God, and another door of happiness got wide opened.
Now, as women, let’s ask ourselves these questions? What exactly do we want in life? What is our end goal? How will we be remembered? I know some women who are cool with being stay at home mums, I know some who want to work, but ensure that their jobs has minimal effect in coming between them and their families, and I know some career driven women who just don’t care about anything, but their jobs, the name and power they would accomplish at the end. I won’t be insensitive to the whole idea of women trying to live their lives as they want and pursuing their own goals. It is a very commendable move, but at the end of the day you should ensure that you are not wondering why you failed at the most important aspect of life, raising individuals and building a man’s empire and expanding your kingdom.
Were we created to compete with them? Of course not! We were created to perfect their lives, to serve as the lace to their brick, to lessen their burden, to clean up after them, this may sound too much but sister, you were created sophisticatedly for that. Tender on the outside and strong on the inside. I cannot help but shake my head when I hear women lament and make absurd wishes of how they would have loved to be created as men, when asked why? The reply would either be that, men only go out to get money, do not cook and do not experience labor pains, period or cramps, and can have as many partners as they want – concubines and side chicks .
You have failed to realize that they do have their own setbacks and pains, each gender was created with the ability to bear the pains we encounter separately in our daily lives.
Greed and society might have made the whole marriage thing become a union where only the man provides financially and morally in a relationship and where the woman worships him and acts dumb. Respect is essential, but definitely not worship. There cannot be two gods, worship is for the Almighty alone, but our husbands deserve immense respect, for they live solely for it, they have been created to thrive through the feeling of being responsible for a woman who looks up to them. It is quite unfortunate that a lot of them do not meet up to expectations or at least try to be a man, but if you find one that tries, honey, treat him good!
You were not created to just sit and watch him work; it is so awful that some men and women accrue to the idea that a woman should stay put and just feed, and breed. I know a lot of people will want to mention the women of the good old days, but mind you these women were not at all lazy, they participated in farming activities, pottery, weaving, hair-making, dress-making, flour processing and a lot of duties, yet they were still part of their homes and the lifestyle of their children was very known to them. They didn’t just sit and stare, and even the stay at home mothers then were not idle either, they supported too. Ask me how, taking care of kids and making meals is a lot of work, but today you find a lot of stay at home mums employing maids and nannies to help them ‘minimize stress’ Yes, I buy the whole idea of living like a queen without stress, nobody wants to be a maid in their own home, but it is your home. Be a part of it!