THE THRILL 1

I locked the door of the goat shed, not like it was worth locking. The wood was old and mold of different shades grew from it. One kick and the door would give way. But no one would dare. No one would dare steal Ibi-orubo’s goats. I swatted a mosquito, satisfied to see the blood on my leg. Glad I killed the pesky thing. How dare it perch on me, to drink its fill? Blood is hard to come by, and I certainly have none to spare. If anything, I need some blood myself.

I turn towards the house, and heave a sigh of relief. Someone has lit the kerosene lanterns. That someone was obviously my mother, I would get an earful for not lighting them on time. A chore I hate for no reason. But I was already expecting an earful. An earful for not coming out to greet my buyers properly earlier today. I walk slowly, wishing Ibi-orubo had stayed a little longer at the church meeting she had gone for, then I would have been on my bed and pretended to sleep when she came back.
But my bags were packed already, for tomorrow. Tomorrow I would be paraded like a carnival, to my buyers. Paraded by girls I really don’t care to know, while my mother pretended to cry at my departure. A departure she has been looking forward to since I turned 18. Took ten years to come, ten years in which she told me to go out and search.

You need a husband. Go out like your mates and get one. Had been her mantra..
Sometimes I wondered if she was going to hand me a flashlight to use for my search in the dark. I met them all, but always in the dark.
Finally, I didn’t find.. but Ibi-orubo did. She came home one day, beaming like hen with twelve eggs. She whispered to father, and summoned me from my chores.
You are getting married. They are coming tomorrow, for the knocking of door. You must accept them. You must not say no…. this is your last chance, you must say yes tomorrow.

They came and I said yes, and they kept coming, till everything was settled. I am getting married. I didn’t ask any questions, I only peeped from my window, hoping it was not a hunch back, or an old old man, or a man with tummy bigger than that of a pregnant goat. I didn’t ask questions.

Don’t drag your feet like that…. Come in and help me pack these things for tomorrow. Ibi-orubo said from the doorway. I walked past her into the living room where all kinds of cooking utensils were littered. I was supposed to be going to my buyers like a five star general in the kitchen and these were my ammunition. The pestles would be useful.

I walked into my room, adjusting my wrapper while my mother called my name. I sat in my small bed, facing the door. Maybe tomorrow I would sleep on a bigger bed. If the bed was as small as mine, then I would sleep on the floor.
I perceived her scent, a mixture of cam wood and Shea butter. As long as I can remember, Ibi-orubo always smelled of Shea butter.
“Don’t frown your face like that. It brings bad luck” she said to me, standing in the doorway.
Tomorrow, would be a happy day, you would have your own home and give me many children to bath. Come let us gather your things. Your life has just begun.


As I lay on my bed, I wondered how I had to live for 28years before my life began. I had to toil in school, get a secretarial certificate, which had been useless so far. I even had to attend computer classes to learn to type with Microsoft word. And yet my life had not begun.
I watched a gecko roam across my ceiling, if this was tomorrow, I would make him kill the gecko. I would make sure he stands up from his sleep and kill it. But this was not tomorrow, so I watched the gecko.
Mrs Tumini Alabere. I turned the name around in my head, hating the sound of it. Why did I have to change my name. Tumini Wariso sounded so much better. One more thing I hate about my buyers. Their name….. with that, I tried to sleep.


Everybody had left minutes ago, leaving him and I alone. The silence was deafening, and I concentrated on counting how many spots were on the walls. So far it might be 23 or 27, and not a word had been spoken.
He was looking towards the door, and I wondered if he wanted to run out of the house. I studied his features, and wondered how many girls had turned him down before me. If I had dared to not listen to Ibi-orubo, and turned down his offer, would I have been number 23 or 27?
I had looked at him from my window, those days when they came around, to see if he had any defect. But he didn’t have any that I could point out. Then I listened, to hear if he stuttered, but he spoke fluent English. Then why did his people have to pick a wife for him? I had asked myself so many times.
Then Ibi-orubo told me he had studied French in a university in London, and had been to Germany and m any other countries. He is in Linguist, she had said proudly. Inwardly I laughed at the way the word rolled from her tongue…. Linguist.
There must be something wrong with him…or else why would he marry a stranger? If he had read so many books, why did they have to pick a wife for him?

Maybe he didn’t want to marry because he was a linguist. I should ask him that one day. But not today. Right after I ask him why he needed to learn so many languages, and why learn French in London. Wouldn’t France be a better place to learn French? Or even Togo or Benin.

“Would you like to take a bath?” he asked me startling me out of my thoughts

I nodded my head yes… anything to get away from the silence. Then he stood up, and motioned for me to follow him and down a corridor we went, stopping at a door, he motioned for me to go in.
Everything you need would be in there he said and turned to leave hesitantly. I looked at his frame as he walked away… was that a limp I detected? Maybe that was his defect. But I wasn’t sure it was a limp.
I entered the room that had everything I need, and was glad to see that the bed was large. I wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor tonight. My suitcases had been stacked by a wall, and apart from the bed and the suitcases, the room looked empty. I went to the wardrobe, and opened it. Hoping that I could learn about my husband from his clothes. The wardrobe was empty.
I went to the door leading to the bathroom and opened it. It was rather large, and I looked up at the ceiling, hoping to see a gecko that he would kill, there was none. On the wall was a mirror, and a shelf under it. On it there were different kinds of feminine products. I counted three types of bar soap, only one was familiar. There was a big bottle of bathe wash, then a tube that said things about gentle fragrances and mists. It read feminine wash. I had never used a feminine wash, does it mean my husband cannot use it? Would it make him any less masculine?
Three big rolls of tissue paper, all different and all unopened and one promised to be scented. Why would I need scented tissues, there was nothing nice about the uses of tissue paper in the toilet, so why does it have to be scented? I opened it, and took a sniff. The scent didn’t make any difference. Tissue paper is tissue paper and when I use the toilet, the stench would spread throughout the toilet, maybe the house…. Scented tissue or not. I would wait till he was out of the house, to use the toilet.

I came out of the room an hour later, and met him seated in the living room. I had bathed, and worn a gown. I was not going to wear any of the night gowns Ibi-orubo bought for me. I also made sure I wore panties under my dress. Those old women who ranted out advices to me earlier today, would grieve at my flat disobedience.
I sat down, staring at him, just yesterday I was thinking of how I would cope, and now I have a husband. Albeit one I didn’t want or need. I wondered if he expected me to cook for him. Then he stood up, and walked out of the living room. I sighed, and relaxed in the chair.
He came in bearing a tray, which contained a large plate of steaming jollof rice and big chunks of meat. I wondered when he cooked the food.
My mother brought us this food. Tomorrow we would go back to Lagos, then you can start cooking.
He kept the tray down, and I noticed two spoons. I am supposed to eat from the same plate with him. I hate eating from the same plate with people. Some eat and drop food from their mouth back into the plate. I felt like making a partition on the plate, but I drew an invisible line, and prayed he didn’t cross it. He picked up a spoon and started eating, without saying a prayer. I wonder what Ibi-orubo would say, if she knew my husband ..the husband she had gotten for me…didn’t have the sense to pray before eating.

The meal was finished, and I took the tray into the kitchen. I washed them at the sink, and went back into the sitting room. He was still seated there. I hope my husband wasn’t what my father calls a couch potato. If he was, I would have to return him. Couch potatoes never get anything done. Father always said. I walked back down the corridor, and into the room. Some minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

Are you ready to go to bed? He asked standing at the door. I nodded Yes.
We would be leaving for Lagos tomorrow with a ten O’clock flight. We have to be at the airport by 9 O’clock. I turned to look at him, but he was gone. I sat on the bed, in the quiet of the room. The ceiling fan labored in the dense atmosphere, and a cricket cricked somewhere close. I wondered what part of the bed I should sleep in. I lay down, and covered myself with the very heavy duvet. No doubt one of the things he brought from his numerous journeys. It is too heavy for the Nigerian weather, I hoped he wouldn’t expect me to wash it.

I lay on the bed, listening to the clock tick. I didn’t want to be asleep when he came into the room. I followed the sounds of his movements through the house, then I heard a door slam. All was quiet.

I stood by the taxi, while he loaded my suitcases into it, wondering where all my kitchen ammunition would fit into. When all my suitcases were in the boot, he went in and brought out a small black bag. Then he shut the boot. I stood there, looking at him.
Where are all my other things? I asked him.

He looked at me puzzled. What things, he seemed to ask.

The things for my kitchen…..the things I brought with me when I came.

Then he rumbled in laughter. That is the first time I heard him laugh. Then he unceremoniously informed her that me nicks and nacks as he called them, had no place in his kitchen in Lagos.
You would have everything you need there.

I looked at the shut door, tempted to insist on bringing all my properties. I turned around, and walked back into the house. I needed just one item, a small pestle. I came out bearing my ammunition, and I could see the laughter in his eyes. I simply ignored him, and got into the car wielding my pestle.



.........to be continued






LIFE IS A CHOICE MY FRIENDS
SO CHOOSE WISELY
ENOUGH SAID