THE THRILL 2

The drive to the airport was long and uneventful. We were silent through the journey, and my mind fleeted between wondering what he was thinking about, and when would be the best time to inform him that I have never gotten on an airplane. I was woken up by a soft shove, I didn’t even know I had dozed off.

When it was time for takeoff, I squeezed her hands so hard, he let out a loud yelp dragging the attention of people around us, but I didn’t let go. That was the second time we had bodily contact. The first time being during the payment of my bride price, when I had to give him wine from a cup. Our fingers had brushed.


After two days of being in Lagos, I decided that I didn’t like the city. There were too many people, and although we stayed in a quiet pat of the town, I could feel the vibrations of the people all around.

I also decided that I did not like Lagos people. The first day we got to our house, it was like a well had vomited its contents, for the amount of people that flooded the house. They came in twos and threes, laughing and smiling, congratulating my husband and looking me over like a prized cow.

The women giggled, with their faces in masks of blue, red and purple. I smiled in return, and nodded my head and gave them more drinks. My husband had an endless supply. He even taught me how to pronounce their names correctly. No it’s not cognac…. It is pronounced konyak. I shook my head, and served more drinks.

By the time they left, had a pile of dishes to wash, and a messy house to clean. Indeed I hate Lagos people. My husband never lifted a finger to help with the chores. At the end of the day, he walked out of the door, for more drinks with his friends. I hate Lagos.

I laid on my bed, awaiting my husband’s arrival as usual. I looked at the time, it was past midnight. We didn’t share a bed, but I never went to sleep until I was sure he was back from wherever it is he went every night. I wondered when I would be able to fully understand him. Every morning, when I wake up he would be on the dining table poring through books, barely four hours after he came back home.

One morning, after he left for work, there was a knock on the door. I opened it, and there before me was one of those Lagos women. I told her my husband was not around, but she informed me that she was here to see me.

The smell of whatever concoction she had dabbed herself with, overpowered our surroundings. She smiled too broadly, showing the pink chewing gum she had in her mouth. She stood before me, clearly expecting to be let into the house. I recognized her as one of the brood of women that had invaded my home the first night I was here.
I moved aside, and she swayed in with the side to side movements of a centipede. I shut the door, and followed her into the sitting room, watching her sway her big buttocks from side to side like a baboon. She took a seat, albeit in my favourite spot and I ignored that, taking a spot closer to her.

“Hmm.. our wife…” she began, in a sarcastic manner. Then she proceeded to give me the usual amebo nosy neighbours see as their obligation. Who to avoid, who is the neighborhood husband snatcher, who likes my husband, who and who have slept with my husband, who and who would not mind having a piece of him. An endless litany.

I sat there, listening to her go on and on, and it occurred to me that she would go on forever, if I let her.
 “Marima by the way. My name is Marima” she said mid sentence, realizing that she had not introduced herself. I smiled in response, obviously she assumed she knew my name. But if what she was pronouncing was anything to go by, she didn’t.

About two hours after she knocked on my door, Marima finally left. I shook my head behind her. My fellow bored housewife. That is what I have become wasn’t it. I slammed my door shut, once again mad at Ibi-orubo for pulling me out of the life I knew and wanted.

For two weeks, I lived with my husband as though he were my brother. We didn’t share a bed, and neither did we share anything intimate. Then one night, I listened closely when he came in and I heard a second set of footsteps. I climbed down from my bed, and listened with my ears to the door. Sure enough, there was someone else with him in the house. I opened my door, and walked towards his room where they had entered. I stood outside for a couple of minutes, before opening the door.

Before me, was my husband unclad. The very first time I was seeing my husband unclad, and he had an equally unclad woman wrapped around him. They froze in shock, breathing deeply. I smiled and turned around and went into my room, I searched under the bed for my pestle. I grabbed it, and went back to his room.

They were right where I left them, whispering quietly. The girl tried to cover her bushy mound with her palms, but that left her breasts bare, she was confused as to which was more important to be covered.

When they sighted my weapon, the girl shrieked. My husband stood up, pushing her behind him. I stood by the door, and motioned for her to get out. She looked at my husband with fear filled eyes.

“Get out now” I screamed with rage. She scampered out of the room, low to the ground. My husband looked at me, with shock on his face. I turned around, and went back into my room, without a word.


The next morning, all was quiet and we carried on as usual. Nobody said a word concerning “you know what”. That day was a market day, so I went to the rowdy market, and bought some items for food. When my husband came back there was a sumptuous meal for him. He ate in silence, while I watched. That night, when he went out as usual, he didn’t come back in until dawn, when he came in for a change of clothes, before heading out to work.

That day, I paid a visit to Marima. She was elated. I sat down, and listened to her for a long time. With a little prodding, she told me all there was to know about Clara, my husband’s mistress.

Marima knew a lot.

I walked back home, with a plan in my head. I knew all I needed to know, to do what needed to be done. For the first time since I came to Lagos, I had a purpose.
One rule I always had, was to give people a chance… a choice, to make them create their own path. I intended to give Clara that same opportunity, Just as Ibi-orubo taught me.

When I came out of the bathroom that night, I stood in front of a mirror, staring at my reflection. I thought about the nimble and supple body of my husband’s mistress. I had an even better body, of course I can be biased. I thought about what Marima had told me, and I was even more determined to give myself a chance.

I didn’t come to Lagos, to be a trophy wife, or a naive village wife. I am his wife, and no matter how much he loves his mistress, he must give me my respect. How could he think that I tumini, would be his baby making machine, if he truly loved her, he would have married her, in spite of her inability to give him a child. I must give my marriage a chance.

The next morning, I boarded a bus armed with the directions to Clara’s house. When I got there, I knocked on her door and she opened it. Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets upon seeing me.

“What do you want here?” she asked me menacingly.

I smiled, and in the most polite tone I could muster, told her I was there to reach an understanding with her. She laughed at me, calling me a village scarecrow. She told me that my husband belonged to her, and that she alone tells him what to do, I stood there, while she rained abuses on me, telling me that she would be the one to raise my children in my husband’s house. With each word she uttered, she sealed her fate. I smiled, turned around and left her house.

My husband came home furious but I was ready. He slammed the door of the living room, screaming “Where is that woman?” he was shocked to find me on the floor, shaking like a hen under the rain. He stopped in his tracks, kneeling by me and touching me all over, asking me what was wrong with me. I mumbled something incoherent, as he lifted me from the ground, and took me into my room. He sat by me for about an hour, after giving me some medicine from my drawer, then I pleaded with him to go and have his supper, which was already on the dining table.

Two hours later, I quietly removed his hands from my body, while snored softly on my bed. Then I got off the bed, and made him more comfortable. It was time.
I walked towards her house, making sure none of her neighbours were watching. I had gotten off the bus I entered two streets away. I carried a bag that seemed heavier than it had been initially. I tried the door handle, and it was open. I entered a lavish sitting room. Too lavish for a single girl.

“Baby you are late” she called from somewhere I assumed was the kitchen. I walked towards her voice. She turned around, from the counter top she was cleaning.
“What are you doing here?” she asked me in shock. I smiled, and walked towards her. I pressed the cloth to her mouth, just as she made to scream. She slumped like a rag doll. Fifteen minutes later, I splashed some water on her face, causing her to jerk into consciousness. I had tied her to a chair from her dining. Her mouth was gagged, and she widened her eyes, wondering what was going on.

“I gave you a choice…..this is your choice” I took my eight inches knife, and drew a line across her face from cheek to cheek. Blood spilled out slowly. I smiled, delighting in the feel of the blood on my palm, a feeling I have yearned for for so long. She struggled, in evident pain. I was just getting started.

I had so much fun, carving her up and scaring her near perfect body. For every insult she had given to me earlier that day, I gave her a slash. When I ran out of insults, I gave her extra slashes because there were still some mark free spaces on her skin. She pleaded with her eyes, crying and mumbling. I paid no heed. I had a mission.


It was over too soon, as she had a small frame. Then I began connecting the marks, with deep gashes. She tried toppling herself off the chair, but I am yet to see anyone who can loosen my knots save my teacher of course. I thought of Ibi-orubo, wondering what she would say if she knew what I was doing at that very moment. She had warned me to be careful, to control my urges, but she had not known that my husband would have a mistress had she? I removed her from my mind, concentrating on the task at hand.

When I got tired of her, I finished it with a stab on her chest. I would have loved to go for her jugular, and feel the warmth of her blood on my face, but I didn’t need blood spewing all over the living room. She jerked around a bit like they always do, and then became still. I call it the final rumba.

I meticulously carved her up piece by piece, putting her into my bag, after wrapping each piece with foil, to hold in what blood there was. It took me an hour, and an extra hour to clean the house. Then I picked up my bag, putting her mobile phone into the bag with her parts and walked out of the house. I walked for two streets, before hailing and boarding a bus. One thing I love about Lagos, the city never sleeps. Not so good for my hobby, but good enough to get lost in, and become anonymous if need be.

The next morning, I opened my eyes, to see my husband staring at me.

“How do you feel?” he asked, putting a hand to my temple.

“Much better” I replied.

That was two months ago, and I am back to being a bored house wife. Some days I wish my husband would get himself another willing mistress, just to get the thrill for the kill I knew I would have. But so far, he has disappointed me. We even share a room these days. He is actively trying to get me a baby, he thinks that would make my life less boring, whenever I complain.

He is nursing the pain of a heart break secretly, Clara absconded with another man, great story don't you think? Spread courtesy Marima the grapevine. I know I would get another opportunity to enjoy the thrill, so I await.
I know it won’t take so long, I know it is bound to happen sooner more than later.

I await the thrill.

I anticipate the kill.

But for now, I am just the bored Lagos housewife.






              THE END









LIFE IS A CHOICE MY FRIENDS
SO CHOOSE WISELY
ENOUGH SAID