All posts by : Juliet Nnamani Ogonna

You’ve seen pictures of people wearing short skimpy dresses or other interestingly revealing outfits. Some of them you admired…”trendy and sexy”. You even wished you could get some of these “hot”dresses for yourself…Jean bum shorts, crop tops and some trendy heels to go with it. But you know your mother would freak out because you’re just a teenage girl in secondary school. You just can’t wait to get into the university and experience freedom.

One afternoon, you sat with your brothers watching music videos. Your brothers were thrilled at the girls in the videos. Some of them wore just panties and bras, shaking their anatomy vigorously, which appealed to your brothers and disgusted you. You wanted to tune to another channel but they wouldn’t let you. So you watched it all. This continued for months until you found yourself picking your favorite female dancers in the music videos with your brothers. At the confines of your room, you unconsciously imitate these music video dancers while singing the songs.

You tossed and turned on your bed at night. Sleep seemed to elude you. Scurrying out of bed, you went to the sitting room.

“I can watch what I please now”, you said to yourself.

You tuned to a drama channel and the first picture that kissed your face was a man and woman making out. It was past water-shed time, the stations were free to air “adult” dramas. Dazed, you watched the man undo the straps of the lady’s shirt. Common sense told you to change the channel but you held unto the remote.

“Everyone’s asleep”, you muttered to yourself.

“No one will see me”, you reassured yourself as your insides played the devil. You knew your mother would bury you if she found you watching that yet you continued.

The woman had become naked, the man feeling her softness while she undid his shirt. Just then you heard a sound and quickly turned off the TV.

You ran into your room, laid starring at the ceiling relieving all you had seen.

You woke up the next morning feeling guilty. As you knelt down to pray, you saw the pictures in your head. You knew devil was feasting on you. Then you shot your eyes tighter than usual and with clung palms you sobbed.

“Forgive me Lord for I have sinned with my sight and in my thoughts”, you prayed.

At the confessionary, the priest rebuked you.

“Jesus said in the bible that whosoever looks on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her in his heart”. The priest was inflaming your already guilty conscience.

“Such dramas will only fill your imaginations and thoughts with lust”.

“Besides”, he added, “such images stick to your head if you persist on seeing them. You must stop to prevent yourself from becoming a slave to pornography. Be careful about the things you feed your mind and spirit with. Desist from looking at such images my child. They can only destroy you”, the priest reprimanded.

As you said prayers for penance, you added your own making promises to God.

Three years passed and you were good. You were free from all such thoughts. Then you gained admission into the university. A better part of you told to avoid the freshers night but your roommates convinced to go.

“It’ll be fun”, they said.

They condemned all your clothes as inappropriate. One offered you a crop top! Another a bum short.

“No”, you said to them.

” we know you’re a Christian, we all are. Holier than thou attitude won’t get you to heaven. Besides, it’s just a school party. No one is saying you should do something wrong. God has blessed you with this lovely legs and great hips, you should flaunt it and not hide it. Let people appreciate what God has given you”, one of them said.

You stood your ground. After much persuasion, you settled for the white immaculate satin crop top with a flowered high-waist-knee-length skirt. Your tommy wasn’t exactly showing…just a little. They helped you with your makeup, turning you into a goddess with costumes…beed, bangles, even ankle chain. You wore a matching 4inches high heeled comfortable shoes. You felt simply great!

As you walked to the venue, it came back to you. A similar crop top of a dancer in the music video!

You received a lot of compliments about your beauty and dressing. You were in the moon. You nodded to the beats though you won’t dance. You turned down most dance offers. You won’t be swayed.

Then you saw him. Tall, dark and handsome. You noticed his white shirt on peach pant trouser and black Blazers. He was coming your way, your heart skipped a beat. You flushed. His haircut and beards appealed to you. Every other thing seemed none existent.

He offered you his hands for a dance and you took it gladly. All the dance steps in the music videos came rushing through your mind. You did the moves. By the time you got back, you had a boyfriend.

Pleasing him became your priorities. You sent texts, called and cooked for him but he wanted more. More! More that you can’t give. More that you shouldn’t give.

“I could lose him”, you confided in a friend.

“One way to keep him is not just to give him what he wants but to give it to him in a way he won’t forget”, she told you.

“How?” You asked. You became interested.

“Many guys have porn videos in their phones or laptops, watch what he has and you’ll know what he cherishes the most”.

So you did as you were told. You even copied it. At first it was disgusting but you continued. Gradually, it made you horny. Before long you were ready to get to cloud 9 with him…your boyfriend. You plotted scenes in your mind and even initiated it. Then you were reborn. A new you. Totally sold, totally gone! You’ve eaten the forbidden fruit. And from that day everything changed.

Your dressing, your carriage, even your views. Pornography had become a part of you. You were drifting away. Prayers were becoming difficult to say. You don’t feel right in the house of God anymore so you’d rather not go. Your studies felt the turn too. The semester result showed you weren’t the last. Yes many did better than you but you also performed better than some others. Home felt like prison yard. You had become your mother’s enemy. Everything she said got you upset. Your peace had gone. You’d rather stay in the hostel to breadth some air than at home where your every move made you an outcast. And deeper and deeper you plunged into darkness. Your soul was lost.

You sat out one evening wondering how you got to this spot, when you lost your direction. Then it struck you! The words of the priest.

“…such images stick to your head if you persist on seeing them. You must stop to prevent yourself from becoming a slave to pornography.”

Yes, watching pornography was the root. You had the videos in your phone and laptop. Most of your movie collections had raw sex scenes. Naked motion pictures had become part of your daily life. The same reason many guys can’t stay without a girl. The same reason many lost the direction of their lives.

You walked into the church. It was your first time in six months. You knelt down in tears lacking words to say. You starred at the open hands of the statue of mother Mary and felt ashamed.

“Save me”, you said.

You poured more tears. You had lost some things you’d never recover…your virginity, your innocence, the better result you’d have gotten in the past semester. If only you hadn’t forgotten the admonition of the priest. Somewhere in your heart you knew it wasn’t too late to make a turn from this path. What if you had gotten pregnant or some deadly disease? What if you continued till you can’t stay without a man nor stay faithful to one? Thanks to God, you didn’t.

Now you can be born again. Another new life, a better one. You’ve found peace.

You’ve come home.

He hastened. He had the pride of a peacock. His connection with the government made him feel like the world was at his feet. He used that to get all the attention in class. Girls were but a piece of clothing he’d do well to change at intervals. But this one had resisted him. She was a foreigner. She knew nothing about him nor the position his father held and if she did, she hadn’t been subdued by it.

He continued his quest, he knew his way with clothes so they were seconds before he got them off her. He would have gotten down to the business of the moment but her breasts were so inviting. Not so big, full. He helped himself with his hand on one and with his mouth on the other. Then he tasted her lips, little and warm. He let his hand run through her skin. He’d never been with a black. He didn’t fancy them. To him, they were dirty, uncircumcised, and much less, humans who lived off other people. She was therefore his first.

He continued his sojourn. He had no time. His parents would be home at any moment. He wasn’t sure they would appreciate the presence of this dark reflection in their home. He’d never seen anyone from that category visit their home before. Yet he found himself admiring this skin. Smooth, ebony, slippery like an oily surface. He took her. Filled her with himself. Savored the moment. Then it ended, too quickly. The sensation was different so he couldn’t last any longer as he gave in to the bliss.

He must tidy her up now. No one must know. He wasn’t her first so she shouldn’t know. She was still sleeping soundly. He checked his wristwatch. She should be up now. He had only added a little to her drink. She wasn’t supposed to sleep so long. He waited. He was running out of patience. If she wasn’t so daring, so bold, and always opposing him, he thought. If they weren’t placed in the same group, if she wasn’t so curved and with that smile, he wouldn’t have feasted on her. Not that curves were ever his thing, there was just something about her. He wouldn’t admit he was attracted to…a black.

She opened her eyes. She knew that instant as she looked around the room. She was calm and didn’t utter a word. She stared at him, deep into his eyes. He must have thought her a fool but she would show him how much of a fool she really was. He must have planned this day carefully. She would pay him back in his coin. She would show him the venom of a woman, of a black woman. It had become a game, he had made his move it was time for hers but like tiger, she would study her prey and then attack.

She picked up her bag and smiled again as she walked away while he watched heartily. All had gone as he planned. If only he knew the tale of the eagle, chicks, and duckling, he’d know why the eagle feared the silent duck and why he ignored the wailing hen.

The game had really begun, and you should learn about it

As I look unto my night sky pals,
I feel the gloom in your heart
Soaking it all up
With your might and body
Wishing to be anywhere but there
60 minutes seem 60 hours
And you stretch and bend backwards
Oh, your body so aches
You look up the sky wondering
How much longer will I do this
You try to crack up jokes
And play tomorrow in your head
How lovely it will certainly be
If only you stick on
You finished it with me
The flowers and wonderful parks
The springs and falls and cruise
The heart of the sea you reach for
Pearls to pour at my feet
Because you wish to see me hearty
To bring the world at my door
Your dreams, the ladder you wish to climb
Oh my king,
I know and feel it all
So my tears pour for you
At your pains and labour
At your zeal and sweat
There is no stopping you
I wish to tread that zone with you
Join my hands with yours and start up
But I have some war to wage
The very reason I still breath
I do not know where our ship would lie
As I stretch to burn a trail
I hope I’d find you
That sky or land, our hearts will beat
I hope the purity of the glow in you
Will lighten the tunnel and never go dark
That amidst this storm, our love will win
I pray thee remember,
Your acts and lips said all
And I bought every piece of it
So despite what I relay,
I know the truth, the sincerity in you
Never forget, I laughed because of you
In love we glow

I only wished to satisfy the hunger for adventure that I’ve had for years. All my savings could provide me was a few days trip to Gold Coast. It was not Europe or America as I would have preferred but at least it was beyond the chores of the my country. As usual, I dragged my sister and the story of my very first adventure began.

Caspar guest house provided the peaceful abode we desired. Everything looked beautiful as I had imagined it would. A tour around the guest house would never give us a story to tell about the country. Not that we were hoping for particular events, but some sort of proof to communicate that we breathed the air of that state…something different from our native Land.

That fateful evening, we strolled down the road, busied our mouths as we compared things we saw. I stopped to make gesticulations of a couple I had seen, waddling gaily and feeling nothing but joy. I had no care at that time, none in the world. I couldn’t think more than savor the moment, who would. It was my first time outside my country, so the reason for the sense of satisfaction and happiness. Two cars pulled up just before us. I liked their brands. I took time to stare in admiration. Three guys came out of it. One from the first and two from the last. I was too engrossed in trying to figure out the model of the cars that I didn’t notice them approaching us or maybe I did notice but my brain didn’t process that information then. What would I have done? Would I have pulled my sister into a race away from the strangers whose intentions i didn’t even know or would I have stayed to make friends with the Ghanaian men? If they were anything like Nigerian men, we would appeal to their masculine fantasies and they would make our stay great. My sister tapped me twice. Just then they reached us. I simply composed myself, stretched out my hand to say hello to the first strangers we’d be meeting in our evening walk. The men ignored my offer, lifted me off my feet and into the second car. Everything happened so fast. I was dazed. My sister wasn’t taken. Two of the men sat each beside me. I needed to think. This was no longer a gesture or a pleasant meeting, I was being kidnapped. The car had pulled out before I recovered enough to react.

“Please, what do you want from me”, I said as I jerked my hands off their grip.
“It will be better if you cooperate with us and avoid drama”, the man by my left replied.
“But where in God’s name are you taking me to”? My question was met with silence. I knew then I was in for a big drama. I know I wanted adventure, I never imagined something like this. I quickly surveyed my abductors. I needed to estimate how dangerous they could possibly be. Besides, if I must have a game plan, I must understand the game, my opponents and the rules.

I starred from the driver to the two men beside me…all dark looking men, handsome too. I was impressed. I remembered a common saying amongst us (my siblings and I) when we were much younger, “if I have to be hit by a car, then it must be the kings ride”. I smiled to myself. I wasn’t sure my abductors noticed. The effect was, I became calm. I knew I wasn’t Agbani Darego, the Nigerian miss world, I was certainly a good piece to look at. With a height about 5ft9, I could pride myself as a tall girl. My chocolate skin and oblong face suited perfectly on my slim body. That evening, I was in white shorts, sky blue flowered sleeveless top and a pair of silver coloured sandals. My legs were long and straight…”good African legs”, someone once complemented me. I wanted to flaunt it that evening. I had no bag or purse with me. My sister had so my basics were with her. My hair was neatly packed behind to give me a perfect young look. My dropping earrings complemented the style. I wore very light make-up. My look gave me some confidence. I turned again to stare at the men. They didn’t look harmful. They were all smartly dressed…gorgeously too. It doesn’t change the fact that they just abducted me, a complete stranger. There must be a reason, I thought. Patience would deliver it to me. I didn’t utter a word anymore nor fight them neither did I pray.

After what seemed like a 15 minutes drive, we arrived at a destination. I was dragged out of the car and into a lovely building. Again, I didn’t say a thing. I was forced to sit in a room. Three minutes provided the answer to my unvoiced questions.

“Asantewa you think you can hide from me”, a new guy said as he entered into the room.
“Maybe there’s a mistake somewhere sir, I am not Asantewa”, I replied.
He chuckled, obviously not believing me. He ranted furiously of all the atrocities I, or rather, Asantewa committed against him. He accused me…she of absconding with his 7,000 pounds. I tried fruitlessly to explain that I wasn’t Asantewa. He wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say. He was drinking as he spoke.
Hmm, I began to shiver when he shattered his glass. The fury in his eyes could burn down a building. Did I mention that I was already rid of the lustful thoughts I had earlier. I couldn’t move. I wasn’t tied, at least not yet. The presence of four men in the room was enough to confine every part of me to a stable spot. I couldn’t even protest anymore. He punched the door severally, I was thankful it was the door not me. I gathered every ounce of strength left in me to stand. A grave mistake on my part and the reason for this story…my night mare.

He pounced on me almost immediately, bringing me down on the bed, ripped my clothes and bruised all my internal organs, thrusting forcefully with fury. I don’t know what was more painful. Was it the fact that he sexually brutalised me or the fact that he did so at the amusement of his friends. Was it the way he sobered up after few minutes and wouldn’t even look at me again as he asked his friends to take me away or was it the fact that they took me away in torn clothes almost naked? Did I cry? How could I. Yea, I screamed severally pleading while he cursed as he screwed me but I didn’t cry. I couldn’t cry. Even as I was dragged away, I couldn’t cry. I was lost. I couldn’t feel me. You know that moment when you are not even sure you are alive…transfixed. They dumped me where they picked me, close to the guest house. I couldn’t stand on my feet so I slumped and woke up in the hospital 38hours later. I still couldn’t alter a word. My brain failed me. It couldn’t analyse what happened or initiate the next line of action. Life seemed still except for the drama of events I saw each time my eyes closed. A steady movie.

My sister had reported to the nearest police station. She was also able to memorise the number of the vehicle I was bundled into. The owner was tracked down and my abductors apprehended. Yet I was not avenged. My oppressor was royalty. His family’s franchisement showed their connection with the government. The police apologised to me on his behalf. According to them, he produced evidence of things I did and pictures to back them up. My sister also produced my international passport and school identity card to prove that I was not Asantewa. It was too difficult for the police to swallow. The picture of Asantewa revealed me. Ghana denied me of justice. The first tear since the incident came down my checks during my flight back to Nigeria as the words “Ghana denied me justice because of a royal prince, Prince Charles” formed in my head. Will I fight? I lacked the zeal. Besides, how? If I was the daughter of a prominent Nigerian, maybe Prince Charles would have been brought to book. All I did before leaving was drop a note with the police for him.

“You stepped on me with your might and ignorance,
The dust you raised shall shut your sight and furtherance.
Your peace is gone away and joy will remain far.
Your arms are tied with the stroke of hurt of the innocent.
Wallow in torment within and out as you resolve the mystery of my face you see in a foreign land”.

Home didn’t lighten me. I had gone from cool to drool. I coiled into my shell and the part of me I didn’t know existed came alive. I began to detest being in the midst of people. As much as I could, I stayed alone. I wouldn’t discuss the event or have a normal chat. My mother employed the services of a counsellor. School would resume in two weeks. I was psychologically unbalanced. I wrote the words I left for Prince Charles countless times in my journal. I heard the name Asantewa severally in my head. The psychotherapy didn’t bring me out of my new shell neither did it restore my status as the family chatterbox. At least it reminded me that I still existed on earth though I wasn’t sure about life. It didn’t stop me from writing the words on the note I left with the Police nor erase the name Asantewa from my memory.

Four weeks after school began, I had visitors. I was in the class room alone in my thoughts as was current with my new trend. When I felt up to it, I walked into the Pavilion in my department. Lo, there stood two men talking to some girls. They recognised me as soon as I entered, I did too.
“Yaaaaaaaaaaaaah”, I screamed and fainted.

I woke up at the school’s clinic hours later. My sister and mom were by me. My sister had recognised my visitors and alerted the police. I learnt later that my visitor, Prince Charles and his friend had been searching for me. My note had disturbed the prince so much that he hired a detective to solve the mystery behind the facts he knew and my claims…the seemingly impossible twist to his clear cut truth. Off course, the data gotten from my school proved my visibility and connection to the citadel of learning. There was also the data from the airport, assenting to my claims of arrival at the foreign land. Though Asentewa was yet to be found, her place of birth, family and name was confirmed of Ghana. Prince Charles could hardly live on with his curiosity that came with the findings. So he took the trip to Nigeria, to the school, to my department. It is true the private investigator reported his confirmation of my dwelling place, the prince took his leap to my secondary location. Like most royalties in the world, his apprehension didn’t last more than the minutes of his interrogation. He surfaced at the school clinic seeking audience fruitlessly. Days rolled by, precisely five days before he emptied his soul. I granted him audience or rather summoned up courage to put up with his presence. As anyone would think, he was full of apologies. His bewilderment was evident in his incoherent speech when I gave him a reply.

“The heavens has granted an unceasing story,
A tree has been planted.
Whether or not it grows or dies,
Heaven and earth shall have its fill”.

He got the tale in the riddle I told him, I was pregnant. His expression became bleak. The words that followed didn’t make any sense except that he pleaded that I allow the child live. I gave him no reply. I couldn’t say yes or no at that moment. How could I consent to having a child for my ‘dreaded monster’? Why would I go through stress, pains and sacrifices for him? Yes, the child committed no crime but academic work don’t go easy with a child. I walked away from him.

My story had become a breaking news at the department. Some students thought me pitiful, others thought me lucky. Funny, some even thought I was undeserving to carry the child of such a handsome, rich Ghanaian prince. Stories sprouted. One of the stories that sprang up had it that I smartly seduced the prince and made it look like I was raped. None of them bothered me as much as the fruit inside me. I knew what religion says about my condition, I also believed that God is just.

Prince Charles fell back to my mother. He accepted his crimes and apologised. He knew no explanations would justify his actions. My mother forgave him, I did too. Whether from my heart or not, I did say he was forgiven. The monster turned into an angel because like Oliver Twist, he wanted more. The traditions in most part of Africa are similar after all. A royal child shouldn’t be born out of wedlock. He spent the next two months building a relationship with the cold me. My coldness towards him did not deter his pursuit. He turned me into the envy of all. He did what most ladies admired…became my chauffeur and showered me with presents. No matter what I did or said to him, he kept his cool. My heart turned towards him when I noticed the attention he drew in school. I grew jealous of girls who came close to him with the slightest excuse. Therefore, I began to look at the man who would inevitably, be a father to my child and possibly a husband to me.

Formalities were met and the wedding fixed. Traditions were fulfilled in Nigeria and Ghana as well. The ceremonies drowned his desperation to find Asantewa. However, at the reception, after the blessings in the church, I had a special visitor. Everyone in the hall became quiet as Asantewa entered. I was surprise too. She looked every inch like me. She walked up to me, no one stopped her neither did I.
“You must be Ifeatu, the Nigerian”, Asantewa greeted as she gave me a handshake. She looked forlorn, sick.

“We indeed look alike. I am sorry for everything you went through. I hope this offers the explanations you may require”, she said as she handed me her diary.
“Life is finishing for me. I have paid my dues”, she continued. “I hope you find joy with my face you share. I’ll go heartily because another me is given to Ghana today. If you can, look kindly upon those I shall leave behind. If it can be so, I will protect you from where I will be”…and she left.

I sat down in tears on her sick bed four days later. I had read her diary. I understood why she did the things she did, the money she took and the reason for her disappearance. Her heart was full of love and her life sacrificial. She had donated one of her kidneys to save a life when the remaining one became vegetable. I wanted to save her, I got tested. Though we were the same physically, our internal organs deferred. She died smiling in my arms while I wept.

“Heaven made one, two in different lands.
With different bloods we lived in the same body
Is there another me in yet another land?
My heart will remember as I lived
How I came to be of a different land
Was it the creator’s script?
Or do all have their faces in another land?
May the world learn the story
Of my face in a foreign land”.

I’d heard the words before.
“Just stay with us and we will make your life beautiful”.
Voices echoing. The music sounded familiar also. Was I hallucinating or was the dancing melody really coming from the Middle of the river in broad day light? The voices too. Watching the torrents on the river, fear gripped me. I hadn’t gone very far from the banks, but the depth could take double of my height, I’d wager. Everything in me wanted to scream, to turn back. I felt like the end was near. The boat was being paddled by a smallish haggard looking skinny lad. I didn’t have a problem with that when we started. The lad should know how to do his thing. Fear had drowned my enthusiasm. My lips couldn’t move, so didn’t say a thing to ease my sorrow nor retrace my steps. And we plunged further and further. It was the first time I decided to cross the River Niger by boat.

Maybe the story of the River Niger bridge I recalled brought everything alive. My Aunty had told us the story as a moonlight tale when we were just old enough to bath our stomach, how the construction work of the Niger bridge collapsed severally because the river goddess wouldn’t allow it. And each time, lives were lost. The great Nnamdi Azikiwe had a dialogue with the goddess without success. He requested and challenged the goddess to a game which paid off eventually.

“If you are so powerful, turn into a fly and enter this bottle and I will cease to bother you”, the hero of our tribe said.

The goddess was said to have turned into a house fly and flown into a bottle as Azikiwe stipulated. He quickly covered the bottle with the cock and the goddess remained there never to come out. So led to the completion of the Niger bridge. Usually I would laugh when I remember this funny heroic myth. I knew the story had never been authenticated neither did I believe it could stand as true. Though it tallies with the common tale of sacrifices to rivers before erection of bridge.

Besides the great legend Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe lived till my days. His prowess was famous in the years gone by. His contribution to the independence and unity of the country cannot be over emphasised and the building of river Niger is attributed to him as one of his achievements. This might be the smoke behind the fire of this seemingly impossible myth. The voices and the music brought ashore thoughts of a river presence. I was visibly shaking. Too scared to move my hands or feet. It wasn’t time to regret my adventurous decision to cross the Niger by boat rather of survival. I wanted to experience a glorious feel. Nothing prepared me for horror. I wish I could awake from the slumber and set it all aside like a night mare.

There had been previous ordeals too. The memory of all came rushing through my mind. Different dreams of drowning in the river and a near real experience that left me with rippling effects months after. I was seven when I went to a beautiful house under the river with a friend. I couldn’t remember how we got there. She was a unique school friend who was capable of knitting with her eyes closed. Reserved, calm and charming. A thin, dark skinned, oblong faced beauty queen whose peculiarities thrilled me. I shared my snacks with her regularly to stay close. Naturally, we (classmates) were drawn to her for her distinctive abilities we didn’t have. She wasn’t the smartest kid in class but she had a seemingly impossible touch to things that made her simply unique. We were in our fourth level in primary school then.

The amazing building was really colorful. The gist of how we suddenly got into the building, I’d never known. There were other girls of different sizes and shapes, all wearing a combination of red and black swede gown in the house. Fair and dark slender figures.

“Come on in, let’s join the dance”, my friend Calista said to me as I stood at the door way to a hall, moping, trying to figure it all out. I wasn’t a good dancer, much less the type they danced. They took Tango steps though they shook their bodies vigorously each time the beat changed.
Right there, I thought, “how long has it been since I said goodnight to my parents and laid on my bed?”
The dance ended with laughter, thunderous laughter. Introductions were made and I was introduced by my friend.
“This seems real”, I muttered to myself.
“No, it’s a dream”,I reassured myself.
“Sadness has taken over you my child. No one seems to know your cries and yearnings. We met you when you were a baby but you followed church people. Those people that will never care for you. They’ll keep compounding your problems. You have a great star and it will shine brighter from here. We will give you all you want”, the lady with the crown said to me.
“Just stay with us and we will make your life beautiful”, she added.
“Just stay with us and we will make your life beautiful”, the rest echoed.
Kolanuts were passed round as we all gathered in a circular form. Everyone collected theirs and ate gleefully. I held mine. I had always ran on parallel lines with anything that has a bitter taste. A bowl was passed round. Everyone drank from it before it got to me. I held it firmly. It looked like blood.
“Jeez”, I said, barely audibly.
“Go ahead and drink, it’s tasty”, Calista assured me.
At that moment, I saw my rosary hanging in front of me. I didn’t know how it got there. I remembered hanging it by my bedside before I laid down to sleep.
Then I felt a splash of water on me.
“Jesus!”, I screamed and woke up. Mommy had been the one sprinkling holy water (blessed in church) on me. It must have been a dream I concluded. I had rashes the next morning and was sick the months that followed.

I thought about this incidents for many years. Whatever happened then remained a mystery. Yes there are stories of initiation of people to cultic worlds via edibles.
Could that be the reason behind my near real experience? I’d never know.
Then I heard the voices again! It drew me out of the memory lane. The boat was still rowing. The voices sounded closer. We were getting to the middle of the river, between Anambra and Delta state. The music had become louder. The lad seemed to be enjoying himself.
“What is happening to me? Will I make it through?” I thought.
My head was aching seriously. A little further, I felt a sudden presence. Goose bumps covered me. I shut my eyes. I could hear the lad chanting something I didn’t understand.
“Let us help you drown your sorrows and your star will shine forth”, I heard in whisper.
I couldn’t work my eyes to open lest I see a figure of the presence I feel. I felt a whirlwind around me and blanked out.
When I opened my eyes, I was at the bank of the river with a crowd around me but the river presence had gone.
I knew right then that I’ll never take that path again. My ideas of adventure with boats died that day. For river Niger, for any other river.
Rivers and water bodies had always been my fondest places. They have a natural feel that gladdens my heart. A safe distance at the bank of a river will be all I can handle from now.
My was body filled with sand, I figured I had been dragged out of the boat to the position I was. The look of relief most people in the crowd wore told me they thought I was dead. I simply retrieved my writing pad from my bag and wrote:
The river presence that so seeks me out,
What desire burns in you for me?
If in me so dwells a star,
The sky and earth shall know the light
Why have stolen the peace of the river
The beauty that should be for all
You sap joy in those you can hewn
And flood yourself with their pains
A baby, I was above you
An adult, my shoes you can’t touch
To steal the star in me you came,
But like in all, you’re no more a spider
Cause you’re only a river presenceI’d heard the words before.
“Just stay with us and we will make your life beautiful”.

Voices echoing. The music sounded familiar also. Was I hallucinating or was the dancing melody really coming from the Middle of the river in broad day light? The voices too. Watching the torrents on the river, fear gripped me. I hadn’t gone very far from the banks, but the depth could take double of my height, I’d wager. Everything in me wanted to scream, to turn back. I felt like the end was near. The boat was being paddled by a smallish haggard looking skinny lad. I didn’t have a problem with that when we started. The lad should know how to do his thing. Fear had drowned my enthusiasm. My lips couldn’t move, so didn’t say a thing to ease my sorrow nor retrace my steps. And we plunged further and further. It was the first time I decided to cross the River Niger by boat.

Maybe the story of the River Niger bridge I recalled brought everything alive. My Aunty had told us the story as a moonlight tale when we were just old enough to bath our stomach, how the construction work of the Niger bridge collapsed severally because the river goddess wouldn’t allow it. And each time, lives were lost. The great Nnamdi Azikiwe had a dialogue with the goddess without success. He requested and challenged the goddess to a game which paid off eventually.

“If you are so powerful, turn into a fly and enter this bottle and I will cease to bother you”, the hero of our tribe said.

The goddess was said to have turned into a house fly and flown into a bottle as Azikiwe stipulated. He quickly covered the bottle with the cock and the goddess remained there never to come out. So led to the completion of the Niger bridge.

Usually I would laugh when I remember this funny heroic myth. I knew the story had never been authenticated neither did I believe it could stand as true. Though it tallies with the common tale of sacrifices to rivers before erection of bridge.

Besides the great legend Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe lived till my days. His prowess was famous in the years gone by. His contribution to the independence and unity of the country cannot be over emphasised and the building of river Niger is attributed to him as one of his achievements. This might be the smoke behind the fire of this seemingly impossible myth.

The voices and the music brought ashore thoughts of a river presence. I was visibly shaking. Too scared to move my hands or feet. It wasn’t time to regret my adventurous decision to cross the Niger by boat rather of survival. I wanted to experience a glorious feel. Nothing prepared me for horror. I wish I could awake from the slumber and set it all aside like a night mare.

There had been previous ordeals too. The memory of all came rushing through my mind. Different dreams of drowning in the river and a near real experience that left me with rippling effects months after. I was seven when I went to a beautiful house under the river with a friend. I couldn’t remember how we got there. She was a unique school friend who was capable of knitting with her eyes closed. Reserved, calm and charming. A thin, dark skinned, oblong faced beauty queen whose peculiarities thrilled me. I shared my snacks with her regularly to stay close. Naturally, we (classmates) were drawn to her for her distinctive abilities we didn’t have. She wasn’t the smartest kid in class but she had a seemingly impossible touch to things that made her simply unique. We were in our fourth level in primary school then.

The amazing building was really colorful. The gist of how we suddenly got into the building, I’d never known. There were other girls of different sizes and shapes, all wearing a combination of red and black swede gown in the house. Fair and dark slender figures.

“Come on in, let’s join the dance”, my friend Calista said to me as I stood at the door way to a hall, moping, trying to figure it all out. I wasn’t a good dancer, much less the type they danced. They took Tango steps though they shook their bodies vigorously each time the beat changed.
Right there, I thought, “how long has it been since I said goodnight to my parents and laid on my bed?”
The dance ended with laughter, thunderous laughter. Introductions were made and I was introduced by my friend.

“This seems real”, I muttered to myself.
“No, it’s a dream”,I reassured myself.

“Sadness has taken over you my child. No one seems to know your cries and yearnings. We met you when you were a baby but you followed church people. Those people that will never care for you. They’ll keep compounding your problems. You have a great star and it will shine brighter from here. We will give you all you want”, the lady with the crown said to me.

“Just stay with us and we will make your life beautiful”, she added.
“Just stay with us and we will make your life beautiful”, the rest echoed.

Kolanuts were passed round as we all gathered in a circular form. Everyone collected theirs and ate gleefully. I held mine. I had always ran on parallel lines with anything that has a bitter taste. A bowl was passed round. Everyone drank from it before it got to me. I held it firmly. It looked like blood.

“Jeez”, I said, barely audibly.
“Go ahead and drink, it’s tasty”, Calista assured me.

At that moment, I saw my rosary hanging in front of me. I didn’t know how it got there. I remembered hanging it by my bedside before I laid down to sleep.
Then I felt a splash of water on me.

“Jesus!”, I screamed and woke up. Mommy had been the one sprinkling holy water (blessed in church) on me. It must have been a dream I concluded. I had rashes the next morning and was sick the months that followed.

I thought about this incidents for many years. Whatever happened then remained a mystery. Yes there are stories of initiation of people to cultic worlds via edibles.

Could that be the reason behind my near real experience? I’d never know.
Then I heard the voices again! It drew me out of the memory lane. The boat was still rowing. The voices sounded closer. We were getting to the middle of the river, between Anambra and Delta state. The music had become louder. The lad seemed to be enjoying himself.
“What is happening to me? Will I make it through?” I thought.
My head was aching seriously. A little further, I felt a sudden presence. Goose bumps covered me. I shut my eyes. I could hear the lad chanting something I didn’t understand.
“Let us help you drown your sorrows and your star will shine forth”, I heard in whisper.
I couldn’t work my eyes to open lest I see a figure of the presence I feel. I felt a whirlwind around me and blanked out.

When I opened my eyes, I was at the bank of the river with a crowd around me but the river presence had gone.

I knew right then that I’ll never take that path again. My ideas of adventure with boats died that day. For river Niger, for any other river.

Rivers and water bodies had always been my fondest places. They have a natural feel that gladdens my heart. A safe distance at the bank of a river will be all I can handle from now.
My was body filled with sand, I figured I had been dragged out of the boat to the position I was. The look of relief most people in the crowd wore told me they thought I was dead. I simply retrieved my writing pad from my bag and wrote:
The river presence that so seeks me out,
What desire burns in you for me?
If in me so dwells a star,
The sky and earth shall know the light
Why have stolen the peace of the river
The beauty that should be for all
You sap joy in those you can hewn
And flood yourself with their pains
A baby, I was above you
An adult, my shoes you can’t touch
To steal the star in me you came,
But like in all, you’re no more a spider
Cause you’re only a river presence

And I saw him again
Memories of the smiles came ashore
I was not dreaming
His voice, his face, his whole
Stood ringing in me and before me
In awe of everything good
It was very short
Few minutes of great laughter
My heart spoke volumes
Then it ached greatly
When I had to say goodbye
Then i knew I had a message
To tell of the wrongs in the rights
I knew I had to say like now,
How the sweet went sour
I counted the truths I didn’t tell
I counted the pictures I had shown
Then I knew it all had a root,
The less a person I saw in me
I didn’t think I could measure
In notes and properties, eyes could see
My father had no name known to the world
Nor things to amaze the heroes
How could I tell of the house I claimed
That it ceased to be ours six years ago,
How could I tell how sad I had been
That they dropped the pen I was yet to pick
I couldn’t tell of the shame,
How they ran and I crawled
But then I got the greatest shock
When he said there was no us
I died several times and rose
Though now am still weak in strength
My feet are shaky
My heart won’t obey
That’s why I still can’t say bye
As much as posterity says I should
I wish for a second chance
For now, his face’s my inspiration

“There’s nothing as sweet as a young succulent campus girl especially on a Friday night”, a married man once said. Whether he’s right or wrong, the decision is yours. When asked the reason for his declaration, he disclosed the seemingly general problems most married men encounter. First he talked about the issue of one woman. “Variety is the spice of life”, he said, “it is not easy to have sex with just one woman for the rest of your life”.

This is contrary to the general believe about monogamy. But then, this is Africa, and polygamy is allowed. One would think that any man who is not satisfied with one woman should simply marry another. The man went further to analyze what he called “a typical Nigerian wife”. According to him, most women once married, neglect themselves. Some get fatter, others tend to loose their sense of dressing and therefore appear less appealing. Some of them nag so much that they rub their homes of peace. These make men seek solitude in the hands of the “young succulent campus girls”.

Let’s say the men are justified, but does that change the immoralities and consequences that follow? The big question is, “why campus girls”? Nigerian Universities have become trade centers for the exchange of sexual pleasure for money and other goods. Campus girls are at their prime time. They are said to appear “inviting”. They know the latest trends in most things. When it comes to dancing, they do the moves. It is said that if you take a smart and trendy campus girl to a party, you’ll make your day. Not only will you feel proud, but you would have eased the weight on your shoulder at the end.

Campus girls are also said to know the latest sexual styles added to their young vibrant age, they give the best performance in bed. Attracting right? But think about this, if you have a daughter in the university who plays relaxation toy to other married men even those as old as you are, would you be glad? Why would girls sent to school to create a better future for themselves live such descending and immoral lives? Money, assets, fame, and fun. Some desire money because they truly lack and have deep family pitiful situations. But does that justify the act?

Others desire assets like apartments, holiday trips, cars, and beautiful things that tickle their fancy. The main thing is to belong. Some wish to acquire experience, others just enjoy the freedom they can only have in school. It can all be summed up as prostitution. The chain of campus girls and married men relationships has led to an alarming rate of prostitution. One could argue the involvement of single men. Well, those in that category could argue that they are simply trying to build relationships with the girls involved for a choice of life partner. Besides, it has been revealed that married men spend more on these girls than single men trying to build their future. The menace of prostitution requires a joint effort to reduce its mounting evils. Prostitution is the practice or occupation of engaging in sexual activity with someone for payment. Both the party paying and that being paid are guilty of the crime. The adage “an old woman never gets too old for a dance she is accustomed to” remains true with body pleasures. Body glands keep producing hormones. The men who troop into the campuses daily to satisfy their lusts and the girls who gladly make themselves available to revive the tissues of these men, who should be blamed?

If you think that the girls should be blamed, then do something to caution the campus girl closest to you. If you are a parent, bear in mind that the girl being defiled could be your daughter. If you are a married man and a member of this group, remember, as you defile another person’s daughter, yours could be a victim too. If you think the men are to be blamed and you are a wife, do something to maintain peace at home. Make your house a home. It is said that a house is made up of bricks and stones but a home is made up of people and love. Draw your man home. Make him realize that you are still hot, sexy, and more succulent than the campus girls. If you let your man loose, you will reap the fruits together.

If you are a campus girl, don’t you think you deserve to be more than a sex toy? The men can never pay enough for you to give your blood to revive their worn-out tissues. You have a future ahead of you, they have lived theirs and are out to ruin yours. Nothing lasts longer than it can. The more you have, the more you will desire and the less you appreciate. A little patience can get you where you want to be. Hard work still pays.

But if you think the parties are justified, then let the products of their actions justify your belief. Don’t forget, the pleasure at home satisfies only temporary. James Patterson’s four glass ball and one plastic ball teaches us that integrity, family, friendship, and health are glass balls, when dropped, would shatter forever while a job which is a rubber ball, will bounce back when it drops. Think family, think love, think health, think integrity, and think life before the pleasure home!

How do I tell you that my day started with the thought of my friend Emowarin who was leaving for the United Kingdom? How I had to hurry to the airport that evening to see him before his flight took off. I pushed through the crowd as my phone continued buzzing till I pushed the beauty I was yet to see.

How do I tell you that I lost my voice and with my mouth agape, I starred? That the next buzz of my phone revealed what I failed to accomplish. My friend boarded without the sight of me. The phone call distracted me and I lost the face that got me stuck on the spot.

How do I tell you that my mission became fresh as I went about in search of the face? How I lost my African woman pride to walk up to him as soon as my eyes rested on him again “Excuse me, sir, I am Grace. Please can I have your number, something tells me I will need it in future”, I rattled lest my breadth fails. Oh, he looked at me dazzled just as the man standing beside him did. I threw shame to the wind and obliged him when he indicated that he would rather have mine.
How do I tell of the days and nights of longing? How I waited upon the stars for his call. The hope that a wish upon a star do come true, subjected me to mosquito bites every evening. Maybe if I knew his name at least, I wouldn’t have sought inspiration desperately from my night sky pals or put my plea on paper.

“Oh stars I gave my wish,
Carry my plea to the king,
Draw unto me the radiant face,
The Prince that stole my peace.
Make him the king of my heart,
And may our story speak volumes,
Even in the midst of hundreds to come”; my sincere prayer.

How do I tell you that I vented my anger on an unknown caller one afternoon because the caller made a seemingly silly inquiry, “please who am I speaking with”? But before you pass your judgement, note that whoever it was, called me.

“How can you call someone you don’t know! ” I snapped. I should say it wasn’t entirely my fault as I was returning from a fruitless outing that afternoon when a motorist splashed muddy water all over me. I was remorseful in the evening when I sat out with the stars.

How do I tell of the shock that gripped me later when I returned the call? I apologized for being rude, introduced myself, and inquired about his name…his because the voice sounded masculine. His name said it all…Philip Johnson. Wow, a name true to the outstanding creature. I knew right then it was he. His image became fresh. He was slim, light-skinned, and adorned with black hair. He looked either white or half caste. He was dressed simply in slacks and a fitted white top that complimented his color. He was everything I imagined.

How do I describe the joy that enveloped me? It radiated in everything I did, everyone around me felt it. I celebrated for days and the story began. My Philip Johnson, My Phil!
How do I relate this story to you? But first, you need to know that I thanked the stars.

“Oh my shining armor,
You remain true to the hearts that hold you dear.
You’ve shown forth and brightened my heart
And now my dove has come to nest.
I see glory and wonder,
I see love blossom
We have planted together
The tendril we will attend
And my smile will gloat you more.”

How do I describe the days that followed and the calls that completed each day? How do I explain that three weeks turned into years or so it seemed for we covered facts about us relating daily on phone? No day seemed complete without a call and a narration of the day’s event. We connected as friends, dear friends, close friends, whatever, but not as lovers.

How do I narrate our first meeting as friends to you? Do I tell you how he helped me settle down at the restaurant, his gestures, and lovely smile throughout the course of our meal, or do I tell you of his appearance, his good dress sense, and peculiarity that got me starring at him most of the time? Would you rather I told you how we ended at the beach that evening, appreciating nature and trying to make sense of our world? Do I include how we played around in innocence or rather companionship and shared an instant bound words cannot express?

If your thoughts are filled with our kisses right now or our discussions of intimacy, it is just your imagination. We continued as bosom friends, true and sincere. I learned his story, how he lost the girl he loved, how he blamed himself for the accident that claimed her life, and why he should date another girl. The new girl wasn’t me. She was someone his father introduced to him four years ago during his first visit to Nigeria. His father passed on months ago so he decided to date her to keep his memory. Should I tell you that his mother was white and that he spent most of his life with her, that the advent of his father’s death brought him home to a country and company he knew so little about, and that Sandra, his new girl, the daughter of his father’s best friend, had been the one chosen by his late father to intimate him on the affairs of his legacy?

If you think I was jealous, well hmmm…at least I had become his best friend, his confidant.
How do I tell you about their great quarrel that ripped off his feelings and choices? Sandra didn’t accept his close affinity with me. She complained about our daily calls and did not tolerate his mentioning of my name in their discussions. She gave him a choice, she or I.
How do I tell you that I severed the wonderful relationship we had when he mentioned the option she gave him? I simply concluded for him and bolted away. I felt I couldn’t bear the pain should he choose to wash away our friendship for his relationship. I lost patience when he told me about it so I gave him no room to tell me his choice. Weeks passed by and rolled into months but our voices spoke in our hearts. Many nights I cried and mourned him. I spoke to my night sky pals about my broken feelings. I grew lean.

“It is better not to discover the taste of fish than to know and have no fish”.
How do I tell you of the fateful day? The day coincidence seemed like the language of angels or do I say the creator himself planned a reunion for a perfect ending. Fate, Angels, God, Telepathy, your choice, brought us together again at the banks of Transecular. Sometimes I feel it was the desire to be around nature to drown our sorrows. Don’t ask what sorrows, you should know. I felt hurt, he did too so we were compelled to crush our mountains of hurt.

“Don’t ever leave me like this again”, he said.

To make up for the breach in our tide, we took a little vacation. Hmmm…friends go on vacations too. How do I answer your unvoiced question? Why would I tell you where we stayed, or the number of rooms we used? How do I convince you that it was a friendly visit to the land of nature and love, the land couples on honeymoon nest? Don’t raise an eyebrow because even foreigners go there too. One of the most beautiful tourist centers in Nigeria, the Obudu Cattle Ranch. It was my first encounter with the splendor of the country’s renowned center of tourism. If you demand a tale of the beauty of the land, the feelings it illuminates, or possible activities there, improve the English language, take a trip down there or shut your eyes and wonder at the most fascinating place you’ve never been to.

How do I tell you that I got kidnapped or rather apprehended in the city of nature and beauty? I am not suggesting that the security was porous, how can I say that. We spent a few nights in a hotel almost at the boundary between the town and another. That memorable evening, we enjoyed our hide and seek game. Hey, hide and seek is not just the game of lovers but also of comfortable, trusted, and loyal great friends who hardly use the four-letter word that formed their bond. In my quest to be the heroine of the game, I discovered a lovely garden down the valley of my hiding place whether within boundaries or not, I couldn’t spare a thought. The love of nature overwhelmed me and whisked me away to the beauty that called. While I explored the garden, its beauty, and quiet, two scary-looking men found me and took me to their camp. Don’t quote me, but I think they were hoodlums that looted…(don’t know) and were traveling through bushes to escape with their loot. The garden was close to their camp and my chatter disrupted their peace. Yes, it was too early for my night pals to visit so I simply enjoyed the company of a butterfly. At least you won’t term me as crazy because I wasn’t speaking to myself! Moreover, these cool friends can listen without complaints.

How do I describe the fear that gripped me as dusk came, the staunch smell of the camp which was a combination of weed, urine, and alcohol, or the desperation I had, to make sense of their discussion? They discussed amongst themselves in a language strange to me. One thing was certain, they were dangerous. I thought of Phil. Would he find me soon? Would he think I could wander this far? How soon would he realize that I had gone from hiding to missing? I envisioned his face as he searched for me. He’d look seriously gorgeous. My faithful sky friends came out. They never abandon me. With my hands and feet bound, I chatted away with them. I told them of my love for my family. I told them the lies I told my parents to obtain the liberty for my journey with Phil. I told them of my love for Phil though I knew they knew. I talked about the possibility of loosing them all, everything and everyone. I talked about the pains they would feel. My mother will feel disappointed I lied to them but she will be swept away by the pains of my death to dwell on it. I talked about Phil, he will bear yet another guilt of loosing another person. How would he react should he recover my body lifeless? Muttering things helped me worry less. I muttered prayers too.

How do I narrate this ordeal to you? Which word will appropriate my feelings? I was dragged, further and further, through a bush path. My faithful friends stayed with me. We got to another thatched camp surrounded by bushes, a little bigger than the first. Fear drowned my chatter. My abductors left me outside the camp. I thought of snakes and all sought wild animals. The comfort my sky friends gave me waned. I cried and prayed. I was hungry. I surrendered to fate. I knew my plight will be death, or can it be any worse?

How do I tell you of my saving angel? The man whose name drowns sorrows in my heart and brings forth light. He should have been an investigator with the secret service force. When he realized I was missing, he alerted the necessary people and then went in search. He trailed my footsteps. In the middle of the night, while my abductors were asleep, he surfaced alone. He carried me away from the camp and then freed my hands and legs.

How do I tell you that we were caught halfway and a fight ensued? One of the abductors assigned to watch over me woke up and tracked us down. He had no gun on him just a knife. He stabbed my angel just before I hit him with a trunk.

How do I describe how I felt? Oh, how would you feel at the thought of loosing someone who truly loved you, who could go through challenges worse than a hurricane to give his life for you?
“I love you Grace, don’t ever forget that”. Those were the sweet words that came from the mouth of my saving angel. The first time he told me he loved me in words and more. I hugged him at my bosom and then helped him as we pushed through to the base. He didn’t die, the cut wasn’t deep enough. We made it back to the hotel, then to the hospital. He recovered and we became inseparable. Phil almost gave his life for me, that’s true love!

Oh, how do I tell you that Phil, Philip Johnson, my true love only exists in my head! That he lives only in the land of dreams. How do I tell you that the loneliness I felt brought the comforting illusions of Phil and his near-real accomplishments? My most fascinating Prince I never had. My legendary love story for generations that may never be told

I wish it was true. I leave the wish with my sky friends, the only real ones with me.