NKECHI
I sat uncomfortably on
the love seat in the family sitting room which was upstairs at the Opebi four
bedroom duplex which I shared with my husband Tony. I flipped through the
channels on the TV but couldn’t find anything that impressed me. I could not
tell why the evening news which always got me excited as It always gave me something
to talk about being a self acclaimed critic of everything, or the fashion
network which only made me all the more jealous of the figure of the size zero
models strutting they fatless flesh all over the place. Over the last 6months I
could not believe how my once model like figure which Shayo had once told me
could compete with the models on a Gucci runway at the New York fashion week
could turn out to become even worse than Iya Monsurat, the 120\kg stout lady who runs a buka down the road. If only she could
see me right now 9months into my first pregnancy she, would take back what she
said. I looked down at my tummy and the smile on my face was one of
reminiscence. I could remember how I used to play ‘mummy and daddy’ with Emeka
about 22years ago. How I would stuff my
tiny clothes under my tiny top sometimes using my younger brother’s plastic
football and use a wrapper to cover and hold it like a pregnant woman like I
had seen in the home videos I and my family had watched. I could still remember
how my mother would clean the tape and slot it into the VCR. I remember being
fascinated with the way it swallowed the cassette with groans like a huge wild
cat. “Emeka I think its time ooo. I think
its time for you child to come out oo” I would scream holding my waist while
Big headed Emeka would run down to help me into his makeshift car made of only
a flat wood which lay lifeless on the ground with empty bournvita tins as
chairs. He would keep saying “Ozuola Nwunyem. Ndo. Ebezina ozo.” (Its ok my dear wife. Sorry, don’t cry anymore). The car never moved though but to us
it did. To us we were on the highway making for the hospital in town. Emeka
just knew how to make the engine sound with his mouth “duvvvvwwwweeee, vvvwwweee, vrrrrrrroooooommmm” his hands swerving from left to right as he overtook the cars, commercial
motorcyclists popularly called okada, as well as commercial
buses. I could still remember my hands wrapped around his waist as he cursed
the okada people who got in our way. I felt loved, I felt secure, I felt I was
married. Emeka was my hero. I could still remember how he looked over his
shoulders with a smile telling me “its going to be a boy”…..
To be continued...
By Nado.
facebook.com/NadoWrites
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