At first, they didn’t want to tell me the resolutions of the elders of the two families. I noticed they were talking in their dialect secretly but I was hearing part of their discussions. My father sent me a heartbreaking text message. “Thank you for killing my wife”. When I read the text I wept bitterly. My father was right, I killed my mother with my foolishness. All this while, I couldn’t talk to my father because of the tragedy.
Eventually, I had to force Deji to tell me what the elders discussed.
1. They must bring my mother’s corpse home at their expense.
2. They will be responsible for her burial rites and expenses.
3. Deji must pay my full bride price and marry me.
4. Deji must come home to swear an oath never to leave or allow me suffer.
The first two conditions are not grievous but the last two are impossible. Deji is a pastor and he’s married. He can’t marry two wives neither will his faith ever allow him to go and swear an oath before an idol. I knew this was going to be a serious battle. All the four conditions must be met at the same time.
My mother was to spend one month in the morgue to enable Deji’s family prepare for a befitting burial for my mother. My fears grew everyday as the burial of my mother drew netheirr. Deji went back to Lagos, I guess to avoid suspension and to raise money for the burial and the marriage rites.
A week later, Deji was back to Kabba. We’ve really not be talking with Deji because I detest his presence. We only talk when there are pressing issues to discuss. My baby became sick for lack of attention and malnutrition. I hadn’t slept for three days because of accumulated stress. My head ached like migraine, my body became fragile for not eating. I forced myself to take a short nap at about midnight when I had a knock on my door. Who is that? I asked. It’s me, Deji responded behind the door. There was no need trying to shut him out because the doors of the rooms in their compound are all bad. Anyone could open it from outside. He pushed the door open and found his way into my room.
“How are you Mercy?”, he greeted. I didn’t utter a word, nor behaved as if any one was around. He sat by the bed and played with my baby for about ten minutes and tapped me by my shoulder. The hands that once turned me on became like a thorn on my body. His sexy voice became like the sound of a monster. He tried to make me talk but all to no avail. I hated him like I hate Lucifer. You can’t believe Deji was trying to make love to me a month after I put to bed not considering I was still mourning my mother. What a heartless man! It was an unpleasant drama that night with Deji.
A Story By Ayodele Adeoye