AMID SECRETS - CHAPTER 25
*Maduka’s POV*
The drive to Anthony Village is smooth, the roads are not that filled up. Danfo buses crammed with colourfully dressed women in their owambe aso ebi dominate the road today; countless ceremonies go on in Lagos on Saturdays. Along the roads, women strut like peaÇ0ç?s, their artfully tied geles stiffly moving in the breeze. Different shades of oranges, blues, yellows, greens, and other colours are visible amongst the pedestrians. Loud music is heard from vehicles, stalls, churches and the people themselves, mixed with the sounds of engines on the road.
This is why I love Lagos. The life, the diversity, the buzz all come together to beat as one. It is more like a paradox to me; how different everyone seems but all come together to make the city what it is. I picture myself with Nwanyieze, strolling through the local markets and eating locally made delicacies. We are laughing, and she feeds me from her own moi-moi leaf. The image fades and another replaces it: both of us dressed for date night, with her in a sleek, fancy dress. The image fades yet again, to me slowly getting her out of that dress…
There you go again, Joseph, I mock myself.
Everyone is in attendance by the time I arrive. Somto’s children sound my arrival after my mother opens the front door.
“Uncle Kaka!” Prince yells before squeezing himself between Mum and I, not bothering that he is interrupting our hug.
My mother’s hug warms me. She smells of raw shea butter and her beloved J’adore perfume, the one that Dad always gets her on his trips abroad.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” she says while Prince tries to climb up my body like I’m a tree.
I let him, knowing that my white shirt will have to be bleached soon.
“How could I miss this?”
“Unclllllllllle,” Prince demands my attention. I pull him up into my arms.
“Kaka!” comes the familiar squeal. Noel appears, running at full steam on her chubby little legs. She is wearing only diapers. When I lift her up and hold her close, I notice she smells faintly of ketchup.
Both of them start to talk at once; and I find it difficult to understand and reply.
“A sign that you’re ready for fatherhood.” Mum winks and walks away.
“I’ll run away oh,” I call after her.
In the backyard, I find my siblings, their spouses, and offspring all in attendance. There are at least nine children under the age of sixteen in attendance. The oldest, Amara’s daughter Alice, is fifteen years old; a tall, slender teenager with freckles on her face and hazel eyes, courtesy of her English father. She runs over to me, yelling, “Uncle Kaka is here, everybody!”
And before I know it, all the children have their eyes on me and I watch as the whole lot runs towards me.
I’m the best uncle ever, I know.
In three hours, I’m exhausted. I’ve done a lot of talking, running, jumping, laughing and rolling around on the synthetic carpet grass my parents have spread for the occasion. It’s like the children just had this secret meeting and decided not to give me a moment’s rest. Noel stayed glued to me and began to wail when I didn’t get into the kiddie pool with her because she couldn’t understand that there was no way I could fit into the tiny little circle; Prince wanted a ride on my neck; Alice was telling me about this Arts teacher of hers who ‘accidentally’ saw my picture and likes me; Max wanted to play football; Sopuruchi and Zikora wanted to know when I would have my own children; Ndu, Buchi and Tina demanded for a story about the greedy tortoise (which I’m sure they have heard a dozen times). At the end, they all decided that they wanted to play chaser, chaser, except that they would be the chasers and I would be the prey.
All of this happened to the greatest amusement of my parents and siblings.
“You all planned this,” I said breathlessly after the children had been sent off me by their parents. My family is seated at a big round table, eating an assortment of roasted meat, French fries, and drinking Mum’s home made zobo. I help myself to a chicken thigh. It tastes delicious.
“These kids are mad for Maduka,” Obinna jokes.
“That was just a drop in the ocean of what we go through every day,” Adrian says with a laugh. He is Amara’s doting husband, a tall, Caucasian man with brown hair and bright blue eyes. Living in Nigeria has given him a tan and some golden streaks in his hair.
“Ordinary welcome and this one is already crying,” laughs Chijioke’s wife, a heavily pregnant young woman with a heart-shaped face. Chijioke got married two years ago, leaving me as the only unmarried family member.
“You people should leave him alone,” Dad said. “He’s taking his time.”
“By the way, I heard that there’s this girl you like, Kaka,” Somto whispers. It is obvious that she means for everyone at the table to hear, the way her eyes shine with mischief.
I grin at her. ” You’ve been doing your research, ba?”
Mum sits up in her seat. The way her eyes widen, I can literally look into them and see the wheels spinning inside her head as she counts the grandchildren I will give her.
“I’m working on it.”
“Tell us about her,” Amara says. Her voice is strong, her eyes are slanted and expressive. No wonder Adrian fell for her. Amara has this strength about her; she speaks with such authority but behind all that is a soft heart of gold.
I only smile at all of them. “When I’m ready, my dear family. For now I’m really busy.”
Obinna’s wife sighs. “The chase is always a busy time. Obim, remember how you used to show up at my hostel every evening with food?” she asked my first brother.
“And then you would send your friends to get it and tell me you went for evening service,” Obinna replied. We all laugh.
“Our stories always have beginnings and endings, no matter what,” Somto said before leaning on her husband’s shoulder. Richard responds by putting a French fry in front of her mouth, which she gladly opens to accept it.
My parents watched everyone, pride and contentment on their faces. I noticed them smiling at each other fondly.
I know the beginning of my story. I know the ending I want. But how do I get there?
______
*Nwanyieze’s POV*
“Hello, how may I help you?”
Maduka doesn’t step back despite the frown on my face. He stands right in front of my door, hands in his pockets, his face full of determination.
“I came to be sure you’re alright.”
I touched my forehead, then the side of my neck. “Temperature’s fine, breathing is normal. Now go away.”
Mama Uju isn’t home from the trip to the beach with Adanna. It is 4pm but the heat is sweltering.
“Nwanyieze, I’m not playing here.”
“Neither am I,” I reply curtly. I step out of the flat and lock the door, and stuff the nylon bag I’m holding into my pocket. As Mama Uju has her own key and I expect her to be home by the time I’m done, I push my single key underneath the door.
“Where are you going to?” he asks.
Away from your handsome self and the wahala associated with you,I think. I side-step Maduka, and walk towards the stairs. I hear his footsteps behind me. At the gate, I turn angrily.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to go to the market alone.”
He smiles at me. “I’m not going anywhere until you agree to sit down and listen to me.” His square jaw is set in a stubborn way, his eyes are focused on mine. With the sun shining on one side of his face, the pupils appear to be a lighter shade of brown.
I sigh. “I’m not listening to you. Wh@??ver happened, I’d very much like to forget it and move on.”
“Then why are you being hostile towards me?”
“I’m moving on without you.”
“Forgive me if I sound obsessed or like a stalker, but there is absolutely no way I’m letting that happen,” he says seriously.
I turn away and move out through the gate. From Shipeolu street, it’s a five-minute walk to the little Shipeolu market. I move towards Elediye, the small roundabout crammed with motorcycles, tricycles and Danfobuses. While doing my shopping at Shipeolu, Maduka does not give me a moment’s peace.
While bargaining with the stockfish seller, he comes to stand beside me.
“Iya, you no go sell am 700 for my baby?” He asks the middle-aged woman with a smile. This woman has refused to bring down the price of the stockfish I want from 1,000 Naira to 700 Naira.
“Ah, na your Iyawo be dis? (Is she your wife?)” the woman asks, her frown easing into a smile.
Maduka looks directly into my eyes, his smile radiant. “Yes, ma. This is my wife.”
I blink furiously and stifle the urge to step on his shoes. The woman sells the stockfish to me at 600 Naira so graciously, you’d think she was handing me a lifetime supply of it coated in gold. I put it into my bag, thank the woman, and walk away without speaking to Maduka. When I don’t feel his presence after a few steps, I look back and there he is, still at the woman’s stall and laughing with her.
Within the hour, the whole market is buzzing in admiration of this man. The stalls I visit sell goods to me at low prices, wishing us well and even asking when Maduka and I are going to get married.
“Aburo,this your man is very fine oo!”
“Nne,cook the soup well for him, you hear?”
“Don’t let these husband snatchers get him oo!”
“Invite me to your wedding, I have a sister that can cook the best amala and ewedu in the whole Nigeria!”
“I hope say you sabi how to do?”
Some of the comments are hilarious and before I know it, I find myself laughing. He is laughing, too, and at each stall we visit, Maduka stays back for a minute or two after I have walked away.
I haven’t said a single word to him all this while, but he doggedly follows me, like a shadow. When I’m done shopping and walk out through the little market gate, I don’t feel his presence. I turn around, crane my neck to find him above the heads of the evening crowd, but he is nowhere to be found.
He got tired? I wonder, suddenly feeling sad. Well, girl you pushed him away didn’t you? I begin my lonely walk home.
“Miss me?” comes his voice after a few metres.
I whirl around to see him right behind me, holding two newspaper wraps. The scent of roasted corn and ube reaches my nostrils.
“I was just checking to make sure you weren’t knocked down by a keke,” I retort.
His brow flies upwards. “But you checked, didn’t you?”
Okay, you got me.
I turn around and continue walking.
“Let me carry your bag,” he offers.
“I have hands you know,” is my reply. At my gate, I turn towards him again. “Aren’t you tired yet?”
“Of you? Never.”
“You have the cheesiest replies, you know.” I continue walking.
I hear him chuckle behind me and I can imagine him rolling his eyes with that grin on his face.
“You’re the first person to tell me that. I thought the ladies liked cheesy replies.”
“Not this one.”
“She’s beautiful, smart and stubborn but I find her interesting.”
“Maduka, could you just not?”
“Ah, she said my name. Finally.”
“I’m not letting you into my home. I’m shutting the door in your face.”
Because if I let you in, we’re going to kiss each other silly and I won’t stay mad at you and then I’ll be drawn back into this and it’ll be messy in the end.
I’m disappointed to find out that Mama Uju and Adanna haven’t returned, and I was stupid enough to slide my key underneath the door.
“I’m so stupid,” I blurt, smacking my forehead.
“A wise decision, if you ask me. Very smart of you.”
I give him a bad look, turn away, and start for the stairs. I’ll wait on the bench outside the gate; Mama Uju and Adanna should be home any time from now.
“Are you going to listen to me now?”
“I told you: go home and let me be.”
“Nwanyieze.”
“What now, Maduka? I’m not liking this.” I ask with a sigh. This is emotionally draining, wanting someone and saying something else, having him so close and yet so far, watching the market people wish us well when nothing good is going to come out of our union.
“Enough,” is all he says before closing the gap between us in a few short steps, hooking an arm around my waist, and pulling me close to cover my lips with his.
My fingers suddenly go nerveless and they release the bag of foodstuffs. A sigh escapes from me, my skin starts to tingle, and I’m greatly aware of his hand on my bare skin where the hem of my shirt slid up when he wrapped an arm around me.
His kiss is impatient this time; I can feel his frustration. I answer him stroke for stroke, letting my own frustration out.
I can’t do this. I can’t do this,I want to say, but instead my lips move against his silently, my toes stretch to take me closer, my breath deepens, I shiver when his fingers curl and his blunt nails graze the skin on the small of my back-
No, I think when he withdraws from me. No, why did you stop?
.
.