Labyrinth of love II
By Christiana Obeng-Koranteng and Charlotte Derby
Never in my life have I ever felt down struck with cupid arrows. I had fallen so deeply for this dude and no amount of advice was going to convince me he wasn’t Mr Right.
“It’s Tunde or no one else!”, I would always blurt out.
He was a barrister of Nigeria’s Supreme Court and a practising lawyer in South London. International litigator papa paa… As a lawyer, his signature was a dark black suit over a brilliant white shirt and a pair of Oxford Brogue shoes. His expensive cologne could leave you mesmerized for weeks. Lawyers and their sense of dressing. He had a thing for rocking his outfit perfectly well. We’re sorry, Drip Lord!
The icing on the cake, he was also Ghanaian- Nigerian, just like myself. See the universe getting aligned in our favour.
I found him cool-headed. He had knowledge of almost every subject. When it came to Economics, Tunde would chip in a thing or two. In the health sector, he was there. History, politics, and music were no exception. Na law mpo de3, he spoil there kraa… What a polymath! I loved listening to him, cooking for him and most especially, cruising in his Bentley. Of course, I wanted to chill with the big boys. I honestly couldn’t wait to do life after 30 with him. But honey has its bees, as do roses, their thorns.
One time while having breakfast at a coffee shop, he excused himself to use the washroom. On returning, there were a series of intermittent gaseous exchanges, too hot to handle. This got me thinking… Was I really the one whose tummy was betraying her like this? I know I ate 3ba with bitter leaf soup the previous night, took gari-soakings shortly after and balanced the equation with a box of pizza. I finally washed everything down with a glass of virgin mojito before bedtime. But honestly, with the STENCH emanating from ‘someone’s’ botors, I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed.
Then it came, “trrrrr”.
This time, I knew that sound was definitely not from my behind, because I was the slow but sure type. Silent killer!
“Babe, what’s wrong with you?” I asked Tunde.
He actually pretended there was nothing wrong and that he had the situation totally under control.
This time I heard it LOUD and CLEAR! Atoms, ions and molecules of SMELLY FART, spread like wildfire across the entire restaurant with the aid of the very vibrant ACs.
“Ah Tunde! Sho gba dun?! How can you do this? Can’t you cork your anus?”, I blurted out in anger.
“Cologne kakra, 3ta kakra…flashing here, flashing there, flashing everywhere! Shoya werey?! I continued in despair.
At this time, everyone was either holding their noses tight or storming out of the restaurant. No be small run for your life. Tunde was so embarrassed. The only thing he managed to say was, “Lactose”.
“LACTOSE YOUR FATHER!”, I screamed back at him.
“Na woy3 lactose intolerant aa, mede3 anka 3fa meho b3n?”
‘Who forced you to order milkshake?
“Such wanton and reckless disregard for human life! A total violation of our right to life! Lawyer banza!”, I yelled as I took my bag to leave.
And that was the last time I ever spoke to him.
Next on my husband list was Rowan. On a regular day away from work, he wore a Tommy Hilfiger t-shirt over a pair of jeans and summer shoes. Simple on the outside, yet heavily loaded in his pockets.
Ordinarily, after seeing a guy for about a year, I would let him meet my parents but Rowan’s case was different. After hanging out with him for barely three months, I was convinced beyond all reasonable doubt that he was the one for me.
I asked that he met my parents. He tried to brush it off claiming his work schedule wouldn’t permit him, but a woman bent on making her man do her bidding would go any length and breadth to make this happen. Shebi, I want to marry a black American naaaw…hwan na )mp3 American visa? After all, my Bishop says we shouldn’t be local. We should marry international small…
His accent was crisp North American. Sometimes, nkurases3m nti no, I had to keep asking, “Pardon?”, “What did you say?”, “Come again?”, to get the crux of whatever my Darling Boy Row was saying. Ah, I refuse to be a local champion!
Row boo met my dad over lunch one Sunday afternoon. The level of camaraderie that struck between them was unbelievable. First time of meeting the family, and Daddy liked him already.
God is good oo. Finally, finally, the Lord had set a table before me in the presence of my enemies.
While preparing our lunch, I could hear my father’s boisterous laughter from the living room.
“Aaaa, afa!”, I said to my sister while giving her a high five.
I was so excited when the meal was finally ready. Rowan and Dad sat chatting heartedly while Funmi and I set the table. If I say my village people know when and how to strike, I mean no joke. After a word of prayer, we had started eating when suddenly, Funmi shouted.
“Ei, is that your face??!!!” “Anim paa nie?”
Only for me to lift up my head and then boom, it hit me. I can’t describe how big Row’s nose and lips were. His lips gave way for his teeth, which were arranged like KG children on the playground; SCATTEY be what? Aaa, OLUWA! That was when I realized I had never seen his full face. But how was this even possible? Yes, I had never seen the face of my boyfriend for three whole months! He always had a nose mask on. Well, his domicile in the States was one of the worst-hit areas of COVID, and so I understood why he strictly adhered to all the COVID-19 protocols, but wait oo. If I didn’t know of his defective mouth, and the content therein, does it mean I had never been on a dinner or lunch date with him? Come to think of it, we always spoke instead of eating on our dates. Perhaps we cuddled a lot too. Oh, Ewurade, medi nkwasias3m!
I gave my sister the ‘apologize-for-your-nonsense-comment’ look. She did accordingly and sat with her gaze deeply buried in her food. I willingly suppressed the shame I felt, but what broke the camel’s back was the irritating sound he made with his lips while he ate. I sat glued to my seat, in utter disgust as he chewed on like a pr3ko.
“My friend you dey craze? You no chop before? Wetin be this?!, I fired when I couldn’t stand it anymore. My dad tried to calm me down, but never in the history of calming down has anyone calmed down by being told to calm down.
“Oya, Mr Rowan, get out!”
At this time, Row was totally confused. He seemed not to have any idea of what was going on, but that wasn’t even on the list of my problems.
“I say row your boat out of my house! Get out!”, I yelled as I showed him the exit.
“Adidie basabasa sei de3 ad3n? Woyare papa!”
“Waa hw3, wei y3 b33ma aa y3ware no?”
He stood up, absolutely confused at this time.
“Thunder fire you!!”, I said like the typical African who didn’t know that thunder was a sound and could therefore not fire anyone. SIGH.
All too soon my dreams of marrying a black-obroni had gone down the drain.
Remembering all that transpired when I was with Felix, Tunde and Rowan cannot be compared to the hell which patiently lay ahead of me……and I was completely taken aback by what I saw, or rather, what I didn’t see when I finally opened the kitchen door. I stood speechless; motionless; terrified; utterly petrified… On the kitchen counter lay Annabeth au naturel, her legs hanging.
Greg, who was at the edge of the counter, carefully spread honey along her neck, down her shoulders, along with her rounded breasts, and then down her streamlined body, stuffing her Garden of Eden with more honey. He placed a half-cut grape on her navel and kiwis on her perfectly hardened nipples. With his head in-between her legs, and arms firmly grabbing her thighs. She tilted her body slightly towards him and placed her arms around his head. Then it hit me. The palpitations I thought I heard were actually melodious moans.
With her body strategically placed at an angle, her legs shook with excitement as he licked the trail of honey he used in garnishing his meal, moving from beneath her, right to the top. The more he licked, the louder she moaned. He then returned to the grape on her navel, picked the kiwi with his lips and kissed her with it. After, he returned to his starting point; his head in-between her thighs.
“Zaddy…freaky me…Zaddy…”, she groaned with so much pleasure. And with every cry, her feet moved along his boxers, trying to undo them with her toes.
I had been stabbed in the heart. I was hurting badly. I was wounded. Tears run down my cheeks as I looked on helplessly, and became catatonic. Little did I know my misery had just begun. All gingered up now, Greg graciously joined her in pulling down his boxers. Annabeth’s eyeballs almost popped out of their sockets, upon seeing something I suspected was his ‘freaky freaky’. She bit and played with her nipples, while he teased her down there. It was bad, bad, bad. All this while, the duo was totally oblivious of my presence. I felt like acid has been poured into a gunshot wound I had. He began firing her, thrusting his freaky into her, deep and hard and “slooow”, causing her to speak in several languages. By this time, he was on top of her. He lifted her legs and placed them on his shoulders, while she tilted her head upwards to allow her breath. She panted for air as his thrusts went deeper, harder, faster. They were banging and ganging…
And then the tables turned. Annabeth took charge of the state of affairs and flipped him over. After all, even the Bible says, “Come up hither”. He placed his hands on her waist and aided her to ride him into paradise.
When I finally recovered from what seemed to be a trance, I took to my heels as though my life depended on it. Tw3n oo, my life actually depended on it. The broken heart aside, I had just watched live porn, something I couldn’t even watch on the internet. Why did life have to be so cruel? Looks like the same spirit of speed that enabled Elijah run past King Ahab’s chariot in the good Book fell upon me. I turned away and, in my bid, to flee the crime scene, I gave myself away when my left leg hit the centre table. OPREGA! Next thing I realized was that Greg, trying his possible best to hide his nakedness from me, had run out of the kitchen…
“Yemi, I can explain. It’s not what you think. We can fix this”. “You and who?! Shut that hole you call a mouth!”, and it was accompanied by a hot slap.“You don’t understand; it’s nothing serious…”, he tried to explain. “Osegini? After garnishing and digesting her, you say what?”, I yelled my lungs out. “Annabeth, ei…Yemi, it just…” TAA, TAA!!, I gave a closing address to his explanation with two more divine slaps. “B33ma Ashawo!”, were the only words my wounded soul could utter. I limped out of the room. And it ended in tears.
Honestly to say I would give love another chance again, would be pointless. Grace from God to ace on in life but when it comes to falling in love paa de3, walahi I no fit do am again.
By Christiana Obeng-Koranteng and Charlotte Derby