MY LOVE STORY

If someone had told me that with all the changes and transformations the world has undergone, things as horrifying as this still happen, more so, that it could happen to me, I would have laughed it off.

My name is Queen Adindu; I became a part of the Adindu family by marriage to my once sweet love, Chinonyerem. I will hold myself from giving further information about his background as his name already suggests that he is from eastern Nigeria.

In my university days, I was that slim, dark-complexioned, average height, teenage girl, who had no particular friend. I kept to myself a lot. I had a journal, where I wrote poetry when the gods of creativity smiled at me – that journal served as a companion, my one true friend.... As I walked out of the classroom after a class ended one bright Friday afternoon, someone bumped into me and my companion fell to the ground, he ran along; he did not even stop to say sorry or anything. I made a move to pick up my book only to see a stretched out hand giving it to me. He was my classmate, who, according to him, has been observing me. He moved swiftly to open the book before I could stop him.

Days later, someone joined me as I sat in class brainstorming, he introduced himself as ”Chinonyerem – the one who helped you pick up your journal the other day,” and from that day, we started talking. He was the only person that had come close to me, close enough to request that I write him a poem. Although I got to like him, but that was it, I could not bring myself to write him a thing. We saw a few more times before he finally asked me out, which I declined. Before I gained admission into the university, I resolved that I would not engage in any extra-curricular activity that would interfere with my studies. I made this known to him, but not without an offer that he tries again after we were done with school – if he was still interested in me by then.

Time passed, and my fondness for him grew as we moved from one academic year to another. You will excuse my feelings, because even as I stood my ground about a relationship in school, I got extremely jealous when I saw him with other girls.... On the day we wrote our final degree examination, he walked up to me and asked me again to be his girlfriend… you can imagine my excitement. We went out for another three years before we tied the knot.

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Many years have gone by since then, and we have with four daughters – homely Chinaza who turned 20 last month, quiet Ogechukwu, 18, naïve Chetachi, 16, and ‘hot-headed’ Ugochi, who is 14. From the day my husband realised that his fourth child was also a girl, he hated her so much. I have always thought that the reason why Ugochi is emotionally strong and daring unlike her sisters stems from the unavailability of affection she suffers from her father. In addition, I no longer enjoyed his love.

Though we did not live in separate apartments, I cannot say that my daughters have any relationship with their father other than paternity. They all shared this aversion, especially the last. His hopes on her to be his heir were much. Maybe that was the reason why he hated her more. After my last birth, he seemed distant and so much under pressure. Maybe the stress of not having a male heir was weighing him down, or so I thought. Wait! Was it Nuela, my husband’s sister? Sister Nuela forbade anyone from addressing her as Nkechinyere since she was 25 and beautiful. Fifteen years on, Sister is still single. I heard stories of how men of different calibre came to ask her hand in marriage, but no, she wanted the high and mighty. She cared more about her hair and her nails and her skin than she did about marriage then. Sister shares our apartment with us, not that she pays any of the bills; she has no source of income whatsoever. Well, I do not know about any! Like an African mosquito in dry season, Sister continued singing into my husband’s ears to get a young woman who would bear him a son.

“I choro ka ama gi chie?” She would say in Igbo. No one will carry on your name.

I do not like that woman. Something about her makes me puke each time our paths meet. Maybe she has developed an odour from her prolonged use of cheap bleaching lotions. Yes, that is it… if not, why does she wear deodorant, body spray, and cologne to bed?

It was 8:27PM when my husband returned with a girl. She was about my size and age when I left my parents’ house to join Chinonyerem. Her youthfulness caused me a mixture of anger, pain, and jealousy, and I imagined that she has been enjoying my husband for quite a while. Sonia came in three months pregnant. Chinonyerem could not gather encourage to tell me about it, but I overheard his conversation with Sister when I set the table for dinner. He brought her along to the dining room, and when I served the meal, I hoped that she would decline to eat but no, she did not!

Months rolled by and it seemed sudden when Sonia who was now in her third trimester went into labour. On the day of her labour, we were both alone at home. I battled with the thought of whether to help her out or just let her wallow and writhe in pain. I finally decided. On our way to the hospital, I phoned my husband to inform him about the development, and under 15 minutes, he joined me in the hospital.

You could literally hear my heartbeat when the doctor came out to announce the success of the birth more than six hours later. “It’s a boy” was the last thing I heard before I slumped.