Where there’s love…

There’s grace…(I needed her).

When you’ve experienced grace and feel like you’ve been forgiven, you’re a lot more forgiving of other people.

Your worst days are never so bad that you’re beyond the reach of Gods grace and your best days are never so good that you’re beyond the need of Gods grace.

Few years back (1990)

Dear reader,

On the 5th of May, 1990 was when it all started.

The weather was hot. A perfect weather for a cold refreshing palm wine.

Bàbá had sent me to deliver a message to a business associate in another town. I was already exhausted so I made a stop at an inn; I needed to swallow something hot, then something cold.

That was the first time I saw her. An angel! but Bàbá would have probably said “some angels are used to manipulate and control”.

She looked like she had somewhere she’d rather be than serve drinks.

She noticed I was checking her out and asked me,

“What is a man like you doing here? Only men with no ambition in life come here to drink and ogle at women”

I tried not to get distracted by her scent lingering over me. Like cocoa butter and coconuts.

“Is the ugly man in? I am in a hurry” I replied quickly while playing with my drink. I really had no time for such encounters. She was attractive yes, but I needed to be on my way.

“It’s like people from your place lack respect” she said and shut a cold glance at me.

Her eyes goshhhh! They held dreams I never dared to have.

I didn’t know if I had triggered something in her but her gaze became more intimidating.

“Respect is earned princess, not given”

I replied to her nonchalantly.

“My father passed a week ago, so my uncle will be the one attending to you, if you would excuse me”

Every sound she made tickled my ears. I couldn’t take my eyes off her when she walked out gracefully. Her behind, God! A weapon fashioned against me.

She had silky skin that made the hairs on my body stand, full juicy lips that made my tongue itch. And eccentric curves, I was drooling. I wanted her all to myself. “Having her would make me feel like a real man” I had said to myself.

I hesitantly swallowed the last shot of gin and went after her. After that day we became an item.

She was no ordinary woman. She wasn’t like the Women I had seen or been with. She was divine. She had this energy that sparked one’s interest yet she wasn’t even trying.

Maybe I didn’t want to admit that I was already liking her or that I had fallen in love with her brown eyes.

It was then I should have believed in God. Maybe I should have trusted him to make my life beautiful.

*****

I would visit her from time to time. We would talk and laugh about random things, everything and nothing. Mouthing sweet nonsense to each other.

I tried not to love her. Some days I intentionally distanced myself, I told myself I only needed to satisfy my wants.

But as days blurred together my feelings for her intensified. I didn’t tell her where I was from. I wasn’t ready to ruin what we had.

I wasn’t seeing forever with her, but for that moment, she was the distraction I needed for myself.

Most nights we would take a stroll before I would head back home.

The breeze cold, the silence between us mild and sweet with our hands intertwined. The children on the streets chitchatting and laughing at silly things.

It was like cookies and cream on the Fourth of July. Everything was mixed up with a bit of chaos.

I was making a lot of things go wrong by being with her. I didn’t want her in my messed up life.

A life of a murderer. A man with no love in his heart. A man who lost the woman who stood for everything called love in his life.

She died by my hands. I looked her in the eyes and saw fear and desires and still took away everything from her. I wasn’t going to do the same thing to Oma.

I wanted to do the right thing with Oma. I knew what I was getting her into; I wasn’t oblivious to the danger lurking beneath the surface.

Not saying anything was a greater burden. And nothing scares me more than a woman’s instinct.

I reassured her that I would never hurt her. Trust me I wanted her to feel every word I said to her. I wanted to believe myself.

I wanted to say the three forbidden words to her and make her my mistress. Or worse my wife.

I tried to make my touch prove it; but I was too brutal yet she said it was okay. I wanted to be vulnerable. I wanted to be gentle with her heart, but I wasn’t too careful.

When I made love to her, I melted into her arms. I kissed her like I had been waiting my whole life. Slowly.

For the first time I wasn’t thirsty for my own pleasure. I thought nothing could ever conquer the love she had for me.

Her love for me was going to be my salvation. I wanted my seed in her. I wanted to build a life with her.

When I brought the news to Bàbá that Oma was pregnant, he dismissed me saying he wanted no part of it.

It was then I believed my sins will never be forgiven.

I tried to keep our marriage a secret. I tried to conceal her pregnancy. I couldn’t run away with her.

I started avoiding lengthy conversations with her. I wouldn’t look into her beautiful eyes so she wouldn’t see my secret.

Some nights I tried to be softer, warmer and kinder.

But I didn’t want to linger long enough for her to sniff out my secret.

I told her I loved her.

And thats the only way a man can ever betray you.

*****

Where I came from wasn’t a place for a woman. I came from a place men were raised not to love women. It was a taboo.

The women were only allowed to have seven children and a girl. Who would be casted out, sold and bought by Madame Onan at the age of seven.

To be groomed to either scratch the edges of lustful horny men or bear them children.

Those who bore sons weren’t married to the fathers. They became mistresses. They were treated with care and respect.

i was the last child of my father. The bloodline was supposed to end with me. I wasn’t supposed to have children. And any mother who hid their daughter after the age of seven was to be made unfruitful.

Their wombs will be taken from them by their husbands. And I as a father would have to kill my own daughter.

On the 20th of august, 1991. As the clock struck midnight. I turned off everything that made me human.

I thought about my first love, how I ruined her. How betrayed and lifeless she looked in my arms. I ended her life in fear of loosing her to the cruel hands of tradition.

She couldn’t survive the abortion. She couldn’t survive the fact that it was me taking everything, her happiness.

The anger sat still in my heart. I told myself Oma was going to survive it.

She wasn’t going to die like my first love did.

She was a strong woman. She wasn’t going to forgive me for the rest of her life.

She clutched the bedsheets, her knuckles white with tension.

Her sweat-drenched hair clung to her forehead.

She was having complications during labor and the midwife had somehow confirmed it was a girl.

She looked at me weakly, her eyes begging, her heart screaming silently at me.

I had no time to dwell on my thoughts. When the mid-wife took out the baby I slit her throat like a chicken.

I ended my ties with fatherhood. I ended my own peace. I rained hell on myself.

Like it wasn’t enough. I took my knife and plunged it into Oma’s stomach and sliced her open.

Her world had shattered. Betrayal seeped in like poison, infecting every memory of shared laughter between us, every whispered promise.

I had broken whatever trust she had in me. It would never mend. I ripped it away. Her happiness.

I made her barren.

*****

(Few years later) August, 1997

It repeated again. The same nightmare was coated like a dream. A dream that felt too real.

A dream I had been having for years since i left her. Since I left Ibadan. Since I mocked humanity.

That night i felt the guilt more than the other nights. My veins constricted, as if squeezed by an invisible force. My lungs stiffened, each breath a struggle. My hands and legs turned to ice, paralyzed by fear.

Fear stirred, unearthing forgotten memories that clawed at my sanity.

It was her again. The little girl i always saw. So innocent yet exuding an unsettling aura that terrified me.

Covered in blood. Her blood.

I had her blood on my hands. There was pain in her eyes. Her face unidentifiable. Her cries deafened my ears, reminding me of a loss i had buried a long time ago. Something about her felt strongly familiar.

It was like i was finally standing side by side with Hades. I had fallen from grace, into the hands of unending unhappiness, and regret.

Who would have known that my child will be the one haunting me.

*****

I, Dayo who didn’t believe in God started going to church because of the incessant nightmares. Funny how I wasn’t searching for God either.

I was soaking the floors of the altar with my tears. I was wailing and yearning. Needing and fasting. Searching for myself.

Going there started to feel like an addiction. I enjoyed the flickering candle lights that casted a warm glow that seemed to whisper prayers.

The way the light illuminated the faces of those around me, the sincerity in their eyes, the devotedness.

Some, laced with sin with no desire for redemption. While some, perhaps too guilty to see their redemption staring at them in the face.

I felt more guilty than all of them. I was jealous of them. Their sins weren’t unholy and intentional like mine.

Somehow I still found grace in Gods arms. I didn’t want him but he embraced me.

His love calmed my grieving heart, his love held my stained hands. His love washed my sin from my tainted skin.

It was enough for me to hold myself together.

Father Richard stopped me from coming to the church. I wouldn’t blame the poor man.

I was more stubborn than a goat. My dear reverend would hear my voice at the confessional and not say a word.

He said I needed to forgive myself first; but as a man who was aware of his problems and knew the solution he needed, I told myself I needed God’s forgiveness. I needed her forgiveness.

I needed her.

(The end)

Love is a sacred vulnerability, a leap of faith that can bring immense joy or profound pain.

It’s a risk worth taking, for in its depths, we discover the true meaning of trust, betrayal, devotion and heartbreak.