In Search of My Better Half
A short fiction by: Chukwuemeka Oluka
How the Durex Mutual Climax found its way to the ground in the full glare of introspective eyes is what beats my wildest imagination.
Using his Instagram page, Aproko Doctor would preach against putting condoms inside wallets. He also discourages men from putting their wallets in their back pockets and then sitting on it. However, I would just laugh over his sermons and consider it all cruise.
I love to put stuff in my back pocket notwithstanding. Especially my handkerchief. Though this would teach me a lesson I would never forget in a hurry.
The moment I dragged the handkerchief’s tip to clean the sweat bubbles having a swell time on my face, the condom pack followed through immediately, like a child who would give the dad close marking to monitor when he goes out.
I was still spreading the hanky generously on my face when an instinct beckoned on me to take a pause. I saw pairs of eyes locked on the condom. Their jaws dropped freely and their mouths went ajar. If I did not die that day in the mall, I might never die again. Shocking! I melted. I wish I could disappear.
Many weird situations I have witnessed in life, but none came close to this. The other day, it was bedbugs. Yes, bedbugs!
That day, I donned an immaculate white shirt with its crimson red buttons opened to the chest level. My pants looked sharp; razor sharp. The belt gripping my waist matched with the pair of shoes I wore. I also wore the costliest cologne in my wardrobe. I was giving fine boy vibes. However, all these meant nothing to bedbugs.
Did I tell you I was heading for a date?
She was already seated at the reservation. I joined her, ready to wear my heart on my sleeves.
“Nothing will make this date go the path of the previous ones,” I said to myself.
I was ready to hold this relationship so gently and tightly. It wasn’t going to slip off my fingers.
The previous relationship before this didn’t last longer than an orgasm. It came crashing like a pack of cards because of the weirdest of reasons. She accused me of pressing the toothpaste from the middle and not from the bottom.
Well, as we sat holding down discussions and waiting for our orders to be served, her eyes spotted two tiny creatures crawling out from under my collar. It was a white shirt, and this meant that spotting their movement was effortless.
They moved haphazardly like male and female in a frenzy. They looked like tiny cockroaches. You would reckon the male was giving the female a last-minute chase for a mating session. The female stretches the companion to the limit to ensure the mating right is earned.
Her attention was divided, but her eyes focused on something. We lost eye contact.
I became worried.
“Baby, what is it? You look so troubled.”
“Oh… It’s fine” she responded.
At that moment, Romeo and Juliet had found their way back under the collar. They were having a swell time with their relationship. Unknown to them, they were the village people sent to destroy mine.
She wore red lipstick and the heart shape her mouth took while she sipped her drink kept me gazing at her with relish. Her face was moisturized and bright. I was making some mental pictures of how beautiful my children would look.
One of her palms was placed on the table. I put mine over them and ran quick massages. Then I stretched my neck, ready to sink a kiss on her forehead, when she exclaimed;
“Again? What are those things that keep crawling from under your shirt?”
This time, they were three. There is no telling me it wasn’t kpakpangolo game they were playing.
“Bedbug! Jesus! How come?”
The moment she heard ‘bedbug,’ she froze. The glass wine she held, found its way joyously to the ground.
“You nurse bedbugs?”
“Babe, I don’t understand what you mean. Don’t say that,” I responded.
She got up, dabbed her mouth with tissue paper to ensure the red colour on her lips was still within circumference and then she took a walk. I was gobsmacked. I couldn’t muster the ounce of energy to beg her to stay. It was our first outing and it ended in an embarrassment, not just for me, but also for her.
As soon as I found my senses again, I dashed to the restroom, took off my shirt and closely observed it. I found a red coloured stain on the back of the neck. I had also seen a similar stain on the headrest of the bolt ride I booked. However, it didn’t catch my attention, as I was consumed by the wild thoughts of how the date would go.
It dawned on me that the padded cushions of the bolt ride were infested with bedbugs. I might have snuffed life out of one of them when I rested my head on the seat.
The shock and shame the incident caused me will never leave my subconscious mind. That was why when the Durex condom fell to the ground, it felt like a déjàvu. Another embarrassment. I felt like speaking to the ground to let it swallow me.
Did I tell you I was carrying a bible?
Maybe I should have rejected the condoms.
Valentine’s Day celebration was counting down to hours, and that day, the NGO distributed free condoms as part of their enlightenment campaign for safe sex. After the 4:00 pm fellowship, I was heading for the mall when they foisted one pack on me; the way some kingdom preachers would foist gospel pamphlets on passersby.
- ***
I resumed cleaning my face with the hanky, confused about the next step to take. Then, someone touched me gently on the back.
“Have it” she encouraged me.
I ran a quick scan of the faces of onlookers and summoned the courage. Everyone burst into laughter — hysteric laughter. However, she whispered into my ears saying, “I’m proud of you. You’re a real man.” Those words were rejuvenating.
I left the mall with the pieces of the confidence I could gather, all thanks to her.
When I got home and reflected on what transpired, I became furious and disappointed not because of the shame, but because I wasn’t smart.
“How did I not ask for her mobile number afterwards?”
It took me some days before I faced the reality that I might never see her again. I visited the mall occasionally to see if Fortune would smile at me, but to no avail. I intended to show appreciation and then ask her for a date.
I recall she told me about the organization she worked for. So, I became a search engine optimizer specialist overnight. I would search and search on LinkedIn until I saw her profile.
That day, it felt like I cashed out on Bet Naija. I sent her a DM quickly, and that set the ball in motion for a beautiful love story — one birthed in the least expected scene. Events moved in supersonic speed, and I proposed. I notched it up by informing her parents. Their body language denoted approval.
One day, she walked into my apartment, wearing a long face and distraught. I was deeply troubled. She wouldn’t tell me what the problem was. I pleaded and petted her. You know how women do their thing.
Eventually, she said, “We won’t be getting married.”
My heart skipped a beat, but I maintained my composure and asked, “Why is that?”
Only God knows who gave the advice. She made consultations. She wanted to know if the marriage would work out. Her mother took her to a prophet.
She was told I had a spiritual problem and that she would become barren if we got married. According to the prophet, I was a bad luck and she was advised to serve me breakfast immediately.
Telling this story, she wept and shrank like a vegetable. What irked me more was that she believed all that the prophet said. I was furious and swelling in anger. I could forget my hand on her face, but I kept my cool.
What did I do next? I asked her for the prophet’s phone number and address. I visited his ministry and followed the same process just like she did.
After some ejaculatory prayers, he stared at me and said, “Your future is bright, but that of your partner isn’t. She is possessed by an Ogbanje spirit. Before you carry on with your marriage, you will need to bring her here for a 3-day revival session with money”
“I would do just that,” I replied the prophet.
I returned home and told my fiancée all that transpired and she shouted. She agreed to go with me. Of course, she has no choice because I would literary drag her with me. Immediately the prophet saw us on the first day of revival, he couldn’t believe it.
Instantly, he started moving in circles and jumping on one foot while speaking in tongues. We waited for him to finish manifesting, but it was taking longer than expected. So, I left them there and zoomed off. Today, my fiancée is still calling me to apologize. I’m considering calling it quit. Oh, Yes!
My eyes don see shegae banza in search of my better half.
Well, more excerpts on “searching for a better half” are contained here; https://drive.google.com/file/d/1UuGb_5R2H5rVLzH6aPwXMkBIiGLuUBcH/view?usp=drive_link. It is the first of my digital product series. I hope you find it interesting.
***
Valentine’s Sacrifice
A Poem by: Chukwuemeka Oluka
[I]
One standing the test of time
From third century to its twenty first
From the days of ancient antiquity
Spreading from the Empires of Rome
To the lengths and breadths world over
In February’s middle it blossoms
The love, the sacrifice preserved
In the hearts of many, burning
Forged in the parliament of Foules
The European birds found their mates
***
Valentine’s sacrifice brings love
Love brings Valentine’s sacrifice
Tested through ages, it stands tall
Never to fade but keep burning
[II]
One so misconstrued, so twisted
Clothed in myths and legends
Is the sacrifice of love
Erotic they made it become
In the hearts of many it is nested
Driving youths to doom and gloom
And they gladly indulge themselves
With arms stretching east to west
They embrace the lust narrative
Exchanging their bodies as gifts
***
Valentine’s sacrifice brings love
Love brings Valentine’s sacrifice
It is not conceited, not doubtful
A pearl to the purest of hearts
[III]
But more to this is Valentine
It is the sacrifice of love
True love that is not self-serving
Permeating the soul, bringing relief
With bravery and empathy is sprawls
Reaching the depths needed
To raise the downtrodden
Making its essence felt
Because it sees no colour, no race
Rather, it sees the need to act
***
Valentine’s sacrifice brings love
Love brings Valentine’s sacrifice
Oh, what a love, what a sacrifice
A song with sweet chords to the ear
[IV]
Yes, different stories abound
Each with its twists, its turns
Fleshed with different plots
But the ultimate theme sticks out
For each theme, you find love
Yes, the sacrifice of love
The sacrifice of Valentine
Made popular in February
Surviving the months and years
In season and out of season
***
Valentine’s sacrifice brings love
Love brings Valentine’s sacrifice
Nothing compares to it
It remains evergreen through time
