Divorced for Show, Bet for Love / Chapter 4: Childhood and Betrayal
Divorced for Show, Bet for Love

Divorced for Show, Bet for Love

Author: Nancy Stevenson


Chapter 4: Childhood and Betrayal

That night, I still dream of Olawale.

Dream no dey respect person. E go carry you where you no want go. My mind still dey hold on to the boy I meet years ago.

When we small, him mouth dey sweet.

Olawale sabi yarn. Him fit talk for hours, make you forget say pikin dey hungry. My heart always soft for him.

“Ozi Ozi, your eye fine well. Make I dey look am dey talk with you forever?”

He dey always tease me for classroom, people go dey laugh, but I go just dey blush.

“Ozi Ozi, your piano dey sweet. Make I dey come hear you play everyday?”

For church, he go sit front row, dey clap as if na world-class concert.

“Ozi Ozi, na you I like pass. When I grow, na you I go marry.”

That one, he talk am in front of my papa. Everybody laugh, but for my mind, I dey hope say e mean am.

Me sef like Olawale.

My own crush no dey hide. Even my diary sabi his name pass my own.

We dey sit together for class.

From primary to secondary, our desk be like one, teacher no even dey separate us.

After school, na together we dey play.

We go jump gutter, chase butterfly for compound. Na him first teach me how to whistle.

Even the day my papa and mama get accident, na for their family car I dey.

That day, ehn, na like film. My heart still dey ache anytime I remember.

Dey play rock-paper-scissors with am.

I just dey laugh, dey play. Innocence na gift, but e dey turn pain quick.

But the two cars too close.

E be like say universe dey plan something. My mind flash, but I no fit change anything.

I watch as one big truck just come.

Boom——

That sound dey haunt me. Even for dream, e loud. My ear still dey ring.

My papa, my mama, my brother, even the small dog wey I dey raise since small, all of dem struggle inside fire.

I no fit forget. The scream, the smell, everything. Na only survivor I be. Sometimes, survivor guilt heavy like lead for neck.

Long time, I no fit talk.

I just dey move like shadow. My world quiet. Teachers dey try, neighbours dey try. Nothing work.

Na Olawale dey help me sleep.

He go lie beside me, hum lullaby. If mosquito bite me, na him first use balm. E mean well, even small.

That time, he get patience.

He go dey talk with me.

He go dey gist me, even if I no reply. Sometimes na story of tortoise and the stubborn goat, sometimes na how pepper soup dey sweet pass for rainy season. He go read story, talk of superheroes, of angels. My heart dey slowly mend.

Tell me story through the night.

Sometimes, na old Yoruba folktale. Sometimes, na him own invention. I dey hold on to his words.

If anybody call me “mute,” he go fight them.

One boy try am for school, Olawale nearly scatter hin head. Even teacher dey beg am. Loyalty na Olawale other name.

To marry am just be like normal thing.

Nobody surprise when dem see us together. Na natural. People dey talk say "na so God arrange am."

The day after I collect my university certificate, he bend over my bed for morning:

I never even wake finish. He just dey smile, eye dey shine like say he win lottery.

“Ozi Ozi, make we go collect certificate.”

No long talk. No proposal, just two people wey dey heal each other.

That day, we become husband and wife.

Everybody dey dance. Village people dey spray small change, mama Iya Wale dey shed tears of joy. Me, I dey float. I think say na forever.

For my dream, red roses full our new house.

Flowers everywhere, sweet smell, laughter for air. I dey wear white, Olawale dey wear white. Hope dey for my chest.

He kneel for bed, kiss me gently.

Soft like feather. For that moment, I believe love fit cure anything.

He say, Ozi Ozi, make we dey happy like this forever.

He look my eye. That hope na promise. I keep am inside my mind, like secret prayer.

But as I open my eye, everywhere dark.

Reality hit me. No rose, no music. Na just me and phone light.

I bring out my phone; Amaka don send another message.

As usual, wahala no dey rest. This girl get time. She fit be spirit.

Picture.

E sharp. Bed dey rough. Something red for bedsheet.

Bed scatter, red stain.

I know the meaning. I fit see the kind lipstick wey she use. My body weak.

My belle just turn.

E twist like say I chop stale ogbono. I rush go toilet, my body dey betray me.

I rush enter bathroom, dey vomit.

But na only tears come out.

Nothing dey come out except pain. I hug WC, the cold for tile dey bite my leg. My voice no gree come.

Last last, I hug my knees, sit for cold floor.

For that moment, I just dey wish make ground swallow me. But tears dey finish, yet pain dey remain.

I fit don press something for my phone, because for the silent night, one deep man voice just sound:

My hand shake, phone fall for tile. I quick check am, na voice dey come from WhatsApp.

“Ozioma?”

The voice warm, as if e dey carry me from inside storm. My heart skip.

My heart jump.

E be like say hope get small chance.

I pick phone.

My hand dey shake, but I quick press answer. I try clear my throat.

“Femi... Sani?”

His name sound strange but safe. I manage talk am. The line dey clear.

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