CHOICES
Table of Contents
Title Page
Choices
For Mr and Mrs Ukpoho Ukpoho, your love and prayers have sustained me.
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINTEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
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NSINEM UKPOHO
CHOICES
NSINEM UKPOHO
Copyright © 2019 Nsinem Ukpoho.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher [email protected].
ISBN: 978-978-978-511-7
Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.
For Mr and Mrs Ukpoho Ukpoho, your love and prayers have sustained me.
I HAD A LOT OF HELP
Mr Ukpoho U. Ukpoho for the resources and time that was spent in grooming me to be who I am, I am eternally grateful. You nursed my love for reading that gave birth to my love for writing. Mrs Margaret Ukpoho, your love and encouragement have kept me going through the darkest times. Patience Akpan, I appreciate you for always believing in me when I didn’t. Abigail Akpan, thank you for believing in this story even when it was still in a notebook. Theodora Ogbaji, I am blown away by your patience and love in seeing this book come to life. Patience Nkereuwem for pushing me and believing in me, I am really thankful. Wilson Udomisor, your help always shows up at the right time. Frank Ruth you believed in this story and edited it to a better form, your efforts are greatly appreciated. To my siblings; Aniekan, Edima and Samuelson, you all give me the inspiration to go on. You all have taught me how to love.
Above all I am eternally grateful to my maker, the almighty God. God’s love has enfolded me, God’s light has surrounded me, and the power of God always flowing through me.
CHAPTER ONE
I have been looking forward to this day. The date was fixed five days ago. Since then I have been counting the hours left. Valentine a 6’3 light-skinned man in his mid-forties has the looks of a movie star, with a broad chest, an aquiline nose, sensuous lips and eyes that make women smile with shyness. Being born with a silver spoon in the mouth didn’t make him less ambitious, he is a well-trained pilot, a good loyal friend to his friends and a deadly enemy to anyone that crosses him. My wife woke me up with a kiss; Susanne and I have been married for five years. She is 5’10 in her late thirties, slender with all the curves at the right places, high cheekbone, beautiful set of eyes tilted at the sides like a Chinese, full lips; all in an oval face. We never had any children and I wasn’t really bothered. After thirteen minutes of not saying a word to her, she asked, “Are you okay? Are you feeling sick?” I told her I was okay. Judging from my mood, she knew I wanted to be alone, so she left the room. I was feeling really numb and light-headed. I just kept thinking about it; twelve O’clock at the open pavilion; that was our meeting point seventeen years ago. Then I used to anticipate our meeting. Today I’m feeling anxious and afraid. I don’t know what I’m going to find out, the truth; will I be able to take it? Can she really take away all the pain I have been carrying around for the past seventeen years?
As I undress to take a shower, my eyes move slowly to the painting I have kept away for the past seventeen years, and I can’t help but move towards it. I rip off the carbon paper and a painting of Valerie stares at me; the drawing is so beautiful, she is glowing. I did that drawing sixteen years ago just before I left the country. That was the last time I drew anything. Valerie took so many things with her, my passion for drawing, for one. As I stare at the painting, memories of that day roll before me like a movie.
I had just finished making love to her, that was my first time as well as hers. She fondly calls me ‘Ima’. She moved close to me, her warm breast was on my arms. She whispered into my ears, “I have one more thing to give you, an image of me”. I turned and looked at her, amused.
“How do you mean?” I asked with a smile on my lips. “Ima, draw a picture of me. I want you to take it with you, so you won’t forget me”, she answered. As I looked into her eyes, I knew she was serious. I positioned my drawing board and started sharpening my pencils. Valerie got up, made the bed and lay on it. She lay with her beautiful breasts and stomach exposed, covering her buttocks with the bedcover, her long hair was beautifully woven to the back in a cascading braid. She flashed a smile and said in a husky voice, “I want a drawing of myself, just the way I am”.
“Who is the naked woman in the painting?”I jolted back to consciousness. I have been so lost in thought that I didn’t hear Susanne walk up and stand behind me, I didn’t give her any response; I simply put the painting down and walked into the bathroom. I could feel her staring at me as I walked away.
The breakfast of fried plantain and eggs is tasteless, I keep chewing and swallowing. I know Susanne isn’t happy because of my mood but I am too depressed to even think about her feelings right now. The door closes. At last, Susanne leaves for the market to buy groceries; the next thing I must do is dress up for my meeting with Valerie. Dressed in a black nicely tailored trousers, black long sleeves shirt, with black suede shoes; I leave my shirt open two buttons up, showing off my hairy chest, more out of habit than style. I am about to pick up my car keys but then I decide to take a cab since I don’t know how long I’ll stay, I wouldn’t want my wife to see my car and question me afterwards. I drop a note for Susanne that reads I have something to take care of; I place it on the glass table at the center of the room and walk out.
Our spot was always at the open pavilion overlooking the University of Calabar clinic. It’s a Saturday and the school is almost empty, the best place to have our discussion. I hear footsteps approaching and I turn to look at the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and will ever see. Valerie is now a full-grown woman; she is 5 ft tall in her mid-thirties, chocolate complexion with a voluptuous body, an unbelievably flat stomach, an adorable set of legs and a beckoning set of eyes. I can remember when she first walked in through that gate years ago. We were born on the same day and grew up to be fond of each other. In our teens that fondness grew into love. We attended the same church and after service, while our parents were busy exchanging pleasantries with other members, we would sneak out to meet. Our fathers worked at almost the same place. My father was a medical doctor working at the University of Calabar Clinic and her father was working at the school bookshop. We both pleaded with them to take us with them to their workstead, since we were on holiday. They agreed; while they were busy, we snuck out to the open pavilion. After that day, the open pavilion became our meeting point. I have a lot of good memories about this place. It started when we were both in primary three and it ended when I left the country to further my education.
Today, she is wearing a sleeveless short gown that brings out her sensational figure. Yellow wo
rks wonders with her complexion; her beautifully shaped legs are accentuated by a pair of six-inch open toes stilettos. That long hair I remember she used to weave is pulled back in a ponytail exposing her beautiful face. Her full and luscious lips part in a smile as she sees me.
He is still so handsome, Valerie says to herself, as she walks up to him. When I ran into him three days ago at the counter, at Sparks Shopz, I thought I had seen a ghost. The last person I was expecting to see was Valentine. He looked genuinely happy to see me. I fixed the date, time and place; I know seeing him is a bad idea but I can’t help myself. I keep telling myself that I’m doing this because I need closure, but it feels hard convincing myself. The way he is looking at me right now is making me weak, so much desire in those eyes. I can’t believe the thoughts that are going through my head; for God’s sake, I’m a married woman. He is seated at our spot. I will listen to him. Afterwards, we’ll part ways.
CHAPTER TWO
When I made that decision, I knew there was no going back. I knew it was what I wanted to do. I was sixteen then, but I had known Valentine all my life. When he told me he was leaving the country to further his education, I was very sad but I tried to hide it. He had always wanted to be a pilot, and since he was a citizen there, going back would be very easy. It was a bittersweet feeling, sweet because he would be fulfilling his dream of being a pilot and bitter because I’ll miss him. When he confirmed the fact that he was leaving by waving his international passport in the air with a smile plastered on his handsome face, my heart sank.
Before my meeting with Valentine that day I made up my mind on what my parting gift to him would be. Most women usually describe it as giving something away or as something is being taken away from them; with Valentine, it was as though he was giving me something. His body, his heart, his soul, it was “the experience”. Even though Valentine has really broken my heart, I don’t regret what I did that afternoon with him, what we shared; it felt so right. Every action has a consequence, but what I have never felt is regret towards what I shared that afternoon with Valentine or the consequences I experienced; he made me a woman. He made so many promises: to come back immediately after his education, to keep in touch with me.
She greeted me using my name, she didn’t call me Ima. We both sat facing the clinic. For about five minutes nobody spoke. When she finally spoke her voice was shaky. She said, “Valentine, go straight to the point and tell me, why you never came back for me, wrote a letter nor offered assistance, considering the financial status of my parents then. Please tell me the truth”. Before I could say anything; she cut in, saying, “Just before you say anything, I will remind you of what transpired between us that afternoon before you left, all the promises you made... ”
“Valentine I waited for you. I did...There were times I used to think about that afternoon, every day; now anytime I remember it, I have mixed feelings, happy about what I shared that afternoon with you, you made me a woman, and sad about how I believed those promises you made to me. Val, you promised we would be in touch, you promised to send a laptop and a phone for me. Through your friend. You said you’d be sending money and you reassured me that you’d never forget me. All those words were just words, and nothing more,” Valerie said. She looked straight at the clinic as though she was looking into her past. What became of her after their last encounter seventeen years ago all came back to her.
After that afternoon, Valentine dropped her at the University of Calabar's main gate; it was more or less a junction between Calabar Municipality and Calabar South. Valentine was born and bred at Calabar Municipality while she was raised in Calabar South. The two regions are in the same state but are very different. There are estates, street light, traffic lights and a more peaceful living condition at Calabar Municipality.While Calabar South is usually noisy, and people in the middle and low class usually live there.
Instead of boarding a taxi, she decided to walk home, Mount Zion where she lives isn’t very far from, the school road and she needed to walk a bit. Going home right then, might put her in trouble. Any parent could easily suspect her because she was very happy and it could give her away. She couldn’t help but think of what transpired between her and Valentine. Valerie had heard a lot of rumours of lovemaking. Every teenager that has experienced it, often says it is a good experience, provided you consent to it. But none of them said it felt this good. Although she had always wanted to wait till her wedding night, she couldn’t let Valentine leave without taking a part of her. He had protested at first, but none of them knew how long they would have to wait, before seeing each other again, and that was their only way of promising to wait for each other. Valerie didn’t know what was waiting for her at home. When she finally reached her street, Okon Ekpo Close. She would have managed to contain herself, if only she knew what she had done.
When she got home, she passed by Mama Nneka’s shop, Valerie greeted, the woman who often called her Juliet when no one was around. Mama Nneka answered with a sad look. Valerie went straight to their door, and it was open. She walked into their two-bedroom apartment, what greeted her eyes was worrisome. Her mother had brought out her father’s boxes and was ransacking one of them. She greeted her in their native dialect, her mother turned and looked that her. Her face was tears stained and her eyes were swollen. She became apprehensive. “Why are you scattering Daddy’s things,” Valerie asked. Her mother stood up and gave her the terrible news.
CHAPTER THREE
“Your Father is in the hospital and I need money. Did he leave some money with you? Bring it please”, she said sounding anxious. My father had been struggling with leukaemia for the past six months and it was something we all know. Whenever he collects his monthly salary he would give me 20% of it to keep in case of an emergency which we know is his health. He has been on medication but recently his health has been taking a downward spiral. The part of the story that was kept away from my brother and I was that it was bad and he needs chemotherapy urgently. It had been delayed due to the money factor.
Immediately, I rushed into my room and returned with #10,000. This sort of scene had happened before; the difference is that my mom looks really scared. In a bid to leave quickly after collecting the money from me, her phone slipped from her hand and scattered on the floor. She just moved out as if nothing happened. Thirty minutes after she left I was still very worried. I didn’t know if it was the way my mother behaved or just a voice in my head telling me all wasn’t well, and I just couldn’t shake the feeling off.
We lived in a two-bedroom apartment with a toilet, bathroom and kitchen in the same house; that is a luxury for someone in our level, with the kind of money my father earns. I shared a room with my younger brother; the sitting room was quite small and was moderately furnished with a 21” television, a DVD player, a ceiling fan. The door and window blinds had seen better days; they have red flowery patterns on them in a milky coloured background to match the red carpet and red velvet chairs. Sometimes I sleep in the sitting room and leave the room for my brother who is twelve years of age.
I woke up at six o’clock to a knock on the door. I opened to see my mom standing on the veranda. I let her in. She looked as though she had been up all night. She walked past me and sat on the cushion, “I couldn’t come back last night because I had to stay with your father”, she said. Beckoning on me to take a seat beside her. “Your father had stopped taking his medications for some time now, I tried all I could to get him to buy his medications ”. She bit her lower lip trying to control herself, a habit she indulged in anytime she was upset or worried.
“He just wanted to save up some money for your education. We didn’t know his health would deteriorate so quickly” she burst into tears. After about five minutes her sobs subsided, she leaned back into the cushion. The room was quiet except for the swirling sound of the fan.
“Your father is very i’ll”, she started again “He needs a bone marrow transplant. The doctor says it would need a lot of money, about six milli
on naira that is asides the drugs and bills I have already paid for and will continue to pay for as long as he is admitted”, she paused. “Another issue is finding a match”. I had a feeling that my dad’s situation was bad, I didn’t know it was this bad. I was transfixed to the cushion, I quickly wiped the tears off my cheeks, ‘I have to be strong for my mother’, I told myself. The aroma of Akara balls our next-door neighbor makes and sells every morning filled the air but this time it only made me nauseous.
“Boil some water for me, I need to take a bath and go back to the hospital to be with your father. Make the bathwater hot. My body aches from sitting in a chair all night. After you have eaten and taken a bath, come to the hospital and be with your father so that I can go and sell some of my wrappers and jewellery. Let’s see how much I can raise for the operation. Another issue is a donor”, she said.
I knew she won’t be able to raise six million naira. How many wrappers did she have and how much would people be willing to part with for used wrappers.
While I showered and dressed, my thoughts were on my father’s health and the money we needed to raise. I tried to be as positive as possible but on seeing how weak he looked lying there drained every ounce of optimism in me. He didn’t have enough strength to speak with me. He acknowledged my presence with a smile; the smile melted my heart and I almost cried. My mother had warned that nobody should cry in front of him. My mother left for the house immediately I came. She came back later in the day with food for my dad and me; she was all smiles and was very cheerful. My dad finally dozed off after the nurse had given him some sedatives to enable him rest; earlier on he was very restless and in a lot of pain. While my dad slept she walked me to the door. As we walked in silence to the gate I stole a glance at my mom and I noticed she was really depressed. The fear and despair she had masked a few minutes ago in front of her husband had appeared. It was hard to tell what was bothering her more, the money for the operation or a donor. At about past eight I got to the house and served dinner to my brother. We slept at home alone and my mom slept in the hospital with my dad. The following morning, she told me she had passed the night on a bench on the veranda by my father's ward. I didn’t ask but I knew it must have been uncomfortable. Three weeks after there was still no improvement, rather his condition got worse. We insisted on being tested and the result proved we were unsuitable donors for the bone marrow transplant and so was my mother. One evening, my mom had come to relieve me of my duty of looking after my dad. She led me to the parking lot of the accident and emergency wing of the hospital. I had a feeling she had something to share with me.
Choices Page 1
