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Monthly Archives: February 2012

Irreplaceable (3)

I turn the corner into my street. Not too long a street, about fifteen houses each row, more of poor than middle class neighbourhood, traders line the streets, annoying people that do nothing but stare. I walk past them determined not to greet anyone.

‘sisi kabo o.’

I could tell ‘iya’ Micheal’s voice even if I was just rousing from sleep. Who in heaven’s name says ‘sisi’ anymore? I ignore her like I always do. I know this won’t stop her tomorrow.

Now I wish I had looked up. I wish I had smiled and returned her greeting, then maybe she would have warned me.

‘Is this the suspect?’

‘Yes sir’

‘Un-cuff her’

‘Sir, she’s dangerous and…’

‘And she will over power me in the station? I said un-cuff her’

The officer does as he was asked. I let out a small smile. I was sure that as he undid my cuffs, he remembered as clearly as I did how difficult it was to arrest me.

I open my door and walk in and then I see my captive slowly making his way to the door like a drunk, swaying this way and that, eyes unsteady.

‘Help me’

Door ajar, my auto response was to send him back to the bedroom, my bedroom- the only place where he should belong.

Wrong move.

The combination of the heat from the sun, my pride and exhaustion from working with Dr Soul all night weakened my senses. He was not even plain clothed. A pound rather than a knock. The door thrown open. Caught in the act. I will not go down without a fight. Others go for the jugular, I go for the crotch. He screams. He was not alone.

He un-cuffs me and leaves the room. This must be the DPO. I could have dated him if the circumstances were different. But then, I could have dated anyone as long as it dangled between his legs and was there when I wanted. I have never been picky except with him. Chris I never want to share. He was supposed to be mine.

The DPO stares at me. I felt sorry for him. Maybe he wanted some. Looking closer, he is not as young as he looked earlier. Possibly early 50s, small beer belly, about 5′ 8”, dark skinned- very dark skinned, probably South-South. Not that it helped my case. Maybe his wife is fat and ugly. Wishes!

‘Have they taken your statement?’

Was he being nice?

I nod

‘You are being charged with kidnapping and attempted murder’. It was more of a question than a statement. I said nothing.

‘Do you have a lawyer?’

I almost told him about a lawyer I had. It was a week after Chris had showed me my body and made me feel passions I had never felt before, discovered places I never knew existed, the inside of my knee, a spot somewhere up my thigh just before my V. He had come to me with a VD, I treated him at home. He was thankful I cured him without telling his wife. He was my neighbour. Afterwards, he paid weekly and sometimes bi weekly neighbourly visits. I played nurse. He rated 8 mostly -very good but not Chris excellent.

‘Do you have a lawyer?’

Another nod

‘You should call him’

‘I don’t have my phone’

‘You can use mine’

This guy was really being kind to me. What does he want?’

I take the phone from him, my hand brushes against him, eyes lock.

No words are spoken as I unbuckle his belt and give it to him. He groans and quakes but I wouldn’t let him cum- special trick I know. Chris taught me after he discovered I hate the taste of sperm. He goes over and locks his door-a zombie under my spell. He returns and takes me, plain missionary. He tried, but not so good, maybe a 6. He came. I didn’t.

He comes to me twice during the night and takes me out for questioning. He questioned and each time I answered. The second time was under the stars in the car park. He tried doggie, still no words. By the third time we spoke. I no longer needed a lawyer, but I had to leave town.

I run a permanent morning shift now. It was easy to get another job. I am a good nurse and I have a good doctor. His wife is the Matron. They have not slept in the same room for years. These days, he likes my room better. He doesn’t mind the hour drive. I still have Chris’ picture by my bedside, it gives me stability, keeps the demons away. Someday, I’m going to come back and find him. I need to tell him why I did it. Why I just couldn’t let go. He needs to know that I still find him irreplaceable. 

 
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Posted by on February 19, 2012 in General, Short Story

 

The Care Factor

‘Is my food ready?’

‘Clean my shoes for me.’

‘Is the water for my bath ready?’

‘Why are my clothes not washed?’

‘Have you ironed my shirt?’

‘Help me find one leg of my socks!’

‘I can’t find my tie!’

If you are a female in a marriage/live-in relationship reading this, you can probably pin these questions on your other half or ‘better’ half. The men in our lives…Don’t you just adore them!

Yes, adore…like babies – because they do need the ‘attention’ that you should reserve for helpless babies, who cry (read whine) for everything and anything and demand so much of your time and energy and unlike our babies, hardly give anything back.

Just last week, my neighbour’s husband was having a hard time keeping his voice down. The reason? Oh well, his wife, in addition to being a full time worker, full time home-keeper, full time wife, full time mother of four kids aged 2 to 10 and part time student, had somehow neglected a large part of her being human by not taking time to iron his shirt. Imagine! And she had the audacity to tell him she was occupied? What in heavens name was she occupied doing?

This guy with two arms and two legs, blessed with mobility, could not move his hands and legs to get his clothes ironed because he had a wife. It’s her job! Do you want him to be called a ‘woman-wrapper’ (read a derogatory term for a man who helps out his wife at home)

In many parts of Africa, it is traditionally believed that a man has no business in the kitchen or helping out with domestic chores (except of course it involves making babies). The home is the woman’s domain and keeping it running is her primary responsibility. The man goes to work and brings back food to the home.

That was then.

Today, traditional roles are being redefined and reversed but sadly, some men are refusing to move on. They seem trapped in some time web, where everything around them is allowed to move but they are not. For instance, the same man who wants to maintain a traditional outlook to his home has no qualms with his wife holding down a full time job to support the family. So what happened to supporting her?

And how, of I may ask did he survive when he was single? How did his clothes get ironed? How did his food get prepared? How did he find his socks? Who put his bath water in the bathroom? Who cut his fingernails? Who kept his tie? Who did the dishes? For some men, a relationship is just an excuse to hide their laziness and incompetence.

While some women are happy to put up with such tomfoolery at the early stages of the ‘rush’ of marriage or a live-in relationship (and some for life), men need to realise that at a point in a woman’s life she just can not cope without help-emotional and physical. While she can solve the physical by hiring a maid-with extra cost to the family, she can not ‘hire’ emotional help – except you want her to dial-a-gigolo. Your encouragement will go a long way to helping her cope with the ‘stresses’ she has to go through.

Do you stop to ask her a genuine: how are you? How was your day? Are you hungry? Can I help?  Remember, this is the woman you married; the one you converted to be your all the one that probably will be there for you when the world turns its back on you. Have you stopped to ask yourself in recent times: Who cares for her? 

 
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Posted by on February 14, 2012 in Woman2man