That's How It Began

There was something about Chimaobi. Yes, he was handsome, dark in complexion, well-built and about 6feet 2inches. But those were not as intimidating as his presence. He seemed to fill up the kitchen. For a moment, Ugochi thought she will suffocate because of his aura.

His gaze held her eyes. She could see some amusement in them. He had big, warm brown eyes with thin long lashes. “Almost feminine,” Ugochi thought, “but certainly beautiful.” Her eyes travelled to the next salient feature on his face – his smile. His lips had curled into a smirk leaving deep dimples boring into the flesh of his cheeks. She almost felt like putting a finger in the dimples.

“This proves that beautiful ladies are not good in the kitchen,” he spoke in a rich tenor voice.
She smiled in embarrassment. Was he calling me beautiful?
“It’s not what you think…” she stammered.
“You’ll have to prove me wrong then.”
She had to evade his penetrating eyes so she decided to pick up the pieces of fish on the floor. As she squatted, he joined her.
“Let me help,” he offered when she gave him a warning look.
She melted.
The first fish she picked was still hot that she winced as she picked it up. He was quick to reach for the kitchen glove hanging by the cooker. He gave it to her.
“Please don’t hurt yourself anymore,” he said softly. There was so much care in his eyes.
“I’ll be more careful,” she said with a smile that could not last long because her lips were quivering.
He held the colander while she filled it with the pieces of fish.
“Roasted fish for dinner!” he said humorously.
“It’s such a waste,” she said sadly, “and my mother does not condone wastage of food. I really feel so bad about this.”
He helped her up her feet as they were done with picking the fishes.
“Don’t worry, it’s going to be alright. It’s a mistake.”
“Yeah, thanks," she said gratefully. He's nice.

While she wiped off the spilled oil, he stood by a corner of the kitchen intently watching her.
“Won’t you like to go into the living room to see the person you came to see?” she asked
“I came to see the family and you are part of the family. What’s wrong with being with you in the kitchen?”
“Everything. I really don’t want you in here. I like to work on my own.”
More like you are distracting me and if you stay here any longer, something else will burn.
“Strange. The Ugochi I hear about is so quiet, soft and timid. The Ugochi I see here has a fierce mind of her own and is resolute. Tell me who is the real Ugochi? Is she the one that does not talk to guys?”
The latter statement made her become defensive.
“You bring out the otherside of me,” she said a bit sarcastically.
“Do I take this as a compliment? That I am special?” He burst out laughing.
Ugochi wanted to retort with something to quieten him but just then, Uchechi walked in.
“Hi Chimaobi, I heard your voice. Hope Ugochi isn’t boring you with her preaching sessions. Please join us in the living room. Adaeze would like to challenge you to a game of chess.”
In no time, Uchechi had taken Chimaobi out of the kitchen leaving Ugochi to run back to her thoughts.

For almost a month, Ugochi never saw him again. But ever since that day, her thoughts made a U-turn. At night, she thought about him. She could not forget his handsome look and all-male presence that left her on edge that day. She thought about the softness of his voice when he spoke to her. For once, she could understand why girls said they were head over heels in love for a guy, if they were able to appreciate such physical handsomeness and tenderness. For the first time in her life, she imagined a boy being more than a person to preach to. She imagined him as a close friend. She thought of his dimples and wished she could get the chance to touch them. Thoughts of him could not leave her head. She prayed that the devil would not tempt her into the sin of lusting.

But that was a futile prayer for her heart began ruling her head. How could she not expect that to happen when she spent her days taken stolen glance at him from her window? The more she saw his image, the more she continued the sin of lusting. All those things she had heard her elder sisters saying they did with boys, all of a sudden she wanted them too but with no one but Chimaobi. She could not explain these feelings she suddenly had a boy, let alone her next-door neighbour.

It was during those times she wrote the poem entitled “Peeping Girl”.

Sparks at First Sight

The four sisters were in their bedroom recounting events of their day.
“Chimaobi is just a guy that fell out of heaven!” Adaeze was telling them. “Today, he helped an old woman get across the road. I was in class then. When he did it, all the ladies in class started cooing. Even our female lecturer had to pause for a while just staring helplessly at him.”
“Every female in my class wants me to hook her up with him. He is so handsome and adorable. You can’t help falling for him,” Uchechi replied.
“There we go again,” Ugochi said and stood up from the bed where they were all seated.

It was only one month since the Igwe’s had moved into the house next door. The family consisted of the parents and three children – Chimaobi and his younger sisters. Ever since that move, all Ugochi heard in the evenings was one gist or the other about him.

“Please don’t spoil this sweet gist,” Ogechi chipped in knowing that Ugochi was never interested in any discussion about guys and had a way of cutting it short.
“I am tired of telling you all that these things do not lead to anything. Last night we did not have dinner because of talk about Chimaobi. This night, I won't let such happen. I’ll leave you all to continue daydreaming about him while I prepare dinner.”
“Thanks, Sis,” Uchechi replied dismissively. It was her turn to cook that evening and she would rather talk about Chimaobi than be in the kitchen.
Just before Ugochi left the room, Adaeze said, “Ugochi, you need to see this our neighbour. He is not like every other guy. Even Virgin Mary will have a crush on him.” While her sisters giggled uncontrollably, Ugochi sighed.
“I pray that your eyes will be enlightened someday,” she said then left for the kitchen.

While in the kitchen, she thought about what her sisters often said about Chimaobi. She had not met him because she had been preparing for her SSCE. All her spare time was either in church or in a library. She heard he was a regular visitor in the house and also friendly with her father. But she never got to see him. When she returned home, it was to eat and fall asleep. No time for socializing. Her sisters were always talking about guys, but never had they been consistent on one guy, more especially saying something good about him. This Chimaobi must be different, she thought. I will make out time to meet him. I’m sure with the way ladies fall for him, he can be used to bring more ladies to God.

She was a bit absentminded and did not notice that the fish she was frying was burning. By the time the smell of burnt food brought her out of her reverie, she rushed for the frying spoon to salvage the fish. The frying pan and frying spoon were so hot that when she touched them, she got scalded and accidentally hit knocked the frying pan. Everything spilled on the floor.

That was when Chimaobi Igwe walked into the kitchen.
For a moment, their eyes locked. It was as though time had frozen and the clock had stopped ticking.
It was a moment when Ugochi was speechless, breathless and her heart skipped a beat.

This Story is about...

Ugochi Alozie was beautiful. Those who knew her marvelled at how one person could be blessed with good looks, exceptional intelligence and a loving heart. The tan-complexioned beauty stood 5 feet 8 inches tall at the age of sixteen. Her heart-shaped face, which radiated innocence and comeliness, was always lit with a smile. Though slender, her full bust and curvaceous hips always invited an extra glance.

At school, she remained top five in class. Her teachers always had commendable reports about her. She had friends who adored her and could testify of her loving nature.

She came from a family of four girls of which she was the third. Having two elder sisters (Adaeze and Uchechi) who were very close and a younger sister (Ogechi) who was very rascally, Ugochi always felt left out making her retire into a world of her own. Because she found it hard confiding in her sisters, her way of communicating her feelings was through writing poems. Whenever she was hurt or angry, she would write a poem about her situation. When she had gotten over the feeling, she would discard of the poems.

She was the apple of her parents’ eyes. Her parents liked her so much because she was reserved, obedient, very hardworking and godly. Her godly nature made her humble despite her beauty, adorable nature and intelligence. She was ignorant of her physical. She had developed a relationship with God where she put Him as number one in her life. Everything centred around Him. Any spare time she had was used to be in His presence either in the church, or worshipping Him, or meditating on His words.

Ugochi was clear on her belief that fornication and adultery were grave sins. She always preached about it to her sisters. Her parents were happy that with the way she was going, she would remain a virgin until she was married. They had plans to take advantage of her innocence and naivety.

But the change in her beliefs began when a family moved in next-door in their neighbourhood…

The Key to the Secret

Ebere met me standing sober in the middle of mother’s room. My eyes remained fixed on her bed where she had given up the ghost. I swallowed a painful lump while trying to fight back tears. I could still picture those nights when I would come into the room and meet Ebere already fast asleep by mother’s left side, and I would hurriedly cuddle up by her side where I knew I would fall into a dreamless sleep. I could still remember the loving strokes she gave me that made me drift off to sleep without any thoughts in my head, and her pecks that meant “everything is okay”. I swallowed yet another lump and reminded myself that I had to be a man because if I broke down in tears, Ebere would end up crying. And we would never get the room cleaned.

“Why did you want to clean the room?” Ebere asked.
I could hear her tear-laden voice shaking.
I waited for about ten seconds before replying “I don’t know,” to be sure my voice would not betray my feelings. “But it was a strong urge.”
I looked at her. Her soft cheeks were stained with tears and her white eyes were now pink. “I’m sorry I had to make you do this…”
“It’s okay,” she replied, sniffing and wiping the tears from her eyes. “Let’s get to work.”

The room was dusty. I sneezed a couple of times. Apart from the fresh cobwebs and dust from the changes in seasons, there was little dirt in the room.
“Mom sure knows how to make a place look clean,” Ebere voiced out her thoughts.
“I was going to say so myself,” I said. “Good for us, we have little to do. You do the sweeping, I do the dusting and then we mop later?” I suggested.
“Sure,” Ebere said and picked up the broom.
I had just squeezed the rag to wipe the window when Ebere said, “See what I’ve found!” I turned to see her holding a big brown envelope in her hands. She passed it to me. “I found it under the bed,” she answered my unasked question.

On the envelope was written boldly “Lyrics to My Loved One”. I opened it to see things written by mother. A closer examination of notes revealed that they were poems.
“These are poems written by mommy,” I said, “I guess mommy must have been a poet.”

Involuntarily, Ebere and I sat down on the bed to go through the poems. They were all dated and arranged in chronological order.

The first of the poems was titled “Peeping Girl”. Ebere read it out:

Peeping Girl
How I marvel at the deeds of the Lord
Beauties to masterpieces he makes in accord
Wilful wanders of my eyes make me see
Perfections of God during my little peep;
I, Peeping Girl, peep out of my window
The mystique male I see makes my eyes glow
Indeed he is the one of every girl’s dreams
I not being an exception to this realm;
A little peep makes my heart skip a beat
My attraction to him builds a halting heat
I seem to lose control of my mind, now stray
My crush on him should not be wrong, this I pray.

After she had read it a second time, something occurred to me, which I told her.
“Assuming mommy was writing about herself, and she was the ‘Peeping Girl’, then she must have had a crush on a guy and wrote it down.” I paused then continued, “These might be poems she wrote to the guy she had the crush on.”
“This sounds interesting,” Ebere said with a chuckle of excitement. I liked it whenever she got into such mood because it meant she was not going to get bored with the venture.
“Listen while I read the second poem to you…”
I put the first poem aside and listened to Ebere as she read the next poem. All I was left to imagine was what could have transpired to inspire mother to write such beautiful poems.

Overcoming The Fear

It was about a year after mother’s death that Ebere and I were able to go into her room. Before then I feared that if I went there, I would remember the good times we had there and so miss her so much. I could not bear the memories. Ebere said she felt the same way too. Mother’s room was a welcome haven. We found peace in that room. We found happiness and shelter in that room. Even up to the age of fifteen, I often joined Ebere in her room where she would sing songs to us and tell us stories until we fell asleep. Her voice was heavenly. When we brought our problems to her, she always seemed to have the perfect words for us that will encourage us and calm us. She made us open and truthful amongst ourselves and her room was where we always discussed with her our secrets. After her death, we never wanted to enter her room again. As I remembered some of the great things about her, I confessed, “One of God’s wonderful gifts to mankind is mothers.”

On that fateful day I called on Ebere whom I guess was reading a novel she had read so many times.
“Yes, Chimaobi,” she responded from her bedroom.
She always called my name when she was responding to my calls. I walked into her room and confirmed my guess. She was probably dying of boredom like me.
“Please join me to clean mommy’s room,” I told her.
She dropped the book and searched my face for a while. I guess when she saw the serious look on my face, she knew I was not joking.
“Chimaobi, are you sure you want to do this?” she asked. She was two years younger than me but she seemed to be very cautious and calculated, like mother.
“Yes. The place would be in a mess and you know mommy likes her room to be sparkling clean,” I reminded her.
She nodded slowly. Mother always wanted everything around her to be clean that she took the pains to clean her room herself. No other person had ever cleaned her bedroom.
“If my only brother wants me to do so, then why not?” Ebere thought out loud as she stood up from her bed.
It was one of those statements she made when she initially wanted to refuse what I asked of her but had to be motivated by reminding herself that I was her only sibling. I watched as she brought out a pair of shorts and a vest in preparation for the task ahead. “That means we need broom, mop, water, rags and detergent,” she continued thinking out loud.
“I’d go and get them,” I volunteered. “Please meet me in mom's room when you are done.”

Last Day With Mother

Mother’s death had always been a mystery to us. Why she had to die at the age of thirty-six, some months after I turned sixteen, was a question I kept asking God. She was young and beautiful. I should have added full of life, as that usually follows when describing someone that died an untimely death. But in the her last two years on earth, life was drained out of her. Maybe it was better she left.

I remember her last words to us, Ebere (my younger sister and only sibling) and myself. She was in her room, laying weakly on her bed, her head slightly propped up with a pillow. We were by the right side of her bed, telling her all that encompassed at school that day. We did it in a bid to cheer her up. Occasionally she smiled, though a very weak smile. In my heart I longed to see her beautiful smile that brought joy every moment I was with her.

“Never marry someone who is not meant for you,” she said, looking straight at us. Her gaze was steady. Her voice was faint and cracked. “Do not let anyone decide who you should spend the rest of your life with. Do not be pressurized into marriage. Marry that one who gives you joy and peace in your heart. Otherwise your life would be like you were soaring on waves and tides. You will always be praying for calm moments, which could come once in a blue moon. It could be very rough…” She coughed dryly.

Mother beckoned on us when she regained her breath. As we came close to her she hugged us, Ebere first then me. She whispered in my ears “Obim, my beloved son”, before releasing me. She closed her eyes, smiled a weak smile, then slowly the smile faded away. We sat watching the colour drain from her body. It was when we could not see the heaves of her breathing that we knew she was gone. Just like that. Let me spare you the details of our panic and wailing.

Father’s doctor said she had died from stroke. Her doctor said it was a combination of many things. My maternal grandparents said it could have been suicide, since they believed she was eccentric. I was convinced it was the ill treatments from my father that made her decline in health and eventually die. I knew many times when Ebere and I would return from school and we would see our father pulling her up the stairs with blood all over her. She would be wailing and screaming. When he got to the first landing, he would kick her down the stairs and leave her at the bottom in whatever state she was. Ebere and I would do nothing but cry and try to help her up to her room. We learnt very early how to administer first aid and became experts in it, for Father was very brutal. It surprised me that mother never told us why he was always beating her up. Instead she endured in silence and if we asked why, she would say, “It is okay dears. One day you will understand.”

And I wondered how long it will take me to understand.

Dedication

To LOVE - For Me and the inspiration
To My Husband - Who took me to LOVE, who changed my Love Story

The Non-fiction is a different "Lyrics to a Loved One"