Cold Void
Hey people, Toolsman here stealing a few minutes from the Betty Tuesdays team to formally announce something we’ve been working on for a while now. It’s official, the month of October has been declared Women’s month on TNC. (*Insert dancing and jumping up and down*).
So, what does this mean? All through the month of October, every single post (except the series currently running) will be written by women. We have spent the last couple of months combing through the interwebs to locate exciting female writers and trust me, from what I’ve read so far, you will not want to miss a single day. During this month, we will also have the female version of the For Coloured Men series we ran a few months ago so there’s more than enough to look forward to. Oh and by the way, this doesn’t mean the men will be taking a break (-__-), we’ll be in the comment section and online joining in on the conversations, after all, we go where our women go. :D. Now back to the Betty Tuesday’s team.
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Marilyn here and today, we have a guest post from a friend of the house, @kimeclectic. Please read and share your comments when you are done. Thanks.
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Contrary to my initial plan, I decided to board a bus home. Sitting in the midst of nine strangers does not exactly count as having company but somehow I feel better. At least I am shielded from the light chill clouding the bus. Human beings have always interested me. The fact that there is probably the same spiritual fuel that keeps people going, yet on close watch, they act so differently… weird. Like the graying man by my side that tugs at his right ear almost every five minutes… I timed it. Or this lady that has been yelling into her phone, threatening the person at the other end with fire, brimstone and the police if her five hundred thousand naira is not refunded within a week. From where I sit, I know for sure that there really is nobody at the other end of the line. It makes me wonder who she is looking to impress in a bus filled with strangers. I notice the baby bump underneath her dress and I turn away without thinking.
The journey home is taking longer thanks to the construction work being done on the road. For the first time, I am grateful for the traffic. I need the time to wake up. Everything still feels surreal and the reality of what I just did is yet to hit me. I wonder how I will be received when I get home. Will my mum look at me and know? I hate how void I feel. I am certain that a pin dropped inside me will echo. I expected a storm to rage in me, to feel guilt and have tears flow unrestrained in mourning of what will never be. I expected to be a guilt crippled wreck, to feel something profound and memorable to mark this day. But there is nothing, my eyes are as dry as the harmattan breeze that has chapped my lips. My thighs move of their own accord – open and close – like I am impatiently waiting for something to happen. Or maybe they move to distract me from what happened between them.
The bus finally stops. I find myself out of the bus but I cannot recall how I got out. I pull my jacket tightly around me as the cold dry draft of air hits me. Suddenly, I feel like going back on the bus. It takes me some minutes to remember I had forgotten to collect my change. The bus conductor smiles at me as his driver speeds off. Today is his lucky day. I just want to get home. At the same time I do not want to get home. I move like I was programmed to. The road home is one my spirit will remember even after I die. This street with the houses adorning it on either side has been my home for my score of years but today, it looks different. The houses feel like giant eyes staring at me. My steps surer, I walk to the black gate that has been in my line of sight.
I step into my home and take a deep breath. I take off my shoes and walk on the carpet grass that covers the soil. I love how it feels beneath my feet. I move closer to the back door, then I hear a platter of feet. I brace myself for this. He moves so fast! All I see is a blur as my four year old brother, Chima flings himself at me. There is a sharp pain in my stomach and I am not sure if he is heavier now or if he kicked me in the gut. It is a miracle we both do not end up on the floor. I become frantic. I am almost sure I can hear the thumps from inside my stomach.
As I climbed up the stairs, I dropped my shoes, then my bag. I put my brother down and unzipped my dress. The left hand of the dress drops to reveal my purple bra strap. Kunle’s favourite colour. The colour of the shirt he wore on the day I learnt that actions have reactions. I remember seeing the first line slowly form and then the second line and opening my eyes and closing them back. Wishing for the strip I held between my thumb and index finger to disappear. I remember Kunle’s eyes and how shiny they became from tears. It felt like I was looking through a water shield. Everything seemed so far away and I had to read his lips to grasp what he said. I remember the vibration from my phone jerking me to the reality before me. It was a text message from my mother. She reminded me that I was her pride and jewel and doors of success will continuously open to me even as I opened her womb. Then the dam burst. I cried until I passed out. I was a disappointment. I told myself it was the right thing to do… the unselfish thing. I could not bear to put my family through the pain. Not my mother. So I ignored Kunle’s plea. It was not just about us. I had my family to think about too. Hearing him re-affirm his love to me was supposed to make me feel better but I really did not want to hear about love just yet. I had not picked his calls in two days. I doubt he will have any fingernails left when next we see. This is for my family. For them.
I walk into my mum’s room. I watch her at her reading table, writing and humming to her herself.
“Good evening Mummy”
She turned and smiled at me. The dimples, gap tooth and the wide heart-warming smile I got from her today felt like a fist over my heart. Squeezing, not letting go.
“I bought boiled corn for you. I hid it inside my wardrobe because your sisters were lusting after it”.
Lusting has to be my mum’s favorite word.
I do not know where the tears came from. They weren’t there one minute and the next minute they poured. I sit on the floor and place my head on her laps. She rubs my back and I try to imagine the expression on her face right now. Her forehead will be furrowed and her eyebrows drawn closer in worry. I cannot look at her. All of a sudden I have so much to say. I want to tell her I had my insides scraped out today by cold steel and I still feel the phantom scraping. I think I am going to feel it for the rest of my life… something scraping then sucking the life out of me. I want to tell her that her baby was to have a baby but I ended the life that grew in me because I feared she was going to kill me. Now I feel her warmth and the love that oozes from her pores and I know for certain that I may have disappointed her but her love for me is non-ending. I want to apologize for not having enough faith in her.
“Keshu mama?”
That has been my pet name for as long as I remember. It meant more to my mum and I. It was our code.
“Mama Mama” I reply.
“Odin ma” she says It is well.
How can it ever be well? I am empty. I do not know how to be the person I used to be, I do not know if I would ever stop looking at the world in hues of black.
“Nma, what is the matter?”
The harder I try to explain, the more violent the storm becomes. Suddenly, I am hiccupping and hyperventilating and stuttering all at once. I can feel my mum’s fear now. She lowers herself to the floor and holds me tighter. Rocks me.
“It is okay my daughter. Tell me what the problem is Nma, talk to me”
I take deep breaths to calm my self down.
In
Out
“I failed the test I wrote last week mummy. I am finding school so hard. I do not know what to do”
Her long hiss brings an unexpected smile to my face.
“That is why you are crying like a widow? I thought somebody died”
My mind wanders as she goes on and on about life and hope.
It is well.
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Betty tuesday…. yeepee!!! erm i'm 1st #okbye
I was here before you, that I'm sure of. Wanted to beat you today. Oh well. . . .
hian
Na wa o. :'(
*Sigh* Just as predicted!!!!
:-(
:P
And she beat me to it!!! Kai!!!!
who
YOU!!! lolzzz
i'm 1st for us
Nice story… Didn't connect wiv me tho… Maybe its coz I'm a guy!
it didnt? ok imagine she's ur sis or gf
well err, the post. pretty dshort. but interesting. Abortion ey? well. the turmoils, the pain. *sigh*
Can I suggest dat d '1st responders' also comment on d story toooooo. Dat way, u r actually first cos u read fast n not jus lurkin around 2 jus bark '1st' joooo. Na wetin. I wanna first too, but I end up readin 1st
Buhahahahahahahahaha #PAINMENT
calm down. No vex
See vexation!!! lmao
duuuuh
Hmmmmmmm, when i saw the post was written by Kim, i took time out of my busy schedule to read and comment (or try to); and did i say she never disappoints. *Enough of the washing*. This is a wonderful piece, i feel the guilt the xter felt, to have ended a life!! but if you ask me its for the greater good, the BF may profess love now, but what happens after the baby is born? People change at the whiff of huge responsibility. And this too (Guilt) Shall pass.
PS: I do not support abortion, but i am of the school of thought * Decisions VS Consequences*
huge responsibilities beget huge success if properly attended to. *note* the guilt will neva pass.
1.Guilt is a cognitive or an emotional experience that occurs when a person realizes or believes—accurately or not—that he or she has compromised his or her own standards of conduct or has violated a moral standard, and bears significant responsibility for that violation. It is closely related to the concept of remorse.
2.Emotions: A mental state that arises spontaneously rather than through conscious effort and is often accompanied by physiological changes
The operational word here is “Spontaneous” the moment we do a good deed, the same spontaneity jumps into action and a new set of hormones are released which counter the effect(s) of guilt and there you have it, the guilt or cause of guilt is gradually pushed into the subconscious and then forgotten!
I really liked this story…… so sad….looking forward to October…. :)
hmmmm
Abortion is never n would never b easy especially one done for a selfish reason.
For coloured women yipeeee *doing the warri jerk :D
lol, Warri has a 'jerk'?
For Colored Women!!!! Long overdue……………………The Decades Project Killed it, Can't wait to see what October has in stock!!! *Famzing Time* #nff @OsemhenA @Ms_Julz
kimeclectic wow nice…. 1min there i tot she wld tell her mum… nice cover up.
thats exactly d reason for abortion these days, guys no longer deny their pregnant gf, U'll always hear "my mum will kill me" "my dad wld b hrt broken" truth is dey'll get over it. if u cant or not ready for a baby,
1. den use a condom, if u dont want a condom
2. den download a menstrual cycle calendar its free, dat'll make u know wen u r not safe, if u dont want that option
3.buy a "drum" of postinor, if u dont want postinor,
4. den buy depo povera and den u can straff for months without wahala….
5. if u dont want.. den be ready to keep that baby
Well said!! *thumbs up*
;-)
Hmmmmm…Mama the Mama!!!
Sits down quietly to jot points
Free 'Leshure' on Le'Fam du Planning http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Depo-Provera :O
lol… go nd buy condom jor
salient points though. Drum of postinor? I bet Dts gross.
COLORED WOMEN FINALLLLLLLYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!! SERIOUSLY LOOKING FORWARD TO IT
As usual! Ma girl nailed it! Love dis story.. Rili touching n makes u tink of dat secret or issue eating u up n u just dnt knw who to confide in or u can't tell dat one person u want to…. :(
Can't wait for october! TNC keeps beating its on records! Kip up d gus work (Y)
Hmmm… Wow. Very good cover up. Very very smooth. :)
Totally love this post, Abortion would always be a sensitive issue and there is no easy way around it. Moreover, the trails of disappointments over one costly mistake never fades away… Maybe through divine intervention.
really sad post. However guilt is cancerous.
I disagree with this, Guilt is only a state of mind.
looking forward to October….yipeeeeeee
I've always been pro-choice, but i saw a trailer of a movie "October baby" and it got me thinking that maybe pro-choice isn't always the right way.
sensitive subject, at the end of the day……….biko do what's best for you.
*sigh*
When you feel remorse, but yet you are relieved. When you miss something you never had, and never wanted. When you feel guilty but look forward to living an innocent life.
Having an abortion does things to you sha.
I wish our African countries had proper counseling available for pregnant females, and made abortion legal. Maybe there wouldn't be so many if the stigma was removed.
Oh its a jolly good story. Written excellently. Its nice to see Kim's writing improve as time goes on.
A few minor things though – "…a platter of feet" should probably be "the patter of (little) feet".
And there is a mix-up of tenses somewhere.
Despite those insignificant things, its a jolly good story.
"…Despite those insignificant things, its a jolly good story"
What he said.
Cool read, yada yada yada. I said somethng bout ’1sters’,,, will somebody, anybody, back a brother up??????
Its alright…
“That is why you are crying like a widow? I thought somebody died”…
Nice wrap.
#Nailment. This hit home. Well Done
Sm1 pls hand me a tissue! *sobs* I really donot knw y I’m all teary.. *sigh* beautifully written..
Nice story. I love d idea of a Cold Void; of something metallic and empty.
I actually cried with her. for a moment, i believed she would tell her mom the real reason behind the tears. I don't blame her though, I'd probably wouldn't say if i were in her shoes. Making a choice to end the life of someone you have never met seems pretty easy and inconsequential until the 'scraping' is done. That guilt NEVER goes away, counselling or no.
I feel this story. It made me cry; i don't cry often.
Didn't really feel it. Her motions weren't explored enough or raw enough. Only guilt. And that is too small an emotion for the deed done.
You are right. Perhaps it's because she's never been there. Or perhaps she's been there and still is unable to fully face and explore those emotions. You're welcome.
But Kim is officially my blog daughter as of today. So all of you take note. Well done on this story Kim.
All i can do is smile at this ..
You are more of a painter than a writer, with your pen, you paint a story so vividly. When i was reading the story, i could see the events taking place. You are good.
Why are ladies so elusive? As close as this character is to her mother, she could not trust her mother with the truth. Do not tell me this is a fiction, cos, this what an average girl 'd do.
I can so relate..bn dere, done dat! *sigh*
Not a pleasant experience..