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 Rosemary Okafor

Inspired by a true life event

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God, Michael and Me © Rosemary Okafor 2022
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Aside from some locations that are used for credibility
purposes. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s
imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely
coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system
or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or
otherwise, without the prior permission of Rosemary Okafor.
Contact Info: linktr.ee/Rosemarywrites
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Edited by Glory Abah, Titi Awobode, Rosemary Okafor and Bookreviewbymo

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 For Chiamaka
Girl, you are my Martha
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 CONTENT
CONTENT
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR'S NOTE
OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

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 ONE
Elizabeth

Beauty is pain.
I didn’t understand this until yesterday when I decided to braid my hair
after three whole years of not subjecting myself to the time-wasting torture.
Three years that had me embracing wigs as though my life depended on
them. Well, it did. Aside from the fact that the easy-to-wear hair extensions
had a way of transforming plainness to glam, they also made life easy for
ladies like me that barely had time to even clean our nails.
The decision to braid again wasn't mine. Mma, my younger sister, who
enrolled in a hair braiding salon some few weeks ago and needed someone
to practice with, talked me into it. Since it was going to be done for free—
the one free service that girl would be rendering me in her entire life— I
submitted my hair like a lamb submitting its life for slaughter, swallowing
pain and sobs while she pulled on my hair as though her mission was to
render me bald.
Goodness! My scalp was inflamed. The thought of turning my neck
made my heart weep.
Only God knew how I slept last night without changing sides and how I
was able to hold back tears throughout my journey from Enugu to Lagos.
Hissing, I abandoned the round-necked t-shirt I wanted to wear and
went for a button-front one instead. At least, that would save me the pain
that would erupt from forcing the previous cloth over my head.
Done with buttoning the shirt, I proceeded to slip my legs into a skirt,
welding my head straight because any turning not done with carefulness
would result in my eyes spilling a few tears.
 My phone rang while I was fishing out my block-heeled slippers from
my unpacked box. Hurriedly pushing my feet in them, I walked through the
box-sized hotel room to the table beside the bed to get it.
“Adanne,” a name I earned for being the first daughter of the family.
“Are you at the convention ground yet?” Mma asked.
“Not yet. Just getting dressed.” The question should have been ‘is your
head still on your neck?’ Because it felt like it was going to detach itself
from my body since yesterday.
“Please don’t forget to get me audio messages and anointing oil.”
“I’m not sure of anointing oil.” We hardly used them in our
conventions. “But I'll get messages for you.” My neck made an involuntary
turn at the sound of footsteps outside my door, and I winced at the multiple
stabs of pain that attacked my head. “How is your husband?” I asked,
swallowing a sob.
“He's not yet back from Lagos.” Which meant she and her kids were
still in my house. They’d been around since her husband traveled, which
was two weeks ago. He was supposed to come pick them yesterday.
“Honestly, we are tired of this many hopeless job interviews. Please put him
in prayers.”
“No pro...” Oh Jesus! The pain right now was maddening. For the third
time since I arrived in Lagos and checked in to this hotel, I considered not
attending this evening’s program. It wasn’t like I would concentrate on
anything happening there, thanks to Mma. And woe to me for not realizing
that some things were not meant for me.
“Adanne, are you okay?”
“I am not okay, Mma,” I cried. “You didn’t tell me that the price I had to
pay for braiding my hair is to endure this kind of pain. Girl, I'm going
crazy!”
“Ah, and you didn’t mention to me that the hair is paining you
yesterday.” Did I hear subtle laughter in her voice? “Sorry, nwannem. Maba
ya mmiri oku, massage it with hot water.”
“You are mad!” I blurted. “How can I use hot water on a head that's
already burning?”
“Sorry nau. It's because you've not braided your hair for a long time,”
she said. “But the hair is fine sha, it fits you. Don’t forget to be on a lookout
for any promising man o. I know you will have a lot of male admirers
because of that hair. It changed your look.”
 The only thing the braids did was projecting my already projected
forehead and give it an extra shine. “Let me come out of this pain first.
Besides, conventions are not where one hunts for men.” I'd retired from that
business and channeled my time and energy to other things like building my
career and strengthening my relationship with God.
It took me nineteen years of my life and four failed relationships to
finally admit that some of us were not Cinderella who left a slipper behind
and got herself a 'prince charming.' Some ladies were destined to just make
money, own houses, change cars the way they changed wigs, and die single
and happy.
“Adanne, that your fellowship has handsome and rich guys o. You know
I’ve attended one of your conventions.”
“Mma... Mma,” I cut in, gently running my fingers over the braids that
were tied up and wrapped in a bun. “I am fine the way I am. The Lord has
blessed me, and I will not be an ungrateful child who would rather grumble
at things she doesn’t have than be thankful for what she has.” Putting the
phone on speaker and placing it on the table, I moved the pillow, picked up
my Bible, and snatched my handbag from the only sofa in the room.
“Okay o,” Mma said. “If you think you are too old for marriage, nke
ahu gbasara gi. I have said my own.”
Too old? Well, according to world people, a thirty-nine-year-old woman
shouldn’t keep her hopes high when it comes to getting a man to commit a
lifetime with her. “I will speak to you when I get back.” I doubted if I
would fulfill that promise. “Send my love to the kids.” I cut the call before
she could respond. Grabbing my glass case and the phone from the table, I
began heading to the door.
A sudden chill that ran through my body stopped me mid-stride. Was
it... didn't I turn the air conditioner off? Convinced that I did, I proceeded to
unlock the door and... oh Jesus! The shiver again. This time it was as
though an icy finger grazing through my nape, down my spine.
It must be my scalp. The raging pain coursing all over it was beginning
to give me goosebumps. Stepping out, I walked through the long corridor
and made toward the staircase that would take me to the ground floor.
I am going to give you a man after my heart.
What...who... wincing to the pains that spiraled from one point of my
head to every other part of my body as I turned my neck, my eyes moved up
the narrow stairs, then down. There was no one in sight. But I could swear I
heard someone speak to me. Maybe it was my mind playing with Mma’s
talk about me looking out for an eligible man. Or it could be the pain in my
head. Descending the stairs, I wondered if this maddening pain had given
room for hallucination.
I am going to give you a man after my heart.
Someone just spoke to me. I just heard an audible voice! Throwing
glances around the reception, I couldn’t find a single person there who
could have made the statement. The three men and a woman seated at the
far end of the hall engrossed in whatever they were discussing, weren’t
paying me any attention.
“Ma’am?”
“Oh.” I handed my room key to the receptionist. “Sorry.”
“Have a very nice day, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” I said, leaving the hall and heading out into the evening
that still had the strength of the day, though with a soft touch of night.
I am giving you a man after my heart.
The voice again. Ah ah! What's happening to me?
Waving down a taxi, I hopped in. “Police college,” I said to the driver
while acknowledging the two passengers at the back with a nod.
This could be God speaking, I thought. But then, God had never spoken
to me in a broad daylight before. It had always been through dreams and
revelations. And again, God would not speak to me about something as
trivial as getting a man.
Trivial?
Yes. I had counted it as one of those things I lost to gain an undistracted
relationship with God. Serving Him with all He’d given to me was my top
priority now, and He knew that.
I am the Lord, I watch over my words to fulfill them, the voice sounded.
That got me surrendering as I became so sure of who's it belonged to. I
watch over my words to fulfil them. Something the Lord told me two years
ago during one of my troubled moments, and it had become my everyday
mantra.
Relaxing my head on the backrest of the car seat I shut my eyes.
“If this is you, Lord, please don't tempt me. You know I love you with
or without a man by my side.”
“A card of Emzor Paracetamol, please,” I ordered as I stepped into the
medic store at the convention ground. The pain now attacking my head was
the kind that stopped all other traffic in the brain. “No, Panadol,” I
corrected, concluding that I needed something stronger to calm the ache.
Popping two tablets into my mouth, I pushed them down with the water
I took out from my bag. God please, take away this pain from me and I
swear I wouldn’t braid my hair again.
Paying for my purchase, I made my way towards the large tent that
served as the event hall.
High praises were in full gear when I entered the already filled hall, but
I managed to get a spot a few feet from the podium. The seat was the only
vacant one, someone must have moved from it to somewhere else.
Still battling with a burning scalp and thumping head, I sat out the first
music section and other formalities. But by the time the second song leader
came up, I felt my discomfort dispersing and relief taking over. Searching
my bag for my glasses and putting it on, I stood up and began to dance to
the exhilarating praises being raised. From where I was, I could see every
person seated on the elevated platform meant for the leaders, including
those still walking through the red-carpeted...
He's the one.
Who?
Over there. Look.
My gaze moved back to the red-carpeted walkway, where a tall, slender,
handsome— down to his smiles— man, in a dark suit, was walking up to
the podium with his entourage of ministers.
He's your husband.
I must have sputtered out laughter so loud as the man beside me turned
and shot me a glare. Saying an apology for disrupting his concentration, I
adjusted my glasses and turned my attention to the handsome man who had
now taken his seat at the table.
Mr. Michael Bankole. The national president of Ablaze for God Non-
denominational Christian Center— my fellowship.
Him? I asked the Lord, now comfortable with his audible voice.
Yes, him.
 Another laughter rumbled inside my stomach. Suppressing it with my
hand over my mouth, I sat down.
Today was becoming a joke. Started with a throbbing headache and
burning scalp— which it inherited from yesterday. Then the Lord chose
today to start speaking to me audibly and the first conversation we were
having was about finding me a husband. Oh, He already found one! A sexy-
as-an-angel multi-billionaire that owned hotels all over the country. He'd
been a widower for the past seven years and it didn’t seem like he was back
to the ‘single and searching market.’ Even if he was, it would definitely not
be me.
Don’t be like Abraham's wife who doubted the prophecy of a son.
I am not... swallowing the rest of my lies— lies yes, because right now,
I was as unbelieving, as doubting as a Pharisee during Jesus' time.
The praise section gave way to an engulfing worship. Standing to my
feet, I returned my gaze to the seat he had taken a few minutes ago. It was
vacant. My eyes darted from one end of the podium to the other, then to the
front and I caught him kneeling beside the pulpit, his head bowed so low
that his face touched the floor.
Tearing my eyes away from him to scan through the day's event
program, I realized he was the preacher for the day.
Great! I was sure I would be having a hard time concentrating on
whatever message that would be coming out of those lips that were as pink,
as sultry as a ripe strawberry. Did I just think that? Oh Jesus! You see what
You’ve led me to, God? I glanced down a bit before looking his way again.
He was now on his feet, head bowed over an electronic tablet which his
finger was flipping through.
My gaze lingered on him as he began to speak, and... you know how
you never noticed the unique features of a person until something happens
and you find yourself drawn to that person, and you become aware of every
beautiful little detail? Yeah, this son of the Most High was a true beauty,
from the gentle expression of his face when he spoke, to the way his voice
quickened when he sparkled with new rhema.
“I’m not going to lie, Lord, I like him, but I’m not sure...”
He will come to you.
Today? Tomorrow? In this convention or later? How would that even
happen? The fellowship had over three thousand branches all over Nigeria.
Mine wasn’t even one of the eminent among them, how would he find me?
 I had these thoughts in my head when I suddenly realized that Mr.
Handsome Son of God had stopped preaching, but his lips were moving in
silent... prayers? Then he turned his head towards my direction, locking his
gaze with mine and my heart sank into my stomach. His was a heaven-spun
stare. I could have held it as long as he would let me, had he not done a
most surprising thing that sent jitters down the pit of my stomach and
excitement coursing through my skin; an almost imperceptible smile
worked up his lips as he gave me a slight nod before looking away to
continue preaching.

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 TWO
Michael

The distance between us was wide, yet I saw her. A dark, petite
bespectacled lady that would have been swallowed by the crowd in the
auditorium had she sat any other place other than the front row.
Why would she even choose to sit there? Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe it
was the Lord’s way of getting my attention finally. And Jesus! What a way!
Walking back to my seat, I thought of the brief moment my gaze locked
with hers. I had felt a pang of what I could only call recognition, but so
violent it was like a physical blow, leaving me feeling odd, slightly
disoriented, and shockingly excited. I’d never felt like that for any woman
after my late wife. It was as if everything I’d ever needed and wanted was
staring back at me. Yet at that moment, I panicked. I wanted to take my eyes
away, to protect my heart and Ugo’s memories. But I couldn’t. My strong
composure had deserted me, my walls broken. I had felt my heart racing
faster than usual and my mouth lacking words.
She is the one, the Lord had said to me.
We’d been through this over and over— the Lord and I, and my answer
to him had remained the same; I don’t need any woman. “Lord, you are
enough for me,”
You have mourned Ugo enough.
Ugo was my wife and my companion for 22 years. She was my
strength, everything I needed, and more. She was irreplaceable.
But the Lord didn’t think so, though he didn’t raise the topic again until
last night when he told me to get ready to meet her.
 Why did the lord choose when I was on the pulpit to show her to me?
And to think that I'd found myself battling emotions I never knew were still
alive inside me when I sighted her from the podium. Excitement, sudden
heart skip, sensations that tickled my core. My attraction to her was instant,
like a tangible but invincible thread in the air.
It was a little difficult to steady myself and continue with the
assignment of the day. What made my situation worse was that it seemed
like she recognized, as our eyes met, my helpless attraction to her and my
fear.
“Water for you, sir.” An usher placed a bottle before me.
“Thank you.”
“Will you be needing anything more?”
“No, thank you.” Dismissing the man with a nod, I unscrewed the
bottle, drank a little and set it down. The announcement was going on now.
In less than ten minutes, we would be going for a little recess and then
reconvene for the last part of tonight’s program. Would she stay for that
section, or would she go? Most members would do the latter.
Taking another sip from the bottle, I turned my eyes to the place I
spotted her. She had her head lowered— thank God, and was searching
through her handbag. Then, as if she knew I had my eyes on her, her head
came up and her gaze met mine.
Jesus. Not again. Swallowing my discomfort, I looked away. This
feeling in me wasn’t what I want to encourage, yet I didn't want to stop it.
Lord, it’d been years I felt this way. And I didn’t even know how to handle
myself now.
I make all things beautiful in my time.
What an awkward, beautiful time.
Let your heart go, son.
“I’m too old for this,” I muttered, downing the remainder of the water.
Just a glance from those big eyes of hers and I was feeling like a teenager
crushing over a girl. Worried that the men at the table with me might notice
my uneasiness, I threw glances around. No one was paying me any heed
except the usher that brought me water, who now stood at the far end of the
podium. My gaze met his for a brief second. Ready to please, he started
walking towards me, but I stopped him mid-stride with a raise of my hand.
One of the privileges that came with being the chief servant of this
organization was everyone wanting to please me. Sometimes I objected, but
most of the time I just allowed it, though it still looked a little bit awkward
to have honorable men clamoring to do what I wouldn’t have any problem
doing for myself.
“My president sir, will you be going back to your hotel during this short
break?” The man seating beside me leaned forward and whispered.
“No. I will be meeting with the convention planning committee after
now.” Glancing towards the spot she’d been, I found her seat empty.
Disappointment spiraled through me as I turned back to the man that spoke
to me earlier. “Include the committee's brief meeting to the announcement.”

Martha

Settling inside the Uber ride that would take me to the hotel and bring me
back for the second part of the program, I rested my face on the window,
my eyes sucking in the beautiful Ikeja nightlife while my mind took a
leisure walk back to Mr. Michael Bankole, and a burst of soft laughter
escaped my lips.
He stole my breath, captured my soul and I had felt time and space
collapsing into one tiny spark and exploding at light speed! That moment
our gaze locked, that smile he gave me, a smile that turned his face from
handsome to divine, I had felt my body flush warm and a sense of shyness
overtaking me. I could swear he saw it. And that second time, when I
caught him staring and turned away, biting on my bottom lip, he’d seen that
too.
You like him.
Yes! Giggling, I checked my phone for unread messages. I had two; one
from Mma— telling me that she ran out of cash and would appreciate it if I
could borrow her a little money which she would pay back once her
husband returns. The other text was from my boss. He wanted to know
when I would be coming back. Replying both texts, I returned the phone to
my bag and leaned back, allowing my mind to slide back to Michael
Bankole.
Excitement stroked my heart as the name echoed in my head. Was it too
early to say that I was super attracted to him? Ah, God! You must be
laughing at me now. To think that a few hours ago, I'd argued with You over
getting me a man. Now I could give anything to have this gorgeous man
cast his eyes on me again, to experience that magical moment we had inside
there.
Turning my face to the window, I took in a thought-clearing breath—
which didn’t help in calming my fluttering stomach.
Ha, God. How did my life change from point no man to being crazy
about a man in just one day? I was on my own, serving You in my little
way, and You decided to distort my thoughts with the image of this king of
gorgeousness! Now I couldn't get him off my mind.
That look— like he was confirming something from my face. The
smile, the imperceptible nod— as though we shared a secret no one else
knew.
Stroking my chest hoping that the excitement gripping my inside would
ease, I let out a sigh. It was too early to be feeling this way. For Jesus' sake,
Mr. Bankole was just another man!
Not just another man. He is my General.
Oh, I know that.
Make sure you meet him before you leave this city.
Father, you know it’s very impossible for me to come anywhere near
this man. I wouldn't even get past the entourage.
I will make him come to you.

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 THREE
Martha

I remember my secondary school days when well-endowed senior girls

would scale the school fence by night to meet with boys and return in the
wee hours of the morning reeking of alcohol and good life. One of the girls
had asked me the kind of husband I would eventually end up with since I
would rather bury my nose in the bible than catch a little fun with my
mates.
“What do you think?” I had asked back.
“A Jesus junky.”
“Well, I will marry a man who loves the lord. Who can kabaye
masatataye for me, knows who he is, what he has, and what he can do for
Christ Jesus,” I had replied. My heart was burning for God so much that I
wouldn’t risk losing the relationship I had with him because of a man who
wouldn’t respect and honor Him the way I did.
“So, you wouldn’t mind if he was poor?”
“That kind of man is never poor. Nah... Never!” I had added as a joke.
How many years was it? I’d forgotten. But last night, while I was
massaging the edges of my scalp with an ice pack, it had hit me that the
Lord might have picked interest in that innocent conversation and had
chosen to bring my desire to pass.
“Welcome, ma.” An attendant approached me as I stepped into the
convention bookstore. “Messages of yesterday and this morning are
available.”
“Okay. But I think I would rather wait till the end of the program so I
can get all the messages at once,” I said, walking towards the audio section,
picking and dropping CDs. My eyes caught a distinct one. Picking it up, I
stared at the face that had taken every space in my mind, my own Prince
Charming.
Why did you choose this place for me to meet him?
Where else would have been most appropriate?
Oh, Lord. I don’t mind this place, or any other place.
Feeling the beginning of bubbling excitement— the kind a child feels
on Christmas morning, I dropped the CD and moved to the book section.
Selecting one, I flipped a few pages, dropped it and moved to another shelf
while thinking how funny it was that a few days ago as I was preparing for
this program, getting insanely attracted to a man wasn’t part of my
expectation. Yet, that was the first thing that hit me in the face here.
Shaking my head, I picked another book while my eyes settled on a similar
one by my right and my thoughts went back to the handsome face that sent
warmth up my cheeks.
“That’s a good book, ma,” the same attendant that I met at the audio
section said. Drawing my attention back to the book in my hand. “You’ve
been staring at the book for a while so I felt I should— that you need a little
convincing,” he added, a salesman's smile plastered on his face.
“Oh.” I blushed at being caught dreaming in broad daylight. “How
much?” I asked.
“Five thousand, ma.”
“Five thousand?” My ears picked up the sound of a door opening and
closing. “It’s too much for a book this small,” I said, dropping the book.
I will make him come to you.
The word re-echoed in my mind at the same time I turned my head
and... guess who I saw walking in through the glass swing door?
You guessed right, my national president. His smile as he acknowledged
shoppers and attendants was as bright and warm as the breaking of dawn.
Someone said something that made him chuckle, a sound that rolled about
the store like a child spinning top, vibrant and heartwarming as it moved
around the people. When he responded to what was said, giggles turned to
fitful laughter, forcing my lips to stretch in a smile even though I didn’t hear
the jokes.
I still hadn’t recovered from the warmness his laughter stirred inside me
when he lifted his eyes and settled them on me.
 My heart lurched into my stomach and a sudden need to disappear
overtook me. Turning away sharply, I let out some nerve-calming sighs.
One. Two. I could do this, I could face him...
I couldn’t!
It was easier to play the staring game with him from afar while nursing
desires and wild imaginations. But here, in this bookstore that had suddenly
grown small since he stepped in, with my heart thumping as though it was
struck by a cupid bow, I didn’t think I was ready to face him.
He’s heading my way. Good gracious! Gripping the wooden bookshelf
in front of me to steady myself, I timed his steps on the tiled floor... A little
closer now... much closer... and...
A fragrant— the scent of sweetness and grace, wafted into my nose. It
was intoxicating in a beautiful way. Welcoming and comforting.
I didn't need the Holy Spirit to tell me he was standing right behind me.
“Not bold enough to hold my gaze this time?” His voice was easy to the
ear, yet exuded solid confidence. It was the kind one would fall in love with
before putting a face to it. His accent smooth, polished. I wanted to ask if he
had lived in the United Kingdom, but I felt this wasn’t the right time. We
were just meeting each other. “You're not saying anything?”
“Sir?” I said, still avoiding looking at his face.
“You almost made me topple over my words yesterday.”
“I... I didn’t.” Swallowing hard. “It was not my intention.” Leaving the
shelf, I moved to another, picking and dropping books, aware of his
closeness.
“The Lord told me I will meet you here,” he paused, perhaps waiting for
my reaction.
Bracing myself, I turned fully to meet his gaze and... Did I tell you he
was handsome? Scratch that. This man was angelic. Age had nothing on
him.
“He said he would make you come to me.” My voice came out in a
whisper.
“He spoke to you about this too?”
Nodding, I turned my gaze away from him, adjusting my eyeglasses.
“Sir... I...”
“My name is Michael. You know that already, don't you?”
Sure, I did. Who didn't? Even a baby in the fellowship knew. But I
couldn't just call him by his name.
 His phone rang before another word could form in my head. Glancing at
it, he frowned and settled his eyes back on me.
“I have to go.”
“I know.” But I wished he would have stayed longer with me, so I could
continue inhaling his grace and expensive perfume.
“I'll see you later...” Another pause, as though he was considering
adding more words. “Not now,” he muttered, more to himself, then turned
to the vendors. “Give her whatever she needs and send the bill to me.”
“I can pay for them,” I said.
His eyes slightly widened in shock, then relaxed.
“I mean no disrespect sir.”
“I know,” he said. “And I know you can pay for them, but can you do
me the honor?”
“Okay.”
“Thank you,” he sighed as if I did him a great favor. “Send her bill to
me,” he said again to the vendor.
And he was gone!
I didn't even tell him my name!

Michael

It was the way she tried to avoid looking at my face while her eyes had
wanted to feast on me as long as we stood there. Her discomfort, the
shyness that turned her cheeks a little shade darker, her smile that like a
flower, made my heart bloom— though she’d ended it so abruptly,
depriving me the pleasure of sucking it in. There was this innate confidence
one wouldn’t expect to see in a lady as little as her.
She was not beautiful in a flashy way, neither was she trying to be, as I
saw no make-up on her face. But she gave out serenity and warmth in
gentle waves, which was quite attractive.
 Walking through the arena to the auditorium where thousands of hungry
souls awaited to hear what the Lord would say through my lips, it dawned
on me that I didn’t know where and how to see her again. I didn’t even ask
for her name.
What an awkward situation. Well, the Lord started this, I might as well
relax and allow Him steer the ship. The only part I had to play would be to
follow where He leads, to act when He said I should.
The men that were already seated at the table stood as I took my seat.
Nodding my acknowledgement while shaking some hands, I beckoned on
the usher to hand me a copy of the program.
In the next forty-five minutes, I would be called upon to minister the
word, which meant my eyes would roam around the congregation. A part of
me wished the little woman wouldn't be sitting close to where I would be
seeing her, another part desired that she would.
“Holy Spirit, help me,” I muttered as my head turned to the left.
Throwing a passing glance, my eyes caught her on the second roll.
Innocent. The single word echoed in my brain, reverberating like a
sharp kick to some buried part of my soul. “So small. So beautiful—” I
couldn't believe I just murmured that.
She is perfect for you.
Reluctantly turning my eyes away for fear that she would catch me
staring again. I bent my head over my electronic tablet and started flipping
through pages of the scripture. This whole thing was becoming hilarious, I
thought, stifling the laughter that was rumbling from my bowel.
God sure knew how to crack jokes.

OceanofPDF.com
 FOUR
Martha

Day three of the convention.

I was beginning to get irrationally angry and frustrated, and... and
disappointed. Not at God, no. But at him! My national president. It's been
almost twenty-two hours since he mesmerized me in that bookstore and
promised to see me later, yet he did not as much as glance at me from where
he sat at the podium, even when it was obvious he knew I sat close to the
elevated platform last night and this morning.
I had stayed back for an extra thirty minutes after last night’s program,
waiting for him to come to me. Had even gone back to the bookstore this
morning— during the breakfast break, in case he chose to meet me there.
Yet, nothing. It was as though his strolling into the store that day was to
satisfy his curiosity and now that he’d done that, he'd lost interest.
This section would be the grand finale of the convention, and he
probably would be discarding every thought of me like an old cloth— if he
hadn’t done so already— once he left here. While I would forever be
tormented with the image of him in my head.
Why would you even do this to me, God? I wasn't searching for a man
and you know that!
You should learn how to trust me.
Trusting You is not the issue.
What is the issue?
I'm lusting after him! It's... It's...not proper. It's carnal.
I will make everything beautiful in my own time.
 “You don’t understand, Lord.” Just thinking of him made my inside
jitter as though I'd been dipped in icy water. And yes... the yearning to have
him do... oh, admitting this sudden unholy desire welling inside me was so
shameful.
With my head lowered as I began to pen down key points from the
message going on— he was preaching, I willed myself not to stare directly
at his face. That worked for a few minutes, then... swearing under my
breath, I slammed my pen on my notepad, ignoring my neighbor that turned
to look at me, probably wondering if I was alright, and leaned back on the
seat, greedily fixing my gaze on the gorgeous son of the Most High.
Staring doesn’t hurt anyone, I thought. Besides, after today I may not be
seeing him until the next convention, so I'd better allow my eyes to take in
as much as I could.
But staring wasn’t going to be enough for me. I wanted more of him.
Maybe it was time to steer this ship. I would go to him after tonight's
meeting. And say what? That day at the bookstore, I couldn’t even look
him in the face. “This is not fair,” I murmured.
Be still and know that I am working it out for your good.
“I know You are. I trust Your process.”
Did I?
Yes, yes... I mean, I had to. What other option do I have?
The program was finally declared finished three hours later.
Phew! Thank you, Jesus. I survived the heat gazing at him every now
and then was sending down my core.
Abandoning my initial decision of going after him— I didn’t think I had
the boldness to do that, I gathered my things and left the auditorium.
Don’t glance back, Martha, I told myself as I felt the strong desire to
look at him for the last time. What's the need? I would hurt more and he
wouldn’t even know how I felt.
Out in the open, I fished out my phone and was about to book a ride
when a familiar scent floated into my nose. It was him, Maybe... maybe not,
but I’d come to love the fragrance since yesterday. Closing my eyes against
the gentle breeze stroking my face, I absorbed the scent that was becoming
stronger.
“Trouble maker.”
Flicking my eyes open at the sound of the voice, I realized he was
standing beside me, gazing ahead, and my senses tingled with happiness.
 “Why would you call me that, sir?” And why did it sound like a
romantic endearment?
“Michael, the name is Michael.” Slipping his hand inside the pocket of
his suit trousers, he let out a relieved sigh, his eyes taking in the open space.
“It was difficult preaching the word with you staring at me like that.”
Like what? I wanted to ask, even though I knew exactly what he was
talking about. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“I just told you my name.”
“I know, but I can't call you that.” I brought my voice low for the fear of
being heard by passers-by. Some did stop by to either exchange
pleasantries, take a selfie with him, or ask for a quick advice and a word of
prayer over an issue.
“We... you shouldn’t be seen with me, sir.” I said, settling my gaze on a
food vendor packing coolers and pots inside the back of a van.
“I make you uncomfortable.”
Reluctantly pulling my gaze away from the van, I turned to face him
and... had the night suddenly gone cold or was my inside melting into a
puddle at his intense stare? “Sir,” I started.
“You have to start calling me by my name,” he said.
I didn’t think I could do that. At least not now that everything still felt
awkward and overwhelming. He was overwhelming.
“We better start heading to the car if we are going to escape the many
that may want my attention to me soonest,” he said, politely rejecting a plea
from a passer-by who wanted to take a picture of him.
“I... I can get a cab to my hotel. I don't want to stop you from attending
to people.” I felt a brief flash of jealousy at the thought of him giving his
attention to others, softening his eyes, and flashing his impeccable teeth at
them.
He sputtered laughter he seemed to be holding back for a while. And
oh...the sound of it.
“You are exactly the description He gave me.”
Wait... What? While I was minding my business, God was giving this
man my portfolio? “What else did he say to you?” I asked, gaining a little
boldness.
“If we leave here fast, I may have the time to tell you half of it.”
Half? I wanted all.
 Following him to the parking lot, my steps slowed on seeing three black
SUVs and two Hilux trucks with some armed uniformed men in them. The
men jumped down from the trucks on seeing us. One hurried to the first
SUV and opened it, obviously for him.
Two men stepped out from the second SUV and started walking towards
him. One relieved him of the burden of carrying his books and gadget while
the other stood with his hands clasped in front of him, ready to jump if
asked to do so.
“Congratulations, my president,” the one that took his books said. “It
was a successful convention.”
“Yes, my president. This is the best convention so far,” the other man
added.
“It’s not our making, gentlemen. The Lord did it,” he said, now walking
with them towards the waiting vehicles, forgetting about me.
I should quietly slip away and find my way back to my hotel. He
wouldn’t miss me much since he had people around him, occupying his
time. He may not even miss me at all.
“Little woman.” His voice made me lift my head. He had his hand
stretched out, waiting for me to take it. “Come on, I’m dropping you off.”
Little woman? Really?
I hesitated, looking from him to the men who were trying to act
indifferent while the surprise they felt could be read on their foreheads, then
back to him.
I should turn back and run. My head said yes to that idea, but my heart
and legs were in disagreement to that. Tightening my lips, I walked closer
and took his hand.
A few minutes later, we were riding home in his exotic car that was
filled with his presence and an aura of the Holy Spirit. We said nothing to
each other for a while. What was there to say? I was awestricken. Having
him sit beside me took my breath away.
“You know this city well?” He finally broke the silence.
I shook my head. I had, in fact, visited Lagos a lot of times. But at this
precise moment, sitting with this formidable man, I hardly knew my own
name.
“You are nervous.”
“What?”
 “You're trembling,” he smiled at me. Recognizing— dangerously— the
depth and breadth of my uneasiness.
“Oh, no. Not really. Not at all.” What was wrong with me? Where had I
gone to, the Martha I knew... so socially accomplished, so emotionally
cool? Who was this trembling, stammering creature sitting here taken so
helplessly and hopelessly apart? “I’m sorry...”
“Don’t apologize. I understand if this whole thing... if I make you....”
“No, no. Uhm... It’s not you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” I said, smiling at him, trying to appear in control.
“So do you mind giving me your name now?”
“You didn't ask for it before.”
“I am asking now.”
Was that a hint of amusement in his voice? “Martha,” I said, allowing
my eyes to roam the interior of the car. God! This man must be eating dollar
notes for breakfast.
“Martha.” He relished the name as if it was warm milk in his mouth. “I
love it.”
“Thanks.”
“So, what do you want to ask me, Martha?”
“Sir?”
“It's Michael to you. Please call me by my name.”
“It will take me some time to get used to calling you Michael.”
“You just did.”
Laughter bubbled inside me, nudging my mouth and I let go. He joined
in and before long, a ripple of smothered laughter circled the car. When it
ended, I turned and caught him staring at me as though I was the best thing
that ever happened after akara and bread. “Stop, please,” I muttered, feeling
warmth flood my face.
“Stop what?”.
“Looking at me like that.” I gave him a quick glance from under my
lashes. He had his bulk tilted towards me; his lips curled up in a grin. “You
are making me— uneasy.”
“I love the way you laugh. Like a child. So freely.”
Did he mean that? I had been told that the sound of my laughter could
be mistaken for an engine chortling to life. Sometimes I tried not to laugh
so loud and hard for fear of being shamed. But this man... he actually liked
my laughter?
“And can you please tell me what it will cost me to have you call me by
my name this night?” he added.
It wasn't hard to address him by his name, what was hard was trying to
tone down the feeling of awe I had for him so I could be able to at least
look him in the face. “I will try,” I said.
“Thank you.”
Nodding, I ran my palm up and down my skirt covered laps. “Tell me
about you,” I said.
“I'm a preacher, an architect, an estate developer, and a businessman.”
No mention of the many hotels he had scattered all over the country.
The malls and plazas... Ha! Why was he trying to form humility?
Because he has the life of Christ in him.
“Your turn, little woman. What do you do?” he asked.
“Nothing big.” Compared to your portfolio. “I work with an advertising
agency. Head of marketing.”
“Oh, I see.”
“What do you see?” I asked, turning fully to face him. When did I leave
the side of the seat I had restricted myself to earlier and was now edging
towards him? My knee could almost brush his and I feared what would
happen to my poor inside if that happened.
“Head of marketing in an advertising company. You look it.”
I found myself loosening up as he navigated our discussion from
personal information to social lives and every other thing. And goodness, he
was witty and hilarious in a most attractive way.
“I can't believe I’m laughing this hard,” he said, dabbing tears from the
corner of his eyes. “It's been a long while I experienced this kind of
freedom with anyone other than my children.”
“You are the one telling the jokes, Michael.”
“She finally said my name, thank you Jesus.”
His joy was visible, surrounding and suffusing me, making me want to
remain in this enclosure with him forever. But when the driver announced
the end of the ride as the car slowed in front of the hotel I was lodging, I felt
the joy of the last few moments dissipating, leaving me with gloom. I didn’t
want this night to end. I wanted to be lost in his warmth and liveliness.
“Come on now, don't do that,” he said, covering my hand with his.
 Sweet Jesus! His palm was as soft as a fur. When his thumb started
stroking the back of my palm, I swallow the pleasure spree that rushed up to
my throat. “Don’t do what?” I asked.
“Your face. You look sad.”
He noticed! “When will I see you again?” That wasn’t what I wanted to
say. Now he would think me desperate.
“Soon, I will make sure we see again, soon. I promise.”
And I believed him. His promise was enough for me.
I was already retired for the night when I remembered that we'd shared
almost everything about us except contact numbers.

OceanofPDF.com
 FIVE
Michael

“The beloved of the Lord.”

Every time I saw Pa Adebowale, my godfather, I thought of how proud
my father would have been of the work the one time village school
principal had done in me. Yes, my father shaped my early life, but much of
the credit of who I’d become now I gave to Pa Adebowale. From the time
he adopted me and took me out of my father’s house, the man had been
there injecting his gentle charm and humor and a sense of fair play into the
complex mix that I was.
“My son.” He rose to his feet as I walked deeper into his study. His
thinning silver hair glimmered under the rather too bright fluorescent lamp
directly above his desk. Removing his reading glasses, he dropped it on the
table and flashed me a toothy smile. It amazed me how those milk-white set
were still intact at his age.
“Baba.” I refused his stretched-out hand and bent to touch his feet
instead, remaining in that position until he gave me a pat on the back.
“You are a big man now Adekunle.”
Adekunle, my native name. The old man had refused to call me anything
else but that. “Before you were born, he knew you, before you came out of
your mother’s womb, he named you Adekunle, the crown that fills the
house. Why will I want to call you any other name?” the man would always
say when I protested.
“But Michael is equally a good name, the name of God's angel of war.”
I would insist for the purpose of drawing him into telling me the origin of
my native name and it's biblical connection.
 “You shouldn't be touching my feet, son,” he said now, pulling me into
his embrace, holding on to me a little longer.
“What kind of son would that make me?” I muttered over his head. “If
not for you, I would have still been in Oshogbo ploughing my father's cocoa
farm—” Or doing something else but I was sure I would not have met the
Lord when I did, and probably may not have saved my father's house that
had been deep-neck in idol worshipping. “I'll always dobale for you, Baba,”
I added as he released me and pointed at a wooden schoolteacher’s chair
adjacent to the one he stood up from.
Sitting back down, he picked the receiver of the intercom on top of the
desk, and ordered for a bottle of wine. “Mama has gone out,” he said as
soon as he got off the phone.
His wife’s absence was obvious. She would have run out to grab me and
ruffle my hair as though I was still a kid. It was her unique way of showing
her excitement on seeing me, and I had come to love it.
“How is your mother?” Clearing his throat, he tore a piece of tissue and
wiped his mouth. “Still refusing to come and live with you?”
“Baba, I’ve tried.” We’d been on this after we buried my father. But my
mother was adamant about not joining me in Abuja. “She said she would be
lonely in my house since I’m hardly home, especially now that Ugo... is no
more and the kids are not there either.”
“I say you let her be.”
“I have. Though I feel that with Ife,” my kid sister “...and her husband
relocating to Manchester, Mami would need someone to be around her.”
“You are not that someone. You hardly even have time for yourself.”
“I have domestic workers.”
“Take it from an old man.” The man leaned forward, shaking his head.
“It’s not the same. A thousand domestic staff cannot replace a child or
grandchild.” He cleared his throat again and I handed him the box of tissue,
then took the used one and threw it in the trash-can by the door.
“I was with you throughout your program. I watched through the
satellite,” he said as I pulled my chair closer and sat down. The wine arrived
and he allowed me to serve him. “It's amazing what the Lord is doing
through you, son.”
“I don't deserve it, but he chose me.” It could have been anyone, a more
qualified vessel, but the Lord had picked me for the work.
“Yet, you have refused to come into full-time ministry.”
 “It’s not what He wants for me, Baba.” The Lord was clear on His
mandate: gather men from different denominations and lead them into the
field so they will win souls for me. I wasn’t the founder of the fellowship,
but the mantle of leadership had fallen on me three years after the founder
died.
But Pa Adebowale felt I could be a full-time pastor and still pilot my
fellowship effectively. However, I knew what the Lord told me and wasn’t
going to encumber my life by going into what God didn’t call me into.
“Pastoring a church is not for me, Baba. I’ve told you and mama this
over and over before.” I downed my drink and went for a refill. “I’m
comfortable sponsoring churches, but I am not called to pastor one.”
The man passed me his own glass and I poured him more wine. “My
accountant said you paid in fifteen million naira into the church’s account,”
he said, sipping his drink.
“It’s for the roofing of the less privileged children’s school building.” I
glanced at my phone. “You should have told me about the project, Baba.
Why did you have to task your church members when you know you have a
son that can take care of that work?” Swiping the screen of my phone, I
opened the message that just entered. The mayor of Abuja was interested in
buying one of our properties so my real estate manager wanted to know if
he could arrange for a meeting.
“Mama told you.” The old man pushed his chair backward and rose. I
watched him stand on his toe to reach a bottle on the top compartment of
his bookshelf. “She shouldn’t have.” He handed the bottle to me and sat
down. “It’s wrong to always run to you whenever we are in need. My
members will not grow in faith if you keep depriving them the chance to
commit their monies too.”
“Baba,” I unscrewed the bottle, poured a few roasted cashew nuts into
my palm, and passed him the bottle. “All that I am, all that I have belongs
to God. I would freely give them back to Him if He requests.”
“I know. But don’t forget that you gave us that land where the building
is being erected for free. You took up the completion of the main church
and finished it by yourself.” He took two of the nuts and covered the bottle.
“You have done enough, son. Let other ministries drink from your well.”
I typed a short message and sent it to my manager. “I will never shut my
eyes to my father’s needs.” Then threw the remaining nuts into my mouth
and pulled a hankie from my pocket to wipe my hands.
 “It’s the Lord’s need.”
“And the Lord has raised me to take care of it.”
Sighing, the old man picked a pencil up, pulled a note pad closer and
began one of his elaborate doodles that often accompanied his thought
processes. Then he took my hand, stared hard at it as if he was seeing
something else other than flesh. “You will never run out of wealth.” His
hand began to tremble with his voice as he said those words. “Like
Solomon, you will have the wealth of nations. And no one that comes to
you for help will return empty.”
“Amen.”
A comfortable silence descended in the room as the man, still holding
my hand, leaned back in his chair, and shut his eyes.
A few minutes later, I broke the silence. “Baba, I have something to tell
you.” Withdrawing my hand from his, I stood up. “I... I hope you will
understand this because I don’t.”
“If you would seat down and tell me what it is, I will try to understand.”
I sat down, then stood up again, walked round the table to the
bookshelf, then turned back to face him. Baba was watching me,
unsurprised. He'd gotten used to my restlessness whenever I got excited
over something. Growing up, excitement could make me incapable of
sitting through a meal, a play— my godparents took me to several of them,
a train journey without several interruptions.
“Are you going to stand there and say nothing?”
“I... well yes.” Walking back to the table, I sat down, drained my glass
of wine. “I... well, the fact of the matter is...”
“Adekunle!”
“I met someone,” I said. “A female someone. At the convention.”
“Mmm,” was all the sound the old man could make in response to what
I told him. But his face held a satisfying grin.
I told you it would happen; he must be telling me.
He did tell me, but I had rejected that prophecy because accepting
another woman into my life would be a betrayal to Ugo, a disrespect to the
memories we shared. Baba had grinned like he was doing now and had
prayed that the Lord would make my heart willing when the time comes.
“Baba, did you hear me?”
“I am old, not deaf, Ade,” he said.
“Baba, how it happened shocked me. I couldn't take my eyes off her.”
 “You like what you saw then.” The man’s face softened as if he was the
one stricken by a charming woman. Draining his own drink, he smacked his
lips, savoring the taste of the wine and my confession.
“That's not the point, Baba.”
“Come.” Baba rose and started walking towards the veranda that was
attached to his study. I followed.
“You know why I took you from your father's house and brought you to
stay with me?” he asked, settling down on a cane chair. I did same. “I saw
in you a boy that has a sense of responsibility, commitment and
determination. I knew you would be a great asset to the Lord, but you
would never answer the call as long as you remained with your father.”
I was twelve when Baba was posted to our school as the new principal.
At that time, education wasn't important to me, though I exceled in it.
Working my father’s farm and taking care of my sisters and sick mother
were my top priorities. But Baba had taken special notice of me— love at
first sight like he would later call it. Soon, he was visiting my home,
praying for my mother even when my father objected. My father was an
idol worshiper.
One of those visits, after praying for my mother who was gradually
getting better, Baba had suggested that my father should allow me stay with
him. It was a battle between him and my parents, which he won eventually.
“I've seen you approach everything you do with the same sense of
responsibility and dedication and you have not failed in any.”
“Why are you telling me this now, Baba?”
“You are about to allow your strength become your weakness.”
“How?”
“You loved Ugo like few men love their wives. Did everything to save
her when she was sick, but she died. You couldn’t get angry at God, so you
transferred that aggression inward.”
“That's not true, Baba.” I understood that the Lord gives and takes away,
why would I get angry at Him or at my... self? Was Baba right?
“That sense of responsibility, that dedication now mixed with anger.
You feel that by clinging to her even in death, you are proving yourself.”
“Baba....” I loved Ugo but I wasn't blaming myself for her death and
definitely not trying to prove anything.
“Now you've met a woman whom your heart yearns for again and you
are confused. You like her...”
 A lot, and I should be ashamed. I shouldn't be this overwhelmed by this
new woman, my heart shouldn’t palpitate each time I thought of her.
“Attraction takes time, Baba. This one was sudden, magical, as if something
was pulling me to her.”
“Where is she from?” Baba asked. “This lady, where is she from?”
“I don't know.” I didn't ask.
“What church does she attend?”
Jesus Christ! I didn't ask that either, didn't even ask for her last name
and her contact number.
“ Did you even speak to her?”
“Yes, Baba.”
“What did you talk to her about?”
“A lot of random things.” But only her laughter, the softness of her face,
the dimples on both cheeks, the twinkle in her eyes had remained stuck in
my head. “Baba, we had little time.”
The old man, who was staring at me with disbelief written on his face,
burst out laughing.

OceanofPDF.com
 SIX
Martha

Strange...
My plain look had never bothered me before— not in years. After all,
I’ve got a successful career so why should I care that I wasn’t as stunning as
Mma my sister who inherited my mother’s fair skin and beautiful face?
Besides, what I lost in looks, I gained in body shape.
But today, staring at my duplicate in the mirror, every feature in my face
seemed a little... too much or too small. And for the first time in years, I was
considering enhancing my look with a little make-up. Deciding against that,
I closed back Mma’s make-up box— one of the things she forgot in my
house while leaving and pushed it under the bed.
While I’d love to try out these enhancers someday, I would pass for
today. I wasn’t going to give in to the lies of the devil. For all I know, I was
wonderfully and uniquely made.
Wonderfully made, a consolation phrase for ugly people.
Oh, shut up, devil. I was beautiful enough to make my national
president almost topple over his words while preaching during the
convention.
Maybe because he was shocked at how ugly you are.
Or because I’d radiated beauty so overwhelming that his brain had shut
down for those few seconds. I could imagine what must be going on in his
head; Damn! Who's that pretty lady?
You are not pretty.
Yet he had stared at me as though I was the only beautiful thing in the
world. And had come looking for me, abandoning everything and everyone.
 Picking a bottle of perfume, I sprayed on both sides of my neck,
dropped it back and began to restyle my braids. The initial pain was gone so
I was free to wear the hair as I pleased.
“I’m beautiful.” Admiring the braided bun perched at the front-side of
my head like a fascinator, I grinned. The new style did well in hiding my
forehead and giving my face an amazing lift.
“You need to stop thinking that you are ugly,” I said, pointing at the
woman staring back at me from the full-length mirror. “You with your
projected forehead, eyes that should be shared to two people and skin
browner than the darkest mahogany, are beautiful. Someone’s heartbeat.”
Mr. Fellowship National President’s spec.
Excitement bloomed inside me and burst out of my mouth in form of
laughter as I remembered the time we spent together. It'd been two weeks
now, yet those moments were so fresh in my head as though it was
yesterday. The warmth in his eyes, his laughter so smooth and pure and
honest, complimenting my rough one. I couldn’t recall what was it that got
both of us rolling with mirth, but it was the best laugh I’ve had in years.
“Oh, Michael,” I whimpered. Wearing my eyeglasses, I grabbed my
handbag and gave myself another check in the mirror. My eyes fell on my
backside that was accentuated by the tight, knee-length gown I bought three
days ago.
“Beautiful,” I grinned. “Pretty little woman.” Michael had called me
that the first day we met. Calling a woman my size little was supposed to be
offensive, but I had flushed all over, giggling as though someone tickled my
sides.
Then, the night he dropped me off at my hotel, only God knew how I
made the journey without falling flat on my face as he had wound down his
glass to take a look at me for the last time until we see again. My steps had
faltered, and he had laughed as though he knew it would happen.
“Goodnight, pretty little woman,” he had called after me.
Oh, goodness! I was giggling again, a rumble that turned into full
laughter. Still laughing, I picked my car key and headed out. Monday
mornings like this shouldn’t be spent dreaming about a silver fox sent from
heaven to mess with the head of a daughter of Zion.
I had my hand on the handle of the company’s entrance swing door, about
to push, when I noticed someone waving and striding towards me from the
opposite direction, his lips stretched in a grin.
Lucky Okocha!
The always clean, always smelling nice Lucky. My one-time office
boyfriend. He had joined the company a year after I did and soon became
everyone’s favorite. Which was a hard thing to cope with because I used to
be on that spot.
At first, I struggled not to like him; found him subtly sly. But that
feeling faded with time, and I grew extremely fond of him. Lucky was
amusing, increasingly charming with a fine line in flirtatious flattery that I
found hard to resist, even though I could see through it. His rather bluff
manner disguised a brilliant mind and a virtually flawless analytical
judgement. He had another quality which made him the star when he was in
this branch— an extra ability to win even when he put in little work— my
M.D. said it was an inherent charm. I didn’t know how it happened, but we
got attracted to each other and started a relationship that left me emotionally
damaged when it ended.
“I was hoping to see you today,” he said, now standing in front of me.
“Here I am.” My gaze swept through him. “Still slaving for this firm.”
He looked a little different, his features kind of untidy, as if they have been
somehow dropped haphazardly into place and left to be tidied up later. And
— and emaciated too. Maybe it was the hair and the beards. He didn’t have
them before.
“Oh come on, Martha. You know you are not slaving here.”
“You think? The pay is fat, that’s why I won’t complain much.”
“You look good,” he said, reaching out to help me with my three bags—
one housed my laptop, the other my lunch and the third other bits and
pieces.
“I always look good, Lucky,” I replied, returning his smile while
allowing him to take my bags. “What brought you to our branch today?”
Lucky left this branch the same year we started catching feelings for each
other. He was faithful to his promise of keeping in touch— phone faithful—
for four months and abruptly went mute on me.
“You,” he said, stepping into my office and dropping my bags on top of
my desk. “I realized I couldn't function perfectly without you so I'm back so
we can mend what we have left.”
 “Joke of the century.” I sat down, dragging my laptop bag closer.
“Actually, I am back to Enugu.” Perching at the edge of my desk. “Port
Harcourt didn’t work for me.”
“Couldn’t use some of you charms to get results there?” Another fault
Lucky had was that he was inclined to being lazy; life had been too kind to
him, I heard, too easy. He had long since ceased to be hungry. So, making
him a manager of a new branch which required more work that he was used
to was a very big mistake.
“You know I can make anything work if I so desire. Winning clients and
growing that company wasn’t the problem.” He suddenly went defensive.
“It’s just the city. It’s no place for men like me.”
“Really? You don’t say.”
He must have heard the mockery in my voice. “Come on, Chocolate
cake.” Chocolate cake, a name he gave me the first day he arrived here. It
became his endearing name for me the short while we dated. “Don’t be like
this.” He leaned forward to have a closer look at my laptop. “MacBook
Pro13 with Retina display? You’ve upgraded o.”
“You’ve been away for a long time, Lucky.” And I had upgraded a
whole lot in my life.
“I know, I know. I missed you so much sha,” Lucky added.
“Tell me something else, please.”
“I'm sorry for not keeping in touch.” He picked a pen from a holder on
my table and started twirling it around his fingers. “I wasn't sure of what we
had... everything happened so fast and I was scared you were...”
“Choking you?”
He avoided my gaze and that was the confirmation I needed. God! Was
I that intolerable? “It's three years now, Lucky.” And that was a freaking
long time! “I hold nothing against you.” The Lord had taught me how not to
hold on to the past.
“I learnt you are... still single. So I was thinking...”
“Lucky, Lucky,” I cut in. I had a thousand and one things to say to this
repentant ex sitting like a bird beaten by the rain on top of my desk. Not so
nice things. But a knock on the door saved the both of us.
“The M.D. wants you in his office,” Gloria, the company's secretary
pushed her head through the slightly opened door and announced.
“Can we have lunch?” Lucky asked immediately the secretary
disappeared.
 “Why?”
“For old time’s sake?”
“I don't think it’s a good idea. And besides, I have a lot of work on my
table.” Which wasn't a lie. “I’m sorry, Lucky.”
Nodding, he stood up. My eyes stayed on him until he closed the door
behind him.
Why was I feeling that Lucky’s sudden appearance wasn’t going to be
good for me?

OceanofPDF.com
 SEVEN
Martha

I would be having lunch with Lucky after all.

The smarty-pants had managed to convince the M.D. that he could be of
help in the advertising contract we were pursuing. And just like that, the
man had included him in the team.
“Your car or mine?” he asked.
“Does it really matter?” I didn't want to go anywhere with Lucky. I
wasn’t ready to sit for hours listening to him prattle about resurrecting the
relationship we never had the chance to groom. “Any of them is fine.”
“Mine then. I've been wanting to show it off to someone.” With his hand
on my back, he led me to a sleek, red Toyota Camry. “It's a 2018 model.
Got it last month,” he beamed.
“It's nice,” I said, mentally rolling my eyes. Whether 2018 or 2088
model, I really didn’t care.
“Just nice? Matty, this car is sexy.”
Matty? I swallowed the retort that was pushing through my throat, slid
into the car and he closed the door. What in Jesus’ sweet name was Matty?
A pet name for a dog? What happened to Chocolate Cake? — not that I’d
appreciate him calling me that now, or him using my name in full!
“You won't regret this.” The lunch or him smooth-talking his way into
the team? He took his seat behind the wheel and gave me a wide grin. “I
will make sure you have a good time.”
I’d had enough.
“This is not a sort of ‘catching up on old time’ date. We are expected to
brainstorm and come up with a winning proposal.” Which should have been
comfortably done in the office, but this runaway crush had insisted on a
lunch date, claiming that good ideas are always birthed over plates of food.
“Brainstorming, yes, sure.” He gave me a sidelong glance while turning
the car ignition on. “So, what do you know about the hotel?”
I knew nothing other than the establishment was a new baby of a larger
conglomerate. And they had agencies— two of them— that were already
seeing to their advertising and marketing needs. Their door wasn't open for
new bidders, but my M.D. was leveraging the relationship he had with one
of the directors to gain entrance.
“I can tell you all you need to know about this company and more,”
Lucky started with the enthusiasm of a kid who thinks he's the smartest in
class. “You know my uncle is a manager in one of the subsidiaries?”
I didn't know and wasn't interested. Actually... I was. I needed all the
information I could get about this hotel.
“The mother company is called Royal Opal groups.”
“I know that part.” Did my little research.
“Okay, then. Let me see...” He pulled up in front of a restaurant but
didn’t kill the car ignition. “Maybe you should tell me what you know
first.”
“I think we should leave the car now.” I was beginning to get
uncomfortable with the way his eyes ran over me every now and then. “We
can talk while eating,” I said
“Yes, sure, Matty.”
I was going to snap if he calls me Matty one more time.
“You’ve been here before?”
“Nope. You know I hardly eat out.”
“I’m glad to be the one introducing you to this place then. Their food is
nice, you'll like it.”
I hope so.

Michael
Friends and family had always complained about my obsession with work
and body fitness. I woke up every day at four a.m., had my time with the
Lord until five thirty, exercised for another hour, then read all the
newspapers online, checked out the stock market, and made numerous
phone calls. By seven-thirty, I was already at my desk, alert, ready to handle
anything.
Controlling a Real Estate empire, numerous hotels and other businesses
demanded time and smarts. There were always problems to fix, things to be
dealt with. I would have delegated more than I did, but I believed it was
imperative that I was available, or some things might go wrong.
They all had voiced their concerns over my health. At my age, I should
slow down, or I might get sick one day, or even die. But what they didn’t
understand was that this obsession to work and fitness, contrary to what
they feared, were like tonic to me. However, since Ugo’s death, no one felt
it right or even possible to frown over my obsessions. If anything could
ease my grief, then I had the right to it.
The first few years after my wife’s death were dreadful. I’d worked,
never going to bed, sleeping briefly on the sofa, exercising with an almost
savage energy of a wild beast. I would deliberately stay away from the
house for weeks and would return later like some desperate, hunted creature
in search of refuge. If God hadn’t intervened, I wondered what would have
become of me. But my obsessions didn’t leave me even after the Lord took
away my pain.
I hoped Martha would be patient with me on that.
She will take care of you.
Stroking my jaw, my eyes settled on the television that was showing
Steff Gaulter of Al Jazeera forecasting the weather. Picking the remote, I
changed the station to CNN. Nothing of interest was going on there either,
so I turned my eyes away from the screen, and switched my thought back to
Martha.
She will take care of you, the Lord had said. It looked like the other way
round to me— she seemed too fragile, in need of protecting. The fact that I
seemed to be missing the little moment we spent was both shocking and
thrilling to me. I wished there was a way to contact her.
I searched for her on Facebook, had typed Martha advertising agency.
Martha ablaze for God’s ministry. Martha Enugu state. None gave me what
I was looking for. There were many ‘Marthas' in that cyberspace.
It was obvious I needed help, but who would I contact? It would have
been a little easier if I knew her last name or the particular chapter of the
fellowship she attended in Enugu— there were at least a hundred of them in
that city.
Picking up my phone, I considered booking a flight to Enugu. But then,
the coal city wasn't like a street where everyone would know everyone.
“You have to help me out with this one, Lord. Tell me how to find her,”
I murmured as the phone alarm set off. A reminder of the meeting with the
Mayor. Putting down the gadget, I turned my laptop on and went straight to
my mailbox. My real estate manager had sent a prompt yesterday.
There... I found it.
The venue for the meeting was the man's office at Garki and I had less
than two hours to get there. I was about to instruct my secretary to cancel
any other appointment when my mobile phone rang.
“Ifeoluwa.” My kid sister.
“Egbon mi, bawo ni.”
“A dupe.”
“I didn’t know you will pick up at one dial o.”
“I always pick your calls, Ife,” I said, lowering the volume of the
television. “How is Manchester?”
“Fine. Just missing you and Maami.”
“Then come back to Nigeria,” I said just to keep the conversation going.
Ife would rather make the Pacific Ocean her home than return to Nigeria.
The thought of returning back, according to her, always gave her PTSD.
Especially after she was kidnapped, and we were made to part with seventy
million Naira as ransom for her release.
“You know my response to that, egbon.”
“I’m still alive.”
“You have security guards following you everywhere,” she said
staunchly. “Egbon leave me o.”
“I’m not holding you.” My office cellular began to ring. My secretary.
Maybe to remind me of the meeting. “But know that it’s not the guards that
are guaranteeing my safety. Safety is of the Lord.”
“I know. Anyway, I thought you’d be pleased to hear that sister Tiwa
had a little boy. He came this morning.”
“Goodness!” The last time I spoke with Tiwa, my immediate younger
sister, she didn’t tell me that she was near delivery. “This is an
overwhelming news. I am so glad right now.” This means... “has Maami
heard the news?”
“No. I’m telling you first. You should tell her, and make sure she gets
here fast. Tiwa’s oyinbo husband is ignorant of how to take care of a new
mother.” That’s understandable. The couple had been waiting on the Lord
for the past fifteen years. “And I have to go to work you know. Sadly, I’m
not self-employed like my dear brother.”
“I never thought of running a mega company as being self-employed.”
My office line started ringing again.
“Well, it is.”
“I don’t know about that.” I ignored the ringing phone. “Yes, Ife...” I
said. It didn’t occur to me before, but now she called... “I met someone.” I
hesitated, waiting for her to say something.
“Someone? Like a female someone?”
“Yes.”
Her squeal of delight almost deafened me. “Egbon mi! Tiwa must hear
this! Ah! This is one of the best news I’ve heard in a long while.”
Pushing my chair backward, I got up and began pacing. “She is very
special, very, very... well...” I was eager now to give as much information as
possible, “and very charming, and of course, God-fearing. I would have told
you and Tiwa about her before, but I felt...” What could I
say...embarrassed? “That I should have... this shouldn’t have...”
“Brother, calm down.” Ife was laughing at me now. Oh, God! I was
doing it again. Allowing my excitement to make me restless. “I’m sorry kid
sis. Just that everything happened so suddenly and unequivocally.”
By the time I ended my conversation with Ife, my secretary was calling
again. Someone was waiting to see me.
“Send the person in,” I said.
A few seconds later, Chief Olu, one of my managers walked in.
“Mr. Chairman, sir.”
“Chief.”
 “The new hotel, sir. We spoke yesterday.” He started immediately he sat
down.
“I remember.” The man had been on my neck over this new advertising
agency. “My answer still remains no.”
“Mr. Chairman, don’t be too quick to dismiss this people. They may not
be among the big players, but...” he shrugged, “...they can do the job better.
Who knows?”
“We have agencies that have been handling this job. I say we let them
do what we are paying them millions of naira to do,” I said, slightly weary.
“But we can get something better out there. This new agency, we can try
them and then— they may end up wowing us.” Not sure I was convinced,
he shifted closer. “I've known them for four years now and I must say, they
are good.”
“I don’t deal with ‘good.’ I prefer great. Or excellent.”
“You can do your research on them, sir. These guys have had...”
Glancing at my watch, I realized I had less than forty minutes to be at
the mayor’s office. “Christ,” I muttered under my breath.
“Is everything okay, sir?”
“I have an appointment to meet up with, and time is already running.”
Standing up, I walked across the office to get my blazer from the coat rack.
“Sorry Chief. I have to go now,” I said, slipping my hands in the blazer.
“Speak to the publicity manager about this new agency, whatever he
decides.”
“Chairman.” The man stood up, “Look at their proposal at least.”
“They’ve already sent a proposal?”
“No, sir. But I can tell them to send it to you if you will look at it.” I had
my phone on my ear now, waiting for my driver to pick. “Just look at it,
sir.”
“It’s not my job, Chief.” My driver picked. “Get the car ready.” Slipping
the phone inside my pocket, I turned my attention back to the man. “Let
them send it to the advertising and publicity manager.”
I was halfway out of the office when I heard the Lord say to me;
Let the proposal be sent to you.
Why?
Let it be sent to you.
“Send me a copy too,” I said to the man.
“To your email sir?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you so much!”
“I hope they meet my expectations.”

OceanofPDF.com
 EIGHT
Martha

One of the reasons I would always be chosen among my team members for
presentations like this one, according to my M.D., was because I had an
easy, relaxed way of getting the job done. I could communicate to board
members of any company in a clear and understandable manner. And from
the looks on the faces in this room, and the way Lucky was bopping his
head like a lizard under the sun as I waited for more questions from the
audience, I knew I was about to win this contract.
Why did my M.D. insist on Lucky coming with me to Abuja when he
knew I was capable of nailing this deal on my own? The man couldn’t see
past his favorite boy's fake enthusiasm and had assigned him to me as
bodyguard.
Well, he was here watching me grab a reasonable number of these
mean-looking men and women by the crotches. And judging by the way he
was staring at me, he must be screaming, ‘Matty, you're a natural,’ in his
mind.
Matty, gosh! How did he even come up with that name?
Pulling my thoughts away from him, I proceeded to round up the
presentation— it seemed like nobody was going to ask me any further
questions. “Our team of content creators will leverage social media
channels to attract more potential customers...”
“We don't need the extra effort. Our name alone brings customers to
us,” an elderly man with moustache— that looked more like the wings of a
butterfly, cut in.
Seriously? Even google engages in flash adverts on social media.
 “Royal Opal is a household name in hospitality and estate management,
but Cherry Hill hotel is not...” I still had more words in my mouth when the
door swung open and Mr. Fellowship President walked in and... I needed to
grab the table to steady my shaky limbs.
“We weren't expecting you, sir,” the man that had been sitting on the
head chair said, vacating the seat.
Breathe, Martha. Breathe. But where was the air!
“I wasn't expecting myself to be here either.” Laughter erupted in the
room as he sat down and every other person did as well— they had stood up
immediately he entered.
“So, how is it going...” he trailed off as he finally noticed me. A
surprising grin worked up his face. Touching his half-opened lips with his
tongue, he muttered something under his breath, looked down for a brief
moment, and raised his head again.
If the audience noticed what passed between the two of us, none showed
it, but I had wanted to run out of the room as it was obvious he'd seen my
nervousness. I suddenly felt inadequate in my red knee-length corporate
gown. The new dress I wore the day I met Lucky at the car park would have
been perfect.
“Matty, that’s Mr. Royal that just entered. This is our chance!” Lucky
whispered across the table, snapping me out of my stupor.
Taking my eyes away from Michael, I settled them back on the slide
behind me while picking on my fingers.
Goodness, Martha! How was it you didn’t do your findings well? I had
only carried a research on the new hotel and didn’t bother to also do same
on the mother company.
“How is it going?” I heard him ask.
“The lady can sell freezers to the Eskimos,” someone replied.
“She's that good, huh?”
“There is nothing special about what they are offering. We have agents
handling our promotions, let’s stick to them, sir,” someone else added,
making me to turn back to face them.
I had a contract to win and his sudden appearance here wasn’t going to
stop me from doing that.
“So, miss...” Really? He was going to pretend he doesn't know my name
now? Right.
“Ms. Martha Nkemdili, sir.”
 Nodding, he began to stroke his jaw.
“Head of marketing, Brighton Advertising Agency.” Can we do a
rewind back to when this sexy angel walked in? He was in jeans and a tee-
shirt. And oh Mary mother of God, jeans and shirt had never looked good
on a man like it did on him.
“Their firm is a small one,” the man with the butterfly moustache said.
“Let's deal with firms that are known.”
“We may be small...” a quick look at Michael’s face and I suddenly felt
like biting his perfectly shaped nose off. The silver fox had his lips
puckered in a suppressed laughter and I knew why.
Obviously, little woman, he must be thinking.
“We may not be as big as the agencies you’ve dealt with before, but we
are a group of goal-oriented people and our clients have never been
disappointed. Our track records speak for us.”
The presentation ended twenty minutes later, with them promising to
get back to us. Lucky jumped into marketing himself while I got busy with
gathering our things. But I could feel Michael’s eyes on me, daring me to
meet his gaze. I wanted to... I tried to... Oh, God, I couldn’t. Dropping my
face as quickly as I lifted it, I went back to what I was doing. He was right
when he said I wasn’t bold enough to hold his gaze when he was close to
me. But it wasn’t my fault. The man was intimidating.
“Miss Martha?”
My heart went into a flurry of wild beats at the sound of his voice.
Lifting my face again, my gaze met his and I willed myself not to turn
away.
“A word with you, please.”
“Yes. Sure, sir.”
Nodding, he reluctantly pulled his eyes away from me as one of the men
in the room called his attention over something on the internet. The room
was almost empty now and Lucky was back to my side.
“No more hands to shake?” I asked without sparing him a glance.
“I’m sorry, Matty.” I was going to have to accept him calling me Matty
as it didn’t seem like he was going to stop— unfortunately. “It’s not every
day one meets this caliber of men and ladies.”
“Hope you had fun with them?”
“I was only introducing us.”
Or introducing you?
 “Waiting for a chance to meet with the boss,” Lucky said with glee.
“Talking of which, what's wrong with him?” he whispered.
“With who?”
“Mr. Royal. He keeps staring at you from there. I think he's coming
over...”
My head whipped up and... Lucky was right. He was heading towards
us. I had to act natural or the few people remaining in the room would
suspect what was going on.
“Congratulations, Matty. You've charmed the boss,” Lucky said,
enthusiasm evident in his voice.
“Don't be ridiculous,” I dismissed with a chuckle, the same time a smile
worked up Michael’s face as he stopped before us.
“You did great,” he said. The only thing separating us was a chair I
deliberately placed before me as a shield.
“Thank you, sir.” Lucky and I echoed together.
“Have lunch with me,” he said, running his tongue over his lips— I
wished he hadn’t done that because daughter of Zion suddenly had started
longing for a kiss. “Please,” he added.
“Sir, it’s an honor to finally meet...”
“Yes,” I said, cutting Lucky off.
The happiness that broke out in Michael’s face stirred something inside
me. Joy, excitement and... anticipation. “I will love to have lunch with you,
sir,” I added.
“Thank you, Miss Martha Nkemdili.” He gave me a slight courtesy nod.
Dear Lord, you brought me here to meet with him again. And I thank
you.

OceanofPDF.com
 NINE
Martha

“You’re just going to leave for ‘heaven knows where’ with that man?”
The edge in Lucky’s voice, the ire seeping from his words... he must
have contemplated emptying the bottle of water in his hands on Michael’s
head, for giving all his attention to me while sparing him none.
“Who does he think he is?”
“The CEO Royal Opal groups.” I didn’t know that until today. God!
Why didn’t the name Adekunle, M. Bankole ring a bell when it appeared on
the hotel's website? Why wasn’t his picture attached to the name?
“You think I care?” Of course, he did. Lucky was ready to lick the
man’s shoes had he not shown more interest in going out with me than
listening to him sing his praises. “He shouldn’t treat people as if they are
some sort of...sort...of...”
Despite his easy, amiable nature, Lucky could get angry with ease,
especially when he felt his ego was tampered with. I was among the very
few who knew this side of him. “We should be leaving now.” I brought my
voice low, giving Lucky a cue that his was gradually scaling and we were
still inside our potential client’s boardroom.
“Yes, we should,” he muttered, throwing a glance at the lady by the exit
who seemed to be waiting for us to leave so she could lock up. “This place
is suddenly making me sick.”
He was making me sick! I wished I had accepted to leave immediately
with Michael when he offered to wait while I readied myself. I had
suggested he wait for me at the lot instead, while I pacified Lucky.
“So, are you going with him?” Lucky asked as we left the room.
 “I am.”
“You know what this man wants from you.”
“You shouldn’t worry, Lucky.”
“I’m not worried. I’m not just comfortable with you going out with
him.”
“He’s harmless.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just know.” If God could trust him with me, then I could as well trust
him not to do me any wrong. But Lucky wouldn’t understand if I told him
that.
A convoy was waiting as we stepped out of the hotel building. Not at
the parking lot as I expected, but a few feet away from the porch and
Michael was standing by the most intimidating of the SUVs, like a demigod
browsing through his phone.
“You don't know this guy,” Lucky said. The ire that once coated his
voice had now been replaced with concern. “What if something happens to
you?”
“Nothing will happen to me.”
On seeing us, Michael slipped his phone inside his pocket and started
walking forward. His smile was one of happiness growing, coming from
deep inside to light his eyes and spread to every part of him. It was bursting
and raining sweet sensation all over me.
“I will be fine.” Assuring Lucky, I took Michael's outstretched hand.
“I hope you don't mind that I’m taking her away from you now.”
Michael said to Lucky. His lips holding that smile that could disable a bomb
— Only that it didn’t relax Lucky’s scrunched face.
Nodding, Lucky gave me an ‘I hope you know what you are doing stare’
and started walking away.
“Is he okay?” Michael asked, leading me to the waiting vehicle.
“He’s just tired.”
“We should have given him a lift.”
Thank God we didn’t.
Now settled inside the opulent car interior, I focused my attention on the
dashboard, acutely aware that he was watching me.
“I didn’t believe...” he started as the vehicles drove a little distance. He
broke off, letting out a chuckle. “I would have missed the chance of seeing
you again.”
 “You... uhm...” Where had my voice gone? Why would I always be as
nervous as a fly in a frying pan each time I was close to this man? “You had
somewhere else you wanted to go to?” I began picking my fingers. I
seemed to be doing that a lot when I’m with him.
“Yes... no... that’s not the issue.” He was gripping his lap firmly, as
though struggling not to touch me. “I almost denied your agency the chance
to bid for this contract.”
“You... you knew I work with them?”
“How could I? You didn’t mention the name of your agency the last
time we spoke.” Another chuckle. “And you were equally shocked when I
walked into that boardroom.”
“I wasn’t expecting to see you.” Drawing my dress down I crossed my
hand on my lap. “Not in that boardroom.” Not this soon as there was no
way to contact him. The phone number I got from his google profile wasn’t
connecting.
“I’ve missed you, little woman,” he said.
“Uhm, I think I missed you too.”
“You think?” He edged closer. “Not sure yet?”
“That’s not what I mean.” I giggled. “Words come out wrong
whenever...”
“...you are with me?”
Dear gorgeous, you send shivers down the pit of my stomach. “Yes,
sir... Michael.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “How can I change that?”
“Stop being awesome.”
“What?”
That was how we kicked off our conversations, and in less than no time,
we were laughing like children in the car, Lucky’s rumpled face, forgotten.

Michael
Watching her eyes roam around, an urge to take her on a tour came on me
as she would not see half the grandeur of the hotel from the private booth
where we were seated.
“You own this one too?” she asked, removing her glasses and placing it
on top of the table.
“I don’t own all the hotels in Abuja,” I said, my gaze fixed on her big,
gorgeous eyes, then journeyed to her Lips— round, full and pouty, like that
of a trouble maker. Her skin, in the dappled light, was an ever-morphing
serenity of browns.
“So, it’s not yours?” Her attention was on me now. Wow... God sure
knew how to give beautiful gifts and I was never going to let this one slip
off my fingers again.
“I didn’t say so.” Sighting an attendant approaching our table, I picked
the menu in front of me. Martha did the same. “What would you like to
have?” I asked, scanning through the thick leaves. I wasn’t really hungry. I
just wanted to be alone with her.
“I don’t know. There’s a lot of food here.” She clamped the menu shut.
“Some I’ve not heard of.” Rubbing on her eyes, she picked her glasses and
was going to put it on when I dropped the menu and held her hand against
the table.
“I’ve not seen you without glasses before. Allow me this privilege
today,” I said.
“Okay...” She giggled, lowering her gaze and biting on her lip.
Martha was a pretty woman— even without trying. She could have her
hair in disarray, eyes swollen from lack of sleep, her face with no makeup
and she would still be attractive. I knew this because I'd seen her on
occasions where she wasn’t trying to look more beautiful.
“You are making me shy now,” she giggled some more.
“I know.” And I wasn’t sorry. I loved to see her face flush, to watch the
brown of her cheeks deepen as she blushed.
“Stop staring at me like that,” she whimpered.
“I can’t help myself.” Enjoying the moment, I played along. “You have
enchanted me.”
“With my big forehead.”
“Part of the features that makes you pretty.”
“You don’t mean that.”
 “I don’t know how to flatter.” I’d not thought of holding a woman in my
arms and kissing her lips so hard till both of us become breathless in years.
But looking at this little woman made me want to... Holy Spirit help me.
“Let’s order.” Mentally shaking off the sinful thoughts that had crept into
my head, I took the menu from her hand and scanned through it. “What do
you think about Mongolian beef and rice?”
“I’ve not heard of it before.”
“Trust me, you’ll like it.”
“Okay, I’ll have that,” she said to the attendant, then returned her
attention to me, her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t order anything for yourself.
Will I be the only one eating?”
She was so innocent, so oblivious of the effect she was having on me.
“Give me exactly what the lady is having,” I said to the attendant without
taking my gaze off her.
“Wine, sir?” the attendant asked.
“Let the lady choose.”
Martha hesitated, then her eyes lit up with mischievous excitement. “I
would like the best of the wines you have,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay
for that.” Leaning back, she started scampering inside her handbag while I
watched her with amusement.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“My debit card.”
“For what?”
“To pay for the wine.” What in Jesus’ name...why would she always
resist me spending money on her? She’d done this at the Lagos convention
too, when I walked into the bookstore and met her shopping. “There you
are.” Sighing with satisfaction, she brought out the card, held it up as
though it was a gold ticket, then offered it to the attendant.
“A minute, ma'am.” The attendant was already walking away, probably
to get the POS machine when I called her back.
“Get us a bottle of TOST,” I said. “I’m taking care of the bill.”
“Okay, sir.”
We slid into silence after the attendant left. Then she rubbed her eyes—
she seemed to be doing that often since she removed her glasses. Reflex, I
guessed.
“I always insist on taking care of my own bill when I go out on a date,”
she said.
 What kind of date? I almost asked but that would be inappropriate.
“Why?” I asked rather.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Feels like the right thing.” Another shrug.
“Why will you burden someone when you can take care of your own bill?”
Leaning back on the chair, I observed her fiddle with the debit card, a frown
dented her face. “I’m uncomfortable with... with people doing things for
free for me.”
“Even buying you lunch?”
Nodding, she abandoned the card on the table and held the handle of her
bag. “Even that.”
Was it a girl-power thing? Or was she avoiding a repeat of something
that had happened in her life before?
“I’m sorry,” I said. Taking her hand, I stroked the smooth surface of the
ring on her middle finger. I would have loved her to tell me the story behind
this decision— if there was any. But I wasn’t going to pressure her to do
that now. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“It's okay.” She chuckled nervously. “I guess I should learn to relax and
allow someone take care of me.”
“You should.” I slipped the ring off her finger, expecting her to protest
but she didn’t. “Especially now that I...” would be making you my wife, I
wanted to add, but I didn’t want her to feel like I was rushing her. “I would
like to be that man that would take care of you,” I said instead.
Warmth returned to her face as she lowered her head, her eyes on the
ring in my hand.
“This was given to you by, uh, a special someone?” I asked, holding the
band up. The Lord didn’t tell me if she was with someone, but I needed to
know.
“No,” she replied, sputtering laughter as though it’s funny that I asked,
that I should have known that she was single.
“Something to scare men off with, then.” I placed the ring on the table
as a sommelier arrived with our wine in an ice bucket. Dismissing the
young man after he opened the bottle, I filled her glass and mine.
“Thank you,” she said, which I responded to by lifting and slightly
tipping my wine-glass while giving her a courtesy nod.
That brought a smile to her lips as she lifted her own glass and sipped.
“Mmm,” she moaned with her eyes half-closed. “This is good,” she
muttered.
 I wish I was the wine in her mouth right now, so I could be the one to
arouse such moan from her.
Get behind me devil.
Yet my eyes didn’t leave her lips which she was now licking as though
leaving remnants of the drink on her lips was a great sin. “You like it?” I
asked.
“I love it,” she muttered, opening her eyes and catching me staring. Oh,
God! The look on her face. She must be thinking that I was... Jesus, help
me.
“You’ve not touched your wine,” she pointed out.
“I was carried away.” Lifting the drink to my lips, I sipped and set it
down.
“Carried away? By what?”
“Watching you savor the drink,” I said amidst a chuckle. “I was a little
jealous, I must confess.”
Her laughter was soft and low, as if she was trying to stifle it. I didn’t
want her to because the sound she made when she laughed was one of the
merriest and frankest thing I’d ever heard.
“So, you pay for what you eat in your own hotel?” She changed the
topic.
“Down to the water I drink here.” I picked her glasses and inspected
them. Thick frame, thick lenses.
“Why?”
“It’s business.” Dropping the glasses, I concentrated on my drink. “I’m
not in charge here. Yes, I own it but I hired a manager who is expected to
run this place independently.”
“So, no preferential treatment for you.”
“In a way, yes.”
“And you have to pay for every service rendered to you here,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Hmm...” We slid into a comfortable silence.
“I love this place,” She said. Finishing the remaining of her drink, she
picked her card from the table and put it back in her bag while I refilled her
glass. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“No, thank you,” I said. For stroking my heart with warmth. Most
couples that the Lord brought together did confess that it wasn’t attraction
at first sight. But this? What I felt for this lady was more than I was willing
to admit now.
“Your name is Adekunle.” She lifted the wineglass to her lips and
sipped.
“Yes.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And you didn’t tell me you own Royal Opal.”
“We’ve spent little time with each other.” Our food arrived at that
moment, and she dug in with excitement. Martha wasn’t a woman who
would act in a particular way to impress me. She was real, and that added to
the things that made me like her so much. So, so much.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you a question,” she said, picking a piece of
beef from her plate with her fork and putting it in her mouth. Chewed.
“Hmm... this is good,” she said, swallowing. “I need to see your chef.”
This made me laugh. “I told you that you will love it.”
“The food is amazing, the meat tender... the way I like it!”
“I’m glad.” Oh God, she's so original. “So, what's your question?”
“Mm hmm.” She eat more of the rice, then dropped her spoon on the
plate. “Where you raised abroad?”
“What made you ask?” I said, picking my spoon to resume eating.
“The way you speak. Like you've lived abroad all your life.”
Swallowing the food in my mouth, I dropped my spoon and leaned
back. “Ask me to tell you everything about me and I will,” I said.
“Okay, tell me.”
So I told her how Pa Adebowale picked me from Oshogbo, raised me
here in Abuja and sent me to UK for my University education.
“Why did you come back after your studies?” she asked. “Most people
won’t.”
“The Lord wanted me back,” I said.
“I’m happy you obeyed the Lord. I wouldn’t have met you.”
There were so many things I would have missed had I not returned to
Nigeria, so much the Lord wouldn’t have placed in my hands. I didn’t know
this then— that was why I struggled with the decision. Now I knew, and I
would forever be grateful. “I want you to visit my home,” I said when I was
done telling her my history. “I can’t wait for my kids to meet you.”
“Are you... are you sure it’s a good Idea?”
 “You think it’s not?”
“I don’t know... You’ve told them about me?”
“They are my kids, Martha. I know they will be glad to meet you.” I
assured her, taking her hand. “We will also be visiting my Godparents.
Don’t worry,” I added. “They are nice people and they know about you.”
“I’m getting nervous now,” she gave off a chuckle.
“Come now my darling, I’ll be by your side. Besides, they are my
family.”
“I know... Okay, I guess I can go with you.”
“Good. So, we go from here?”
“You think I should go back to the hotel and change into something
more...”
He reached up to stroke her cheeks, very gently. “My little woman, you
look just perfect the way you are.” She smiled. “So beautiful.”

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 TEN
Martha

“Your daughter doesn’t like me.” I had wanted to say this since we left his
palatial house— we were now on our way back to my hotel after visiting
his house to meet his children and spending the rest of the day with his
godparents. But I didn’t know how to start this conversation as I didn’t want
to spoil his happiness.
“My son is excited about you,” he said, ignoring my observation about
his daughter. “He likes you.” Dropping his phone on the car seat, he took
my hands.
Saying that his son liked me was an understatement. Olanrewaju— that
was the boy’s name, had treated me as if the sun rose and set under my feet.
Unlike his younger sister who couldn’t hide her displeasure over her father
bringing home a woman. Not just a woman but one he introduced as ‘a
woman after my heart.’
“He’s adorable.” Cute face, amiable personality like his father. His
acceptance of me made my visit memorable. Yet, I couldn’t get over the fact
that his sister had treated me with coldness. “But your daughter didn’t hide
her dislike for me.”
“My pretty little woman.” Suppressing the feeling that whipped inside
of me, the heat sprouting from my belly as his thumb began to graze up and
down my wrist, I willed myself to remain calm. “I’m drawn to you,” he
said. “I don’t know if it’s right to say I’m in love with you now, because
that’s how I feel. In love.”
A soft moan hummed in my throat. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I should
say something in response to what he just said. But how do I do that
without sounding awkward?
“It’s too early to admit,” he continued, his fingers tightening around
mine, the sincerity of his heart fluxed into my soul. “Love doesn’t happen
this fast...” then he stopped and I was forced to lift my head and met his
intense stare.
I thought we were talking about his daughter. When did we move from
that to his gaze filling my inside with this tingly, warm fluid that its mission
was to ignite every one of my sweet senses?
“Martha,” he trailed, lifting his hand to touch my face. “You broke my
walls.”
This was too much. The heat. The tension. His eyes were on me as
though I was the only real thing in the world, and my inside seemed to be
melting like an ice block under the sun.
Jesus! He was right. Attraction shouldn’t happen this fast. I should get
away from him. Don’t blame me. It was either that or gave in to this... this
urge to seize a fist full of his shirt and plant my lips on his.
“Mike...”
“I like the way you say that name.” A slow smile worked up his lips.
“So tell me that I’m not running too fast with you.”
What did he just say? Too fast my tiny waist, I almost scoffed. “No, not
at all.”
“Thank you, Jesus,” he muttered, and I burst out laughing. The laughter
was the heat-breaker I needed for my tightened core to relax and the desire
to suck on his lips ebbing.
“So, promise me that my daughter’s attitude won’t make you give up on
us.” His hands were on my face.
“I don’t see that happening.” Relaxing my cheeks on his palm, I closed
my eyes and inhaled his scent of bergamot and godliness. “Michael...”
“Adekunle.” As if reading my desire, his fingers started stroking the
skin of my cheek, hitching my breath. “Only few people call me by my
native name. I would love it if you used it sometimes.”
“Adekunle.”
“Perfect.”
I’d forgotten what I was about to say, and I doubted if I would be able to
remember my name if his fingers kept stroking my skin like that.
“You want to tell me something?”
 “Oh, yes.” My heavens! Whoever came up with the phrase that
Christian men are dullards when it came to romance must be unfortunate.
This man was every definition of romance and sexiness. And control.
How could he even be this calm when I had my essence gasping for his
touch... Oh gosh. “I am worried, Michael.”
“Why?”
“Will she ever accept me?”
“I promise to do everything to make her like you.” In his eyes, I saw a
man who was torn between not hurting his daughter and not offending me.
“Please, give me a little time, she will come around.”
“Michael. It's okay,” I assured him. “I, I believe you.”
He continued staring at me, probably waiting for me to say something
more. But the desire he was sparking inside me wouldn’t allow more words
to form in my head. The closeness of his face to mine, the bopping of his
Adam’s apple as his eyes moved down to my lips and up to my eyes again.
For a brief moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. Then he touched his
lips with his tongue and turned his attention to the driver who had brought
the vehicle to a halt.
None of us moved a limb for a while, then he adjusted himself on the
seat and sighed. “Martha?”
“I guess it’s goodbye,” I said.
“No, little woman. It’s ‘see you soon.’ Besides, I can drive you and your
colleague to the airport tomorrow if that won’t be a trouble.
“That would be too much.”
“Nothing is too much for you.”
When was the last time a man made me feel this special? I'd even
forgotten how it felt. “I won't allow you go through the trouble.”
“It’s no trouble, Martha. I want to be with you every little chance I
have.”
“Me too,” I admitted shyly.
“So, tomorrow then. When is your flight scheduled for?”
I would have loved to have him drop me off at the airport tomorrow but
Lucky... I wasn’t sure he had gotten over my abandoning him after the
presentation to go have fun with some guy. Not that his childish tantrum
bothered me. I only didn’t want him disrespecting Michael. Lucky could
disrespect anyone when he’s in one of those moods.
“Don’t worry, Mike. We will find our way to the airport.”
 A few minutes of silence passed. Then, “you have my number now?” he
asked.
“Yes.”
“Call me.”
“Everyday.”
Laughter rolled out of him. “Everyday?”
“You will be the one asking me to stop calling,” I said, joking.
“Hmm... we’ll see.”
“So, you’ll call me too?”
“You know I will.”
It was obvious he wasn’t going to end this moment if I didn’t do it first,
so I made for the door but he held my hand and pulled me into his arms.
“Thank you for spending time with me,” he said over my hair. “You
don’t know how much it means to me that you came, and... and visited my
family.”
“Mike. I love your family.”
“I’m glad you do.”
“Your godparents are amazing.”
“They raised me, so I know.” He laughed. “I’m really glad you met
them today. Thank you.”
Why was he sounding as though I did him a favor? “I should be the one
thanking you. For... for everything.”
“Well, I don’t know what ‘everything’ means.” He was chuckling.
“Martha?” He called, tightening his grip around me.
“Huh?”
“The Lord is involved in this,” he said. “Don't you ever forget that.”
“Hmm.” Now I understood why Peter requested tents to be pitched on
the mount of transfiguration for the three disciples and Jesus. When
awesomeness struck, one wouldn’t want to let go. Can I stay a little longer
in his arms? Please, Lord?
“My daughter will come around.”
I nodded.
“God will make it possible.”
“I know.”
Do you?
Yes, Lord. I do trust you. It’s just that I’m scared. I don't want to lose
Michael, and I don’t want to come between him and his daughter.
 “I’ll miss you every day,” he said, letting go of me.
“You know where to find me.”
“Yes, yes. Or maybe you should consider moving to Abuja
permanently.”
Laughing, I stepped out of the SUV. Like the first time, he wound down
his window and watched me for a while before driving off.
My girlish grin would have followed me into the hotel if I didn’t see
Lucky leaned off the wall and start walking towards me.

OceanofPDF.com
 ELEVEN
Martha

“Had a good time, huh?”

Ignoring Lucky, I walked through the gate, into the hotel reception.
“Was he nice to you?” He was following behind.
I could smell trouble and this one stank like a raging furnace being
forced into a metal box. Careful Martha, I said to myself as I got my room
key from the receptionist and headed towards the stairs.
“I was already thinking that you will not be coming back today,” Lucky
said, almost colliding on me as I stopped without warning.
Muttering an awkward ‘sorry,’ he took one step down the stairs. “Where
did he take you?” he asked.
I took a breath to calm my nerves, then turned and walked back to the
reception to sat down.
“Where did he take you?” he asked again, joining me on the seat.
“Lucky, why would you want to know where he took me?”
“Because you are my responsibility. I came to Abuja with you.”
“To chaperone me?” If that was the reason, then I needed to make him
get something straight. “I’m a grown woman, Lucky.”
“I know.”
“And I have the right to go anywhere I so desire, with anyone.”
“I also know that.” He was getting impatient. “I only want to know
where you’ve been all through the day. Is that bad?”
“I went out with someone.” Why was I even explaining myself to him?
“For lunch, Matty. It was supposed to be just lunch. But you stayed
longer than you should. What were you guys doing?”
 If jealousy had a face, it would have been this guy seated beside me
right now, with his feminine pink shirt and dimpled chin that had gone
deeper as he got angrier.
“He’s married,” he added, waited for me to react, then frowned when I
remained as indifferent as a pregnant cat. “Did you hear what I just said?”
“Good to know you already googled him.”
“You knew.” He sounded shocked. “Martha, you knew and still went
out with him.”
“He’s a widower,” I finally said, getting tired of the discussion. I could
do with a soft, cozy bed right now.
“What does it matter?” Throwing glances around, he shifted closer so
that his knee brushed against mine. “Did he tell you he’s the president of
one... Christian organization?”
Jesus! “Lucky, I can’t do this right now.” I made to stand up, but he
placed his hand over my thighs.
“I’m trying to look out for you, Matty.”
“I know and I thank you for that.” Removing his hand, I stood and
started to leave. It was obvious that Lucky was driven by something else,
something I didn’t want to encourage.
“Help me, Matty.” He met up with me at the foot of the stairs. “Help me
stop feeling that you went out with this man to cement this advertising deal
in a most sinful, unspeakable way.”
What?
The disappointment he must have seen on my face should have made
him shut up, but he was far gone to notice how much his words struck deep.
“Tell me you didn’t sleep with him so he can give us...”
“Lucky, shut up.” If I were a man, I would have struck him hard on the
face so his brain could reset. But right now, all I wanted to do was cover my
ears with the palm of my hands and run into my room.
Goodness! Was this how low Lucky thought of me?
“Why? Because that’s what happened?”
I would have shouted at him were we not in an public space.
“The man is even too old for you. I don’t know why you find him
attractive.”
“Lucky. I went for a date, a LUNCH date!” There was no need telling
him the other places Michael took me to. “Why are you even acting as if
I’m your wife?”
 “It wasn’t just lunch he wanted.” He paused to allow a lady and a man
walk past us. “I saw the way he looked at you. Like a... a predator, a
shameless, sex-starved...”
“You are blind, Lucky.” If what he saw in Michael's eyes was what he
just described, then he didn’t see anything beyond the uncleanliness of his
own mind.
“And you think you are the one with clear eyes?” His voice had reduced
to a whisper as more people walked up and down the stairs, glancing at us.
“You are hooked. His charm has got you.”
You know nothing about it, Lucky. “Michael is none of these things you
just described,” I said.
“Michael? You call him by his name now? Matty, you just met this man
and you are already calling him Michael?” Anybody hearing us would think
we were a couple quarreling over something.
And you might be wondering why I stood there listening to him. I didn't
know why either. Maybe his reaction shocked me to my bones, and I was
too dumbfounded to walk out on him.
“I know this kind of men. Abuja rich sugar daddies, masking their evil
nature under the guise of religion to prey on vulnerable women like you.”
“I am not vulnerable, Lucky. For Christ’s sake stop doing this. You’re
embarrassing me.”
“If you’re not vulnerable, then have some sense!” His fingers tightened
around the staircase rail. “I thought you were a born-again Christian?”
That’s it. “Good night, Lucky.” I left him standing there and took the
stairs two at a time, up to my room.
Have you ever come out of a confrontation where you had stood like a
frozen puppy while the other party threw tear-inducing words at you, then
all the words you would have said to get back at this person come rushing
into your head? Soaking myself in the tub, I thought of the many things I
would have said to Lucky, things that would have put him in his place, and I
hated myself for allow him get away with the embarrassment he gave me.
I felt more pained that I did nothing when he called Michael sex-
starved, a predator. Gosh! I didn’t want to think of how I stood there like a
moron while he spewed that rubbish without defending my man.
My man. I chuckled out a sob. How sweet that sounded, and how weird
too. Michael should be fifteen years older than I was, as wealthy as an
Arabian prince. Yet, I fearlessly called him my man.
 It’s funny how feelings could make a powerful man equal with the
woman he loves.
Love. That's what it was... he loved me and had shown it in many ways.
His words, his eyes, his... his control.
And Lucky called him a predator?

My phone was ringing when I stepped out of the bath.

“Hello,” I said without checking the caller ID.
“I’ve been thinking about you. Is that a good thing?” Michael. He
sounded different, his voice raspy, with a deep timbre, the kind that anchors
one’s soul a single moment in time. “Martha?”
“Huh?” Everything about this man was captivating, his voice, the way
he called my name with that British accent I’ve come to love.
“Thinking about you. Is that a good thing?”
“I think so.” I walked into the room to sit on the bed. “I like it that
you’re thinking about me.” I grabbed a pillow and hugged it tight.
Then he laughed, a deep throaty sound that ignited my internal engine
and made my essence clench. “When you look at me, what do you see?”
“Please don’t ask me that.”
“I just asked.”
“But I have no answer to give you.”
“Try. Tell me what you think of me.”
“Okay... you are a strong and powerful man, kind, with good sense of
humor...”
“Good sense of humor?”
“Yes, you make me laugh. And, and your relationship with God is
amazing. It makes me jealous.”
He laughed again.
“He gave you everything,” I quickly added.
“I don’t have everything, Martha. No man has.” Acting humble and
decent now, are we? “I wish you are not leaving tomorrow,” he said.
And I wish we would get married tomorrow.
Slow down, Martha.
I know, Lord. But... I mean, we found each other like you said we
would. Our attraction, a tangible thread in the air before we even spoke.
Our desire for each other was the sanest kind of madness.
“Stay one more day, please,” he said. “We can go visit some relatives of
mine.” He had other relatives here in Abuja other than the one we already
visited today? Not that I wouldn't follow him to the end of the world if he
suggested we go there to see his ancestors.
“Will you stay back? For one more day?”
Oh, God yes! Yes, Michael. I would like to stay forever with you, but
not now. I had to be at work tomorrow. “I can’t, Mike. Abuja is not my
home.”
“Not for long. Having you far from me is a torture I don't think I can
take.” Then say the word, king. Ask me to marry you. “You are the sweetest
thing the Lord has given to me lately. Everything about you excites me and
calms me all at once. I want you by my side soon.”
“Michael...”
“Adekunle. I love it when you call me that.”
“Adekunle,” I giggled, tightening the towel around my chest. “I think
I've fallen in love with you.” I was too shy to tell him this when we were in
his SUV. And I guess hearing me say it now pleased him. I could hear his
smile from the lilt of his voice.
“You think?”
“I don’t know. You said people don’t fall in love this fast.” Like pixie
dust were sprinkled on them or they were shot with cupid’s arrow. “Love
develops with time and knowledge.”
“Forget what I said earlier, I wasn’t thinking straight.” That made the
two of us, because I wasn’t too. “Adam fell in love with Eve the first time
he saw her.”
“That’s attraction, not love.”
“Says who?” He didn’t wait for me to respond. “Maybe the Lord has a
hand in this.”
“Me falling in love with you?”
“Yes.” The sound of running water filtered through the phone into my
ears. Was he using the bathroom?
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Pouring myself some water.”
“Oh.” He must have started drinking as I could hear the soft passing of
the liquid down his throat.
 “So,” he said after a few seconds. “I actually don’t care that our falling
in love... attraction... whatever this is, happened so fast.”
“You don’t?”
“Previously, I was scared. But now, I don't mind.” I liked it that he
wasn’t concerned about the pace at which this was going. “Do you?”
Mind that we were moving too fast? Hell to the no! “I’m not
complaining.”
“Good. Text me your address, I will be coming to Enugu very soon, so
we can hurry the process of making you mine till death do us part.”
“Yes, Obi’m.” I guess that was the marriage proposal I would get.
Nothing too fancy, but I loved it as much as I loved the man whose lips the
words came out from.
“Obi’m, what’s that?”
“It means my heart.”

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 TWELVE
Michael

I slept bearing Martha in my mind and woke up with the hardest boner I’ve
ever experienced in years. It kept me in bed longer than usual, racking my
brain on how to handle it. Dealing with early morning erections wasn’t such
a difficult thing. But when there was an image in my brain, amplifying the
throbbing stiffness tearing on my sweat-pants...argh
Control, Michael.
Letting out a sigh, I rolled off the bed, got on my fours and launched
into fifteen press-ups. Normally, I would have done twenty at a stretch,
break, and add another ten for effect. But with the arch in my groin and my
hardness brushing against the floor through my pants each time I lowered
my body, I had to quit.
Control, son.
Abandoning the callisthenic exercise, I sat on the floor, my mind raking
through options, anything that would ease my stiffened shaft. I’ve had
urges, had imagined what it would feel like to make love again after many
years of abstinence, but this was the first time an arousal as strong as this
was coming upon me.
I couldn’t seem to quench it, nor shove the image of the woman
responsible out of my head. I should get my Bible and read through few
scriptures. That had always helped. But how would I concentrate with
Martha occupying every space in my head.
Last night, I was so close to kissing her. Holding her in my arms, her
face a breath away from mine, her eyes clouded with longing, I had felt the
desire to lay her on the seat and ravish her body. Where we alone— without
the driver, I wasn’t sure what would have happened as the urge was almost
beyond my control.
And this morning wasn’t any better. With this boner came the desire to
have her beside me, to feel her skin against mine... straddle her or have her
straddle me, to gaze into her eyes while thrusting her... slow... fast... then
slow again. I would love her to moan my name, tell me how what I’m doing
to her make her...
Jesus! What was I doing? Why should I allow such immoral thoughts
into my head?
You control your mind, son.
Yes, Lord.
Thinking about her in this immoral way wasn’t good for me. I had to
sanitize my mind somehow... Goodness, it’s difficult, the more I tried the
stronger the urge became and the harder my shaft grew.
“Jesus,” I muttered, getting up from the floor, I walked through my
room to the treadmill. Setting the machine to a comfortable pace, I began to
walk, ignoring my hard shaft that was brushing against my thighs. This will
pass, I said to myself. And it did. Gradually but surely.
But thinking about Martha won’t. She was now my definition of
everything beautiful, graceful, alluring.
Like Adam, your heart was ready for her even before I brought her to
you, the Lord said.
My heart was ready, and I didn’t know? It’s amazing how God knows
our needs even when we are unaware of them.
Increasing the pace of the machine, I began to run.
“Dad?”
My thought adjusted at the sound of my daughter's voice.
“Sorry, dad. I knocked; you didn’t answer,” she said, reading my facial
expression.
“Toss me that towel on the door of the wardrobe.” I said, slowing the
treadmill.
Thank goodness, I thought as I climbed down the machine. My boner
had deflected. How would I have explained it to this rule-breaking daughter
of mine? Taking the towel from her, I dabbed my face and neck. “Slept
well, princess?”
“Mmm.” She took the towel back and hung it. “Are you going to marry
her?”
 “Who?” I asked, walking into the bathroom to clean my teeth, leaving
the door open.
“The lady...”
“I told you her name yesterday, princess.”
She waited for me to finish cleaning my teeth before she spoke again.
“Will you marry her?” She was deliberately avoiding using Martha’s name.
“Do you want me to marry her?”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “I....” Bimbo was my late wife’s replica in
everything, beautiful in a heartbreaking way, strong willed and fearless. She
would have been a rebel if not that the Lord captured her early. “I don’t
want another mother!” she blurted out.
“I like her,” Olanrewaju, my twenty-two-year-old son said, walking into
the room, a steaming mug in his hand. “She suits you, dad.”
“She’s going to replace mom!” Bimbo turned to face her brother.
“She will make dad happy.”
“Dad doesn’t need any woman to make him happy.”
I have a special love for Bimbo, an emotion that intensified after the
loss of her mother. When I needed comfort and no one seemed to know how
to do that, even Olanrewaju stayed away. Bimbo, however, was surprisingly
and bravely forthcoming, putting her arms around me every time she saw
me, whispering, “I’m so, so sorry Dad.” Sometimes I would stand and say
nothing. Other times, I would bury my head in her hair and swallow sobs.
Bimbo alone knew the depth of my grief.
“You know nothing about the need of a man, kid sis.” Ola said casually,
sipping from his cup while sitting at the edge of the bed.
“I’m not a child Ola, but I know we don’t need a mother,” Bimbo said.
“Speak for yourself.”
“Dad will be fine.”
“Oh, shut up. You’re just being unreasonable,” he said. “Cry baby.”
“Don't call me a cry baby.”
“Attention seeker.”
“Olanrewaju, stop.” I stepped in. “And what do you know about the
needs of a man?” We’ve talked about these things— man and woman
relationship... sexual needs and how to control them. But having him
mention need so casually made me a little... embarrassed.
“Dad...” he let out a chuckle.
 “We’ll talk about it later,” I said, returning my attention to Bimbo who
had collapsed on one of the sofas in the room, her face as dark as a stormy
cloud. Holy spirit, please help me. “Bimbo, marrying Martha wouldn’t
change anything.”
“Then don’t marry her, dad.”
Sweet Jesus. “I...” How would I make her understand? “But it’s not
right for a man to be alone.”
“You are not alone!” She splayed her hands. “You have us. You have
me.”
“Are you going to marry dad?” Ola said in his usual nonchalant way.
“Ola, please,” I cautioned and turned back to Bimbo. “I wasn’t looking
for a woman when the Lord showed her to me. Do you know what that
means?” Was I expecting her reply? Well, the only response she gave me
was tears running down her chubby cheeks. “Oh, come on princess.”
“It's not fair. You are hurting mom.” She rushed into my arms and
sobbed, reminding me of the day we buried Ugo. I was brave as the coffin
was carried to church, sitting still as the service was read, until that dreadful
moment when she was being lowered to the ground and I began to sob,
loudly and horribly. It was Bimbo who took my hand and kissed it very
tenderly. She had looked up at me with infinite anxiety before resting her
head against me and began to sob as well.
“Do you even miss mom at all?” she asked.
“Everyday. Maybe that’s why God sent Martha to me.”
“God will never do that, dad.” She eased away from me. “If you ever
loved mom, you’ll know seven years...” She wiped her face with the back
of her palm. “Marrying another woman, seven years after mom’s death is...
isn’t right. Mom will not do that to you.”
Gently patting her at the back, I silently prayed the lord to help me out
as I was at a loss on what to do.
“Bims....” Shaking his head, Ola rose from the bed, walked through the
room to drop his mug on top of my reading table. Then, he came to squat
beside his sister. I guess he found the whole thing dramatic; Bimbo had
always been dramatic. “Bims, please. Don’t you think mom would have
wanted dad to be happy?”
“Baby.” I held my daughter’s hands, silently praying that the lord would
do something. “Mom wants this for us. I could sense it in my spirit.”
“I don’t want any other mother,” she said stubbornly
Holy spirit, take over.

OceanofPDF.com
 THIRTEEN
Martha

A sky the color of old bruises hung low over the airport as we disembarked
from the plane.
“It’s November, for God’s sake,” Lucky grunted, the first thing he had
said to me since last night. Not that I cared. I gave in to the weariness in my
bones immediately the plane took off from Abuja, so I didn’t feel the silent
treatment he was giving me. “And it’s threatening to rain,” he added.
“I’m afraid we may not get home before it starts,” I said, checking my
phone for messages.
There was one from my mom asking if I would be home for Christmas.
Another from my pastor's wife, she wanted to know why I wasn’t at the
bible study yesterday. And a third from... Lucky? Sent twenty minutes ago?
I turned to ask him why he would be sending me an SMS when he could
just speak to me directly, but he was on the phone, so I returned my eyes to
the message and read:
‘How long will you stay angry with me?’
Angry? That emotion evaporated with the night. What I felt for Lucky
was pity. I could read him like an open book and I knew he was battling
with regrets and the fear of losing me to another man.
Another man...
I swiped my finger on the screen of my phone and went straight to call
log. Being madly in love with someone is a heartache. Nobody warns you
of how much you would thirst for the person’s presence— in my case, his
voice. And how you could go into a mental fit or throw tantrums when he
ignores you for even a minute.
 “I booked us a ride,” Lucky said, pulled a pack of mints from his
pocket, threw one into his mouth and offered the pack to me. “It'll soon be
here.”
Popping two of the sweets into my mouth, I handed the pack back to
him. “Thank you, Lucky, but you shouldn’t have bothered with the ride. I
can get a cab...”
“Nonsense,” he said, taking my luggage off my hand. “Making sure you
get home is the least I can do.”
I understood when a man is making reparation for the wrongs he did.
But this thing, this overwhelming kindness... It's scary. “You really don't
have to,” I said.
“I know,” he started walking towards the arrival wing. “But I still want
to be the man.”
The man, huh?
“You want to eat?”
Ah! What’s going on?
“We can grab something at the canteen while waiting for the taxi,” he
added, veering left and heading to the eatery.
“Hold on, Lucky,” I caught up with him. “I didn’t say I’m hungry.”
He turned to stare at me, forehead creased, eyes narrowed to a squint. I
could almost touch his frustration. “I, um, I thought you might be hungry.
But if you don’t want to eat, we can go back and wait for the taxi.”
“Oh, Lucky. It’s not like I don’t appreciate your kindness.”
“I just want to do things for you, Matty. To prove to you that I can be a
better man.”
See me see wahala. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“I didn’t take what we had serious before and that almost cost me. I
want to make things right.” The plea in his eye could melt the hardest of
rocks.
“Okay, I don’t mind you buying me food.”
Fool. I heard in my spirit.
Lord, I don’t want to be hard on him.
Fool.
He’s just going to buy me food, what was wrong with that? Besides, my
heart was already taken. Lucky knows that already.
Does he?
 We took a table for two, placed our orders and waited in awkward
silence. A man and a woman— probably married— were arguing three
tables away from us. Their voices were still at a controlled level but their
anger was palpable. The man splayed his arms, pushed his chair back and
stood up to leave. Then he turned to a little boy that had been crying beside
him, barking something in Igbo. I guess he was trying to quieten the boy,
but the little dude yelled louder.
God, I don’t want to be that wife! From the look on her face, one could
see that she would rather jump over a cliff than agree to marry that man if
she could turn back the hands of time.
“I hope you know I would never do anything to hurt you?” Lucky said,
as if he knew the conversation going on in my mind.
Nodding, I checked my phone for the umpteenth time.
“Expecting a call or something?”
“Mm?”
“You’ve been checking your phone like a police officer expecting
feedback from a crime scene.”
“I, um... someone’s supposed to call me.”
“Who?”
Wow... hold on. Did I sense possessiveness here? “Don’t worry, you
don’t know him.”
“Try me.”
Our food arrived before I could voice what was on my mind. “Thank
you,” I said to the waiter and started eating.
“You don’t thank a waiter for doing her job, Matty. She’s being paid.”
“Everybody deserves to be appreciated, even if they’re doing their job.”
Now where did I hear those words before? Michael. The day he took me out
for lunch. The beloved son of the Most High said thank you to everyone—
from the security guys at the entrance to the lady that served our meals.
“Who appreciates your hard work in the company?” Lucky continued.
“The M.D. does show gratitude.”
“By giving you a raise once in a very long while?” He put the last of his
food inside his mouth and dropped his fork. “When was the last time?”
Pushing my half-eaten food away, I filled a glass with water and
downed it at once. “Does it really matter?” I get bonuses, a few days leave
every now and then, but I wouldn’t tell Lucky that.
 “That’s the point, Matty. You do your job, get paid and that’s it.” I guess
he had more to say on the topic but his phone interrupted him. “Our ride has
arrived.” Standing up, he eyed my plate with a frown on his face.
“Sorry Lucky, I guess I wasn’t that hungry.” I stood up as well.
Light shower and thunderstorm greeted us outside and I regretted my
decision to wear this sandals—that had five inches heels, because I had to
run all the way from the canteen to the parking lot.
Shielding my face with my hand, I hurried inside the taxi and Lucky
followed behind with our luggage, taking the seat beside the driver after
loading the bags in the trunk of the car.
My phone rang as the driver was pulling away from the lot.
Michael, finally. “I’ve been waiting all morning.”
“I know.” His voice would always stoke flame inside me.
“You didn’t call or pick when I called.”
“I couldn’t.” I heard a door swing, and someone muttering something in
the background. “I woke up with a very strong sexual urge and speaking to
you that early would have worsened it.”
“Jesus. Are you always this open and sincere?” My eyes went to the
taxi's rear-view mirror, and I caught Lucky staring at me. He must have
guessed who my caller was, even though I was trying to control the flush
that started in my stomach and was now making its way up my face.
“Open— to God and to you.” A vibrating breath left his throat,
resounding in my core. “Sincere... the holy spirit has always helped me.”
“Mike you are... you are amazing.”
“I’m only a man trying to live in sincerity and truth.”
“Does God still make men like that? I mean, men that are sincere and
true.”
“I’m the evidence that He still does, Obi’m,” he said, and I let out a soft
laughter. “What? Why are you laughing?”
“You just called me ‘Obi’m.’”
“Did I pronounce it wrongly?”
“No, Mike.” My laughter reduced to chuckles. “I wasn’t expecting you
to say it so perfectly.”
“Then I deserve an award.” Excitement danced in his voice.
“You sure do,” I said. “And it sounds even better coming from you.”
“That’s because it sums up what you are to me.”
 “Oh, Mike. You really know how to get my insides mushy,” I said,
throwing a quick glance at the mirror again. Lucky still had his eyes on me.
“Ah...” Michael drawled. “I would pay anything to see your face right
now.”
“Why?”
“I know you are blushing, and I enjoy looking at your face whenever
you do that.” He was playing with me like he did at the restaurant
yesterday. And, Oh God... I was flush with excitement. “My little woman.”
Warmth kindled inside of me.
“You left your ring with me,” he said, and my eyes went to my middle-
finger immediately. “I guess that’s your parting gift to me.”
“A simple ring? What will you even do with it?” I asked. “I wish I’d
given you something more...”
“You gave me everything, Martha. Everything.”
“I don’t feel so.”
“You agreed to this God’s arrangement, that’s everything to me.”
“I love this God’s arrangement.”
“I love it too.” He laughed.
Glancing at my fingers again, I muttered, “You took it on purpose,
didn’t you?” I asked.
“Took what on purpose?”
“The ring.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Where are you?” I asked.
“In the office. Just finished a meeting.” He stifled a yawn. “You?”
“In a taxi, on my way home.”
“Your home should be beside me.” Another yawn.
“Make it happen.”
“Sooner than you expect.” With Michael, no time was enough, no word
was too heavy. I never knew this formidable man could be this free and
warm.
By the time we bid our goodbyes, my heart was dancing at the thought
of being joined with him.
Sixteen minutes later, the taxi stopped in front of my house. “Thank you
once again, Lucky,” I muttered, getting out of the car. But he was beside me
before I could stop him.
“Let me help you with the luggage.”
 “Lucky...” How do I tell him that he was trying too hard without
sounding ungrateful? “You’ve done enough.”
“Not enough, Matty. I want to do much more.” Ignoring my further
objection, he lifted the bag from the car trunk and moved to the gate,
knocked and walked in, giving my gateman a nod.
Something told me that it was nothing but pure jealousy that was
guiding his action— the feeling that he was competing with a man that has
more advantage than him.
“Matty.” We were now standing by my door. “I can make you happy,”
he said.
What in God’s green earth had come over Lucky?

OceanofPDF.com
 FOURTEEN
Martha

I had come close to dying several times in my life. Not just literally—
although there are occasions, a robbery attack at Abakpa market where
some group of boys pointed pocketknives and daggers at me and took
everything on me except my clothes. A swimming lesson that went wrong
and I almost drowned, and of course, the year a supposed fiancé called off
our engagement two weeks to our scheduled traditional marriage.
But what I felt as I held the phone close to my ears and instead of
Michael’s voice stroking my senses, the hostile voice of a young girl grated
through my heart, was worse than dying.
“Please,” she said. “Leave us alone.”
A lot of things ran through my mind as I sat butt frozen, phone glued to
ear in my sitting room.
One, how old was this girl again? Because I could count a few nineteen-
year-olds that would have this kind of boldness to confront their father’s
um... lover.
Two, from the tone of her voice, the young girl wasn’t just being hostile
to me because she didn’t like my face. Her problem was with anyone who
would come between her and her father.
I noticed this the day I visited, told Michael, but he dismissed it, or
rather didn’t want to talk about it.
“Bimbo...” Good gracious! I shifted on the sofa as a sharp pain jabbed
my lower abdomen. Menstrual cramp. The unpleasant monthly visitor had
chosen last night to come. “Bimbo,” I started again.
“I don’t want you near my dad!” She snapped. “Leave us alone, please.”
 This was the kind of battle I didn’t want to fight in my life. God knew I
wasn’t wired for such stress.
Be calm and allow me work out my purpose.
Okay, Lord. Shutting my eyes, I let out air from my mouth. “Bimbo,
hold on.”
“What do you want?” she cut in, sniffling... was she crying? “Dad is the
only one we have. You want to take him away too?”
“Bimbo, I’m so sorry you are feeling this way but... I’m not taking your
father away. He's not going to stop being your father if he marries me.”
When he marries me.
“You’ve already taken him away! He has changed and it’s your fault!”
He has changed, how? What was going on between Michael and his
children? “I’m so sorry, Bimbo. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“All dad talks about is you,” she retorted. “We used to be the center of
his world after mom died.” Oh, I get it now. “You are in every of our
conversations.”
“Bimbo I...” Jesus. Another cramp. Clutching my abdomen, I carefully
shifted again, waited for the pain to gradually ease. “Princess...”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to come between you and your
dad.”
“You are disrupting our family.”
“I’m so sorry.” If I could earn a penny for the number of sorries I’ve
said in this single conversation... “It’s not my intention.”
“Then leave us alone. You are disrespecting mom’s memories.”
Another ‘I’m sorry’ was crawling from my bowel to my throat, ready to
leave my mouth but I clamped it down. “What I have with your father
would in no way make a mockery of your mother...”
“Dad loves her.” Loves? “He will be able to love you.”
“I will never be to you and your family, what your mother was,” I said,
deliberately avoiding the issue of Michael loving his late wife and not being
able to love me. “But I’ll try to be a good mother...”
“You will never be my mother. Quit trying.”
I heard a door open and close at the other end. A male voice filtered into
my ears.
I guess Bimbo must have tossed the phone on a bed or a sofa because I
heard the plop sound of something being dropped on a soft surface.
 “That’s dad’s phone... what are you doing with it?” The second voice
was distinct now. Must be Olanrewaju, her brother. The rustling of fabrics
floated into my ears, and I heard Bimbo shout in protest.
“Dad will be so mad at you.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You used dad’s phone.”
“He gave it to me.”
“Liar. Who did you call?”
“No one.”
“It’s her. You called daddy’s girlfriend?” Girlfriend? I didn’t know how
that made me feel. “I’m going to tell dad.”
“You can’t.”
“Bet me.”
“Ola, please nau.”
I couldn’t listen anymore. I didn’t want to be reminded that I was
responsible for their scuffle.
Pressing on the red button to end the call, I tossed the phone on the sofa
and dropped my head into my hands; a sound escaped from my mouth, half
cough, half sob.
Last night, Michael had tickled me with words, got me as excited as a
puppy whose belly was being rubbed. We were on the phone from the time
he called, which was a little after 11 pm, till 1 am. I had to beg him to cut
the call and go to bed. When my phone rang this morning and it was him, I
thought we would continue from where we stopped, but it had turned out to
be his daughter about to extinguish my excitement.
Lord, what is this?
One of the hurdles you have to cross.
I didn’t want to face any huddle.... Wait, did he say one of the huddles?
There was going to be more?
That wasn’t the plan, Lord. You told me you are giving me a husband
after your heart. There was no mention of a nineteen-year-old girl that
would warn me off her super cute dad, and definitely no mention of other
hurdles.
Silence.
Rubbing on my eyes, I picked my eyeglasses from where I dropped it
on the table, put it on and glanced at the clock. Hissing, I got up and walked
into the room to get my shoes and pop a tablet of ibuprofen into my mouth.
I hated mental and emotional discomforts; I would rather let go of whatever
or whoever was responsible for it than lose my sleep. Jesus didn’t die for
me to be stressing myself on things I had no control over. But this one was
tough. I was crazily in love with Michael and didn’t want to imagine myself
walking away because of his little girl’s tantrum.
A few minutes later, my phone rang as I was locking up to go to work. It
stopped ringing by the time I got it out of my bag.
Michael. Probably to do some damage control.
I thought of calling him back but decided against it. I wasn’t angry at
him and wouldn’t for the life of me, shut him out because of this. I just
didn’t feel like speaking to him now. I would call him later.
My phone rang again while I was trying to get out of traffic. A quick
glance on the screen and a loud hiss rolled out of my mouth.
Lucky.
Something told me not to answer. But then, the call could be work
related. Tapping on the Bluetooth pinned to my ear to connect to the phone.
I waited for him to say something.
“I walked past your office and noticed it’s still locked.”
“I woke up late.” Thanks to Michael.
“That’s expected. You’ve been working so hard.”
It’d been a week since we returned from Abuja and Lucky had been on
me like a loyal dog; Matty, are you tired? Matty, have you had lunch? Is
there something I can do to help ease your stress?
“Are you close?” he asked.
“Yes. A little traffic jam at 9th mile, but I will be there in a few
minutes.”

Michael
“Dad, I’m sorry.” Bimbo’s ‘hangdog’ look didn’t deceive me one bit. She
was only sorry because her brother caught her and dragged her to me. As
for calling Martha, she wasn’t sorry.
“What did you say to her?”
“I was only trying to...”
“What did you say to her!”
“I told her to... to leave you alone.”
“That’s not all that she said.” Ola cut in, flipping through the pages of
Joyce Mayer's Battlefield of the Mind on my bed.
“Ola!” Bimbo shot back. “You didn’t even hear the conversation.”
“How dare you?” It took the grip of the Holy Spirit for me not to slap
Bimbo. “What gave you such boldness?”
“It’s not what you think, dad.”
Leveling a glare at her, I said, “So young lady, explain to me exactly
what you told her.”
Tightening her lips, she started fiddling with the hem of her top.
“Are you dumb now?”
She lifted her face and I saw tears streaming down her cheeks. I was
almost moved to enfold her in my arms and tell her to forget about what
happened. Then what? She would do it again, shed a few tears and I would
let her go.
Not happening.
“You are going to call Martha and apologize.”
Her forehead creased.
“You heard me. You will right your wrong.”
“But dad...”
“That’s not all,” I cut in. “I’m taking away all your gadgets for two
months and within that period, you are going to join the missions and
evangelism department of the church and serve effectively there until I’m
satisfied.” That department was the least Bimbo would consider if she ever
wanted to add another department to the two departments she was already
in.
“Dad, I can't!”
“Oh, you can, and you will.”
“But...”
“No more words from you, Bimbo.”
 “Yes dad,” she said. “Can I... will you give me your phone so I can call
her now?”
“I’ll let you know when I’m done with it.” I said, turning my back as
Bimbo walked out of the room.
“How can I help, dad?” Ola said. “I know a thing or two about women.”
“You what? I think it’s time we had another father and son talk,
Olanrewaju.” So help me God.

OceanofPDF.com
 FIFTEEN
Martha

Today’s episode of my life should be titled ‘Martha’s Ugly Ordeals.’

It wasn’t Bimbo's call nor Lucky checking up on me to know whether I
had developed a runny stomach last night so he could rush down to my
house and nurse me back to health that earned it that title, but my car
deciding to stop on the road like Balaam’s donkey did while he was on his
way to cursing the people of God. No amount of fiddling on the engine,
kicking on the tires, or stomping and screaming out my frustration could
make it move. So I had to abandon the stubborn piece of metal there and get
myself a taxi.
Finally arriving the office a little after ten o’clock, I was ready for
anyone that would dare query me.
“What happened?” Lucky sprang up from where he was seated at the
reception and hurried to my side.
“My car broke down.”
“Oh my God! Matty!” The last thing I needed at that moment was
Lucky crawling all over me like a bug. “You should have called me.”
“Are you a mechanic?” I asked, heading upstairs.
“I could have done something.” He held my arms and gently steered me
back down. “We are going to see the M.D. first,” he said, grinning.
“Why?” Refusing to move my feet further, I gave him a suspicious
stare. “Did he ask you to bring me? Is he angry that I wasn’t in when he
came?”
“Matty...” He stroked my arm.
 It would have been a harmless gesture if not that my brain had started
interpreting everything Lucky did as a desperate effort to get me back, so I
shook his hand away.
“Can you at least trust me a little?” he asked, his face dented with
disappointment.
“Okay.” Trust was something I wouldn’t want to consider with Lucky.
After all, he broke my heart before. “What’s going on?”
“Patience, Matty. Let's get to the M.D.’s office first.” I wanted to protest
again but he shushed me, gently pushing me in the direction of the man’s
workroom. “Don’t be scared.”
The door flung open before Lucky reached for the handle and a dozen
voices echoed “Congratulations!” as we stepped inside. Laughter ran like
jingle bells, eyes twinkled with excitement, and everyone was speaking at
the same time, making it difficult for my brain to comprehend what was
going on. Yet my face ached with an embarrassed smile.
Planting a kiss on my cheek, Lucky joined in the clapping, glancing
from me to the other staff and back at me.
Suddenly, it hit me... Lucky was going to propose to me here, before
these people.
My heart skipped multiple times in a split second. God, please don’t let
him do it!
Then my M.D. stepped forward, cackling like an old turkey. “You did it
again, Martha.” Okay... “You got us the biggest advertising deal this
company has ever handled.”
“The Cherry Hill Hotel deal?” I asked, a little relaxed now.
“Yes. Thank you so much, Martha. You are an asset to this company.”
The man shook my hand vigorously as more ‘congratulations’ flew from
every angle of the room into my ears.
“How do you feel?” Lucky asked.
“Appreciated.” I wasn’t going to deny the sense of elation bubbling
inside me as I watched all these people celebrate me.
“I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you, Lucky.” Though I was suspecting that Michael had a hand
in the hotel choosing us over the other two— “When did this good news
come?” I asked to be sure.
“This morning.” Yap. Michael did it— his way of making up for his
daughter’s behavior.
 “Throwing me this party, whose idea was it?”
“Mine.” Lucky said with pride. “The M.D. reached me immediately he
received their email and I suggested we do something for you.”
Perfectly timed.
“Thank you, Lucky,” I said as Nneoma, the company’s gossip, handed
me a glass of wine and a broad smile. I nodded my appreciation, and she
offered the other glass to Lucky.
“You both look good together, you know. This company wouldn’t mind
a staff wedding,” she said, balancing a tray on her thrust-out hip.
“Forget it, Nne, we’re just friends.” I gulped a large amount of the drink
and winced at the unpleasant taste of alcohol in the wine.
“Okay o,” she said and strolled off.
A few moments of silence passed between me and Lucky while I
thought of how to discard the abomination in my hand. The last time I took
that merciless brain stopper, I was seeing men as trees. I wouldn’t want a
repeat of that.
“You don’t like the drink,” Lucky observed.
“You people plan on getting me drunk today?”
“It wasn’t my idea. I didn't even know they would serve alcohol.”
Lucky threw his head back and laughed.
“Yeah, right.” Rolling my eyes, I handed the drink to him. He downed
the whole thing and passed the glass to a passing junior staff.
“Not bad,” he said.
“The party or the drink?”
“Both.”
“Hmm.”
“Matty?” he called.
“Huh?”
“We could be more than just friends you know.” I could see by the
softening around his eyes that the alcohol had started to work its magic.
“Don’t spoil this moment for me,” I said, moving away from him.
The celebration was over in an hour, and we went back to work. I
should call Michael to thank him or wait till I get home so we could talk
extensively.
Call now...
Call later...
 The latter won and I settled to tackle the day's work. I had my head bent
over my laptop, my fingers hitting keys so fast that one would think I had a
popcorn machine in my office, and my back screaming to be stretched when
Lucky pushed his head through my slightly opened door.
“Celebrity girl.”
“For a day,” I said, lifting my face for a brief moment.
“What do you say I treat you to dinner?”
“Nope,” I said, lowering my head to continue working.
“Come on, Matty.” He walked in and closed the door behind him. “Just
dinner to celebrate our success. I know this place that serves tasty meals
and good wine.”
“I don’t have the time, Lucky. We got the job. It's now time to prove
that we are deserving of it.”
“But you did that already.”
“Not yet.” I stopped typing and settled my gaze on him again. “Not yet,
Lucky.” I mustn't disappoint Michael.
“Okay. I get you.” He began drumming his fingers on my desk. “But
what I’m asking for is a little of your time.”
“How little?” Considering the pain he took organizing the mini-party, it
wouldn’t be bad to appreciate him. I also needed a sort of distraction from
the thoughts warring inside my head— Bimbo put them there. And this
persisting abdominal pain.
“Thirty minutes. I swear I won’t ask for more.”
“Thirty minutes?” And I would be back in time to call Michael.
“Not a minute more, except you want to extend.”
“Don’t push it.”
“I will not.” He grinned. “We are going from here or you want to get
home first?”
“I may not want to step out once I get home.”
“From here then. By the way, how far with your car?”
“Called my mechanic to go look at it.” Removing my glasses, I rubbed
on my eyes. “He was able to take it to his garage.”
“Nice, nice.” A short silence passed. “Okay, see you in the evening.” He
flashed me a wide grin and walked out.
Fool.
What?
Fool.
 What did I do now, Lord? It’s just a harmless dinner with a colleague.
Besides, what could possibly go wrong?

Everything went wrong. From the distance that made me wonder if we’d
left Enugu town to Nsukka village, to the food that tasted like something
made of dust and frustration. Not to mention that Lucky’s thirty minutes
turned to two hours! Two whole hours of listening to old men’s dry jokes
and Lucky’s gritting laughter while enduring the menstrual pain that
seemed to have become resistant to analgesics.
The Lord was right. I shouldn’t have followed him. Should have even
demanded he take me back home when it was taking long to reach the
place, but I had glued my butt to the car seat, my lips sealed from
protesting.
“You don’t know how happy you made me today, Matty,” he said as we
headed home.
And you don’t know how close to tears you made me today, Lucky, I
wanted to snap back. But doing that would literally let loose the tears that
had clouded in my eyes.
There were reasons why I felt like opening the flood gate of weeping; I
was warned, but I chose not to adhere. Secondly, Michael had called while
we were there and I couldn’t pick because the place was so noisy that I
feared he would demand to know where I was.
“Are you okay?” Lucky asked.
“I hate that place.”
His head snapped backward as if he had been punched on the face.
“But... the goat meat pepper soup was nice, and the Ugba too.” I didn’t eat
the ugba but had nibbled on the goat meat just to keep busy.
“The environment. It’s not where someone like me should be seen.”
“Come off your high horse, Matty. Do you know how many big men
that frequent that place?” I wasn’t referring to financial class when I
mentioned ‘someone like me’ not supposed to be seen in a place like that.
As a born-again Christian, that place wasn’t for me.
“Remind me not to go anywhere with you again,” I said, turning my
face away to dab tears from my cheeks.
 We didn’t speak to each other until he slowed at my entrance. “Don’t
worry, I’ll come down here,” I said as he honked for my gateman to open.
“Let me at least take you inside,” he replied, driving in.
I was out of the car before he turned his ignition off, wishing that he
would just drive away and never show his face in my life again. But the
idiot, God forgive me for calling him that, scurried to my side, pulled me by
the hand and before I could mutter ‘what the hell...,’ I was crushed against
his body and his lips were on mine— his tongue prodding to gain access in
to my mouth.
“Get away from me, you idiot!” Pushing him away, I began to spit out
the taste of disgust he plunged into my mouth.
“Matty,” he panted, staggering forward. “Can’t you see how much I
want...”
Someone cleared his throat beside me, or was it in my head?
Someone...
Michael!
Digging my heel on Lucky’s foot as he made to grab me again, I pushed
him off and turned immediately to the sound of the voice.
When you get a shock that squeezes your heart, paralyzes your brain,
and turns your body cold, you die a little.
As I stood gazing moronically at the last man I expected to see in my
compound, with my lips still hurting from Lucky’s forceful kiss, my heart
racing as if I ran a marathon, and Lucky cursing and swearing somewhere
afar, I died a little.
“I,...” Michael started. If he was mad at what he saw, he didn’t show it.
“... thought I should come see you.”
Laugh now, God. Laugh and remind me that you told me so.

OceanofPDF.com
 SIXTEEN
Michael

I know a drunk man when I see one and that one hopping on one foot and
swearing like an old sailor was as drunk as uncle Femi back then in the
village. Though he seemed to be in control of his drunken state— I guess
Martha wasn’t even aware he was wasted, but I saw beyond his facade.
And Martha had kissed him.
Holding my breath behind tightened lips, I steeled myself against the
jealousy and anger that coursed through me.
This was a typical example of a surprise visit gone wrong. Christ! I
shouldn’t have agreed to the idea of visiting her without notice. But Ola had
insisted. Same way he insisted I got a gift for her. It was difficult to choose
the perfect one as none of what we saw was good enough— or maybe it
was me. I wanted something special, something she would really love.
Ola had laughed at my indecisiveness. “You’re giving them to her with
love and that’s what matters,” he said. We later settled for a set of pearls
that Ola entreated we buy.
The thought of seeing her again had sent excitement into my
sparkplugs, roaring my engine into the spur of anticipation as my flight left
Abuja. Then I got here and met her absence. She wasn’t picking my calls
either. I had to convince her gateman that I wasn’t a scoundrel— not that I
looked like one— for him to allow me wait for her inside her compound.
Only for her to come home with... this... I never suspected there was
something between them.
Lord, why did you show her to me if she already had someone? Why
did you make me lose myself to her?
 My heart ached so much that I feared it might shatter into tiny pieces if I
stayed any more minute watching the young man hover around her while
she stood, too terrified to speak. Maybe the best thing to do was to give her
the gift, dial the bolt rider that picked me from the airport to come take me
to a hotel where I would spend the night.
“Hey, I know you.” That was from her colleague... boyfriend... whatever
he was to her. “Royal Opal group boss, right?” His voice held a triumphant
sneer, and his face a smirk that I wouldn’t mind whipping off with just a
fling of my hand.
“How are you, gran?” Gran? As in granny? Swallowing the anger that
was like a fire seed in my throat, I thought of grabbing the urchin by the
neck and shaking him until his neck snaps. But that would mean his death.
I’d rather slap his face to remind him who he was talking to— in case he’d
forgotten.
Control, the Lord said.
So I sighed deeply, surprising myself and I guess the two of them with a
smile. I must have appeared unruffled before them, but my inside was
steaming hot.
“And how are you... um...” I was sure the young man mentioned his
name to me after the presentation.
“Lucky.” A nice name given to a son of Belial. “We met in Abuja... your
hotel.” He was doing well curbing his drunken state, like Uncle Femi. “Me
and my ba... girl... Matty.” He hobbled towards Martha and was about to
slip his hand around her waist when a loud crack echoed and the arrogant
fool’s head was jerked to the side. Next thing, he fell face first on the
ground.
The silence that followed lasted for a few seconds as I looked from the
young man to Martha whose chest heaved and fell in heavy pants.
Jesus! What just happened? Did such a head-turning slap come from
Martha’s delicate body? I turned to stare at Martha again, this time in awe
while laughter welled in my chest.
Forgive me Lord, I shouldn’t be happy over a woman hitting a man, but
the guy looked dumb sitting on the ground, palming his cheek and moving
his jaw from side to side— probably checking if the sharp snare drum of a
punchline Martha made with his face broke his jawbone.
“I’m sorry,” Martha started, walking over the man on the ground to
reach me. Then she stopped at arm’s length. “I didn't mean to do that.” Was
she apologizing for allowing the guy kiss her or for slapping him?
“Michael. Ade...” Her lips trembled. I could hear the silent sobs she was
trying to suppress, could see the tears she had turned her face away to hide.
“I’ve had a long day,” I said, trying so hard not to pull her into my arms
and give her a long possessive kiss that would wipe the taste of the young
man from her mouth and leave her wanting no other man but me.
Not now.
Martha hurt me real bad. Though the slap she gave the guy lightened my
mood but that didn't ease the betrayal I felt. I had not thought her as one of
those women who would profess love to a man and run to another at the
slightest challenge. I’d dealt with that kind when I was younger— before I
met Ugo. The ones that would say yes, then no when things get tough and
then yes again when they were done with the other man.
Martha Nkemdili wasn’t one of those.
Or was she?
I wasn’t sure of anything right now.
“I’m tired and need some rest.” Her eyes widened. “And so do you,” I
added quickly, hoping she got the hint in my voice. I didn’t want the young
man around her tonight, not tomorrow, not any other day.
Glancing at the fool who was now on his feet, I started walking away,
then stopped. “Where does he stay?” I asked, turning back.
“Huh?”
“Where does he stay?”
“5th Avenue, New Heaven.” I didn’t know where that was but I was
determined to get the fool out of her compound. Pulling out my phone, I
dialed one of the fellowship’s national directors residing in Enugu while
regretting the decision to make this trip without my security guards.
Another of Ola’s suggestions.
“Ditch those bodyguards of yours.” Ditch, one of his popular words.
“And the cars. Go to her plain and simple.” I didn’t know what difference
that would make since Martha had seen me with those, but I was eager to
do anything, anything to make her comfortable.
“... No, I’m fine.” I responded to the man at the other end of the phone.
“I didn't want to bother anyone.” I had men in this city as in other cities,
that would go through fire with me and back. Their eagerness to do things
for me was overwhelming. “I only need someone to help me take care of a
minor problem,” I added. Giving out Martha’s address to the man, I ended
the call and waited for the extra hand that would be sent.
I didn’t doubt Lucky could drive himself, but I had to be sure he would
be heading to his house, not hanging around somewhere waiting for me to
leave so he could return to bother Martha. I couldn’t stand the fact that the
fool would do more than kiss her if I left without making sure he also was
gone for good— at least for the night.
“You... you’re getting someone to take him home?” Martha asked in a
breathy voice.
“Yes.” I said, leveling a gaze at her, waiting for her to tell me I had no
right.
“Who do you think you are?” Lucky gritted. He lurched towards me,
then stopped as if the baby devil inside him had warned him that I was the
wrong man to mess with. “I’m not going anywhere!” His hate-filled face
with its defined cheekbones thrust stubbornly at me.
“You are,” I said.
Laughing hysterically, he turned to Martha. “What do you say, Matty?
You want me gone too?”
Yes, Martha. Do you want him or me? God! I didn’t believe I would be
competing to stay in her life. I thought she was mine, now I had to watch
her choose?
“Get out of my house, Lucky.” Her voice was icy, her body stiffened,
fury engraved on her face. “Get out and stay out of my life.”
Her response would have been a relief had this not been a complicated
situation.
“Because of him?” The young man was almost frantic. “So both of you
will continue from where you left off in Abuja? Is that what this is about?”
Turning to face me, with a grin terrible as a demon’s scream creasing his
face. “You want another piece of her, right? That's why you are here.”
“Shut up.” Oh, Jesus, help me not to lose it!
“This is how she pays for your benevolence? With her legs spread and
her toes pointed to heaven!”
“You filthy pig!” Martha screamed.
“Shut your mouth, whore!”
There are times when letting go seems to be the most cowardly thing to
do, and the need to allow the Holy Spirit lead you is replaced with the
desire to show an imbecile like the one standing before me, who the real
man is.
This was one of those times.
Dropping the package in my hand on the floor, I closed the gap between
me and the ignorant fool with two strides, roughly pulled him close to my
face, almost choking at his breath that smelled of stale food and alcohol.
“Call her that one more time,” I said between clenched teeth, ignoring
Martha’s plea for me to leave the guy alone. “One more sound from your
miserable mouth and I will wipe this whole compound with your face.”
Rage was washing through me. Red-hot rage followed by a cold, dark
determination to lift the guy up high and throw him on the rough floor like
the sack of trash he was.
“Mike, please.” Martha held my arms, pulling hard, trying to dislodge
my grip from his shirt. “Don’t do this Michael, please!”
Then there was a tap on my shoulder, a swift breeze swirled around me,
and calmness settled in my heart where rage had occupied.
This is not me working in you, son.
Loosening my grip, the young man crumbled on the floor like dead
meat, coughing.
I was glad the help that was sent over by one of my directors chose that
moment to drive in. Lucky was already on his feet and was hobbling to his
car when he arrived. It was a good thing he didn’t witness my raging
moment. That would have left a negative impression of me in his heart.
“Make sure he gets home,” I said.
“His car or mine?”
Maybe there wasn’t any need escorting Lucky home. After what I did to
him, he wouldn’t be coming back here— at least not tonight.
“I think he can take care of himself.” I said as Lucky entered his car and
slammed the door, his tires screeching as he did a sharp reverse and zoomed
out the opened gate.
“Take me to any good hotel,” I said to the other man.
“Michael,” Martha called. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, Martha. I am sorry.” I shouldn’t have come without informing her
first. “I’m so sorry for everything.” I said and started walking towards the
waiting car. The driver was already inside.
“Will you stay a little longer if I ask you to?” Her question slowed my
stride.
 “A lot of things had happened this night, Martha.” I wanted to be alone,
with God, so I could think things through, and ask God for mercy and
grace. “I can’t. I have to leave.”
She followed me, watched me enter the waiting car without saying
another word to her.

The water came as a soothing cascade, wrapping me in arms that flowed

and hugged so gently. I wished it could get to my heart, then the guilt that
weighed heavy and deep within would be washed away.
I am so sorry, Lord.
There was no excuse for what happened tonight, no reason to have lost
control the way I did. The young man wasn’t worth the energy.
And Martha...
My inside still ached at the thought of her with that boy. Seeing the both
of them in that compromising position had sparked jealousy and fury in me
like fire.
As if that wasn’t enough, the young man... Oh, God. Picking the soap, I
began to scrub my skin, wishing I could make sense of everything that had
happened— first it was Bimbo calling her to tell her off me, then this. Were
they signs? Was the Lord telling me something indirectly?
For the righteous falls seven times and rises again.
The word hit me straight in the heart like an arrow, blasting and
spraying spiritual energy inside me. Not only was it the first word the Lord
had said to me since I left Martha, it was a word I didn’t think I needed at
the moment.
In quick succession, I lathered every part of my body and turned the
shower to full blast. A few seconds later, I was out of the bath and with a
towel wrapped around my waist, I walked through the decently furnished
hotel room to pick my bible from the nightstand when my phone rang.
“Dad, how did it go?” Ola said over the phone.
“E ku irole to you too, Olanrewaju.”
“Sorry dad. I’m so excited that I totally forgot to greet you.” I wished
there was a justification to his exhilaration, a reward for all the effort he had
put in this. “E ku irole, sir.”
“Mm hmm.” I replied. “How is your sister?”
 “She just got back from missions and evangelism meeting.” Good. “So,
how did it go?”
“Well, not as I expected, but... it’s okay.”
“Didn’t she like the gift?”
“I’ve not given it to her yet.”
“You didn’t go to see her today?”
“I did.”
“Then what happened?”
“She wasn’t home when I got there.” Partly true. “I will try again
tomorrow.” Not sure yet but... anything to get Ola off my neck.
“Okay, dad. Don’t forget to call if you need any help.” Laughter rolled
out of my mouth, and Ola joined in. “I mean it, dad. I can teach you a few
tricks.”
Like the one that got me into this mess.
“Hey, dad.” he sobered up.
“Mm?”
“A scripture popped into my head right now.”
“What scripture is that?”
“The righteous falls seven times and rises again.”

OceanofPDF.com
 SEVENTEEN
Martha

Yesterday, I had everything going on for me— well, almost everything.

Today, I was sinking into the deep abyss of shame.
I should have known this would happen, should have recognized the
shadow of deceit around Lucky's mask. I... I thought he was decent.
You know he wasn’t.
But... I didn’t know he would do this.
You saw it coming.
God, I didn't. Everything had happened so fast. The kiss that churned
my stomach, Michael walking in, the slap, then... Lucky had called me a
whore! That imbecile. That disgrace of a man! The shameless imp. It was
all my fault. I saw the signs and chose to ignore them.
Ha! Martha. How could you have traded your sense for a bowl of pap
the day Lucky walked back into that office?
Every muscle, every nerve in me twisted with anguish as I remembered
the look on Michael’s face, the hard stare he gave me when I asked if he
would stay a little longer. I saw my shame in the mirror of his eyes. Shame
and something else... his disappointment? Sadness? I wasn’t sure because
he had remained as calm as the sea— except for that moment when Lucky
called me a whore and something had snapped inside him.
“Madam.”
I tore my eyes away from the emptiness I’d been gazing at for the past...
how many minutes? Hoping the car that drove him away would bring him
back.
“You never enter house?” my gateman asked.
 Enter house? As in retire for the night? How would I even sleep
knowing that I had ruined my chance with a good man?
“Security people go soon come ask us wetin we dey do outside.”
“That’s true.” I wouldn’t want to add ‘being embarrassed by the estate
security’ to my already ruined day. I took one last glance at the empty street
and dragged my feet inside, trudged into the house and slumped on the sofa.
Then I released a cry, near the sort of scream one might hear from an
emotionally wounded person.
“I’m so sorry,” I sobbed, curling in on myself and burying my face on a
throw pillow. “I’m sorry.” I was apologizing to God, even though I couldn’t
feel Him at the moment.
Not feeling Him shattered me more.
“Take not Your Holy Spirit away from me,” I sobbed. “I need you.” And
I need Michael. Don’t allow him to walk away...
Call him.
What?
Call him.
But he wouldn’t...
Obedience, Martha.
Jumping to my feet— ignoring the dull pain in lower abdomen, my eyes
made a quick search for my phone and then I remembered I had it in my
hand bag which I must have left outside.
“Mmadu! Mmadu!” I shouted my gateman’s name while heading
outside. “I dropped my bag here, did you...”
“See am there, nau.” He pointed somewhere in the compound where the
bag was seated comfortably on the interlocked floor.
I picked the bag and searched for the phone as I walked back inside.
With my heart in my mouth, blood pumping fast in my ears and my inside
jittering as if I was dipped in ice-cold water, I dialed his number.
He wouldn’t pick...
He wouldn’t pick...
He picked!
Jesus! What would I say to him? How would I start?
“Martha?” His voice, that low vibrating tone of one who just woke up
from sleep, floated into my ears, knocking me dumb and shamelessly
desiring that I was... he was... “Martha,” he called again, his voice firmer. I
guessed he just rolled to his side or maybe pulled himself to a seating
position because I heard the mattress hiss.
“You picked.” That must have been the most stupid thing someone had
said to him over the phone.
“You called,” he replied, releasing a deep breath. “Are you okay,
Martha?”
“Yes... no... oh Jesus.” He's making apologizing hard, acting as if
tonight didn’t happen. “Michael.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m sorry.” I wish I could say that a million times. “What you saw...”
Wasn’t what he thought? How I hated that ‘caught in the act cheating
partners’ cliché. Hated it the day brother John Bosco— My fiancée number
three, used it when I walked in on him sucking and fondling another lady's
voluptuous chest-melons in his house.
Loathed it more when fiancée number last— before Michael— spewed
the words shamelessly four months after he called off our engagement and
married some lady from his village.
It’s not what you think, A phrase used by stupid cowards. Yet, I was
about to say it to him.
“I have no excuse,” I said rather, owning up to my stupidity. “I’m so
foolish and senseless...”
“Martha... Martha...” he cut in. “Don’t do that.”
My heart constricted immediately. God, please don’t let him leave me. I
won’t be able to live with myself it that happens.
“No one should use those words on you, and you shouldn’t do that
either.”
Did I tell you earlier that my heart constricted? Well, now my heart
stopped entirely— not literally. I stood dumbstruck for God knows how
long, trying to comprehend whether I was dealing with a man or an angel.
Michael was supposed to be enraged, to allow me hurl insults on myself
because I deserved it...
“So, go ahead. I’m listening. Just don't use those words.”
“I... I hurt you so much today, I’m sorry.”
The silence that followed was worse than emotional torture. Tightening
my lips to a thin line, I waited for him to say something, but he remained
silent, only his periodic sigh announced that he was still there.
“I’m so sorry,” I repeated.
 “He kissed you.” Though his tone was low, I could taste the edge in his
voice.
“No...”
“No?”
“Yes... But... I didn’t give him permission to do that.” God! How do I
explain this? “He... he grabbed me before I could stop him.”
Another silent beat.
“Who is he to you?” He was calm and I hated it. I didn't want him to be
like that.
“He’s just a... a colleague,” I said.
“You know that’s not the whole truth.” But it is! “Martha?” The way he
pronounced my name, like a British lord. Martha? With that impeccable
foreign accent.
“He’s my colleague...” God, please make him believe me. “I... we...” I
wasn’t sure If I could call the brief thing I had with Lucky, a relationship.
“We dated briefly. Years ago, but things didn’t work out.”
“What happened?” He must have laid back down or rolled to another
side as I heard the soft hiss of the mattress again.
“He left Enugu and stopped calling.” Now, he was back and had sworn
to either get me or ruin me. “It was an innocent date.” So I thought. “I
didn’t know all these would happen. I’ve never even given Lucky the
impression that I have feelings for him because I don’t! There was a party
in the office...”
He listened while I narrated everything.
“You love him?” he asked
“Jesus, no!” For the life of me!
We slid into another silence.
“It’s okay,” he finally said.
Okay? Just okay? Did he mean that or was he politely telling me,
‘thanks for waking me up to bore me with your story. Now you can get off
my phone.’
“You... you are not going to say anything?” I asked. It’s okay wasn’t
okay for me.
“I just said ‘it’s okay.’”
“But it’s not enough...” I almost cried. What man remains this calm after
witnessing another man kissing his woman? It was not natural, this reaction,
this serenity he was fronting.
 “What would you rather have me say?”
Shout at me, voice your displeasure, tell me how low I acted and how
disappointed you were.
“I must confess I was disappointed when I saw both of you,” he added.
That was better.
“I came to Enugu to atone for what my daughter did to you. You took
away my happiness when you wouldn’t pick my calls nor reply my
messages. You made me restless.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No woman has ever done that since Ugo...” He swallowed the rest of
the words. “I couldn’t stand it that you were mad at me and my daughter.”
“I wasn’t mad at you, Michael.” I couldn’t be mad at him. I loved him.
“I thought I could surprise you.” He sighed. “Then you surprised me.”
“Mike, please.” What have I done? How do I clean the mess I made?
“I was red with anger and jealousy. You don’t know the torture, the pain
I go through each time I have you close to me, your beautiful lips a breath
away from mine and yet I let you go without kissing you.” His voice sank
even deeper— rich, raspy, as though I was with him and he was speaking
into my ears.
“Mi...”
“I dream of running my fingers on your skin, kissing and ravishing
every part of it and having you do same to me. But that’s how far I could
go. Dream. Because the bed mustn’t be defiled.”
He was punishing me with his words— the way he said them,
deliberately arousing every sense, pulling on my lust. I could feel my
essence clenching.
“Only for...” he paused. “For that boy to...”
“I’m sorry, Michael. I didn’t allow it. He just...”
“It’s okay,” he cut in. “I believe you.”
“You... do?” I wasn’t sure how to react to this abrupt forgiveness that
sounded like a dismissal. “Michael, please tell me what to do to make
amends.”
“Nothing, Little woman.”
Little woman. Hearing him call me that again made me want to laugh
and cry the same time.
“Then come back,” I said. “I want to see you.”
 A ripple of smooth laughter floated into my ears, and I couldn’t stop
myself from joining in.
“Do you know what the time is?” He laughed some more.
“I don’t care.”
“It’s late, Martha.”
“Then I’ll come to you. Tell me where to find you.”
“You’re crazy, you know that?”
That I was. Crazy and desperate to make amends even though I didn't
know how.
“I will not allow you step out of your house this late. Martha, It’s past
ten pm.”
He sounded relaxed and... as if he'd started enjoying our talk. “Then
tomorrow. You’ll come tomorrow.”
“Good night, little woman.” He was laughing again.
“Will I see you tomorrow?”
“I’m going back to Abuja tomorrow morning.”
My heart sank.

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 EIGHTEEN
Michael

Another chuckle worked up my throat as I picked my phone, and it was her

again.
“What?” I said, tucking in my amusement.
“Please,” she whispered. If honey had a voice, that was what it would
sound like— her soft, sweet, pleading tone. So sultry, so alluring, sending
my mind on a journey to a naughtier place. I never knew I was capable of
taking notice of these little things in a woman until I met Martha.
Rolling to my stomach, I adjusted the AirPod in my ear. “Please what?”
I asked, enjoying what her voice was doing to my senses.
I'd forgiven her even before she called, but there was something so
beautiful about this phone conversation that I didn’t want it to end— yet.
“I’m sorry!” she moaned, bringing a vivid image of her pretty face to
my head, her gorgeous big eyes, her pouty lips.
“But I said it’s okay.”
“I feel you just said that to dismiss me,” she said. “I want to be sure
you’ve forgiven me.”
“It’s hard to stay angry at you for a long time.” Hard to be angry with
her at all. “I forgave you before now.”
“Just like that?”
“What were you expecting?” I got up to turn the Air Conditioner on.
“I don’t know. An outburst... maybe.”
“I would have done that.” But the holy spirit had held me. ‘For the
righteous falls seven times and rises again.’ “But it's no longer necessary.”
 Dropping the AC remote, I tightened the band of my sweats that had
slacked a bit, then sat on the bed.
“How much airtime do you have?” I asked, checking the time from my
phone. Thirty-eight minutes after eleven pm. We'd been speaking for a long
time.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just want to know.” I replied. “Let me end this call and dial you back.”
“No!”
Was she afraid that I wouldn’t call back? “You know you can trust me?”
“I know but... I just don’t want you to end the call.”
“Okay, as it pleases you,” I said, checking the SMS that just entered my
phone. It was my PA reminding me of the meeting with the Minister for
Land and Housing tomorrow. Maybe I should send a representative. But
the minister was one egomaniac who would interpret sending
representatives as an insult.
“Michael...”
“I’ve missed you calling me Adekunle.” Sighting the gift I got for her
on top of the bed stand, I stretched my hand to pick it up. “Call me Ade and
I may consider seeing you tomorrow,” I said, running my fingers up and
down the length of the box that was now seated beside me on the bed. “Or
the other one...” I had looked forward to fitting the necklace around her
neck, pinning the earrings on her ears. And the ring...
“Obi’m,” she cut into my thoughts.
“Yes, that.” I would have properly engaged her today. Properly, because
Ola said words weren't enough, said it was ‘old fashioned.’ Well, I didn’t
blame him. I was the one who ran to a twenty-two-year-old for relationship
advice.
“I like it so much.” The name, Obi’m and the oval eighteen karat white
gold ring I just picked out from the gift box. I never thought of getting an
engagement band for her when I slipped her ring off her finger, but it helped
me in getting this one. I knew it would be her perfect size.
“Mike nau...” she whimpered.
“Yes, my babe.”
“I want to see you before you leave.”
“I will think about it.”
“Don’t think about it.”
“Okay, I will not.”
 “No... That’s not what I mean...”
I love this night. This phone conversation that wasn't for any contract or
business. Just two hearts separated by distance, fooling around with each
other.
“So, will I see you before you go back?”
“I already booked my flight, Martha.” The thought of cancelling my
journey crossed my mind the second time, but that would mean
disappointing a potential partner and I wasn’t known for doing that.
“I can come to where you are as early as five am, then follow you to the
airport.” That could work, but...
“Go to sleep, little woman.”
“It’s not going to be easy.”
“You have the Holy Spirit. He giveth his beloved sleep, remember?”
She said nothing.
“Tomorrow will take care of itself, Martha.”
“I just want to see you.”
“You’ll see me. But not tomorrow”
“It’s because of what happened, isn’t it?”
“You know it’s not.” I would have called the young man that brought
me to this hotel so he could take me to her house this night, just to prove to
her that my decision had nothing to do with what happened today. But I
doubted if both of us were strong enough to resist what might come out of
that visit. Her desire for me was obvious, seeping out from her voice. And
mine was blatantly visible in my pants. “Martha, you are a handful.”
“I don’t want to be.”
That made me laugh.
“Mike, I don’t want you to stop loving me.”
“It’s too late to do that, my little woman.” She was my heartbeat now. “I
keep falling in love with you and each time harder than the last. Don’t ever
think you have to beg for my affection because you don’t. You never did.”
“Mike,” she whimpered. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Just tell me you're not going to hurt me.”
“I promise you, Mike. I promise you.”
It took me five more minutes to get her to end the call. And I decided it
was time to have a chat with God. But not without first crediting Martha’s
phone.
 I was deep in conversation with the Lord when my phone beeped.
Forty-five minutes later, I was done and I checked my phone—half
expecting any other message but hers.
And it was hers.
5k airtime? This is a whole lot! Thank you so much, Obi’m. Now I can
call my village people. I love you.
My lips stretched in a smile as I typed my reply.
I love you, my little woman.

OceanofPDF.com
 NINETEEN
Martha

I had a hunch that something bad would happen to me today. It felt like the
intuition I had years ago, few days after a heated argument ensued between
me and fiancée number three over sex before marriage. I had adamantly
refused engaging in it— a decision I made when my first relationship ended
in a rather ugly way. He had voiced his bitterness and few days later, he
ditched me.
Stepping out of the taxi—my car wasn’t back from the mechanic yet, I
walked into the office thinking Michael might be planning to call off our
relationship.
But we spoke this morning before he left for the airport, and there was
nothing in his voice that suggested that.
Then why was I feeling this way?
My eyes scanned the faces of the front desk personnel at the reception
hall and I knew instantly that whatever that was about to hit me sore would
come from here. Two cleaners trudging mop buckets towards the equipment
room murmured greetings as I walked past without sparing me a glance.
That was unusual. Those girls had always greeted me with excitement
before.
I was still at the bottom of the stairs when they burst out in malicious
laughter. My instinct told me that they were laughing at me, but I shook that
off. For all I knew, they could be cracking up over something else.
Moreover, this could be the devil trying to infuse negative energy in me and
I wouldn’t let him succeed. Michael assured me of his unflinching love last
night and this morning, so I wasn’t going to give the idea that he was
planning to leave me a thought.
And this place... anything could be responsible for the cold treatment I
was receiving this morning. My success with the Cherry Hills Hotel
contract for example.
“You should turn back and leave while you still have your pride intact,”
someone said behind me as I slotted my key in the keyhole.
Turning my head, the HR was standing by her door which was adjacent
to mine.
“Pride? That’s if she still has any left.” Nneoma the company’s gossip
strolled into the scene the same way she strolled into everything that wasn’t
her business.
“What’s going on?”
The two ladies exchanged a knowing stare.
“Nothing,” The HR said and walked back into her office.
That left me and the parrot-mouthed Nneoma, so I turned to face her,
thrusting my hip to one side and with my hands akimbo, I waited for her to
open her mouth— I knew she would.
“Lucky told us everything.” Lucky, huh. “We celebrated you yesterday,
not knowing that your vagina did the marketing for you.”
“Jesus!” The shock from what I was hearing nearly knocked life out of
me. My brain stuttered for a moment, then every part of me went on pause
while my mind tried to grasp what this lady just said.
“Don’t even mention that name because you’re not qualified to do so.”
The mockery in her voice, the sneer on her face. “You parade yourself as a
born again, but you’re worse than a whore.” Whore! That's what Lucky
called me last night. A whore! “The man is even a pastor. Pastor!” She
craned her neck forward, her face contorted in disgust. “Yet you seduced
him to sleep with you. Just to get a deal?”
Not going to stand there and continue listening to the trash coming out
of this lady’s mouth, I unlocked my door, walked in, and shut it behind me.
My mind was still unable to comprehend or process what just happened.
The whole scene with the HR and Nneoma bounced around my head,
covering me with disbelief, then with shock and finally, anger.
“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath, “I’m going to get back at you,
Lucky. Maka Chineke! You will not like me.” I thought of confronting him
now in his office, but I doubted if he was around. His car wasn’t at the lot
when the taxi dropped me.
A knock at the door drew my attention from my thoughts. I went to
open it after a slight hesitation, ready for a fight— if it's madam HR, or
Nneoma or even Lucky.
“Oga wants you to look at this.” Staring at the bearer of the message, I
was torn between relief and regret. I had rehearsed a perfect backlash for
the three unfortunate fellows I had in mind. It was a pity it weren’t any of
them at the door but Gloria, the secretary.
Taking the flash drive the lady presented to me, I started walking back
to my seat.
“What you do with your life isn’t anybody’s business, Martha. Don’t let
anything they say about you here bother you,” Gloria said.
She's heard too?
Lucky must have done a thorough work in spreading the lies. It won’t
surprise me if the company’s security guys knew as well.
Turning around, I asked her in.
“What's going on?” I said as I took my seat, assuming she knew what I
was asking her about.
“Nneoma. She said Lucky spent the night at her place. He told her
things about you.”
How low could that idiot get? “You’ve seen him this morning?”
“Who? Lucky? He's with the M.D..”
My phone rang as I opened my mouth speak.
Michael.
“Arrived Abuja forty minutes ago,” he said.
“That's nice.” I responded distractedly, and he noticed.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yes... sure.”
“What did I do this time?”
“Nothing,” I said, picking the flash drive and inserting it in one of my
laptop’s USB port. “Believe me, Mike, we are good.”
“Then why the cold response? Did I call at the wrong time?”
“No. Just a little issue in the office.” My eyes caught the secretary
leaving. “Nothing I can't handle.”
“What is it?”
“I told you, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“I know you are a super woman, but just tell me what is going on.”
“Mike, please. It’s just...”
“I insist.”

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 TWENTY
Martha

Removing my glasses, I snatched a tissue from the box on my desk, cleaned

the lens, wore it back and resumed working. Amending badly written
proposals wasn’t my job— I believed that an employee should be made to
redo a bad work until he got it right, but since we won the Cherry Hills
Hotel contract, my M.D. had added the task of editing badly written
proposals to my already enormous tasks.
“Give yourself a break.” Gloria, our secretary snapped me out of my
concentration. “I’ve been standing here for a while now and you didn’t
notice.”
“I didn’t hear you knock,” I said, leaning back.
“Because all your attention is on what you are doing.” Dropping a nylon
bag on my desk, she clamped my laptop shut.
“Why... I didn’t save that work!” Hurriedly opening the gadget, I
breathed a sigh of relief as I met everything intact. “Don't do that again.”
Saving the work now, I turned my attention to the light-skinned with a
buzzed short blond hair lady that made herself my friend since two days ago
— the day Lucky maligned me, thinking; Isn’t it funny how ugly situations
opens door for unsolicited friendships?
“I brought you food.” How did she know I'd not had my lunch? “Didn’t
see you in the canteen this afternoon. And mama Nyo said you've not been
there today,” she said.
“Aww... that’s very nice of you.” Picking my handbag from the floor, I
asked “How much?”
“How much I bought the food?”
 “Yes.” I brought out my wallet, ready to refund what she spent.
“Haba! I'm not asking you to pay me back, Martha.”
“But I have to.”
“And I say ‘no.’”
“Why?” I’d given this lady a ride home twice. And those times, she had
remained as mute as a fish. My car stereo was a better companion than she
was. Now she was turning all buddy-buddy with me? “Why are you doing
this?”
“Doing what?”
“Being nice,” I near screamed. “Buying me food without asking for a
refund.” Beside the fact that I didn’t like people doing things for me,
Michael an exception— dude was free to spend on me as he pleased, Miss
Secretary’s sudden friendliness was beginning to send warning signals.
“There’s always a first time.” She pulled a chair and sat down. “Don’t
be scared. I didn’t poison it,” she said, unpacking the food.
What did she want in return for this generosity?
Open your heart to kindness.
I am open to kindness.
You are not.
“Martha, I don’t have anything negative in mind. I just want to be your
friend.”
“Gloria, I’m so sorry. I’m always skeptical about receiving...”
Appreciate her generosity.
“Thank you, Gloria, for looking out for me.”
Her eyes lit up immediately. “I just want to be friends,” she repeated.
“I know, and I appreciate that.” Stroking the lapel of my shirt, I realized
that my brooch was gone and my cleavage was bare. My eyes scanned the
desk for the fancy clip— I used to have many of them, but thanks to Mma
my sister who had the habit of ridding my house of beautiful jewelries, I
was now left with this one that it’s pin is slacked.
“Are you going to eat or not?” Miss Secretary asked as I fastened the
brooch back on my shirt.
Uncovering the food, I took in the aroma of Mama Nyo's jollof rice. “I
will eat,” I said, picking the spoon that came with the pack and shoved a
spoonful of rice inside my mouth. “I didn’t know I was hungry until now.”
A large grin split Miss Secretary's face. “Thank you so much, Gloria.” I
said, swallowed and took another spoonful. “And for not believing what
your heard about me. You are my friend for life.”
She laughed. “I know Lucky is lying.”
“Why do you think so?”
“I have observed you, Martha. There’s something about you...” She
shook her head. “I don’t believe you are how they painted you to be.”
I didn’t know I needed to hear those words until she said them. I could
hug her right now.
“You give a whole new definition to the word; ‘Born again Christian.’ I
can smell Jesus all over you.”
“Really, Gloria? I didn’t realize I have an admirer in you.”
“I’ve always admired you, only that I haven’t had the chance to tell
you.” This meant a whole lot to me. “So, about the Royal Opal boss...”
“Mm hmm.” I resumed eating as she got up, walked to the mini
refrigerator at a corner in the office and came back with a bottle of water.
“He was at your house that night.” She took her seat.
“Yes. Michael came looking for me.”
“His name is Michael? Nice.”
I guessed it was time to tell my own side of the story. “He... we are kind
of dating.” Refraining to look at her reaction to what I just said, I drank
some water, and went back to eating.
“I heard he's way older than you,” she said as her shock wore off.
“Just fifteen years older.”
“And he’s got kids.”
“Two. I’ve met them.”
“Will he agree for you to have your own children?”
Hmm... now that’s one thing I’ve not discussed with my Michael. But...
“I don’t think that will be an issue.”
“Martha, you have to be sure.”
Putting down my spoon, I leaned back to stare at her. She was right. I
would definitely want to have kids— at least one. But would Michael want
that?
“I will discuss it with him,” I said, picking up my spoon again. “I'm sure
he wouldn’t mind.” I took the beef in the plate and put it inside my mouth.
“He’s cute though,” she said, her lighter than ripe udala fruit cheeks
flushed. “I did a little research on him.”
 “You what?” Both of us began to giggle. “Why will you even do that?”
Almost choking on the meat in my mouth, I forcefully swallowed it,
reaching out for the water on the table.
“Sorry.” She handed the bottle to me.
“Now you've made me down this meat without savoring the taste,” I
said, laughing and coughing.
There are people who invades your space in a sweet way, and you
would be wondering where they have been all your life. This lady seemed
to be the fun I didn’t know I needed in this office.
“But I'm serious,” she said, amidst laughter. “The man doesn’t look like
he's walked on Nigerian soil.”
“Ah ah nau, he's a Nigerian o.”
“I know. A Yoruba dem...”
“Uh uh,” I stopped her with a raise of a finger. “This one is no demon.
He’s an angel.”
“Oh... you don’t say...” Leaning forward, she gave me a knowing glee.
“In short,” I fought the flush that was creeping up my face. “The best
way to describe him is royalty.” Michael was the definition of that word—
everything about him spelt kingship and grace.
“You love him,” she said. “Look at your face... you're in love.”
“Sure, lady. Who wouldn’t be? What’s not to love about Michael?” I
giggled like a young girl whose sides were being tickled by her boyfriend.
“I’m so happy for you, Martha.”
“I’m happy for me too.” Both of us released ourselves to another roll of
laughter.
“I heard he almost beat Lucky up that night.”
“Lucky said that?” That was how I spent the remainder of the afternoon
— sharing juicy gossips over a plate of mama Nyo's delicious Jollof rice.

Three hours later, I was ready to go home. Switching off the appliances, I
walked through the densely carpeted floor to the window to shut the blinds.
My eyes caught Lucky walking with difficulty into the building. There were
palm slippers on his feet instead of shoes, and a bandage was tied round his
left foot.
 “Serves you right,” I muttered, appreciating the souvenir my five-inch
heel left him with that night he forcefully kissed me.
The idiot had been avoiding me since then, like Judas avoided the
disciples after betraying Jesus. Well, it was even better for the both of us.
We had nothing to say to each other.
You should set him free from the burden of guilt berating him.
But Lord, I have nothing against him.
Yet you are happy that he's hurting.
I couldn’t help the satisfaction I felt seeing Lucky with a physical
wound given to him by me. I mean... he deserved it. He almost ruined me.
Another glance outside and I shut the blinds and tucked my shirt inside
my suit trousers. Retrieving a bottle of perfume from my drawer, I sprayed
on both sides of my ears— learnt that from Mma. “You don’t know who
would be hugging you,” she would say. “It’s better to be ready.” Spraying
few drops on my shirt, I kept the bottle, grabbed my bag and headed out.
“Going for the day?” Marcus, our creative director called out as I
walked through the corridors past his office.
“Yes.”
“I wanted you to check out some billboard designs for me.” He was out
now, following me down the corridor.
“I can’t.” It was not even my job.
“Martha please, just help me choose the best of the three designs I
have.” He stopped at the top-stair landing. “It won’t take time.”
Ha! Who added vetting advert designs to my job description? “I don’t
even know jack about billboard and banner ads.”
“Don’t say that, Martha. You are multi-talented.”
Says who? Since when? “I am already late for fellowship.”
“Oh, okay. Tomorrow then...” Two interns shot past us as the M.D.’s
voice blared after them. “He’s in one of those moods,” Marcus said. “I
better start going too.”
The M.D. stomped pass us, barely acknowledging our greetings, his
clean as a baby butt’s head glimmering with sweat.
Lucky chased after him, almost toppling over the stairs as he struggled
to keep up with his bad foot.
“What’s going on?” Marcus whispered.
“Maybe rapture has taken place.” And these ones just realized they’d
been left behind.
 “If that’s the case, you shouldn’t be standing here with me.”
From where we stood, we could see the M.D. having a rapid discussion
with Lucky who didn’t look too pleased to be the one at the receiving end
of the large man’s heat.
“I don’t want to be in Lucky's shoes right now,” Marcus said.
“Me too.” I hung my bag on my arm, “I got to go,” I said.
“Martha!” The M.D. shouted, his head darting around.
Oh no!
“Someone should get me Martha!”
“It’s your turn to receive the heat.” Marcus said, walking down the
stairs.
“Here, sir!” Following Marcus down, I wondered what was actually
going on.
Then three things happened:
The entrance door swung open, ushering in two security men, a familiar
aura filled the reception, then Michael walked in.
It was as though my heart already knew, even before he made his
entrance, that he was here, and had begun to gallop— like it could feel him
from miles away. I watched him scan the room as the M.D. approached
him.
“Mr. Whyte,” he said, offering his hand for a shake.
“We weren’t informed about your visit until some minutes ago.” My
M.D. held the hand firmly, grinning like a dog who was caught pooping in
its pen. “My friend Chief Olu, called to tell us.”
“I apologize for inconveniencing you.” Looking over the M.D.’s head,
his eyes found mine. “I hope this visit isn’t going to encroach on any plan
you already have for the remainder of the day.” If not that my M.D.
muttered a response, I would have sworn he was talking to me as he was
still holding my gaze.
His eyes made a quick movement from my face to my chest. Arching a
brow, he returned his gaze to my face, slightly thrusting his head towards
my bosom as though he was pointing my attention to something there.
Lowering my head, I noticed that the stupid brooch was gone again and
a reasonable part of my cleavage was bare.
Jesus!
My embarrassment was immense as I quickly clamped the lapels of my
shirt together with my hand. Looking up at him, I felt like hiding, but his
lips curled up in a half-grin and I found myself desiring to have him do that
again, even though it was at my expense. But his gaze was now settled on
the M.D. who was saying something about pedigree and years in business
Sweet Jesus. I’d missed this man, his smile, the feeling he aroused in
me. Letting a nervous smile slip from my lips, I glanced around, hoping
nobody would notice the excitement that was warming my skin.
“He’s even cuter!” Miss Secretary grabbed and squeezed my hand,
flashing an extra-special smile I’d not seen on her face before. “Gosh! This
man is dripping hotness!” she whispered.
I was about to tell her to stop gushing over my man, when my M.D.
started leading Michael towards the stairs— I was at the last landing of the
stairs.
My breath suddenly changed to short bursts as they approached. I
should fix my gaze somewhere else but on him... yet nothing was worth
looking at. Stiffening against the handrail to make way for them— my hand
still holding the lapels of my shirt together, I turned my attention to Marcus
who was tugging a chair across the hall.
I was still considering joining Marcus in the reception or remaining
where I was, when Michael gripped my jaw, turned my face and gave my
forehead a playful tap and continued moving. He was way up the stairs
before I could get over the spark his fingers sent down my core.
Goodness! His touch was like...
“That was so romantic!” Miss Secretary squirmed.
He was so romantic.

OceanofPDF.com
 TWENTY-ONE
Michael

Martha was such a tease.

Everything about her sparked my desire to high heavens; From her
shyness that was a catnip to my soul, to the smile that sparked her eyes even
when her lips were still. And the freshness of her skin— the supple mounds
of her chest that I didn’t want my mind to dwell on, her flat stomach that
was emphasized by her red satin fitted shirt which disappeared into her
black trousers— another fitted piece that accentuated her tiny waist and
perfectly curved hips.
Ah! Obinrin mi rewa. My woman is beautiful gan.
“Welcome to Brighton Advertising Agency. What can I offer you?” Mr.
Whyte was on his feet, pushing his bulk out of his desk. “I hope we have
what you...”
“Don’t bother with that,” I said, looking over my shoulder as someone
opened the door.
Lucky.
“Did you see Martha on your way up?” His boss asked him, sitting back
down. “She should be here,” he said, picking his phone.
“She...” Lucky started, avoiding my gaze.
“I don't think she necessarily needs to be here,” I cut in, turning fully to
face Lucky.
The first thing that came to my mind when Martha told me of this guy’s
stupid act was to get him arrested. I only had to give the Enugu State police
commissioner a call and this guy would find his behind in jail, for some
weeks at least. He would learn not to cross the wrong man after that. But
the Lord wouldn’t want me to have my way.
I want him back to the fold, the Lord had said to me. And I want you to
do the job.
That was two nights ago.
“How are you doing, Lucky?”
“Mmm?” He whipped his head toward me, his discomfort apparent.
“I trust you’ve met Lucky before. He was in Abuja with Martha,” Mr.
Whyte said with glee. “Those two are the best things that has happened to
this agency.”
“Yes.” I replied, my eyes still on Lucky. “I met him twice. Such
interesting meetings. Don't you agree, Lucky?”
“Mmm.” His jaw tightened. “Very interesting... sir.”
“Let me not waste your time.” Returning my attention to Mr. Whyte.
“I’m here to borrow Lucky for an hour or two,” I said.
“I hope there is no problem?” An uneasy expression crossed the man’s
face. “He’s not done something... you know.”
“No, no. He’s a promising young man and I feel we can do a lot
together,” I said. Seeing the frown on the man’s face, I quickly added, “you
are not losing him to me, be rest assured.”
“Of course, I have no fear.” the man let out a nervous laughter. “You are
a noble man.”
“Sir, I don’t think...” Lucky started to object.
“I promise to make it worth your time.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” Lucky snapped, leveling a
glare at me.
Such an arrogant, disrespectful fool. Why would the Lord make me
come down here to stomach such haughtiness? Now I understood Jonah and
his decision to run instead of going to Tarshish to preach. Who would want
to waste his time on remorseless souls like this one?
I call him son, the same way I call you son.
This is going to be hard for me, Lord.
Allow Me take over your heart.
Then, it’s yours.
“You can drive in your own car if that will make you comfortable,” I
said to Lucky.
“It’s not about driving or not driving my car... I said I...”
 “Come on boy, go with him,” Mr. Whyte cut in. “This could be an
opportunity of a lifetime.”
The hall was almost empty when we made our way down— Lucky and
I.
Where was Martha? My eyes roamed. Oh, there... she was seated at a
corner, head bent over her phone.
Then she looked up. Smiling, she started making her way towards us.
Her initial shyness was gone. And she had a safety pin securing the lapels of
her shirt.
She took my outstretched hand and I didn’t let go. Rather, I pulled her
closer, slipped my arm around her waist— that felt so good— without
breaking my strides.
“What’s the name?” I asked, leading her out of the building while
Lucky followed behind.
“What?”
“The perfume you’re wearing, what’s the name?”
“You don’t like it?” Like it? Lady, one thing is stopping me from
pushing you into the car and burying my face on your skin, inhaling and
licking.
“You smell heavenly,” I replied, and she giggled. “So, what’s the
name?”
“Daisy Love—Marc Jacobs.”
“I will get you a dozen more, so you don’t run out of it.” We were now
standing by the car.
“What will I do with a dozen perfumes?”
“Wear them,” I said. My eyes caught Lucky heading to his car with one
of my security men. “I hope this works, Lord.” I muttered.
“Mike, what’s going on?” Martha asked. “You are getting Lucky
arrested?”
“I wish that’s the case.” Guilt slashed through my heart immediately
those words left my lips.
“You are not arresting him?”
“No.”
“Then what’s happening?
“The Lord wants this.”
“Wants what?”
 “Lucky. He said I should get Lucky back to him.” She narrowed her
gaze at me. “Hey...” I cupped her face, not minding who would be looking.
“I felt exactly how you are feeling when the Lord first told me this, but I
understand now.” What I didn’t understand was why I should be the one on
this mission.
“After all that happened?”
“You don’t know how much I want that guy to have a taste of his own
bitter pills, but the Lord wants us to do something else instead.”
She nodded.
“You trust the Lord, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And me, you trust me?”
She nodded again.
“Good. Nothing will go wrong.”
“Of course, I know nothing will go wrong.” She managed a smile. “So,
what now?”
“I’ll take him to dinner somewhere. The Lord will do the rest.”
“What of...” She bit on her bottom lips, “Will you come to see me when
you’re done?”
“Will I? Uh... let's see... I don't know yet.”
Shrugging my hands off her, she gave me a punch on the chest. “What’s
wrong with you?”
Laughing, I caught her hand mid-air as she wanted to land another
punch.
“I’ll see you, my little woman.”

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 TWENTY-TWO
Michael

“I’m sorry about your foot.” Lucky’s subtle hobbling as we walked into the
restaurant didn’t go unnoticed by me. “Hurt so bad, huh?”
“Don’t patronize me.” Pulling out a chair from the table by the window,
he carefully settled himself on it.
“Not going to do that.” I took the one opposite his. “I’m only showing
concern.”
“You brought me here to mock me about the wound your girlfriend
inflicted on me?” His discomfort from earlier that day seemed to have
vanished, replaced with contempt, anger.
Hesitating between whether to give him a response or not, I picked the
menu on the table and started going through it. “I don’t mock people,” I
said.
He snorted. “You can fool Mr. Whyte with your deceitful face but I
know you, and you don’t scare me.”
This guy wasn’t just arrogant, he was stiff-necked and unremorseful.
How could one deal with all that?
Have patience with him, the Lord said.
For how long?
As long as it takes.
It’s going to be hard, Lord.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Lucky narrowed his eyes in
disgust. “You despicable man.”
“Despicable.”
 A waiter approached our table with two bottles of water. Taking one
while she dropped the other in front of Lucky, I turned the glass cup on the
table over, wiped the inside with a serviette and began pouring myself some
water. “Despicable is a very strong word, Lucky.”
“You are worse,” he retorted.
“Oh, really?” Thank You, Jesus, for the calmness you clothed me with, I
thought, draining my glass of water. “So tell me. What did I do to earn such
title?”
“You took advantage of Martha’s desperation to...”
“Now that’s ridiculous. Lucky, how can I take advantage of her when
she’s already mine?”
“How is a lady in desperate need of an advertising deal yours?” His
voice had begun to scale the private booth we were in and I was worried
that someone would hear. “She was stupid and naive to give in to your
lust.”
“Don’t call her stupid.” I could take everything but not him calling
Martha names. Nobody does that to those I love. I could turn from a lamb to
a beast because of that— you know this, Lord. “Please don’t do that.”
“What would you do?”
A lot of things. I could start with grabbing him by the head and wiping
the table with his face.
What would that make you?
Don’t tempt me with this young man, Lord.
For my glory, son.
Then make him behave, Lord I don't know how much longer I can take
his insults.
“We should order for wine,” I said to Lucky, picking the wine list and
scanning through. “White or red?” I asked.
“Go to hell.”
Ignoring him, I beckoned on the sommelier at the bar. “Declan Rose,” I
ordered.
“Red or white, sir?”
“I think my friend here wants white.” I said, sparing Lucky a glance
while retrieving my phone that had begun to vibrate, from my jacket’s inner
pocket.
“Speak,” I said to my charity and social services manager who was
calling to update me on the forty-eight years old woman scheduled for a
brain tumor surgery in India. “She’s going to stay away for at least one
month...Yes we’ll be taking over the welfare of her kids until she’s back and
able to start a business.” Which we would be helping her establish as well.
The woman had been a widow for eleven years, catering for her four
children until it became difficult for her. “Yes. Please. Make sure someone
is in charge of them... and... hello? Make an arrangement to move them
from that shank they are staying in.”
Putting down the phone, I apologized to Lucky who was furiously
flipping through his own gadget.
“You owe me nothing,” he said.
The wine arrived and I allowed the sommelier to open it, rejecting his
offer to serve us. “Thank you,” I said, dismissing him.
“You need a fresh breath of God,” I said, a few minutes after the
sommelier left.
A bitter laughter rolled out of Lucky’s mouth. “See who is talking about
the breath of God. What do you know about God?”
Ignoring the scornful remark, I went ahead to pour us some wine.
“Drink,” I ordered and to my surprise, he did!
“Your heart is burdened.” Throwing me a sidelong glance, he continued
with his drink. “You need a total life overhaul.”
“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but my life is none of your
business.”
“It’s the Lord’s business.”
“I am a Christian!”
“I didn’t say you are not.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“The Lord doesn’t know you.”
“He told you that?” he sneered.
“He told me He wants to clean you up.”
“Well, there’s no need. I’m already a child of God.” Yet, there was
uncertainty in his voice.
“You cannot fool Him, you know.”
“What are you now? Jesus’ personal assistance?” Refilling his glass, he
swung the drink in two gulps. At the rate he was going, we would be
needing another bottle soon. Not that it was a problem to me. But I had to
be careful not to indulge him excessively.
“I’m getting out of here,” he announced, but didn’t move his feet.
 “Food?” I asked.
“No, thanks.”
I picked my phone. Martha had sent me a message, wanting to know
how my meeting with Lucky was going.
The Lord is having his way, I typed.
“You know...” Lucky spoke after a period of silence. “I have done a lot
of things for God.” Turning the remaining of the wine into his glass with the
frustration of a heavily ladened man, he drank all up, smacked his lips.
“This is a good wine,” he muttered.
“Yes, it is.” Another silent beat. “You’ve done a lot of things for God,” I
reminded him.
“Yes. I worked for the Lord. Served in three departments in my church
before I left Enugu.”
“Do you know the Lord?”
“I think I do.”
“If you are still thinking, then you don’t. Not anymore.”
“I’m not ready for this sermon,” He muttered rubbing his eyes. “Getting
out of here,” he said for the second time, yet he didn’t move from the seat.
“What do you want, Lucky?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess, peace... happiness.” I was half
expecting him to say Martha. “To prove myself a man capable of getting
something and keeping it.” The second bottle of wine arrived but none of us
paid it any attention.
“I had everything one could ask for. Money— not as much as you.” He
gave out a sad chuckle. “But enough to have women flocking around, and
friends showering me with vain glory and praises.” He shook his head. “I
was handling it well when I was here, and with Martha around, it was easy
to remain faithful to God amidst all of those.”
“Then?”
“I left Enugu.” His eyes roamed around the table as though in search of
something. “Port Harcourt was a town I wasn’t ready for. The extra cash
that came with my promotion equally came with temptations I couldn’t
handle. Before I knew it, I was deep neck in... in... I was reckless... nobody
was watching so...” A bitter laughter. “I messed the new branch up and got
fired.”
My phone pinged again. Martha;
I made Okro soup for you...
 A smile touched my lips as I slipped the phone back into my pocket. I
would read the rest of the message later. “Did you ever take responsibility
for your actions?” If there was one thing I knew about men like Lucky, they
would rather pin the reason for their misfortune on someone than looking
inward.
“I blamed God. Felt He was punishing me for my recklessness...”
“From your story, you are the architect of your problem.”
“I know. But I feel life judged me harshly.” Adjusting himself on the
seat, he shook his head. “Martha didn’t do me well.”
“How?”
“She was supposed to keep in touch but she didn’t.”
“You were the one who disappeared. She tried contacting you.” Martha
told me all about it.
He gave me a long stare, then looked away, nodding. “When I saw her
again after many years and heard she was still single, I felt it was my
opportunity to do just one thing right in my life. If I could get her to feel for
me what she felt for me before.” His laughter turned to despair. “I wanted
her so bad. I didn’t even know why.”
“She doesn’t know this story, does she?”
“No. I hid the real story behind my return to Enugu from everyone...
well almost everyone.” Picking out a piece of serviette from the dispenser,
he wiped his sweatless forehead. “Mr. Whyte was merciful.”
“And God?”
“I don’t know. I guess I stopped caring about him.”
“Or you were too ashamed to trace your way back.” When I was a
young believer, I once succumbed to fornication and was too ashamed to
speak to Pa Adebowale about it nor lift my face up to God. The guilt of
what I did sent me to the deepest part of emotional indifference. Thank God
Pa Adebowale noticed it in time and helped me trace my way back to the
cross.
“Maybe,” he hissed. “No, I simply lost interest.”
“You went too far with guilt.” I had learnt over time that if one goes too
far with guilt, it sits comfortably inside the belly.
“My losses remind me every day.”
“You’ve got your job, you didn’t lose everything.”
Scuffed. “I was out of job for almost a year.” I guess Martha didn’t
know this either. “Mr. Whyte agreed to have me back after pleading with
him like a destitute, because... well, he said he could still use my brilliance.
Coupled with the relationship he has with my father.”
“What now?” I asked after a brief silence.
“Nothing. You won, I lost. Martha chose you.”
“I wasn't referring to your relationship with Martha. Besides, I wasn’t
competing with you over her.” I had never worried one day about losing
Martha to another man... Okay... I had. Once. The day I stumbled on her
and Lucky. “I’m talking about your walk with the Lord.”
He remained silent.
I want him back.
“The Lord said he wants you back.”

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 TWENTY-THREE
Michael

“Can I call you sometimes?”

“Yes.” Lucky would be needing follow-up and I knew the man perfect
for the job— one of my sons in the Lord. But I still had to know his
progress. I signaled my driver who walked into the car and came out with
my complimentary card case. Picking out one, I offered it to Lucky. “Call
me anytime.”
Moving the bottle of wine I gave him as a souvenir from his right hand
to the left, he took the card. “Thank you so much, sir. You are a good man
and I’m sorry for being...”
“All praises should go to God.”
Nodding, he lifted the wine. “And thank you for this.” Chuckling, he
put the bottle in his armpit and searched his pocket for his car key. “I wish
that one day, God will speak to me the way He speaks to you.”
“The Lord’s interest in you means He’ll use you to do great things.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so,” I said, stretching my hand for a shake but pulled him into a
brotherly hug instead. “You will be fine, Lucky.”
I watched him drive off before settling inside my own car. My driver
had already set the car in motion when I remembered I had an unfinished
business with one certain little woman.
Grinning, I brought out my phone and read her message, all of it this
time;
I made Okro soup for you, so come by the house when you’re done, my
sugar daddy.
 Sugar what? Laughter pushed through my throat out of my mouth as I
dialed her.
“Sugar daddy, huh?” I managed to say.
“You like the name?” Her voice like one who was between sleep and
consciousness.
“Not bad for a man my age.”
She let out a lazy giggle. “So, how did it go?”
“Great. The Lord did His thing.”
“That’s good news,” she said. “Are you still with him?”
“He just left.”
“Will you still stop by?”
I checked the time and... Oh, Jesus...
“Mike?”
“Martha, I...”
“You’re not coming.” The disappointment in her voice drove a dagger
to my heart.
“Sweetheart, please...” Security wasn’t the major reason I’d chosen not
to go see her. I also feared I may end up doing more than just eating the
soup she made. “You know why I mustn’t be at your place by this time of
the night.”
She was silent for a few seconds. Then, “I know. I'm just missing you.”
“I miss you much more,” I said as relief stroked my heart. “What are
you doing this weekend?”
“Work on Friday. A fellowship member’s wedding on Saturday, church
on Sunday.”
“You have to cancel all. Let's go see your parents.” It was long overdue.
“You will leave on Thursday to inform them and get things ready. I will be
coming with my family on Saturday.”
“What... Michael!”
“Martha.” She was giggling and I wished she wouldn’t stop. “I can’t
wait to make you my wife.”
“And I can’t wait to be yours.”
Yours. Why did that word stir something in my heart and my groin?
“But you are not giving me enough time to make preparations.”
“How much time do you need then?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like...”
“You’re changing your mind on me now?”
 “God forbid.”
“Then trust me when I say there is nothing to prepare. Besides, it’s just
to see your parents.”
“Okay,” she said in a voice a little above whisper, a sound that
reverberated through me, warming me up from the inside. “So, what would
happen to my soup?”
“I’ll have some of it before leaving for the airport tomorrow.” I was
supposed to return to Abuja with the first flight— my trip has already been
scheduled, but for her I was ready to delay my movement, even cancel if I
had to. “Does that make you happy?”
“Yes, daddy.”
Laughter erupted from my mouth again and she joined in.
“You are crazy, young lady. Very crazy.”
“I know.”
“Good night, little woman.”
She made my heart want to sing. Oh Jesus, what have You done to me?
Why would You throw a lovely young woman on the path of an old man
like me? How do I handle that?
I make everything beautiful in My time.

Martha

Excitement had its hands all over me, stroking and tickling, making it
difficult for me to remain calm. I broke into dancing, laughing at the same
time. I was getting married, yes! Village people, shame on you all. I
laughed.
Oh my Michael, you don’t know how happy you just made me. It was a
good thing he didn’t come over this night because I would have kissed him
hard on the lips. Man of God or no Man of God, I would have sucked on
those lips until either of us ran out of breath.
 Looking around, I found my phone on the sofa and picked it. I should
call to tell my mom, or my dad...both of them might have gone to bed by
now. No, dad could still be awake, he’d never been an early sleeper.
Scrolling to find his number, something struck me; Michael was Yoruba and
dad had never said anything good about that tribe.
This wouldn’t be a problem, right?
God! I hope it wasn't.

The next morning had me looking out the window, jerking at every vehicle
sound and checking my phone every now and then. He said first thing this
morning. He was supposed to be here already. I checked my phone again. It
was almost eleven. No message. No call. If he had an urgent reason to jet
back to Abuja without seeing me, he would have let me know.
A car drove into the compound some minutes after and I knew instantly
that it was him. Relief brought a smile to my lips as I hurried inside the
room to give myself a check in my full-length mirror. I had attempted
various styles on my hair but finally decided to keep it simple. Parted at the
center, the permed long and dark hair fell past my shoulders. My make-up
was mild— finally decided to enhance my face a little— but wouldn’t pass
his observation, and I chose a flower-printed, pencil-cut midi gown.
Few seconds later, there was a knock on the door and I was ready to
meet him.
Or not...
With a blue denim jacket over a black T-shirt, and a glazed fitted jeans
that marched his faux-leather black shoe, the man was giving off an Idris
Elba kind of vibe— Idris Elba with fair skin and pink lips.
Did he grow taller or did I get shorter overnight? Because I was
practically bending my neck to be able to look him in the eyes. And oh,
those eyes! Staring at them in such close proximity made my heartbeat
elevate and my body sweat.
“You know it’s sinful to stare at a man like that.”
Sinful? What was sinful was him dressed like an action movie
protagonist and staring back at me with a sexy grin on his face.
“Can I come in?”
 Goodness! I left him standing by the door. “I’m... sorry,” I said,
stepping aside to make way for him. It would be the first time he was
actually entering inside my house and I suddenly felt... not so sure. My
house was nothing compared to his palace.
His eyes made a slow journey from my hair down to my legs. Then up
again to my face. “You are wearing make-up today.” Amusement twinkled
in his eyes and played with the corner of his lips.
For a second, I thought he didn’t... “You don’t like it?” I knew it would
go wrong. My mind had told me not to do it, but I wanted to look different
for him.
“It's beautiful,” he said, stroking my cheek. “Very beautiful.”
Reluctantly withdrawing his hand, he walked in, leaving me flushing all
over.
I watched him drop a package on top of my table, then turned to face
me. “Come here,” he beckoned, opening his arms.
‘Huh?”
“Come on, little woman. I’ve missed you dearly.”
I walked into his warm hug that smelled of expensive perfume. Jesus,
Mary and Joseph, I hope my heartbeat wouldn’t be as loud to him as it was
to me.
“You want to eat now?” I asked for want of something to say, not that I
wanted to leave the comfort of his body.
“I want to stay here and continue inhaling the sweet scent of your hair.”
And I want to have your lips graze through mine... Oh, did I just think
that? I’m sorry Lord, but this man is...
“I have something for you,” he said, gently easing me away. Picking up
the package he dropped on the table earlier, he offered it to me. “Open it.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“Okay.” Laughing nervously, I unwrapped the package and my breath
hitched. “Jesus! Michael!” I gasped, staring at the glimmering stones that
sat gracefully inside the box. “What are... why?” They were the most
beautiful jewels I’ve seen in my whole life! They looked insanely expensive
too. Why would he get them for me?
“What are they? Just a set of jewelry.” He picked the ring. “Why? You
are about to become my wife.” Taking the box from me, he dropped it on
the table, took my hand.
 “Martha,” he said, his eyes on my face. “I... well...” His phone began to
ring but he ignored it. “I’m asking you...” He swallowed hard. “Properly,
I’m asking you properly to be my wife, to share my world while I share
yours. This is not going to be a one day or few years contract but a lifetime
commitment.” I laughed. “You’re going to be seriously involved in the
ministry as well as my business. Many people will depend on you for
answers and prayers.”
“I know that.”
“Your space will be invaded by people you would not ordinarily want
close to you. Our house will be opened for as many that seek refuge.”
I nodded.
“It’s a full-time ministry, sweetheart. Everything we have now and more
that the Lord will add are tools of propagating the gospel.”
I noticed with something close to shock that he was bouncing from one
foot to the other and his usual attitude of chuckling between words was
more frequent. Was he uneasy? Nah, it would be ridiculous to think he was.
“I travel a lot, Martha, and I intend to carry you along once we are
married. Can you deal with that?”
“The Lord will help me.”
“If you marry me, then you are going to follow me everywhere the
Lords wants us to go to. We will be doing things He wants us to do, no
matter how unpleasant.”
“I’m ready, Michael.”
“Then it’s a yes.”
“Will we be making more babies?” The question left my mouth before I
could stop it.
“As many as you want,” he said amidst laughter. “So, is it a yes?”
“It’s always been a yes.”
“Thank you,” he said, his face beamed as he slipped the ring on my
finger.
I was going to ask him how he managed to get the perfect size, then I
remembered— that day at the restaurant, he took my ring and didn't give it
back. Laughing at my cluelessness, I wrapped my arms around him.
“What’s funny?”
“Everything.” Our meeting, our attraction that was without warning,
“God already planned this out,” I said with my head against his chest, my
ear listening to his heartbeat that was in sync with mine.
 “He’s the perfect planner.”
“Yes, he is.”
“I love you my little woman. More than you can imagine.” His grip
tightened around me. “So how much do you need to make the trip to your
village?” he asked, leading me to the sofa.
“Mike, I can take care of that.”
“I don’t want you to take care of it.” Sitting down, he helped me settle
beside him. “I’ll be taking care of every one of your bills from now on.”
“Then what will I be doing with my money?”
“I don’t know. Whatever you like. But I want to take care of you.”
“Mike...”
“That’s what sugar daddies do.” Both of us burst out laughing. “Can I
have the food now?”
“Yes, yes.” I stood up to leave, but on second irrational thought, I turned
back, bent towards him, planted a kiss on his lips and ran off. He didn’t
return the kiss nor grab me by the arm and pulled me back. So
disappointing, I thought as I disappeared into the kitchen. Don’t get me
wrong, I wasn’t trying to seduce him... uh... maybe I was. But would you
blame me? Romantic rituals like this should be sealed with a kiss.
“That was a dangerous game you played,” he said as I came out of the
kitchen with a tray.
Feigning ignorant of what he’s talking about, I proceeded to set the
table. Then I heard him stand up and walk through the sitting room to where
I was.
Slipping his hand around my waist, he gently turned me to face him and
stroked the hair on my forehead away with his fingertips. “These things
must not be rushed, Martha.”
His touch was as light as a whisper, his very slowness allowed my
feelings to soar higher. He didn’t take my lips but pressed his on my
forehead, down my temple, nibbling around my ear, slow, soft, yet
relentless. Something shifted inside of me, like ice breaking in the river,
exposing my running stream.
Somehow, his hand moved too, up and down my back, stroking my
arms, warming my skin until it tingled.
My lips parted, expecting to meet his, but he walked his way around my
face, my cheek, down my throat and I shivered. Then he came up the other
side until I was impatient, reaching for his cheek to force his lips to meet
mine.
But he escaped my touch and bypassed my lips again, ending on my
forehead where he started. Then he let me go and immediately, I missed
him.
His smile wobbled. “Let's eat.”
“But...” I was eager now. His forbearance was my frustration. “I wanted
a kiss. Just a kiss.”
“I’m only being careful,” he said, staring at me with desire? “Come on.
Let’s eat.”

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 TWENTY-FOUR
Martha

“Lekwa gi lekwa di,” my mother sneered, clanging her tongue while

shifting her big buttocks on the small stool she was seating on. “That I’m
desperate for you to get married doesn’t mean I would allow you to go to
Yoruba land. Nwam, do you want to get lost? Where will I start looking for
you if anything happens? Will they even bring your corpse home?”
Shifting my eyes from my mother to my father who was swatting an
imaginary mosquito from his bare chest with his shirt. “Papa please,” I said.
“I waited for this miracle.”
“You call this a miracle? Tufiakwa.” My father spat on the ground. “I
will not have a Yoruba man as a son-in-law.”
Feeling hot tears gathering in my eyes, I lowered my head, biting on my
bottom lip and wondering why my parents would want to do this to me.
Were they comfortable having me come home every Christmas as single
and lonely as a rejected ugu leave? The gossip, the mockery, the insult,
were they glad to see me go through those?
“Nne.” My mother pulled her chair closer and placed her hand on my
knee. “We like you...”
No, they didn't. If they did, they would understand how much marrying
this man mean to me.
“But we don't want you to suffer like Mama Ikwuoma’s daughter that
married an mgbati mgbati man who is now using her as a doormat.”
“Ha na echi ya onu n’ala,” my father added. “I saw her last week.”
“She’s back again?” my mother asked, kicking a rooster that had
strutted to her feet. The poor bird ran, flapping its wings and squawking.
“The last time she came back, her father had to travel to that far away land
to warn the idiot she’s married to not to lay a finger on her again,” my
mother added, oblivious of the anger that was squeezing my face.
“That is what your daughter wants me to go through. Chukwu aju, God
forbid. I’d rather have her unmarried than marry a man from that tribe.”
“Papa, I am going to marry Michael.” Did it occur to these people that I
wasn’t seeking their permission?
You need their blessings.
Why? Not that they have been the best of parents to me. They weren’t
even the best partners to themselves. My parents enjoyed tearing each
other’s necks more than anything else in the world. They rarely agree on
anything without first fighting over it. I was in the University when I
realized that not everyone’s parents had screaming bouts and ate quarrel for
supper like mine.
“ If there's anything that brought you home, say it,” my father said. “If
not, please let me have what you bought for me.”
What I bought for him. Was that what mattered? Wait, was it possible
that...no. My parents could be anything but not that selfish. But why were
they doing this to me?
“Ada nne,” Ebuka, my kid brother, the most dotted child in the family,
approached me with a bowl of tapioca and coconut. “Were tawagodi. Eat
this one first, I’m roasting yam for you.” Taking the bowl from him, I stared
into it as if it was filled with fresh bitter leaves.
“Ada nne, our graduation ceremony is coming up next Saturday o. I will
need thirty thousand naira...”
“Ka mmadu nuru gi ihe!” My father shouted at him. “You should be
ashamed of yourself. Your mates are already in the university and you are
here, talking about secondary school graduation, at twenty-three years.
Itibolibo,” he hissed.
“Ehe nau. When a man wakes up is his morning,” the boy grumbled,
infuriating my father more.
Bending down, my father picked a slipper, flung it at the boy who was
already walking away. “May lions from ajo ofia Igbukwu tear that your
mouth.”
“Papa Ada. Biko, don’t kill my son for me,” my mother defended.
“After all, he got his dull brain from someone.”
“You are just as stupid as your son...”
 It’s about to go down...
“Oho o, chim o. Then that makes you the husband to a stupid woman
and the father to a...”
Jerking up from his seat, my father charged towards my mother like a
bull that saw a red cloth, lifting his hand to strike.
“Papa!” I shouted.
“No! Leave him to slap me. Agudo, slap me!” My mother was on her
feet too. Her humongous breasts and flabby arms shaking with the anger in
her voice. “Tell me what is wrong with a boy asking his sister for
graduation money? Eh? Tell me...”
“Mama please, it’s enough.” I would have allowed them entertain me
with their roll was I not in a sore mood. “Papa, biko ozugo. Ebuka only
asked for money.” Which wasn’t something that should bring a quarrel.
Practically everyone in my family depended on me for one need or the
other. Everyone including extended family members. Add my toothless
maternal grandma that would always demand for dry meat each time I came
visiting, then you’d understand that I had the welfare of a lot of people on
my shoulders. But I wasn’t complaining. The Lord had blessed me.
Shaking his head, my father hissed and sat back down.
“Papa, I am still waiting for you to...”
“You are not marrying any ofe mmanu man,” my father said with an air
of finality.
“Do you realize that I’m your first daughter and my younger sisters are
all married?” I asked in a cold voice.
“I’ve said what I said. My first daughter must be close to me.”
“It's just marriage, papa!” Not like I was transiting to the next life.
“And I say you are not going there, period!”
God do something! Help me please! “What do you have against Yoruba
people, papa?” I could understand my mum who hadn’t gone past Igbukwu
since she was born. But my father had lived both in the north and in the
west, had transacted businesses with both tribes. He should know better.
“I will not give my daughter to a man from there.”
“You don’t even know this man.”
“Bia, I’m done with this discussion. If you are not eating that tapioca,
give it to me,” he snapped, snatching the bowel of cassava snack from me.
“You people may no longer appreciate this kind of food where you are but
here, we know it’s value.”
 With my stomach rumbling with anger and my mouth heavy with words
I wanted to say to my parents but being restrained by ‘home training,’ I
stood up and started walking away.
“Ichie Onyema's daughter had her traditional wedding last month o.
Make sure you visit them before darkness covers the sky,” my father
shouted after me.
Knocking at doors and sharing money to umunne that celebrated one
thing or the other while I was away had been my routine. It was what was
expected of me as Ada. But I wasn’t going to do that today, not tomorrow,
not until they accept my man. My Michael. Angry, bruised, disappointed, I
ignored my father and continued walking. By the time I reached the
entrance door, tears were streaming down my face.
You didn’t tell them everything.
What else was remaining? I was sure I left nothing out...
The children, tell your parents about Michael’s children.
It was obvious God was having fun seeing me broken and shattered. If
not, why would He, seeing how devastated I was, want me to go back and
detonate the next bomb?
Go back and tell them now.
Sorry God, I will not be doing that.
Ignoring my brother who was setting down plates on the dining table—
the roasted yam and pepper with utazi sauce he made for me I guess, I
hurried to my room that no longer felt like mine, threw myself on the bed
and wept.
My phone rang some minutes later. Ignoring it, I buried my head under
the pillow, wishing that whoever it was found something better to do with
their time instead of ringing me non-stop.
Oh, for God’s sake! I sprang up from the bed, walked to the table where
I dropped the phone and grabbed it. I was going to turn it off completely,
then I saw who the caller was and lost all lady-like crying poshness. I let
out a heart-wrenching wail, like a child who saw her father after being
beaten by a neighbor.
“Martha,” he called.
Sorrow tightened my chest so that breathing became difficult.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
 Michael

“The mayor is offering two billion and I think you should consider
accepting it, sir.”
“Accepting two-billion for a hundred and twenty hectares of land at
Quarry?” one of the agents cut in, shooting his colleague a glare before
adjusting and leaning forward to address me. “My chairman, sir. I say we
insist on three-billion.”
Watching both men argue about how much was too much or too little to
sell a property the Lord practically forced me to buy fifteen years ago made
me want to break out in worship and also cover my face in shame at the
same time. The area was underdeveloped, its major access road destroyed
by erosion. And to top it all, the property was in contention!
There was nothing attractive about the property aside its ridiculously
cheap price.
But the Lord had insisted I buy it.
“The last offer we got was 1.8 billion.” That was last four months.
“Which we would have gladly accepted had chairman not lost interest in
selling.” The Lord had told me hold on. “Now the mayor is offering an
extra two hundred. The highest we’ve gotten so far. We don’t have to be too
rigid and lose out completely,” the first agent said.
“We are not being rigid. We just want to...”
Dismiss them, son, the Lord said.
But I...
Dismiss them now.
“Gentlemen,” I straightened up. “I’m sorry we will be adjoining this
meeting.” The men murmured their half-hearted agreement and asked when
they would likely come back. “You’ll hear from me,” I said as I walked
them to the door, waiting for them to step into the elevator before returning
to my office.
 Call her.
Who?
Martha. Call Martha.
I would never forget the panic that rushed into my brain as I grabbed my
phone that was on top of my desk and dialed her number.
The heart-gripping fear when her emotion ridden voice greeted me from
the other end.
Was I about to receive another life shattering news? Like the one Ugo
gave me that changed our lives forever. I was in a meeting when the Lord
gave me a prompt. “Call your wife,” He’d said. Putting it off until I was
done with the meeting, the Lord nudged me again. Then I did. She couldn’t
speak to me but her cry was heart-wrenching. It was the doctor that broke
the news, “your wife is in a critical medical condition, you need to come to
the hospital now.” Critical medical condition, how? When I left Ugo three
days ago for this meeting in Johannesburg, she was perfectly fine. What
went wrong? “She was brought her unconscious. They said she slumped but
I have succeeded in resuscitating her.” The doctor had refused to tell me
anything more.
“Martha,” I called, struggling to remain calm. Affliction will not arise a
second time. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“Mike...” She managed to say in between sobs. She’s okay, I said to
myself. She’s not sick like Ugo was. God, let her not be sick.
“My little woman, what is it?”
“They...” More sobs. “They don’t...”
“Calm down now and tell me what the problem is.”
“Mike, my heart is broken,” she cried.
“Martha please, speak to me.”
“It’s my parents. They aren’t... wouldn’t accept you,” she said. “They
said I’m not going to marry you.”
Her words lifted my fear and dread. Thank you, Jesus, I muttered under
my breath. “What is your parents’ reasons for not accepting me?”
“You’re... my father doesn’t like Yoruba people.”
“He will like me and my family.”
“You don’t understand, Mike.”
No, I didn’t. The only thing I understood was that the Lord said Martha
was mine and that was final. “I don’t think you should come as you
planned.”
 “I’ll be coming, Martha.”
“My parents, they don’t want you!”
“Do you want me?”
“You know I do.”
“Then, they’ll want me when they see me.”
She sniffled. A door creaked in the background and I heard her say some
few words to someone. The door creaked again, and the background grew
quiet. “My brother,” she said.
“Okay.”
“Mike. Please give me time to convince them.”
“We can convince them together, sweetheart.”
“Mike please.” My office intercom buzzed. Picking the receiver, I
instructed my secretary to hold off any disturbance for the next one hour.
“Okay, you can come alone. Don’t bring your people yet,” Martha said
as I returned my phone to my ears.
“Don’t worry about how all this will play out. Believe the Lord.”
“But...”
She didn’t tell them everything, son, the Lord cut into our conversation.
“Martha, you didn’t tell them everything about me, did you?”
“What?”
“Your parents, you didn’t tell them everything.”
She was silent.
“Martha, which part of me didn’t you...”
“The kids... your age.” Her voice trembled. “I couldn’t get myself to tell
them, not after they adamantly refused me marrying you.”
“Go tell them.”
“I can’t! That’s like putting a nail on the coffin!”
“Tell them first. Then leave what happens next to God.”
“Mike, I’m so scared. I don’t want to lose you.”
“You’re not going to lose me, little woman. Just do what you are told to
do. Tell your parents about my children, and if they ask further, tell them
my age.”
“O... okay.”
“Do it now. I will call you in the next thirty minutes so we can pray
together.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
 Martha

Pacing the floor of my room while sweating like a sinner on the front pew
of a church, I thought of the best way to break this new information to my
parents.
My mother wasn't much of a trouble. I was sure she would understand if
I could speak to her alone. But my father was a difficult man, as stubborn as
the he-goat he bought one Christmas for thanksgiving that nearly dislocated
my brother’s hip when he was dragging it to church.
Unlike my mother who was blessed with plumpness and average height,
my father was a sharp contrast. Watching both of them walk together
sometimes made me laugh as I always wondered how my father would have
kissed my mother had they wedded in this era where ‘you may kiss the
bride’ is part of every wedding ritual.
But what my father lacked in size, he gained in stiff-neckedness and
strength. I had dreaded my father since I was a child and even now, I still
trembled at his outbursts. And Michael was asking me to go back and
announce to him that not only was he a Yoruba man, but also a father of two
grown kids!
No, I wouldn’t.
It’s for your good.
It’s a mission impossible.
Trust and obey.
Inhaling deeply and breathing out, I left the room in search of my
parents.
My mother had a basket trapped between her arm and her hip and was
walking towards the gate by the time I came out. And my father was still
relaxing under the Ugiri tree.
“Mama,” I called, my heartbeat racing. She turned and I beckoned on
her to come back and then moved toward my father who had his hands
padding the back of his head, his eyes closed.
I waited for my mother to arrive before I spoke.
“Papa.”
He opened an eye.
“I have a few more things to tell you about Michael.”
“Who is Michael?” My mother asked as if I'd not been singing that
name like a song since I came back.
“The man that is coming to see you,” I said. Ignoring the loud hiss that
erupted out of my father’s mouth, I continued. “He’s a widower. And...
uhm... he has two children.” To make sure I said it right, I added; “Grown-
up children.”
The silence that dawned on us was as thick as a stormy cloud. Then my
father got up, slipped his legs in his slippers, and walked out.

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 TWENTY-FIVE
Martha

My parents had their usual shouting match last night. I knew this because I
overheard them. My father’s voice was as loud as the village ikoro while
my mother’s wasn’t any lower.
Their verbal battle wouldn’t have stopped me mid-stride with a
toothbrush that had a pea-size paste on its bristle on one hand and a cup of
water on the other, if I wasn’t the reason for their quarrel.
They were arguing so loud about me, as if I wasn’t in the house with
them. Maybe it was deliberate. My father wanted to reiterate his stand to
my hearing.
“It’s better the man doesn’t come o. Tell your daughter that I will kill
both her and the man if she dares me. Agam ebepu ha na’bo isi!”
“Papa Ada.” My father’s hard-man front had never intimidated my
mother. I guess that’s why they were still together. “Igbara Ajo mmadu. Obi
tara gi mmiri! You are heartless!”
“I don’t care! I have said it. She’s not getting married to a man from that
tribe and that’s final!”
“Anaghi aju nri na nkwuchi ya,” my mother tried again.
Truth be told, I was surprised. I wasn’t expecting my mother to speak in
my favor.
“You don't reject food that is still covered. Let the man come first, then
you can decide if you like him or not,” she said.
“Woman, it’s like you are not hearing me. I said nobody is coming to
this house! I will kill both the man and your daughter!”
 “You ungrateful wicked man! After all that girl is doing for this family,
you are treating her like this!”
“She’s my daughter, I trained her in school so whatever she’s doing here
is her responsibility.”
“Ah! Papa Ada, Odirokwa mma o. It is not good o. Just hear this girl out
nau.”
“She is senseless! She even has the guts to come back and inform me
that the man has kids, nwoke ji umu! Who knows if the man is even my age
mate?”
“And so? Isn’t it who she wants? Will she be the first person to marry a
man with children?”
“As long as the man is a Yoruba man, it will never happen.” I heard a
bang and thought that the screaming match had escalated into a fight, but
everywhere quietened and my mother’s voice came up again.
“What do you really have against the Yorubas except that the place is
far? Ndi ofe mmanu a, Fa akabiri ome ji gi? What did they do to you?”
“They are thieves! Terrible people. They are the reason I can’t boast of a
single investment.”
“Taa! Kpuchia onu gi,” my mother shouted him down. “Close your
mouth, Papa Ada. Ne onu nsi gi kpuchipu! You were reckless with your
money. Stop blaming a whole tribe for your foolishness.”
When we were younger, my father never got tired of reciting how his
business partner, a Yoruba man, defrauded him of all his money. “I would
have been the richest man in Igbukwu had that not happened,” he would
say. But uncle Ebele, his elder brother, had his own version of the story
which didn’t paint my father as the victim he wanted us to believe he was.
“Lekwa anya kam gwa gi. Let me tell you, your daughter is expecting
her guests next tomorrow and you must welcome them,” said my mother,
the only one in this family that could match my father shout for shout, anger
for anger, strength for strength. “We will decide if she will marry the man
or not when we see him.”
That morning, I had remained in my room until I was sure my father
had gone out. Then I snuck out of the building from the backdoor, strolled
to our old kitchen that now housed my mother’s firewood— my mother’s
wares— and sat there with my phone, wondering if I should call Michael
or let him be. What else would I say to make him see the dark storm my
father had in wait for him?
 Michael had stubbornly held on to his decision of coming with his
people to see my parents. Nothing I said yesterday dissuaded him, not even
my tears.
Shifting my chair to the wall, I rested my head on the smoke darkened
bricks and closed my eyes. Why was he insisting on coming tomorrow?
What was wrong in delaying this whole thing until God touched my father’s
heart?
“Ada’m.” My mother’s voice interrupted my train of thoughts. “Why
are you sitting here like a woman who is mourning her husband?”
“What best can describe the pain I’m feeling inside, mama? The
disappointment that depressed my heart— the anguish of knowing that my
parents chose to put their reservations first instead of my happiness?”
“Ada nne,” she called, pulling a chair to sit beside me. “Your father was
worried that you didn't come out for morning prayers.” I wanted to laugh at
her poor effort to cover up for my father.
“I’m no longer a kid, mama. I know my father well.” He wouldn’t give
a care in the world if I chose to poison myself and die because he said I
won’t marry Michael.
“He loves you in his own way.” If that was the definition of love, then it
was terrible. “You should understand why he is insisting that you stay
around him. You are his first daughter. If anything happens to him now, his
kinsmen would ask for you first.”
“Doesn’t he have a son?” I blurted. “I thought a man’s son takes care of
him and the Ngwuru?”
“But the first daughters are always dear to their fathers.” I wished my
mother would quit trying to convince me that my father had my best interest
at heart. Maybe she didn’t know I overheard their argument last night.
Every word my father spewed was out of the abundance of his selfishness.
“This man, do you like him?” my mother asked.
“With every breath in me, mama.”
“Are you sure you are not doing this because you want to...”
I was desperate to get married? Was it what she was asking? “I love this
man like I’ve never loved any man in my life before.”
“And you said he’s married?”
“No. He’s a widower. His wife is dead.”
“O ofu ife ahu. We are saying the same thing nau.” She sighed, bending
down to pick a stick on the floor, and threw it toward the heap of woods by
the corner. “Are you sure you can deal with another woman’s children?”
I wanted to answer that I could, then I remembered Bimbo and frowned.
She apologized after what happened, but I knew she still hadn’t accepted
me.
“We will work it out,” I replied.
“It’s not always easy.”
“I know. But God is in this, mama.”
My mother stood up with a grunt, wincing at the pains that must have
attacked her from her arthritis-ridden knee. “I don’t know about God giving
people husbands, but if you are sure you like this man and he likes you,
then I will do my best to convince your father.” She carefully bent to adjust
her knee brace. “I want to start going to the market.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe you should give me some money to get a few things for
tomorrow.”
It took a second or two for what my mother said to sink. Then I felt my
lips stretching wider into a gaping grin and my eyebrows arched for the sky.
“You said they are coming tomorrow?” she asked, smiling too.
“Yes. Yes, mama.” My heart was racing.
“Then we should get ready for them.”
“What of papa?”
“We have to receive our guests first, then if we don’t like them, they can
go back to where they came from but not with empty stomachs.”
“Mama, you will like Michael...”
“It’s not about me liking or not liking him. Your father has the final
say.” That almost extinguished my happiness. “So how much are you giving
me and what do you want us to make for them?”
I could give her any amount she felt would be enough for the
preparation. Michael, insisting I allow him take care of things had lodged
five hundred thousand naira— that I didn’t know what to do with— into my
account.
“For just an introduction?” I had asked him.
“Is it too small?” he had replied, feigning ignorance of what I meant.
As for what I would want my mother to prepare for our guests? Mmm...
“Ehen...” my mother cut in. “Are your sisters coming back for this?”
“Ah ah, mama. It’s just an introduction and besides, Akweze and Rhoda
are both staying far away in the north. They can’t possibly make it.”
 “What of Mma? She’s in Enugu there with you. She should be able to
come.”
“Mama, I don’t want to bother anyone for now.” I wasn’t even sure this
introduction would hold. “They will all come home for the traditional
marriage.”
If God would make it possible.

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 Michael

“You sound like you have this whole thing figured out,” Martha had said
yesterday.
That wasn’t the case. I didn’t know in the very least what else to do
about her parent’s rejection other than insisting I see them first. Not that I
would enjoy the embarrassment that might follow after, but what kind of
man would I be if I cowered at the slightest challenge?
Even her parents would eventually see me as not being man enough.
“Give me time to convince them,” she’d said. But I had no such time.
“My father will embarrass you.” She didn’t get it. I wasn’t going to wait an
extra second to make her mine.
We prayed together last night, asking the Lord to do his miracle. But
this morning, after dialing her line three times without her picking, I
guessed we still had no good news— Yet.
But soon... God would do it soon.
Done with covering my feet with socks, I walked through the room to
my wardrobe, opened the compartment that housed my accessories, went
through my cufflink collections and picked the latest of them, a metallic
polished stone, to go with my cream- colored, high-neck fitted senator suit.
If only Martha could be still, she would know that God was at work...
“Dad?” Bimbo’s voice cut through my thoughts. “The door was slightly
opened so I felt...”
“You felt it was an invitation for you to come in.” I allowed her to take
the links from me and surrendered my hands for her to fasten the pieces of
jewelry on my cuffs.
“Pa Adebowale is here,” she said.
“He shouldn’t have bothered coming here. I was going to go pick him
up from his house,” I replied, checking the work she did. “Is Mama with
him?” I asked, walking back to the side of the bed where my shoes were
waiting.
“He came alone.” Throwing herself on the bed like a kid, she watched
me for a while and then sat up. “Pa said the two of you are going to the
village.”
“Mm.” Standing up, I picked my cap and fitted it on my head.
“To pick Iya.”
“Mm.” I knew where the conversation was going and— God help me, I
didn’t have the strength nor the time now.
“Dad, are you sure she... she...what if Iya doesn’t like her?” The plan
was to get to Osogbo today, and then take off from there to Martha’s village
first thing tomorrow morning. Me, pa Adebowale who would stand as my
father, Mami and Pa Adebowale’s friend who would be our human google
map to Igbukwu, Anambra State.
“Your grandmother already likes Martha.” I said, grabbing my phones
and my keys and headed towards the door. Bimbo rose from the bed and
followed me.
“How can you be so sure?” Bimbo asked.
“I’ve been speaking with your grandmother and she’s excited.”
“Has she seen her?”
“No.”
“Then how are you too sure that she will like her when she sees her?”
Pausing at the door, I turned and stared her in the eyes. “Bimbo. My
dear girl...” I wished she would be happy for me like her brother was. “Can
you at least stop making me feel like a terrible father?”
“I’m concerned about you, about us, dad, what this woman would do to
us.”
“When your mother died...” of blood clot that had travelled through her
frail body to her heart. She died suddenly and quietly, a week after the
doctor told us that in another week, she might be allowed to return home.
“...I died too. For years, I mourned her, shutting my heart to the idea of love
and romance. Now I found someone, a very special lady whom my heart
yearns for, when I wasn’t searching. Please, be happy for me.” I said,
stroking her cheek.
“Do you love her more than mom?”
I gave her a long stare, then straightened up. “Bimbo, I can never
compare my love for your mother with what I am feeling for Martha.”
 “That’s because you can never love any woman the way you loved
mom!”
“That’s because your mom was unique in her own way, same as
Martha.” Gripping her shoulders I said, “I love Martha because she is
Martha.” With that, I walked out of the room.

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 TWENTY-SIX
Martha

“Ada nne!”
My brother, Ebuka burst into the kitchen, toppling over an empty cooler
and would have landed on a pot of hot white rice had I not abandoned the
banga stew I was stirring, to use myself as a wedge for him.
“Where do you always keep your eyes when walking?” I asked, moving
clutters away.
“I wasn’t expecting to see a cooler at the kitchen entrance, nau,” Ebuka
said, his eyes roaming gluttonously around the kitchen, lingering on a half
opened thermo-chest that had chunks of fried chicken in it. Then they
moved to the pot of Egusi soup that was on one side of the four-burner gas-
cooker. “Are we starting a restaurant business?” he asked.
“Go and ask your mother,” I said. The woman had decided to cook for
the entire Osogbo village, even when I told her it wasn’t necessary. Michael
might likely come with fewer than ten people.
“We have to give them varieties,” my mother had said, sweating like a
pregnant woman in labor-room. If there was one thing the woman loved
more than quarreling with her husband, it was cooking. I didn’t know why
she chose firewood selling as a business instead of ‘mama put.’
“Good for me,” Ebuka said. “I will have a lot to share with my friends
when your husband's people are gone.” Walking deeper into the kitchen, he
peered into the bubbling stew and chuckled. “All of these for just four
people.”
“Four... wait.” I turned the cooker off. “How did you...”
 “They are here,” he said, scaling over a basin on the floor to get to the
fried chicken. “You didn’t tell us you are getting married to a politician.”
Picking a piece of meat, he took a large bite and began to chew. “Mopol
people full everywhere.”
I paid no attention to every other thing he was saying as I became aware
of the sudden sweat that broke out on every part of my body. Not as a result
of my toiling in the kitchen since morning, but the knowledge that Michael
was here, in my compound, with his people.
“When did they arrive?” I asked, wondering why I didn’t hear the gate
open or the sound of cars moving in. He had called earlier to tell me that
they were on their way, but I didn’t know they would get here this soon.
How far was Osogbo from here?
“Just now. That’s what I came to tell you,” he said with his mouth full.
“The man too tight, Ewo! See fresh guy nau.” He was staring at me as if I
just won a lottery.
“Where is Papa?” I asked, a sudden dread grabbing my heart as I
remembered my father’s threat.
“He is out there.”
“He saw them?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus!” I muttered. Wiped my palms on my dress and started walking
out of the kitchen. “Cover those pots,” I instructed.
Standing by the door, peering through the slightly parted curtain, I saw
them. My mother had the hand of a much older woman I guessed was
Michael’s mother in hers. The woman must have said something funny
because my mother threw her head back, laughing.
My eyes left the women and settled on Michael. My brother was right.
If the word ‘dapper’ had a face, it would be Michael. Wearing a gold
embroidered black agbada and a matching cap, he looked like royalty.
He is royalty.
He was speaking with Pa Adebowale. Then he turned his head... Oh
Christ! Shutting the curtain immediately, I leaned on the wall. I could swear
that he saw me because... because his eyes had narrowed. I smiled, almost
laughed and turned to draw up the curtain again.
My mother was with Michael now. Both of them spoke for a while and
then she pointed towards the Ugiri tree and started walking ahead. Michael
and his people followed.
 My eyes moved ahead of them to where my father stood like an
infuriated mongoose, watching. Maybe it was self-control, or the four
security men leaning on a Hilux pickup truck, that stopped him from
picking the machete that was lying beside his chair and making good of his
threat, but the angry frown on his face could start a third world war.
“God, please...” I murmured as Michael and his family stood before my
father, totally confused at what was expected of them. Then Michael took
his hat off, and before I could figure out what he was going to do next, he
went down on his knees, bent forward, and held my father’s leg.
A sob climbed through my throat out of my mouth as I watched my
father stand aloof, as though the man at his feet was a mere cricket he
would want to shake off. I wanted to walk up there and shake some sense
into him.
“God, please...” I murmured again, watching as my mother move to his
side and gave him a nudge. Once. Twice. He turned to look at her, then
looked down at Michael. He hesitated, then bent and tapped Michael at the
back.
My mother’s lips stretched in a smile as Michael got up. My father
wasn’t ready to open his arms to him yet, but it didn’t seem like he was
going to decapitate him either.
Both men were talking now— not in a most friendly manner but at least
civil. Letting out a heavy breath as a feeling of joy and satisfaction coursed
through me, I fled into my room to change into a dress I bought a day
before coming down to the village. Long, narrow black crepe, the hem
flaring gently on my ankles, modestly high at the front, dipping into a cowl
at the back, and trailing down in a long drift of chiffon almost to the hem.
I looked over-dressed for the occasion but, “who cares?” I said aloud
into the cloud of perfume I spread around myself. I wanted Michael to see
me not just as a pretty little woman, but a sensual one too.
But you are not sure your father has agreed to have him as a son-in-law,
the devil whispered in my ears.
“I am sure.” Placing the perfume inside my wardrobe, I walked to check
out my look in the half-length mirror in my room. Today would definitely
be a good day for Michael and me.
The lord had already proven Himself faithful.
 Michael

Standing in awkward silence, with the man glaring at me as though I was

his contender in a boxing ring, left me with no other option than to do the
only thing that came into my head. Down on my knees, I summoned God
who had the heart of men in his hands. At a tap on my back, I lifted my
head, and my eyes had met the man’s. His face was still as strong as the
trunk of the tree we were under, but at least, he gave me his attention.
“You are bold to step into my compound,” he said, widening his eyes
that was even bigger than his daughter’s. Were we in a different situation, I
would have laughed while telling him that I ate boldness for breakfast. But I
wouldn’t do that now.
“I’m only a man asking for the hand of your beautiful daughter,” I
replied.
“Didn’t she tell you what I said? Or both of you thought I was joking?”
“No, sir. I only feel you will soften your heart when you see how far I’m
willing to go just to get you to give us your blessing.” I lowered my head in
respect to this little man that could either turn me away or welcome me into
his house.
“You know I can send both you and your police dogs out of my
compound,” he said. “I don’t care who you are. This is my house, and I am
not afraid of anybody.”
“I know, sir. And I don’t have the intention of intimidating you in your
own house. I can ask the guards to wait outside.”
A few minutes of silence followed. Turning my head, I saw my mother
and Pa Adebowale whispering among themselves and when they turned to
meet my stare, confusion had colored my mother’s face. A slice of guilt ran
across my heart, and I turned away. My mother wouldn’t have agreed to
come with me had she known that our supposed in-law hadn’t given his
consent— For the simple reason that he found fault in my tribe.
 “Bia,” The man beckoned on a young boy— not older than my son—
who just came out from the house. “Go and call your uncle Ebele for me.
Tell him to come now.” The boy nodded and ran off.
Without saying any word to us, the man started heading towards the
house, with his wife hurrying after him.
Inching closer, my mother slipped her hands in mine. “Oko mi. Kilo n
sele? What is happening?”
“Oluwa ti gba koso, maami. God is in charge,” I replied, covering her
hand with mine.
Yet, I wasn’t sure now.
The man had left us more confused. Should we follow him in or
continue waiting here?
I was about to get my phone out and dial Martha when her mother came
out shortly after, with relief written on her face.
“Sorry for keeping you people waiting,” she said on approaching us.
“Please, let's go inside.”

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 TWENTY-SEVEN
Michael

The mini ceremony didn’t take as much time as we had expected. Martha’s
father, though a difficult man, had not been as disobliging as I’d thought. In
fact, he was surprisingly more agreeable than the three of his kinsmen that
joined the meeting, insisting on boycotting unnecessary traditions.
In less than two hours, we were done with the formalities.
“We will not accept your drinks yet until my daughter confirms that you
are the man she is talking about,” the man said, the same time his wife
entered the sitting room with Martha as though they had been standing
behind the door, waiting for him to make that last statement
Accepting a glass of wine from her father, she proceeded towards me.
“This is deliberate,” I said, accepting the wine from her.
“What?”
“The perfume. You know what it does to me.”
She giggled, handing the drink over to me— a traditional way of her
accepting me as her husband to be— and waited for me to drink.
Taking the cup back, she returned it to her father and walked out of the
room with her mother.
I immediately missed her.
“We can as well eat together as a family,” her father said, ushering us to
the dining.
Pulling my phone out from my pocket while laughter and words
bounced around the room, I sent her a message;
Your dress is beautiful, by the way. And the rhinestone clip in her hair.
Her light makeup too.
 Taking the seat beside my mother, I leaned forward and pulled her
zipper that had gone a little down, up. Then went back to my phone.
Martha had sent a reply; I knew you’ll like it.
A few minutes later, she was back in the room with her mother who
proceeded to uncover the dishes while she stood like an obedient child
waiting to be told what to do.
I watched her mother whisper something to her and for the first time
since they re-entered, she looked at me.
God! She was captivating. And she is mine. A flash of pride zipped
through me as she started walking across the dining to where I was.
“What would you want to eat?” She asked, so close that her breath
caressed my ears.
I should slip my hand around her waist and make her sit on my lap, then
I would take her glasses off, set her hair loose from the bind that held them
up. Locking my fingers in the rich mass of dark strands, I would stare in her
eyes before...
“Mike?”
“Mm?”
“What do want to eat?”
“You.”
“Oh my God,” she said in a hushed tone. A shy grin crossed her face as
she gave me a slap on the shoulder while throwing glances around, perhaps
to know if someone overheard me.
Thank goodness, everyone around the table was engrossed in what one
of her kinsmen was saying.
“Give me anything you know I will like, my beautiful bride to be,” I
said, controlling my laughter.
We announced our departure thirty minutes later. Her father was
generous enough to allow her walk me to the car.
“I’m sorry for all the stress I put you through,” she muttered, as we
stood beside my car.
“What stress?” I asked, fighting the urge to palm her face and run my
thumbs on her cheeks.
“My father. He shouldn’t have treated you the way he did.”
“Your father did what every protective father would do.”
“He humiliated you.”
“No, he did not.”
 “Adekunle...” The way she called the name, the softness in her eyes and
her voice. “You are only saying this to...”
“Shhh!” Placing my finger across her lips. “The Lord helped us through
it all,” I said, reluctantly pulling my hand away. “Can I ask you for
something?”
“Anything.”
“My daughter needs you, Martha. Please come to Abuja and talk to her.”

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 TWENTY-EIGHT
Martha

Today, in the interior of his Innoson IVM G80— must be his latest acquired
ride because I didn’t see it the first day I visited his house, I watched
Michael succumb to helplessness. Admitting to failure in raising his
daughter, even when I tried to make him see how well he’d done as a single
parent.
“No, Ife mi...” Ife mi. My Love, the endearing name his mother gave
me the day they came to my father's house. “I failed with Bimbo.”
“Oh, Mike.” The car sofa dented as I shifted closer and I took his hands.
“You are the most amazing man I’ve ever seen.” He had come to pick me
from the airport and we were heading to his house. “And I know you have
been a great daddy to Bimbo.”
“Bimbo— we had each other when Ugo, her mother died.” Aiming
those eyes that looked so deeply into mine, he moved even closer so that his
knee brushed against mine and his face dangerously close. “Now she can’t
let go.” His voice was as soft as a light breeze grazing through the sea. “She
feels so entitled and I don't want to raise her like that.”
His eyes were different now, a shade darker, burdened with worries. In
them I saw not the man that sat at the helm of affairs, but the one that
experienced fear and uncertainty.
Reaching out, I touched his face, stroking down to his jaw. “You did
good with Olanrewaju, and Bimbo is just being protective. That’s all.”
Shutting his eyes, he relaxed his head on my palm, letting out a sigh. “I
really want to believe you.”
 “You have to.” Sensing his need for an embrace, I moved in, gently
pulling my hand away from his face and wrapping them around him. He
stiffened for a moment, then his body relaxed and his hands circled around
me. “You are a great father, Michael. And your children are doing fine.”
“Thank you,” he said, squeezing me tight as if he needed to be sure I
was there with him. He had always done that each time he held me. Then he
let out another sigh, his hand came up to the back of my head, pressing it to
his chest and holding it there. “My troubled mind has become so quiet with
you in my arms,” he said, planting a kiss on my head. “It’s as if it needed
you to understand the true meaning of ‘peace be still.’”
If there was one thing this man was good at, it was expressing his
innermost feelings and thoughts. And with me, he seemed to have no
restriction, no pretense, no reservations. With me, he could afford to lay his
emotions bare. “I’m glad I could make you feel this way, that you found
peace with me.” My eyes caught the middle-aged driver watching us from
the rear-view mirror with his lips stretched in a smile, then he looked away
immediately our eyes locked.
“I wish we could...” Michael broke off.
“We could what?” I brought my face up to stare at him. Sweet Jesus, he
should stop looking at me like that. Or I should drop my gaze and save
myself the heat his eyes was sending down my core in waves. But I was
already drawn to the black heavens in his eyes, the divine serenity that was
brighter than any star of the night sky. I began to feel the need to do more
than being in his arms, and he knew it. He knew the heat from him was
getting to me because he tilted his head to the side and arched his brows, a
knowing smile registered at the corner of his lips.
“I shouldn’t be in your arms for too long,” I said without lowering my
gaze.
“You shouldn’t,” he agreed, yet he didn’t let go of me.
“I know you don’t feel sexually aroused like I do when we are
together.” My voice was lowered, for fear that the driver would hear. It
seemed the man understood and had chosen to play Banky W’s Yes/No to
distract himself or set the mood for us.
“That’s the most ridiculous statement I’ve ever heard you say.” Letting
go of me, his laughter came to my ears as a tickle. “My little woman.”
Placing his hand on my thigh and began to stroke— up, down, up, down.
There must be electricity on his fingertips because my skin tingled at his
touch. Then he leaned forward, his head moving to my left ear, giving me
the pleasure of feeling his warm breath that was both sexy and arousing.
“You don’t want to know the battle I fight within each time I stare at you,
how many times I’ve made love to you in my mind and had to ask God to
have mercy on me.”
Oh God. Those words, the way he whispered them, I could feel wetness
between my legs and... Jesus! I shouldn’t have started this conversation...”
“Mike...”
“I like it that the sight of me excites you. In fact, it drives me crazy.”
His tongue ran on my earlobe in a circular motion. Then he leaned back.
“But we have to wait. I know you understand that.”
“Yes.” Lowering my head, I bit down on the shame that was making my
lips tremble. More shameful was the fact that my essence was still
throbbing, clenching and releasing.
“This waiting to make love with you,” he continued, pulling down the
helm of my skirt that had moved up. “...is to honor God. It’s also a self-
preservation thing— because once we go there, once we become that
intimate, we may not stop.”
“I know,” I said. “Uhm...Mike?”
“Mm?”
“Please don’t think of me as a lesser Christian. I don’t know...being
around you does something to me...”
“Hey.” He cupped my face. “Listen to me. You are human, I am too. It’s
natural we have this sexual attraction to each other.” Then his lips curled up
in a naughty smile, “I also know the effect I’m having on you.” We burst
out laughing. “I would have questioned the potency of my charm if you
were not feeling this way.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, old man.” I could feel the sexual tension
dissipating. Thank Goodness. “Your charm has no hold on me.”
“Oh, really?”
“We are here, sir,” the driver announced, pulling the car into the large
compound.
“Are you ready to meet the family again?” He asked me.
“Yes.” I shut my eyes and inhale deeply. “Yes, I’m.”
 Michael

“Dear Lord, I am beginning to doubt that inviting her here was a good idea.
At first, I was concerned with her building a relationship with Bimbo. That
was the reason I asked her to come. Now it feels like I brought her here for
me. I canceled the two meetings I have this Sunday, didn’t allow her a
single minute of rest since she arrived, I didn’t even let her out of my sight
until dinner was announced and had stared at her like a hypnotized man
while she ate. Even my son noticed and politely excused himself to go eat
in his room.”
I equally forgot about my daughter who didn’t come down for dinner
until Martha mentioned that she would be going to knock at her door.
“Lord, I’m ashamed. I didn’t know I could lose my head over a woman
like this...”
That woman is your wife to be, son. It’s okay to be overwhelmed by her.
“But Lord, I’m not just overwhelmed, I’m lusting after her so much. I
keep thinking of sexual things I would love to do with her and keep coming
to you asking for forgiveness afterwards.”
So far, you have kept yourself and have kept her.
“She said I don’t feel sexually aroused when I’m with her. If only she
knew the nights I lay with an unspent erection, nothing to calm me down
but prayers and the word. The moments only the sound of her voice arouses
unholy desires inside me. Even today, inside the car, my body had
responded so fast to the scent of her, her closeness, the softness of her skin
as I stroked her thigh. Everything about her triggers me in a sweet way.”
You are making it hard.
She’s going to spend the night here, in the room next to mine. What it
meant was that we would be...
Allow Me to do the work. I will perfect it.
Yes, oh, yes.
Rounding off my prayer, I left my room and headed down the corridor. I
had to check on Bimbo. Martha might still be with her. We could...
Allow them be. I am at work.
 “Oh, yes... yes. Sorry Lord,” I murmured. Yet I wasn’t going to just
walk back to my room without satisfying my curiosity that both my ladies
were getting along— so help me God.
Stopping by Bimbo’s door, I pressed my ears against it. Muffled voices
filtered into my ears, but I couldn’t make out any word.
Giving up, I strolled back to my room to wait. And prayed again.
This time, for Bimbo.

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 TWENTY-NINE
Martha

“I didn’t ask you to come in.”

“You didn’t say I shouldn’t.” Leaving her still holding the door,
probably contemplating asking me out, I strolled deeper into the room that
had a feminine mosaic of chaos born of happiness— a sharp contrast to the
look on Bimbo’s face when she opened the door and saw me standing there.
“There’s a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door,”
“Does that apply to your dad and me?”
“Why will I not want dad to come in?” Jamming the door, she came to
stand in front of me. “Daddy can come in here any time.”
But daddy’s fiancé can’t. I got your message, girl. “So, it’s for me
then?” I left her, strolling through the marble-floored space to her dressing
table where a framed picture of a woman, her skin as rich and deep as any
stately home mahogany. There was a sublime plumpness in her cheeks, a
sense of relaxation in her smile, and kindness in her eyes. I reached out to
pick the picture.
“Don’t touch that!”
Pulling my hand back, I turned to give her a long stare. She hadn’t
moved from where I left her.
“The resemblance is so striking,” I said, walking back to where she was.
“She is so beautiful.” No wonder Michael couldn’t find someone worthy to
fill the gap she left.
Hissing, Bimbo walked pass me to lay on the bed, her face turned away
from me. ‘Use the door when you are done standing there like a jobless
woman,’ she must have said in her mind.
 “Can I sit?” When I got no response, I pulled the only chair in the room
close to the bed and sat down. “Your father loves you so much,” I said.
“And it bothers him that you don't love him as much as he does you.”
My last statement made her turn her head sharply. “I love dad so much
and he knows it. You are the one making him think that I don't love him.”
We were getting somewhere, I thought. “Bimbo, if you love someone,
you will care about their happiness.”
“You know nothing about caring for someone’s happiness! This family
was happy before you came and ruined everything.” Anger was exuding out
of her. “Daddy was happy with mom!”
“But your mom...” is no more. I swallowed the rest of the words. I
didn’t want to sound insensitive.
“I know your mother.” Wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, she
sat up, folding her legs. “She’s the most beautiful and nice woman I’ve ever
seen.” Lady Ugo— as we used to call her, was like a mother to all the
women in our fellowship. A soft spoken, easy going, cheerful woman. I had
never spoken with her one on one, but I’d sat under her ministrations and
she was a gem.
“She completes dad.” It was understandable if Bimbo chose to speak of
her mother as though she was still alive. Grief could make one do that—
refuse to accept that the one you love was gone. “Their love for each other
is something I look forward to having when I finally get married.”
“You miss her.”
“You don’t know how it feels to lose someone so dear. Mom was
everything to me, to us.” She sniffled. “Then she died...she was not
supposed to die like that!”
Let her speak, the Lord said as I wanted to interrupt.
“We did everything.” She aimed her grief ridden eyes at me. “Dad
prayed.” She sniffled. “She loved God, you see. She wasn’t supposed to
die.”
Bimbo wasn’t just angry at me, she was hurting! Pain had eaten deep
inside her and she’d come to love the closure, the comfort of the darkness.
How was it possible that Michael didn’t realize this?
Without seeking her permission, I left the chair to sit on the bed,
shifting deeper until I was close enough to grip her shoulders and pull her
into my arms. She didn’t push me away.
That was the first miracle.
 “It’s hard to forget... It’s hard.” Her body rocked with sobs, anguish
sipping out of her like steam from a boiling pot. “Daddy wasn’t supposed to
get over mom’s death this soon. He had... had suffered when she was sick—
had almost died. How could he now...” She broke off, pushing herself away
from me. “He no longer loves her.”
“Your father loved your mother even after she died.” Only the
insensitive didn't notice how much the woman's death affected Michael.
Years after her departure, he would infuse stories of the times they shared
together in his messages. Some of those times he would pause mid-speech
to pull himself together.
“He’s replacing her with you.”
“He didn’t plan it.” I wished it was easy to make her understand. “None
of us did.”
“You are pregnant for him?”
“Do I look pregnant?”
“Maybe you have a child for him and now he wants to compensate
you.”
I wasn’t certain if I should be laughing at her statement.
“Your father will never, uhm, touch me until I have his ring on my
finger and his name attached to mine. Even if he has a gun pointed to his
head.”
“Then what happened?” Lifting the shirt of her ‘bob the builder’
pajamas, she wiped her face with it.
“It’s complicated, Bimbo.” I noticed that her anger was gradually
vanishing.
“Like adult complicated? I’m nineteen, not nine.” Bimbo was smart. “I
see the way dad looks at you. He wouldn’t speak ten sentences without
bringing up your name— that’s what he used to do when mom was alive.
Mentioning her name in every conversation.”
“You will not believe our story.”
“Try me.” Grabbing a pillow, she placed it across her legs and leaned on
it, fixing her gaze on me with anticipation.
My spirit was lifted in praise to God for what he had started doing in
Bimbo’s life, even as I began to narrate our story to her. It amazed me that
she could laugh at our awkwardness, marvel at our spontaneous actions, ask
how her daddy proposed.
 “It didn’t bother you that he’s way older and that he had children?” she
asked.
“Not at all.”
“Really?”
“Well... I was worried about you. You made it obvious the first time we
met that you don’t like me.”
“Don’t blame me.”
“I’m not.”
We allowed a few minutes' silence, then she threw her hands around my
neck in a tight hug. “Thank you for coming here.”
For coming into their lives or into her room? It didn’t matter. I let out a
sigh and began to stroke her hair. “Thank you too for understanding.”
“Tell dad that I’m so sorry,” she said as she leaned off me and I stood
up, ready to leave.
“Won’t it be better if you tell him yourself?”

Michael

“Bimbo?” Looking past her, my eyes darted left and right the corridor then
settled back on her face. “Princess.”
“Dad, can I come in?” There was a hint of uncertainty in her voice.
“Sure.” I stepped aside to let her in. Then close the door. “You didn’t
come down for dinner.” Picking the towel, I brought out before she knocked
— I was going to take a bath, from the bed, I walked into the bathroom to
hang it back.
“Ola brought me some food.”
“That’s not an explanation.” Walking back into the room, I sat on the
sofa. “Sit,” I ordered but she didn’t move. “Bimbo?”
Taking a few steps forward, she crumbled at my feet and started crying.
“I’m sorry dad. I’m so sorry.”
 “My princess.” Gripping her arms, I helped her up. “What is it? What
are you sorry for?”
“I’ve been so selfish. I should have understood you. Just that I'm
missing mum and I felt... I felt you have thrown away all the good times.”
“My princess.” Palming her face, I kissed her chubby cheeks— one of
the features she inherited from her mother. “We all miss her a lot.”
“But it's easy for you to move on. You found a replacement too soon.”
“You think it was easy for me? That I didn't spend nights after nights
wishing there was something I could have done to keep her alive? You
knew what I went through, Bimbo. My grief, my pain. You held my hands
throughout those times.”
“I know, dad.”
“Now the Lord wants me to move on with another woman. I didn’t want
to.”
“Auntie Martha spoke to me and...” Auntie Martha? She called her
Auntie? “I didn't realize... Oh dad.” She placed her head on my chest,
wrapping her hands around me. “I don't want to make you feel sad.”
“I'm not sad, princess.”
“Auntie Martha said you are bothered. You think I don't love you like
you love me.”
“I’m sure she didn’t mean it that way.”
“I love you, dad, and I want you to be happy.”
“You are my happiness,” I said, patting her on the back.
“What of Auntie Martha?”
“She too... I love her... you may not understand.”
“Don't worry.” She eased away from my arms. “I understand everything
and I am happy for you dad.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Flashing me a Cheshire smile, she started walking towards the
door. Then she stopped and looked back. “Dad?”
“Mm?”
“Will you...will you and Auntie Martha make more babies?” Was this
going to be an issue now? “I don't mind little siblings. It will be nice to
have them run around the house.”
Without waiting for my response, she opened the door and walked out,
leaving me staring mouth agape at the empty space. Then I gave in to the
laughter that was welling inside me.
 A few minutes later, I was whistling one of my favorite songs while
dancing my way into the bathroom.
Relaxing in the heated water, feeling it hug my skin so gently, breathing
in the aroma of the bubble bath and the presence of God, my lips started
moving to the nudge of the Holy Spirit and before I knew it, I was praying
in tongues.
Tonight, my heart was filled with worship, my mouth with praise.
The sound of a knock on my door disconnected me from the euphoric
moment, forcing my eyes open. Rushing my bath, I wrapped my towel
around my waist, with water trickling down from my hair to my face, down
to my shoulders, I walked back into the room.
The knock came again.
Must be Bimbo. What else did she want to talk to me about? “Come on
in, Princess.” I wondered why the rule-breaker daughter of mine would now
choose to knock and wait as it wasn’t in her habit.
The door was pushed open and...
“Oh Jesus!” Martha. She had her face turned away— I observed as I
turned to face her— like one who had seen an obscure thing.
“I... uhm... I’m sorry I didn’t... Oh God.” Her reaction was both
surprising and amusing. Hadn’t she seen a half-naked man before? “I have
to go now... I’ll... uhm... be in my room.”
“Wait,” I called. “I want to speak to you about something, if you don't
mind.”
Throwing me a quick glance, she nodded. “I’ll be outside then.”
“Okay, let me put on something decent...”
She was gone before I could finish.

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 THIRTY
Martha

I realized as I left Michael’s room to lean over the rail, looking down on the
large sitting room that looked more like a portable event hall— that I didn’t
want to unsee the kind of sexiness I just saw a few minutes ago. Jesus!
Michael’s body was a work of art. Though not like that of a bodybuilder, he
was fit in every right place. Tucked waist, flat abs— with no rock strong
packs but he was just perfect.
And the fact that he was fresh from the shower, still wet in places made
him more appealing.
At fifty-four, one would expect him to have, if not a flabby body, a not
so tight one. And heaven knew I wasn’t looking forward to him possessing
washboard abs. I wasn’t, Lord! What did he do to himself to look like that!
Covering my mouth with my palm, I suppressed a giggle while batting
my eyelids repeatedly to contain the warm flush crawling up my cheeks.
The more I tried to get hold of myself and not act like a senseless, horny,
unbelieving woman, the more I discovered things about my husband-to-be
that made all the self-control I thought I had divorce me with speed.
“You can come in now, little woman.” Humor was dancing in his eyes,
and his lips held that grin I’d come to love.
Swallowing hard, I nodded. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have entered your
room like that,” I said, not moving from where I stood. Why would I? Even
in a loose striped pants, and a long-sleeved sweatshirt, I still couldn’t get
the image of his bare torso out of my mind.
He nodded slowly, then leaned his side on the door, crossing his legs.
“It’s our room. Soon, you will be sleeping and waking up here.”
 On that massive bed, with him by my side. Thank you, Michael, for
reminding me, now my imagination has gone on overdrive.
“Why did you run off like that?” he asked.
Either he was laughing at me, or he genuinely didn’t understand why I
acted like a teenage girl that saw the nakedness of a grown man.
But he wasn’t naked.
Not totally.
“You want the truth?”
“Please.”
“I wasn’t expecting your body to be that... that... How are you able to
stay this fit and... sexy?”
He lost himself to the laughter that rolled out of his mouth, holding his
knees for support. “Me, sexy?”
He didn’t know?
“You flatter me too much.” His laughter reduced to a chuckle as he
walked towards me and took my hands. “Sexy is one word I never
described myself with. But if you say I am, then I am.”
“Better believe it, old man. You are simply hot.”
“Hmm. You like what you saw then.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I’m only confirming the obvious.” Putting an arm around my waist, he
pulled me against his body and we both started walking towards the room.
“I think the poolside would be better,” he said, steering us back to the
corridor, and down the stairs.
With stars shining as sugar split over black marble, the night sky was
such a welcome sight, like magic meant for me and him. Feeling the gentle
stroke of the wind on my face and other exposed parts of my body, I
shivered. I think Michael felt it too, he tightened his grip around me and led
me to a shed by the pool— built like a bush bar.
“Your house is massive,” I said, my eyes on the pool that had
ultramarine light bulbs fixed inside it, two on each wall. “And beautiful.” I
leaned on the polished wooden handrail, while he sat on a chair.
“It’s our house, Obi’m.” Getting up, he came to stand beside me. “All
that I have is going to be yours as soon as you become my wife. So stop
referring to them as mine.”
“I’m not your wife yet.”
 “That’s about to change.” Turning to face me, his back against the rail,
“How would you like a Christmas season wedding?” he asked.
“Wedding?” Have you ever desired something so much that you were
ready to do anything to have it, then same thing was offered to you and
suddenly, you weren’t sure if you were ready to take it?
“Yes, wedding,” he said amidst chuckles.
“November is almost ending, we are not even done with the traditional
rites. How is it going to be possible?”
“My little woman,” he leaned off the rail to cup my face. “Just tell me
that you are ready to walk down the aisle with me this December and
everything will be arranged. You don't have to lift a finger or lose a sweat.”
“Mike,” I could feel self-doubt gnawing away at my confidence. “I’m
scared.”
His eyes narrowed at my sudden confession. Then his shock wore off,
replaced by... I don’t even know.
“I saw Lady Ugo’s picture in your daughter’s room today.” Removing
his hands off my face, I walked past him, out of the shelter to stand by the
pool.
“Martha, what’s going on?” He was right behind me.
“I just feel... I’m not sure.”
“Don’t change your mind on me now,” he said. “You don’t do that to a
man, you don’t.”
I wasn’t changing my mind, God forbid that. But, “What if I am nothing
like her? That I can’t meet up with all the appointments, meetings,
fellowship programs— National and international? What if I don’t have her
strength?”
“Oh, Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, turning me to face him. “I
don’t want you to be like Ugo. I am not looking for a woman who would be
struggling all the days of our married life to become who she’s not. Martha,
God gave you to me because he knows we will be happy together.”
“But I may not be perfect for you.” What if all this was a mistake?
“I don’t love you because you are perfect.” He was staring deep into my
eyes. “Not because you know how to say the right words. No! I love you
because you warm my heart. That first time, at the convention ground when
I set my eyes on you, I knew I'd found a part of me. You complete me,
Martha. Since I’d come to know you, all I think about is being with you.”
 “Oh, Michael, you don’t understand. I love you too and desire to be
with you all the time. But I’m scared I may not fit in...”
“I don’t want you to fit in!” He was trying hard to keep his voice down.
“Don’t you get it? What is wrong with you? I didn’t think you were this...”
Lily-livered? A coward?
“Mike, I’m sorry. I love you so much I don’t want you to be
disappointed when you finally get to settle with me.”
“I’m already disappointed that after all these times, you chose now to
voice your fear.”
“It’s not— I don’t know.” Scratching my head through the bonnet that
covered it, I felt like beating myself hard. “It’s just this sense of
inadequacy.” Swallowing the uncertainty that had clotted my throat, I
walked up to him. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
He gazed at me, his mouth parting as though he had a response to my
statement, hesitated for a while, then he looked away.
“Mike, I’m serious. I want to walk down the aisle with you tomorrow,
next tomorrow... anytime you want it.” Moving even closer to him, I
grabbed his arms. “Please.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He was looking at me again, then his eyes moved from my eyes to my
lips and back to my eyes. “Put your hands behind your back,” he said, his
voice dangerously low.
“What? Why?”
“Just do it. Please,”
I did, slowly, immediately feeling vulnerable, Then I saw him do same.
Leaning towards me, he took my lips without taking me in his arms. All
I would have to do was to lean back if I wanted to escape.
I didn’t want to escape.
His mouth caressed mine, soft, warm, with a hint of promise, making
me hunger for more. Then he tasted me with his tongue and I felt that touch
in parts of my body far away from my lips. He was driving me to a new
height of awareness. His mouth didn’t move from mine and I wanted to be
closer, wanted the strength of those arms cruelly denied me, wanted the rest
of his body pressing against mine.
He was being careful, holding back the rest of him, reminding me that
we shouldn’t go beyond this, or something would go wrong— the bed
would be defiled and it wouldn’t please God.
But I could get a little more before we call it a night. Unclasping my
hands, I threaded around his waist, pulling him to me, expecting his arms to
follow. They did not. But he suddenly started kissing me harder, deeper,
with a fervent urgent need I’ve never seen before, sending wild tremors
along my nerves.
My hand was now around his neck, the other at the back of his head,
preventing him from breaking free if he even wanted to. Goodness! This
man was everything, his kisses were taking my breath and giving it back,
showing me that every other kiss I’ve had in my life had been wrong. Both
of us were breathing harder, his tongue exploring me as I wanted his hands
to do.
Then he broke my hold and stood straight. “Had to kiss your doubt
away.” His words were breathless.
“I— maybe they are not all gone.” Goodness, I wanted his lips on mine
again! “Can you get them all out now? Another kissing section may do
that.”
“Naughty, little woman.” He laughed, taking my hands. “We will
continue this after our wedding, my darling wife-to-be.”
“I can’t wait to be your wife,” I said, looking up to his eyes. God! The
desire, the lust. “My husband-to-be.”
“I can’t wait too.” Running his tongue around his lips, he shook his
head. “Ah! Ma lu e wa ma bebe fun die si.” He licked his lips again, as
though he was relishing the taste of me on his lips.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
“But I want to.”
“It’s too nasty for your ears.”
“Is it an insult?”
“No,” He kissed my head. “I will tell you what it means when... when
you become my wife legally.”
Clenching my fist and raising it, I pummeled his arm in frustration.
Then dropped my hand and looked up, absorbing his face, the lopsided
smile, the eyes, smokey dark. “We need to start heading back inside, old
man.” I said with a smile on my face.
“Tired of me already?” he asked. Slipping his arms under mine, we
started walking.
 “You are traveling tomorrow morning.” And I would be leaving once he
gets back. He had pleaded that I stay.
“Like I said, don't bother your pretty head about this wedding. If you are
ready this December, then I will make it happen,” he said, squeezing my
hand.
“I am ready even now.”
“Then it’s done.”
Somebody should please tell me the definition of excitement again...

OceanofPDF.com
 THIRTY-ONE
Michael

I slipped!
Taking advantage of Martha’s weakness to satisfy my unholy lust didn't
speak well of a man like me. What was I thinking? Even though I’d pull
away before the wild lust like a whirlwind could engulf us, yet, I knew I
shouldn’t have even started it in the first place.
Now I had to contend with this screaming hunger down my core, a
desire to do more than just take her lips. Wasn’t it written in the bible that a
man can’t take fire in his bosom and his cloth not be burned?
Unfortunately, it wasn’t my cloth that was on fire but the whole of me.
To think that tomorrow, I would be going to Malawi on a gospel mission.
To win souls for Jesus! And I had spent a part of this night arousing burning
lust, kindling wild passion, leading Martha on while letting myself go,
made me want to weep sore.
Feeling like Peter after denying Jesus, I flumped on my bed, letting out
an exasperating sigh. It didn’t make any difference that I didn’t give in to
the urge to release my hands and touch her. The kissing was an open
mouthed, sensual, breath-hitching kind. I was practically making love to her
mouth, exploring every corner, greedily drinking her sweet nectar. And it
felt so good! Our passion, our hunger— like two starving prisoners that just
got released and were offered good food. The heat.
I felt my desire for her at the pit of my stomach. And with the way she’d
responded, the urgency of her need, the warmth of her breath, her soft
moan, I was lost in the bouts of pleasure that her lips were sending like
waves all over my body.
 So far, you have kept yourself and you have kept her...
That was what the Lord told me a few hours before I lost my head. Why
didn’t I remember those words when I was hatching the idea of taking her
soft, succulent lips?
Father, I’m so sorry. I should have followed my instinct and taken her to
spend the night at Pa Adebowale’s house instead. But I didn’t think it was
necessary. We wouldn’t be spending the night together in the same room
after all.
Sliding out of the bed to kneel beside it. “Forgive me, Lord.” I wasn’t
just asking that he pardon me for my earlier fall, but also for the desire still
welling inside me. “Help me, Lord.”
Highly favored one...
Jerking my head up, I glanced around the room. I wasn’t expecting to
hear the Lord speak to me tonight because of what I did, not to talk of him
endearing me with a new name? Highly favored one. Me?
Why are you so cast down?
With my head bowed, my hands clasping my thighs, I said, “I am not
worthy, Lord.”
He is qualified whom the Lord said is qualified.
“It’s my responsibility to keep us away from situations like this, till the
time is right. My duty, Lord. And I failed.”
I do not condemn you, who then are you to condemn yourself?
“But I’ve grieved you...”
Walk before Me and be thou blameless.
My phone pinged as I was reminiscing on his last word.
A message from Martha;
Little children, I’m writing this to you so that you will not sin. But if
any one does sin, we have an advocate with the father—Jesus Christ, the
righteous one.
Reading the message again, this time louder, I wondered if she was also
being eaten up by guilt. She looked okay when we were walking back to the
house. In fact, she was excited. Maybe the feeling of reproach had come
later like mine did. Being alone had a way of donning the consequences of
one’s actions upon one’s shoulders.
Another ping, another message from her;
You did a good job hiding your regret, but I sensed how you felt as I
held your hand while we walked back into the house.
 Before I could finish typing my reply, she called.
“You didn’t have sex with me, Michael,” she said as soon as I picked.
“Little woman.” Settling in bed, I scrubbed my face with my palm.
“Why are you not sleeping?”
“And why are you not sleeping?” Her voice, as calm and soothing as the
balm of Gilead I got from Jerusalem during my last visit. “You have the
heart of a child, Mike.”
“I just don’t want to hurt the Lord.”
“I know, and I’m sorry for making you do what you were not ready to
do.”
“You didn’t make me do it,” I said. “Don’t apologize for being
irresistible,” I murmured while trying to block the thoughts of what
happened— it may not be possible to get it off my head that fast, if ever it
would leave at all. “So, why are you not sleeping?”
“I was asking God to fill your heart with His peace.”
That was it! She had reached out to God on my behalf. “Thank you,
Obi’m,” I said. “And I’m sorry for exposing you to...”
“You didn’t do anything that I didn’t want. I had the most toe-curling
moment of my life in those few minutes.”
Martha,” I groaned. “Stop, please.” She was giving me a hard time
banning the image of us standing there, our bodies lapping against each
other’s, our lips fused like two perfect puzzle pieces.
She laughed. “Okay, old man.” More laughter. “I’ll leave you alone but
stop beating yourself up. It was just kissing. And you stopped when you felt
it was becoming... umm... when I was lost in the tide of passion.”
“Thank you for giving me that credit.”
“No. Thank you for being strong for the both of us. Good night,
Adekunle, the crown that fills my heart.”
“How did you know the meaning of my name?” I turned to my side and
stretched my hand to turn my bedside lamp off.
“Your mother.”
“What? When?”
“Don’t worry, we are women.”
“Now I’m jealous.” Lifting my hand over my head to switch the circuit
breaker on the bed’s headboard off, I stretched out on the bed and yawned.
“Don’t go asking her the meaning of what I said to you while we were
umm, by the poolside.”
 “Why shouldn't I?”
“Because you would wish you didn’t.”
“Allow me to be the judge of that.”
“She will not even tell you,” I added.
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
“The only thing stopping me from asking her is the fact the words were
too long for me to remember exactly how you pronounced them.”
“Even if you remember them, my mother will not give you the
meaning.”
“Michael!”
“Sweetheart.”
“How bad were those words?”
“Not bad, but naughty.”
“Then tell me the meaning.”
“No.” I didn’t want to stoke our sexual embers after what happened
earlier.
“I will ask your mother then.”
“Good luck with that.” She would send her back to me. “I can even send
you the words as an SMS.”
“If you do that, then I will ask her.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I played this kind of game with Ugo
during the first few years of our marriage. Like Martha, she was Igbo and
didn’t understand a thing in Yoruba until after many years. “Good night,
little woman.”
“Good night to you, old man.” Her line went dead.
Allowing my phone slither out of my hand to the bed, I stared up at the
ceiling for a while, a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
“Thank you, Lord, for giving her to me,” I whispered. “And thank you
for not judging me according to my transgressions.”
You do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with your
weaknesses.

I had distinguished the way she knocks from that of my kids, so I knew it
was her at the door the next morning. “Come in,” I said. Done with
buttoning my shirt, I started fastening my cuffs.
She knocked again, a soft rap that sounded like an alert. Grabbing my
suit jacket, I headed to the door and threw it open. “Thought I had a towel
around my waist like yesterday, or probably naked?” There was oddly,
something soothing about watching Martha stand outside my room, dressed
in a long sleeping gown. The bonnet that covered her hair last night wasn’t
there anymore, and her hair wrapped loosely in a bun. “You are beautiful,” I
said.
“Leave me, abeg.” A weak smile worked up her sleepy face. “Can I
come in?”
“Do you want to?”
“No.” She turned to go.
Reaching for her hand, I pulled her back. “Come in here,” I said, closing
the door behind us. I was feeling exceptionally happy today. Didn’t know if
it was because the Lord had not treated me like an outcast yesterday, or
because Martha was here with us, or a combination of the two reasons.
“You slept well?” I asked, allowing her to slip off my arms.
“I’ve never slept better.” She took my jacket and helped me into it. “I’ll
miss you,” she said in that low, raspy voice that came with the morning.
“Not as much as I’ll miss you.” Picking my hairbrush, I started running
it through my one-week growth and the stubbles on my chin. “ So I
contacted two event planners, gave them your number.” Done, I turned to
face her. “How do I look?”
“Like a billion-dollar sugar daddy.”
“You are crazy.” I chuckled, picking my satchel bag that was on top of
the dressing table.
“Not the pot-bellied kind o.” She was standing behind me, straightening
the sleeves of my jacket. “The kind every woman would give anything to
have.”
“Too bad I’m taken.” Turning to face her, I gripped her shoulder. “By
this crazy, sweet, little woman that has become my addiction.” The shy
smile that stretched her lips warmed my heart. “One gaze at your direction
that first day, and my intoxication was instant.”
“You are too generous with beautiful words.”
“And I mean every one of them.” Patting her arm, I straightened up.
“I'm ready to go.” She nodded. “The two event planners will call you.
Interview them separately and choose the one you are comfortable with.”
Another nod. “I’ll call your father on my way to the airport and ask if I can
have the marriage list sent to me somehow.”
“My brother can snap and send to me, then I will send to you.”
“Perfect. Then a date will be fixed for us to complete the process.” We
started walking to the door. “I heard it’s possible to start and finish
everything in a day.”
“If you have money to throw around.”
“I have a lot of it.”

OceanofPDF.com
 THIRTY-TWO
Martha

Being Cinderella is not a sin. To come from a challenging start and end up
becoming the wife of a wealthy, influential, cute, and loving man was a
huge achievement. *Laughs*
Was my start challenging?
I wasn’t poor. Though compared to Michael’s net worth— check the
internet, guys, you’ll scream!— I was wretched. My challenging start
wasn’t lack of money though, but not being able to drag any man to the
altar when my mates were doing so.
But God chose to surprise me. For reasons best known to him, He was
making me the queen of Adekunle Bankole’s empire when I wasn’t
prepared for it. God sure has unique ways of adding humor and fun... and
beautiful romance to our lives when we least expect it.
Satisfied with the work done on my face by the make-up artist, I stood
up, pushing my chair backward to be able to appraise my new-bride look.
“Chai, Martha. You look like a Disney princess,” Gloria, my office
secretary, said, stepping closer to admire me.
“Thank you so much, Gloria.” The lady had gone over the moon with
excitement when I asked her to be my bride’s maid. Who wouldn’t? She got
to travel to Paris and Dubai with me.
“Here, your earrings,” Bimbo handed a little glass jewelry box to me. “I
picked them up myself,” she said with pride. The young girl had been more
receptive after our little talk. Not only that she accepted me as her father’s
wife, but she also adopted me as her confidant, a gossip partner. We could
chat about boys and other little things through the night. “Your wedding
gown is so beautifuulll!” she squealed, running her fingers through the
crystal embellishment that covered the dress from the bust down to the
waist.
Giggling like a schoolgirl, I twirled and turned in front of the mirror to
the delight of everyone in Mama Adebowale’s bedroom. The gown was not
just beautiful, it was divine. A perfect wedding dress for the wife of a king.
It cost a fortune, But that was what Michael wanted.
“Can I have it after your wedding?” Bimbo said.
“But it’s not your size.” Sitting down again, I slipped my feet in my
silver sandals and allowed Bimbo to buckle them.
“Dad will be so proud today,” she said, bringing out her phone to take
photoshoots of my legs. “Instagram things.” Taking shots of different
dimensions— Long, short, close-up. “Let’s shake social media with the
pictures of this beauty.” Satisfied with her job, she straightened up. “I am
taking the shoes too, after your wedding. Thank God we wear the same
size.”
“Bimbo!” Almost everyone burst out laughing.
“What! She can get another one for herself nau,” she shot back, then
returned her attention to me. “Okie... it’s time to take a full picture of you.
Wow! Auntie Martha, you look amazing!” Dragging the giggling me to my
feet, she readied her phone again.
“Bimbo, Je ki o sinmi.” Michael’s mom walked in through the door, her
face as bright as the perfectly wrapped beautiful auto-gele that was fitted
like a crown on her head.
“Iya, but she is not complaining,” Bimbo objected, gently spreading my
veil to cover my shoulders and took more pictures. “You will be the most
talked-about bride this year.” She bent down to smoothen out the hem of
my gown, “Perfect.”
“Ma ba aso igbeyawo re je! Don’t spoil her wedding dress.” Her
grandmother grabbed her by the arm and dragged her away.
“But I'm not done taking pictures of her, nau.”
“Iye o ni to. That’s enough.”
“Maami,” I called the woman as she wrapped me in a warm embrace.
“Ife mi, my love. My beautiful daughter. You have brought back
sunshine into my son's life.”
“Maami, he is the one that brought sunshine into my life.”
 Leaning off me, the woman held my face. “You will not understand.
You brought Adekunle mi back to life.”
“I don’t know what to say,”
“When he showed me your picture and told me you are the woman that
has won his heart, I had no doubt that you are meant for him.”
“Even when you hadn’t seen me yet?”
“Even then.”
“Enough of the emotional moment. We have a wedding to attend.”
Bimbo cut in, moving in to stand between me and her grandmother. “And I
have more pictures to take.”
“Iro. You are not taking any more pictures.” The woman grabbed her
again and started making towards the door. “You are going to help me load
things in the car.
“Grandma!”
They were almost out of the door when my naughty, stubborn sense
kicked. “Maami?” The woman stopped mid-stride and turned.
“Can I ask you something?” Michael warmed me not to do this, yet he
had sent the words. He knew I would ask anyways so...
“What’s the meaning of...” Gathering my gown, I walked towards the
bed and picked my phone. I scrolled through the WhatsApp messages...
there it was... the naughty Yoruba words he said to me that night he gave me
a head swooning kiss by the poolside. “What’s the meaning of ‘ma lu
e...wa...ma bebe...”
“Give me that.” Bimbo snatched the phone from my hand, shaking her
head and tsking to my poor effort at pronouncing the words. Her
grandmother took it from her before she could read out the message.
“Bimbo, tell the driver to start warming the car,” she said. “Now,” she
added when it seemed her granddaughter wasn’t going to move.
Returning the phone back to me to unlock and give her back, she
proceeded to reading the message and I immediately felt a slash of regret as
I watched her face deepen.
“You people should go down and wait for us in the car,” she said to the
other ladies in the room. “Who sent this to you?” she asked.
“Michael.”
Her face relaxed. She must have thought it was from an old flame or an
admirer. “He didn’t tell you the meaning?”
“No, Maami.”
 The woman smiled, relieving my initial fear. “He should have translated
for you.”
“I begged him, but he refused.”
“I'm not the right person to do it either.”
“Maami, please.” Now that I was sure she wasn’t uncomfortable with
me asking her this, I wanted an answer. “It’s not bad, is it?”
“I will beat you and you will beg for more,” she said, laughing.
“What?”
“The meaning of what he sent to you. He will beat you and you will beg
for more.” The implication of those words hit me, and I gasped. Lowering
my gaze to avoid the woman's amusing stare, I busied myself with adjusting
my crown that had shifted from the center to the side of my head, while
suppressing the excitement coursing through my body; he would beat me
and I would beg for more. He would make love to me in such a way that I
wouldn’t want him to stop.
Oh, Michael. Who would believe that you could utter such— such
words?
“Ife mi, they are waiting for us downstairs, or do you need a little time
alone?”
Now that she mentioned it, I definitely needed time alone! To calm my
fluttering stomach. Jesus! I couldn’t believe... “Yes, maami. Give me five
minutes.”
“Oda, I will send your bridesmaid up.”
She hadn’t totally left the room when I abandoned myself on the bed,
sniggering with my hand over my mouth and the other around my midriff.
Michael! What?
To say that he had the innocent lamb look, yet he knew what to say to
wet a girl’s panties. Giving out another laughter, I picked my phone and
gave him a call. “You naughty old man,” I said as soon as he picked.
“Someone can’t wait for this wedding to be over.” Yes, daddy. I can’t
wait for you to beat me and make me beg for more. “How is my bride
doing?”
“Shocked.”
“Shocked?”
“Yes, shocked that her pious husband could say something, umm,
dirty... sexually suggestive.” A mere thought of it sent desire gripping my
essence. “Adekunle,” I moaned.
 “What are you talking about?” Ripples of laughter at the background
filtered into my ears and I wondered if he had his phone on speaker.
“I asked your mom the meaning of what you said to me that night...”
A moment of hesitation passed while he must have either moved out of
where he was or asked those with him out as his end suddenly went quiet.
“Martha,” he called in that low tendril that reverberated in my core. “My
stubborn, little woman.”
“You sent it to me knowing I wouldn’t rest until I have someone
interpret it to me.”
“That’s true.”
“You made me do it.”
“Did I?” He must be grinning now. “I know I told you that you would
wish you didn’t ask.”
“You played me!”
“And you enjoyed the little game.”
Enjoyed? I was flushing all over.
“So what did she tell you was the meaning?”
“You will beat me, and...” Oh God, how do I stop my inside from
quivering like a candle flame under a slight breeze? “...and I will beg for
more.” I finished, my voice reducing to a whisper.
“She didn’t say it the way I would have said it to you.”
“How would you have said it?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated a little, then... “Martha, I wouldn’t start our lovemaking
tonight with kissing you, I’d make you wait for that. I would rather take my
time to undress you. Slowly. My fingers grazing through your skin as I peel
your clothes piece by piece... making you burn with desire, so much that
you would wish that I had ripped the materials off you instead.”
My breath hitched. I swear, there were a million fireflies inside my
stomach, and his voice, what he was saying to me was making them dance
all at once.
“Then once I had you naked, I’d spread you out on the bed, with the
lights on so I could see you. Every inch of you.”
 My mouth hung open with no words, my brain a potpourri of sweet
emotions. Michael was doing something to my head and other places I
didn’t want to pay attention to.
“Then I’d start from your toes, kissing through the length of your legs to
the beauty between— I would spend more time there... much more time,
then I would work my way up. Slowly, deliberately, adoring your body, so
you would fully understand what I’m doing to you. So you would realize
what you mean to me...”
“Michael...” I whispered, biting on my bottom lips as I felt pulsating
sweetness down my carnal of pleasure.
“By then you would be begging, because I wouldn't stop until you are
begging.”
A whimper escaped my lips.
“Then I would kiss you so passionately, pouring my promises into your
mouth while taking yours.”
Now panting heavily, I clamped my thighs together, in a bid to curb the
hunger he’d aroused inside me.
“I would make you moan my name over and over again, my little
woman. With my tongue in your mouth, stroking and fanning your needs.”
He laughed, drawing out a gasp from my throat.
“Then... then what?” I asked, wanting him to continue, to turn me on
until I could take it no more.
“We have less than thirty minutes to get to church. Make it down there
fast.”
“Mr. Adekunle Michael Bankole.”
“Mrs. Martha Adekunle Michael Bankole to be.”
“You are a dangerous man.”
“For you, yes I am.”
“And wicked for doing this to me a few minutes to my wedding.”
“You like this my kind of wickedness.”
“I will not forgive you.”
“You will, when I'm done with you.”
“How do I walk down the aisle with my... my... my inside hot and
pulsating?”
“Your inside hot and pulsating, hmm. I’ll help you take care of it after
the wedding.” Another deliberate, low laughter. “Now, start making your
way down to the church. Don't keep me waiting.”
 “Umm...” I swallowed hard as someone knocked on the door. “Okay, I'll
meet you in church,” I whispered.

Michael

Lucky, my ring-bearer man, tugged gently on the lapel of my white suit,

brushing an imaginary lint and adjusting my pocket square, grinning.
Ready to please me, the young man had jumped on the offer of
presenting the ring that would serve as the evidence of I and Martha’s vow.
“It’s finally happening,” he said, his face cheerful. I was glad he’d let go
of his feelings for my Martha and had concentrated on building himself a
stronger believer and a better man. His pastor had also been giving me
reports of his progress and so far, he was doing great.
“Yes.” Slipping my hand inside my inner pocket, I brought my phones
out and handed them over to Olanrewaju, my Bestman— the busybody
deserved it, then turned to Lucky. “I must thank you for your help.”
“No sir. It’s a privilege to be of help. I can never repay you for all
you’ve done for me.”
Nodding, I grabbed his hand and muttered another thank you. The
young man seemed to be a good guy, dedicated and zealous. With proper
guidance and given the right environment, he could produce amazing
results. I could use him in one of my subsidiaries, or I could train him and
give him a little push so he could float his own company, no matter how
small.
The splendid sound from the pipe organ announcing the commencement
of the wedding, interrupted my thoughts and got me bracing up to meet my
bride.
Turning to face the church entrance, I gasped at the beauty that stood
there.
Martha.
 She was... how does one sum up breathtaking, glamorous, elegant, to
one word? She was dripping radiance and grace.
I guess I wasn’t the only one enchanted by her stunning beauty as her
father began to lead her down the aisle. Her steps in sync with the ‘here
comes the bride’ tone from the church's pipe-organ, emanating a peaceful
assured happiness. The guests had their jaws dropping and I could hear
hushed gasps all over the auditorium.
My heart swelled with pride as her hand left her father’s and she walked
to stand beside me. When she turned her veil covered face towards me, oh,
Jesus! My heart was going to burst into beautiful tiny pieces.
“Dad?” Ola called me. “Everyone is waiting.”
Swallowing the excitement clotting my throat and knotting my stomach,
I lifted her veil and... Jesus... God... I couldn’t get my emotions together.
Turning around, I bent my head as tears trickled down my face.
“Dad, are you okay?” Ola asked as laughter and cheers filled the
auditorium.
“This whole thing didn't seem real until today.”
“Be a man, dad,” he said in his usual care-free way. “You can do this.”
“Of course, I can. Just that I’m overwhelmed. Martha is about to
become my wife.”
“And my mother,” Ola said. “Dad, she's waiting.”
“Yes, yes...” She had her head lowered, her hand resting on the ball of
her gown. Moving closer, I took her hands, and she lifted her tear-stained
face to meet my gaze. “You’re ruining your make up,” I said to her hearing
only.
“It's your fault.” Her face held that baby-like cuteness that always
melted my heart.
Before the priest could object, I pulled Martha into my arms, tightening
my grip around her and was whispering into her ears. “I love you, my little
woman. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, my king, my crown, the owner of my heart.”
“Exchanging the vows won’t take more than twenty minutes. You both
have the rest of your lives to display all the emotions you want,” the priest
said, clearing his throat
“My soft-hearted old man, let’s get this over with,” Martha said.
“Okay, let’s do this.” As I led her to the chancel, a naughty question
popped into my head. “How did you manage to walk down the aisle with
your inside hot and pulsating?”
“I’ll deal with you, Adekunle.”
Oh, I would like that so much.

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 EPILOGUE
Martha

Sitting at the balcony of our Johannesburg mansion— Michael bought it a

week to our wedding for our honeymoon and other purposes, enjoying the
night breeze while still recovering from the wild, demanding, crying,
pleading, fractured in a sweet way creature I could scarcely recognize as
myself a few hours ago, I tried to concentrate on the book I had opened but
failed. I could think only of Michael, of the pleasure he just gave me.
He had seduced me like he said he would, gently, tenderly, and most
beautifully— having been acquainted of the fact that I’d done this only two
miserable times and that it’s been a very, very... very long time. More than
ten years?
“I promise to make it beautiful for us,” he had said. “I will be gentle
with you— will treat you like a virgin because that’s what you are as far as
I'm concerned. My tear-rubber.”
He had entered my tender, hungry, fearful self and it had hurt only very
little. Then he led me into series of first gentle, then more urgent and finally
violent sensations, I had risen and fallen into the deep, sweet hunger of my
first ever climax... wow! And then the piercing, fierce violence of my next,
I was stifling my moan at first, afraid he would find it unattractive.
“Don’t hold back, My little woman,” he had said to me. “Shout as loud
as you want, Ife mi. We are alone in this big house, so sing for me.”
That was when I lost every control and cried out while clinging to him,
weeping and begging him not to stop, like he said I would.
“That’s it little woman, let yourself go for me,” he urged, thrusting,
stroking and stoking. “Sweet little woman.”
“Ewo, Michael,” I clamped the book shut, dropped it on the side stool
and crossed my legs. Relaxing my back on the chair’s backrest, I allowed
myself to bask in the ninth cloud Michael took me to. “Mike, my Yoruba
king, I gbu go m.”
“What does that mean?”
Turning to the sound of his voice, I smiled at him as he walked across
the balcony to stand behind me. Bending forward, he kissed my hair, my
forehead, then my neck.
“So, what does it mean?” He gently pulled my head backward so he
could plant kisses all over my face while his hands stroke my hair. “What
you said...” A kiss here... another there... “I only heard Mike and Yoruba.”
“Oh... goodness...” I moaned. He was igniting fire inside me, “Mike...”
“Mm hm...?” One of his hands had moved from my hair to my neck,
stroking up and down, I let out a whimper as he slipped his hand inside my
nightgown and found my breast. “Beautiful, just perfect,” he said, fondling
and flicking my nipple with his thumb.
“Mike...”
“Tell me what it means.” he kissed my lips. “Tell me, my beautiful,
sweet wife.”
“I gbu go m,” I murmured, thrusting my chest up wanting him not to
stop what he was doing with my breasts. “You’ve killed me.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes.”
“But I've not even started with you.” His hand was moving down... to
my stomach... my belly-button. “Tell me, Ife, was I good?”
“Mm?”
“Our first night, was it everything you've dreamed about?”
I thought I told him... I had sang my satisfaction into his ears, had
writhed with pleasure while he explore my secret places. When he finally
entered me, he had commanded me to look into his eyes and never look
away— a difficult task at that euphoric moment.
“I want you to see what you are doing to me,” he had said. “And what
I'm doing to you.”
He was giving much more than I felt he was taking, even in the heat of
our passion, he was concerned for me. “let me know if you don’t like
anything I doing to you. Tell me and I will stop.” I loved everything.
And now he's asking me if it was everything I dreamed about?
“Adekunle Michael Bankole,” I lifted my hand to touch his face. “You
messed me up in a sweet way.”
 “What does that mean?”
“It means that I will never forget this night.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Maka chi, I swear.”
“Don’t swear, sweet little woman, because there is a lot we've not
explored. Come back to bed let me show you, my love. I want to drink of
your sweetness again.”
“Mike you will get me drunk with pleasure.”
Coming to stand before me, he took my hand and pulled me up. “I like
you drunk with pleasure,” his eyes were dreamy. “The night is still young,
let’s not waste it talking.”
“I would rather have you showing me things than sit here and talk,” I
said, standing on my toes so I could kiss his lips.”
“That’s brilliant. You will not regret this decision because this time I
promise not to be gentle.” He laughed. “I’m just kidding.”
“I’m not delicate, Obi'm. I want you to do anything you have ever
fantasized with me. I'm your wife now.”
“My sweet little Martha,” he groaned, gathering me into his arms.
“Come, I'm becoming impatient.”
I followed him back, allowed him pull my gown off and lay me on the
bed. When he spread my legs and settle to slurp, I knew it’s going to be a
sweet, memorable ever-after journey with this man.

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 AUTHOR'S NOTE
This is one story I never knew I would turn into a full-length novel. But As
soon as I wrote the first word, I couldn't stop. The characters were real in
my head (Still are), and I felt the Holy spirit very close to me each time I
wrote a chapter of it. Writing this story made me appreciate God and the
relationship he wants to have with us. It rebuilt my prayer life and rekindled
my intimacy with Jesus.
It was easy to write Michael's POV because... Well... I was into him. I
fell in love with him instantly. Martha was one hell of a daughter of Zion to
write about; today she had faith, and tomorrow she was battling with
unbelief. But then, we all have a little of Martha in us.
I was comfortable writing these characters as not Angels but as humans
that have sexual urges, desires, attractions, and temptations. In as much as
they were spirit-filled, they were also in love and were bound to lust after
each other.
Finally. Thank you for picking this book. I hope you enjoy this story
and pray that the Holy Spirit ministers to you through it.

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 OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR
Standalone
One More Night.
Paradise.
Many Waters: The Soldier Story Book 1
Anthologies
Be My Val: Vol 2
Healing Hearts and Hurts
Nights At Club Nova
Hell Hath No Fury
Books coming out soon...
Akwaugo
Scented Waters: The Soldiers Story Book 2

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