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Posts tagged “Mary J Blige

The Seven-Year Orgasm II

 

Click here to read The Seven-Year Orgasm I

 

 

 

Their colleagues were completely blown over by the Tiwa who came back from Abuja.  But the bigger surprise was Segun whose life became a mantra consisting two words.

 

Work. Tiwa.

 

It was all their colleagues could do not to allow their mouths drop open in the banking hall as they averted the sparks flying between the two. They did try to keep it on the low; banking policies being what they are – but they couldn’t help themselves sometimes.

 

When Segun took Tiwa to his parents his daddy hugged her tightly and said; with tears in his eyes, Welcome home my daughter.

 

Segun’s mum, however was less welcoming.

 

As soon as things calmed down a bit she took her son to her room, sat him down and bared her breasts.

 

Segun; she asked the confused man, are you sure you suckled these breasts?

 

Yes ma, Segun answered. What are you doing?

 

Then don’t marry that woman. I beg of you – don’t marry her.

 

Segun became even more confused. What do you mean ma?

 

His mother went silent.

 

In a daze, Segun walked past his father who was entertaining Tiwa with bawdy jokes and out of the house. Probably to see his friends in the neighborhood, his father told Tiwa when she asked where her boyfriend was going. He grew up in this neighborhood after all.

 

Segun’s mum came out of her room and joined the discussion, smile on her face looking as though she was auditioning for a Close-Up commercial. The conversation went on, and Segun was forgotten.

 

 

A loud scream brought the Adeyemis and their visitor to their feet. The man scrambled outside rapidly, followed closely by his wife and then Tiwa.

 

Adeyemi senior almost collided with the security guard who was wailing and trying to talk and waving his arms all at once. Impatiently the older man shoved him aside and ran through the open gate and into the street outside.

 

It was the red.

 

There was so much blood the honorable Engineer Deacon Femi Adeyemi thought he was standing, looking over a Sea of Red. And then, slowly, as though listening to music through earphones whose wires had cut internally, all the sound faded into the background as his sight zeroed in on the body lying in the centre of the Sea.

 

It was Segun.

 

A thin, keening sound cut through the air with the shrillness of a virgin fire alarm. The honorable Deacon didn’t hear the scream; standing calmly as he was, Blackberry Z10 firm in his hand like it was a General’s staff of office. His wife and ‘almost’ daughter-in-law were kneeling beside Segun, the former’s dry lace boubou becoming red within instants of his head touching her thighs. The gates of their house were thrown open and the deacon’s Benz came screeching out, driver at the wheel. Gently but swiftly Segun was placed in the backseat, head cradled by his father and the car zoomed off, leaving his mother and Tiwa covered in dust.

 

The older woman looked at the younger one, fear, hatred and condemnation in her eyes.

 

And then, without a word, she turned on her heel, entered the door of the second vehicle the gateman held open for her. The car sped off.

 

The left corner of Tiwa’s mouth twitched. It would seem, to any close observer, that all sorts of light went off in her eyes. But the ‘close observer’ would shake his head, and look again and see nothing but an incredibly attractive girl with tears streaking down her face, worry for her lover lining her features.

 

It wasn’t a movie after all. Eyes don’t ‘gleam’. Not in real life anyways.

 

So the observer would watch as she got into her own vehicle and sped after the departing vehicles.

 

 

A hundred and twenty-one days later, Tiwa became Mrs. Adeyemi Junior officially.

 

It was quite the affair – the entire wedding deserved its own edition of ThisDay Style. The geles and the caps were such that people could get free Wi-Fi on their devices.  The geles particularly were spectacular – multicolored plumes nodding this way and that, bowing majestically like a flock of giraffes heading to graze. All sorts of glitter and bling blinded people who were unfortunate to have left their shades at home; glimmer from jewelry riding on sausage-roll thick fingers and elephantiasis necks – jewelry almost lost in valleys of death; also referred to as ‘the cleavage’.

 

There was nothing lawfully edible that wasn’t available…there was too much to eat and drink.

 

In short, it was an event.

 

The best part was when the bride and groom came out to dance. Segun, a small scar marring the perfect symmetry of his face, beamed proudly as he handed his wife down from their seats on the ‘high table’. Then the band kicked in high gear and the gentle opening strings of D’Banj’s ‘Fall In Love’ tugged the strings of many a shriveled heart; nudging a lot of feelings and emotions to life.

 

The couple started to move.

 

It was hard; watching that evening, to think that union was borne of anything but love. Pure and innocent.

 

They were like water flowing from a bottle into a cup; taking to each other’s movements as naturally as a child takes to breastfeeding.

 

At some point, Nature itself held its breath to watch, setting sun casting a soft ambience over the couple. Some other couples looked at each other, memories long buried underneath piles and piles of paperwork, bottles of alcohol and human bodies resurfacing. Several women clutched at perfumed bosoms, mascara running from tear-streaks and whispered prayers. Others looked at the bride and wondered if she deserved to be so lucky. Others still…

 

After a lifetime of ten minutes approximately, Tiwa collapsed in her husband’s arms, splendid chest heaving, trembling lips surrounding to his in unbridled passion. The guests, who passions had been stirred, stood up and roared in applause.

 

And at that moment, two hearts broke.

 

Two hearts as far apart as the ages of the people they belonged to.

 

The oldest heart belonged to the groom’s mother, sitting on her esteemed seat, softly touching her eyes with her white handkerchief cleaning what people wrong assumed were tears of joy.

 

The other heart belonged to someone who had known Segun for almost as long as he’d known himself, someone who cared for him almost more than was humanly right. Someone who had carried a torch for him in her heart for over twelve years.

 

Hauwa.

 

 

 

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