Good Riddance

I got into my marital chamber that cold Friday night and my gaze fell upon my husband's lifeless form on the cold tiled floor, his body starkly contrasting with the warmth that once radiated from him. His eyes, once bright and full of vitality, now gazed at me with a mixture of disdain, disgust, and indignation, their judgmental stare too heavy for me to bear. My gaze shifted to the bare, satin-white wall, its emptiness a welcome respite from the turmoil that lay before me. Though he was my lover, partner, and companion, his death brought me a strange sense of liberation, a feeling that had eluded me during his lifetime. I felt an inexplicable urge to lie beside him once more, to envelop his cold body in my arms and shut his eyes, shielding them from the world's cruelty. But he was gone, and with him, the opportunity to show him the midnight gray contact lenses I had just acquired from the clinic to correct my shortsightedness. At that moment, tears of joy streamed down my face, washing away the cheap foundation that masked my bare skin. Caroline's anguished sobs echoed through the room as she collapsed to her knees, her apologies for taking my husband's life tumbled out in a despairing chant. "I am so sorry Gina... I am so sorry... I can explain" For a moment, I forgot she was standing in my matrimonial room, her hands and yellow T-shirt smeared with the evidence of her transgression, her body trembling in shock. Her tears flow unchecked, mingling with regret and the dread of a lifetime behind bars. Interpreting my own tears as grief, shame overwhelmed her. But I bent down, grasping her jaw to lift her gaze to mine, and she saw the eternal gratitude shining in my eyes. "Caroline, it's fine,"I whispered, my voice a gentle breeze on a summer's day. "You have done me a kindness, a favor for which I will be eternally grateful. Let's just find a way to clean up this mess." But Caroline's eyes, wide with disbelief, told me she thought me mad, driven to insanity by the trauma of it all. And so I rose, my movements slow and deliberate, clutching my waist as a groan escaped my lips. I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand, summoning the courage to finally approach my husband's body and close his eyes. "Rest in Peace, Peter," I murmured, the words feeling hollow even as they left my lips. As I stood upright, I felt a faint flutter in my womb, a gentle reminder of the life growing within me. "The little one is kicking," I exclaimed, my voice barely above a whisper. Caroline's eyes widened in alarm as she rushed towards me, her bloodstained hands forgotten in her haste. "Are you okay? Is the baby coming?" she asked, her palms grasping my shoulders as if to will me into action. But I shook my head, my body sinking into the black sofa as if the weight of our secrets was too much to bear. "We need to clean this mess now," I repeated, my voice firm despite the turmoil within me. The irony was not lost on me - Caroline, who had just taken the life of my husband, was now ready to rush me to the hospital to bring my child into the world, a child whose father she had just murdered in cold blood. ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The year Buhari was elected President of Nigeria was the year I met my husband. He was a man whose countenance was as pleasing as his words were laced with venom. His discontent with the election outcome was a palpable thing, a living, breathing entity that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. That same year was the year I was writing my thesis for my bachelor's degree at the University of Lagos. On that fateful Tuesday morning, I had an appointment with my supervisor, a man tasked with the duty of guiding me through the treacherous waters of academia. I wore a dress as black as the night sky, my face bare save for the lip balm that glistened on my lips like a promise of better things to come. As I entered the office, I was enveloped by the fervent discussion between two men, their words hanging in the air like the sweet scent of a frangipani tree. "Just take a seat somewhere there," Dr Mark, my supervisor instructed me, pointing to a corner, and I was grateful for that. The conversation was quite an insightful one, and I would be damned if I had to wait outside the office and miss it. "Nigerians are so gullible! How can they vote for a man who was a brutal dictator and authoritarian while he was a military head of state in 1983?" The gentleman who became my husband questioned. His skin, as black as the underbelly of my mother’s pot, still shone without the sun’s aid and his hands gesticulating to buttress his point only revealed his perfectly manicured fingers. "Well, he was a military man. Force is the language of the Militants, but let's be realistic, Buhari was all about justice. He didn't do what he wasn't meant to do. He introduced the War against Indiscipline act so that corrupt public holders were arrested, tried and convicted. He also tried to eradicate drug trafficking! I know he was a bit tough then, but he was a military man! This is different now. This is a democratic system, and I'm sure we can use some of his rigidness to reconstruct Nigeria and rescue her from the claws of terrorists and the ruling party. He has assured us during his campaign that he will uphold the rule of law!” the other gentleman refuted, and I smiled in solidarity. But Peter's rebuttal was fierce, pointing out Buhari's history of suppressing the media and his disregard for human rights. The atmosphere grew tense, and Dr. Mark intervened with a bad joke, breaking the tension. "Excuse me, gentlemen, let me address my student for a minute" he said and turned towards me. "Regina, I'm sorry I've kept you waiting for so long. Your literature review is still very sketchy and deprived of substantial and relevant literature. I'm giving you three days to do that and get back to me. See me on Friday by 4 pm, okay?" he instructed. "Yes sir, Thank you" I responded, and just as I turned my back to leave, Peter decided to question me. "So, young lady, before you leave, I have a question for you. Can I go ahead?" he asked with a smirk on his face. I nodded in approval. "Did you vote for Buhari?" "No, I didn't." I responded while trying hard to ignore the luster in his eyes that made me covet after him. "So who did you vote for? Jonathan?" He asked almost immediately. “I didn’t vote at all” I responded. "Youths and apathy! This is why the country never gets better. Why wouldn't you exercise your civic duty?" He quizzed, his eyes blazing with intensity. "Peter! Please leave my student alone oh! Regina, you can take your leave", my supervisor stood up for me, while chuckling apprehensively. Without thinking twice, I dashed out of the office, fascinated by this young man who was so politically inclined... and with a haunting feeling that I had just encountered someone who would alter the course of my life forever.