I remember vividly that cool evening, one of those days I was off work and hurried to savour the familiar scent of that big old bungalow I have always known as ‘Home’. I embraced mum with much enthusiasm washing off that suffocating feeling of home sickness. We sat on the large lofty bed in my parents room watching pictures from an old album. We joked about past memories laughing off the nostalgia.
Mum flipped the next page and our eyes fell on a black and white picture my parents took on their wedding day. Those days when grooms wore bushy afros and the wedding gowns were weird looking. “Gosh! Mum you must have been so young”, I gushed as we both laughed. Mum caressed the picture smiling sadly. She struggled as she said the words amidst tears,”
Ikenna, your father has another woman now”. I blinked severally more out of guilt than shock. I discovered earlier but hid it from her fearing the news would break her. I was wrong…she was already a broken woman.
I always tried to imagine my dad’s mistress in my mind. Perhaps she was light skinned, curvy and sophisticated like my fiancée. I met Ije on one of my business trips with dad. She was his friend’s daughter. I loved her so much and prayed our affection won’t be suddenly washed down the drain by a random third party. My mother; a typical African woman, whose skin were rounded with fat from the wears and tears of pregnancy and lactation. She had little experience with bleaching creams, makeup, perfume and enticing dresses. Total submission and good food were the only paths she knew lead to a man’s heart. “Nnaanyi (our father), My husband, Papa Ikenna” were the only names she used to patronize dad. She was certainly not familiar with the wild wind romance of this new age. She stood little or no chance competing with this mystery lover over my dad(her own husband). We had both thought it was a mere wimp of lust that would slowly fade away. When I stumbled on some divorce papers in my parents bedside drawer I knew all hope was lost; though he never got a chance to give this a finality.
Now, I stand in front of his grave with a crushing pain in my heart. For, I knew he was far beneath the appealing words of tribute read about him. I always wondered if his strict and stern discipline was really out of good parentage or guilt and fear of me strolling his path. My thoughts were interrupted by Ije’s smoothing hands on my shoulders. “Sweet, let’s go home”, she said. I nodded quickly wiping off the tears struggling to escape my eyes. As we walked to the car, someone suddenly called from behind ” Linda Mbanugo”. I froze at the mention of that familiar name; the name of my father’s mystery lover. I was more perplexed when my fiancée turned around in shock. I slowly but dreadfully connected the dots.
The End!
