THE BEGINNING OF EVERYTHING COLOURFUL by ONYEKA NWELUE

Most people are very comfortable sharing embarrassing secrets and painful memories with strangers. Most times, this is because they know they will likely never see these people again, and a stranger is less likely to pass judgement. That is the case of the two protagonist narrators in ‘The Beginning of Everything Colourful’.

The first narrator is a Mexican musician who hates the Spanish, and the other is a Japanese businessman who hates the Chinese. They meet at the waiting lounge in Doha International Airport, both waiting for a connecting flight to Tokyo. The two men decide to share intimate details of their lives. 

The Japanese own a flourishing restaurant in Lagos, but he is weighted down with family problems. He thinks his wife is considering infidelity, his son’s sexuality, obsession with 50 Cents, and his running around the streets of Lagos with a dangerous crowd is a problem. His daughter, Aiko, likes black men too much, and he is sure his family prefers his absence.

The Mexican musician, on the other hand, has lived many lives. He had a dysfunctional childhood, where his father cheated on his mother with a family friend. His parents divorced, and this resulted in a lack of parental care. He ran away with a Catholic nun, and also married his mother’s friend who became an alcoholic. She conspired with his sister, also an alcoholic, to commit him to a mental hospital. In Tel Aviv, he had to swim across a river butt naked to avoid deportation. These different experiences have left him with a mental health disorder and a restless search for inner peace.

Nwelue spins a good tale, taking the reader through different stories and cities; Paris, New York, New Delhi, Lagos, Tel Aviv and down to Tokyo. Nwelue gives a good description of his characters and translates their emotions appropriately through the use of multiple narrators. The reader may not feel a deep emotional connection to the characters because of the cerebral writing style. Both the Mexican and the Japanese take turns as first-person narrators, and an omniscient narrator pops up from time to time to shed more light on particular events. The lack of sequence in which the first narrator tells his stories may pose a problem to the reader.

The plot consists of two strangers spilling their guts in a monologue-style conversation. The theme involves everything from; race, religion, culture, politics, parenting, sibling rivalry, etc. The author writes the book in accented English (Spanglish and ‘Japalish’), the use of these accents in the telling of the story, although quite creative, had a few inconsistencies which may also pose a problem of comprehension to readers.

The author makes a cameo appearance at the Doha International Airport, and onboard the flight to Tokyo, where he introduces one of his other books ‘The Abyssinian Boy’ to his seatmate. This scene was an unnecessary part of the story, and the author should probably have left it out.

This book may not be a favourite among readers. It is different and intriguing, but if you can get past the initial confusion with the accents, you may find it quite enjoyable.

Rated 6/10

TWISTED

The meeting

I sat on the floor, in a corner of the room, naked in a pool of blood shivering, and sobbing those heart wrenching sobs that although inaudible almost threaten to take the sheer essence of your life. The only man I have ever loved, the only one that had ever truly loved me lay dead a few feet away from me a kitchen knife pierced to his side.

Anita still couldn't believe what had happened. Her Tunde was lying dead on the floor, it wasn't up to an hour ago that he told her he loved her, and that was the first time he had said it over their two year relationship. Her mind was still trying to process the information that this magnificent male specimen all 6 ft 5" of him was in love with her, and had just popped the question she had wished to hear from the first day she met him.

The day I met him, it was at the airport on my way from Port Harcourt to Abuja. I was sitting at the waiting lounge, my flight had been delayed for four hours, I was sitting down there angry and hungry with a book in my hand, but I could barely get past the first page. I closed my eyes and opened them at intervals impatiently awaiting the announcement of my flight. During one of the many intervals when I opened my eyes, I was looking directly at this Adonis. He was trying to get through security at the entrance of the waiting lounge. I stared at him from that moment till he got through the door, took a seat opposite me and concentrated on a newspaper. I stared at him until my flight was announced thirty minutes later. I was so sorry to leave.

 Anita couldn't stop thinking about him all through the fifty minutes flight. He wore a brown blazer casually thrown over a white shirt, tucked into blue jeans and held together with a brown belt; he finished off the look with a pair of lovely brown loafers. She loved a man who knew how to dress his body, and there was no doubt this one sure knew how. She could picture them together, no, scratch that! She’d pictured them together in every single position from the moment she saw him at the door, she saw them at the cinema, having lunch, and sharing bodily fluid. It was love at first sight. Love, that word again.

I was in love with the handsome stranger, and that gave me the creeps, the last time I was in love with someone we both ended up at the hospital, he in intensive care and me for psychoanalysis.

****

Anita had been seeing Peter for a while; he was kind, supportive and understanding. He was the kind of man every woman wished for, reliable. He was always there whenever she needed him, he told her he loved her, and she believed him. Everything he did was proof of his love.

He understood me from the first moment we met; he knew I had deep trust issues. I would snoop through his phone, e-mail, Facebook inbox messages; I would even stalk him on twitter. Everything usually checks out, there was never anything out of place. The first time he caught me going through his text messages, he was so angry that I had invaded his privacy; however, from then on, I had free rein on his ‘privacy’. I would ask questions that could only be as a result of snooping, and he would laugh, and say, 

“Snooping again, are we?”

It used to make her laugh when Peter called her “Sherlock Holmes”, he would tease her about wasting her detective skills on him, and she usually responded by saying, ‘Fortunately for me, you are as clean as a whistle’. So, it came to Anita as an utter shock one beautiful Saturday morning when Peter walked in looking as though someone had just died. He sat on her couch, she immediately rushed to his side, wondering what could be wrong.

‘You know I love you, right?’

‘Of course baby, I know you love me’

What was wrong, where was he going with this. When he finally spoke up, I was shocked, to say the least. He told me he was getting married in two weeks, I believe he said some other things after that, which might have been an explanation or maybe not, the truth was all I heard was his getting married in two weeks.

Anita could still feel the goosebumps on her skin from Peter’s betrayal, how do you tell someone you love them and that you were getting married to someone else all in one breath? The events of the weeks that followed were still a blur in her mind. 

 They told me that I ran him over with my car the week before his wedding. I was taken into police custody for a few weeks when the police couldn't get any word out of me, I was taken to a specialist hospital for psychiatric evaluation.

****

Fifty minutes later, her flight had arrived Abuja and she was waiting for her luggage at the baggage claim area. The arrival of another plane was announced; she decided to pay attention to the entrance just in case “Idris Elba” was on that flight. 

He strode through the entrance as though he owned the entire airport, there was something about him, an aura of entitlement, it wasn't quite arrogance, but it was a confidence that almost seemed as if it was overstepping its boundaries. I realized that I could actually stare at him all day without getting tired.

Her luggage arrived but instead of leaving she decided she couldn't wait for fate to bring them together, she had to do something. She took a few short steps into the arrival lounge, took a seat and waited patiently.

For the third time that day, I watched him walking into a room, I took a quick glance at myself. I had on a dark blue tiny outfit that was a cross between a blouse and a dress; usually, because it was too long to be called a top and too short to be a proper dress. My tiny braids were held in a bun on top of my head. I was wearing very little jewellery; tiny studded earrings, a dress chain with a round pendant, it had a butterfly on one side, and the words “Quantum Science, hope for the children” on the other side. , the only make-up I had on my face was lip-gloss, my beautiful full legs were on display for all to see my feet were covered in sequined silver-coloured ballet flats. I am beautiful there was no doubt about it, I have been told severally that my smile could light up a room, I thought to myself that it wouldn't be a bad idea to test just how true that statement was.   

‘Excuse me, do you have a car waiting for you?’ he turned at the sound of my voice,

‘Erm, not really… you?’ that was said as an afterthought, he probably didn't want to seem rude by ending the conversation abruptly.

Anita responded that she also didn't have a car waiting for her; they decided to share a ride into town, as it happened they were both staying at Wuse II. They sat quietly throughout the drive, just as he was about to alight in front of a two-storey building on Aminu Kano crescent, he stretched out his hands for a handshake,

‘The name is Tunde Ayoola, sorry I wasn't such a good company, I have a lot on my mind. May I have your mobile no?’

‘Anita Esaro, and you weren't a bad company, I loved the silence.’ They exchanged numbers; by the time the cab got to her street, there was a satisfied smirk on her face.

DAWO (DREAM)

“Those heart hammering nightmares that start to lose coherence even as you are waking up from them, but that still manage to leave their mouldering fingerprints all across your day” Mike Carey

                                                                                 ***

Shekira stop!   Shekira stop!!  Shekira stop!!!

Was that her name or a chant, she couldn't tell. She was running, running like her life depended on it, and at that moment it did.

Things got serious so fast she couldn't tell the exact moment it happened, one minute she had her little nephew Dagogo on her laps listening to his ridiculous tales from school, the next minute she was crying over a broken bottle of perfume, and the very next minute she was in the race of her life.

Shekira!  His voice again. Was that actually her name? She kept running, three blocks ahead she saw a lady seated on a bench between two houses, and somehow although she wasn't close enough she saw that the numbers were 87 and 89. How she spotted the numbers was nothing short of a miracle because the street was unusually dark, and everything seemed surreal at that moment.

She ran to the woman who sat between 87 and 89, sat on the bench with her and tried to catch her breath, in a flash the young man who was after her in hot pursuit; the same one who had been screaming the name, he also stopped. He gave her the briefest of glances, and immediately walked past her into 89, when he came out he was accompanied by a fierce looking cutlass, from the looks of it, it had recently been sharpened.

A shrill sound so evil pierced the air, it was like nothing she had ever heard; it was a laugh, his laughter. The look on his face was so grotesque, it could only be described as “pure evil”, and as she looked closely into his face she could also dictate a smirk of satisfaction.  She took in the rest of his diminutive frame, and half-naked body made decent with briefs that had undoubtedly seen better days.

She sat transfixed as he inched closer, an involuntary move forward brought her leg in contact with an object beneath the bench, and she quickly picked it up and discovered it was a knife.

All the while the fat lady on the bench had a knowing smile on her face.

‘Shekira come to us’ he said with the  cutlass aimed at her heart, she moved suddenly, and he narrowly missed, she tried to fight back with the knife and managed to give him a cut on his hand before she knew what was happening she was ceased in a death grip by the fat lady. Her aggressor repeated the sound he made earlier, even as she struggled against the lady some part of her noted that that was the ugliest laughter she had ever had the misfortune to hear.

Her aggressor, Mr Diminutive frame and ugly laughter, started digging the floor, right in front of 89, she pleaded subtly with the fat lady, ensuring to keep all the fear out of her voice.

“Please Ma let me go, please I beg you in the name of God”

The fat lady gave a laugh that was devoid of any mirth and somehow filled her with more dread than either of the earlier ones had done.

The fat lady said, “My dear girl, this is what I do, I hold the girls while he digs up their graves”

She felt like a cornered animal at that moment, her heart was in her mouth all of a sudden, she struggled with all her might, wriggling from side to side. Like a miracle she found herself free from that vice-like grip of the fat woman, she made a mad dash for the road ahead, after a few blocks she discovered that no one was after her, but she didn't break her run.

Freedom, at last, that was what came to her mind when she saw some other people only a few blocks ahead in the street. It wasn't to be. She realized there was a clay pot in the middle of the street with fire coming out of it and human figures in white and red dancing around it, she could also hear they were singing, but she had never heard any song like it.

She was stuck in that place; between the devil and the deep blue sea. She couldn’t go forward for what seemed like a cultist celebration and behind were people after her life for some unknown reason.

Fortunately, as was the way of humans when stuck in a nightmare they are determined not to endure further, she forced her eyes open.

She was on her bed, and the clock, by her bedside, said she had only been asleep for 3hours.

                                                                       ***

“My sleep wasn’t peaceful, though. I had the sense of emerging from a world of dark, haunted places where I travelled alone” Suzanne Collins

Let's talk about breast

It‘s eleven years today since I lost my Mum and best friend; She was more of a best friend than a mother, not a day goes by that I don’t miss her. It was our routine in the evenings for me to fill her in on how I had spent my day… boys, and all, I terribly miss that.

Some years before she died, we noticed that her breast produced some sort of discharge she had told us, it was because we(my sis and I) refused breast milk, now I know it was a symptom of cancer that was waiting to take her life.

Mum was so stubborn, she refused to go to the hospital to find out what was wrong with her; When she eventually did, she said: "I would rather die if God will not heal me". This put a wedge in our relationship that was hitherto perfect, I told her since she had made up her mind to die, it was better for me to put some distance between us so when she dies I won’t be distraught. I regret that statement and that I actually put some distance between us. Being the angel that she was she would hold on for me before she breathed her last, for that, I am eternally grateful. In moments when I feel as though I have failed woefully at being a loyal daughter, I think of that act, and I know Mum forgave me, I’m still trying to forgive myself though.

In this eleventh year of her death, I’ve decided to talk about that part of her body that she neglected, and I can only hope that you’d pay attention.

Fait attention

You could call them tits; boobs, jugs, oranges, melons, headlamps, knockers, tatas etc. or we could just call them breast. Some men are so fascinated by that supple mass of flesh on the chest of a woman such that, it is arguably the first thing they notice.

Soft, beautiful, bouncy, sensitive, sexy, curvy breasts are something everyone pays attention to men can’t seem to think beyond the pleasure it would give them and most women are far too concerned about the fitting it would give in a dress or how much attention it would attract.

Breast is the cause of many a woman's insecurities; some women are so concerned about the size of their breast that they would go to any length to see it perfect, from temporary approaches of using Wonder bra’s to give an illusion of a fuller breast or a more impressive decolletage  to creams that are supposed to reduce or increase the size of the breast and more permanent measures like breast augmentation, breast implant and breast reduction. Let's just say breasts are getting a lot of attention, but are they getting the requisite attention?

Women need to learn about loving their breast It’s yours' don't be afraid to explore;  know the exact size shape colour, touch it to know how it feels normally stand in front of a mirror, strike up different poses and take a real close look at it, that way even the slightest changes won't escape your notice, if there is something wrong with your breast, you should be the first to know.

There is a couple of problems that affect the breast regular (once a month) Breast Self Examination (BSE) would help you nip any potential problem in the bud.

Breast Self Examination is easy, stand in front of a mirror, raise your right hand above your head with your left fingertips close together, gently massage the sides of your right breast, start outside; inside the armpit, and gently work your way to the nipple, or start from the top (a few inches below your collarbone) and finish off where your breast stops. Lift your left hand above your head and repeat the process for the left breast.

“A breast self-examination is done to detect breast problems, such as a lump or change in appearance, that may indicate breast cancer or other breast conditions that may require medical attention” WebMD

Most changes and lumps in the breast are harmless abnormal growths.

‘Benign breast tumours such as fibroadenomas or intraductal papillomas are abnormal growths, but they are not cancerous and do not spread outside the breast to other organs. They are not life-threatening.

Still, some benign breast conditions are crucial because women with these conditions have a higher risk of developing breast cancer’ (American Cancer Society)

Breast changes may also occur because of pregnancy, menstrual cycle, or birth control pills in younger women, and in older women; ageing and menopause. The point is whenever you notice a change see a Physician because "every woman is at risk of breast cancer and the key to survival is early detection".

Lumpy Battles

You keep coming back
The first time i ever saw you
 I didn’t know who you were 
You came to see mother 
I wish you never came into our lives 
I wish i had never set eyes on you,
She let you dine with her 
And you put her to sleep

You keep coming back
Six times you visited Missy! 
And six times she has said no 
You’ve refused to give up

You keep coming back
What sort of man kills a woman
and courts her daughters 
When you first came to see me,
I thought I did enough to discourage you 
A second visit, and I was sure 
I would never see you again
But here you are

You keep coming back
What did we ever do to deserve you?
You’ve slept with mother already 
So, quit coming back!