I told myself I wanted a man, I prayed, I fasted. Sowed seeds, first fruit, second fruit, I might have even offered the entire tree and so, men began to scout for me,
they would cue during phone calls, a couple would cue for who brings me lunch, the others would cue, argue and try to jump the cue, just so they would take me home from work.
One of those days, I realized my tires were frequently kissing the soil on flat stomach, same profuse occurrence that warranted me to accommodate a weird suggestion that, the durability of my car were frequently being sabotaged.
I became a celebrity, “Nwa chi na emere” (one favored by God), choice became my substance, I was drinking of my decisions with no prompt consequence, I was feeding off my looks and smiles, as looking good kept me visiting the market more often. My weekends were blustered of cause, I had travels coming with gifts, excitements sneaking in and out of my bosom, at last, I am the world’s greatest and the most prayerful, and the most patient and also the one lady of life reaping through her prayers and sacrifices, at least that’s how I felt.
Gold and silver, I had all but more with the gift of wisdom and smart moves. I had everything covered in the canopy of an unmerited grace, one that I vehemently deserved.
Long on, as the good times continued to evolve, people around me suddenly began to remember their surnames, my ministry gradually began to decapitate the headers, as if it needed to be refurbished, but it’s new, compared to how much sacrifice blown on this project, “maka gini?” I quickly took my eyes off the horse and focused on the camel, I will walk slow and carry more.
Days went by,
the rains came, feed, blessed, cursed and left.
The sun came, blazed, raised, burnt, and even went ahead to cook for who was coming next.
I woke up one morning to prepare for work, only to realize the one white horse had left the ranch,
I didn’t believe, perhaps the horse had gone for a drink and would be back, only for me to arrive my work place on the back of a brown one.
My call logs began to lack of missed calls, my talking ratio reduced, the apology basket at the corner of my desk, one that I normally used to pile up my “shakara, agbo bia” started starving, I batteries were now lasting longer than usual, my quiet time increased for no public reason, as If that wasn’t enough, my collages began to refer to me as boss and you know, “onye buru ebu e we gi enyi”.
I was only being a lady, who won the best of attention, I haven’t done anything wrong, the exact lines I told myself, while eating lunch with a man in a cheesiness restaurant close to my work place. That was the exact lines I used over the phone, for my co-usher in church, who called in to know my whereabouts.
“a ga ma egbu o wem?” (Will I kill myself?) I am a fine girl, “Nwa chinemere” (God’s favorite).
My fame continued to drop, soon it was now looking like I wasn’t doing good music anymore, or perhaps, my fashion sense had suddenly being outdated or perhaps, the whole of me was no longer good enough for the men, who once loved my soap operas, at this time, years had gone by, time had gotten for me, a Rolex.