Trapped in a Loveless Life.
It's 8:30 a.m., and I'm lying on my back, eyes fixed on the ceiling above. The sun is nearing the end of its slumber, and my stomach growls with hunger.
"When does life even get better?" I mutter under my breath, frustration etched on my face. Three days have passed since I left home, and my mother's words still ring in my ears.
"Cynthia, when are you going to bring a man home?"
"When am I going to carry my grandkids?"
"Age is no longer on your side, do something fast about it before it gets too late."
As I ponder my dilemma, a WhatsApp message pops up on my phone screen.
"Hello fellow alumni, We are excited to share the news that our very own Ekanem Peter and Charles Matt are tying the knot..."
I read as other members of the group congratulate the couple. In order to look like a 29-year-old, single and embittered person, with a tinge of sadness, I send a congratulatory message too, masking my true emotions.
There’s this popular Nigerian slang that says, "Good girl no dey pay" and I couldn’t agree more. Ekanem, who was well known for her past sexual escapades with young corps members back then in school, is getting married to a white man. She got pregnant at 14 and had a series of abortions afterwards, while I, on the other hand, who didn’t know what sex was until I clocked 22. Yet here I was at 29, jobless and living off the little savings I had managed to scrape together over the years, remain single and broke.
Ekanems's wedding announcement was just another slap in the face, reminding me how badly I had fallen behind my peers. She has been the school's bad egg, yet somehow landed a wealthy white husband despite her reckless past. Everyone in school had already concluded how her life was going to end. Probably end up with ritualists or catching HIV at the end of the day. But look at who's having a fairytale wedding despite all the despicable things she has done in the past, while I, on the other hand, am neck deep in misery.
It's 10:45 a.m., and I decide to get out of bed before my hunger becomes unbearable. I head to the kitchen in search of food, but all the pots are as clean and shiny as when the sun fixes its rays on the head of a bald man. I slam the kitchen door with frustration. Everything seems not to be working well with my life. No job, no love life, no kids. How did I end up in this mess?
I had known something was wrong when no boy had asked me out until my second year in the university. There, I met Tunde, who was a final year accounting student. An average looking young man who guarded his Christian life with so much jealousy like a mother hen watching over her chicks. One of the few things that got me attracted to him was his brain, even if he wasn't conventionally handsome, but his brain could be preserved in a fine translucent glass kept in a museum for tourists to come admire its beauty.
But who would have thought Tunde would play his intelligence on me by tricking me into believing that our souls were intertwined and he would never let go of me. Tunde's betrayal still stung sharply after all these years. I had given him everything - my heart, body, money and future plans. Six whole years of my life was washed down the drain. He convincingly portrayed himself as my soulmate, only to discard me callously over a text saying that he can't get married to someone that isn't from his tribe. I wished I had believed the popular talks about some Yoruba men being Yoruba demons.
He was my first and last boyfriend, and ever since we broke up, his deception left me deeply scarred, afraid to open up and trust another man.
As I sit here reminiscing on when everything fell apart, I wonder: are there some fundamental flaws that repelled love, success and happiness from my life while it seemed to flow easily for others?. Or perhaps, my village people drumming over my head.
