Donigspain - S01 E82

Story 2 years ago

Donigspain - S01 E82

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 82

Ifeoma stood in front of us,

hands akimbo, with an askance

look. Nkechi on the other hand

seemed to understand the ‘I’m

ready for whatever’ pose of

Ifeoma because she immediately

took her leave.

“Who is she?” I heard Ifeoma ask

while drawing a chair to herself.

“Oh she’s just a friend sha,” I had

replied pretending not to be too

concerned.

“Hmmm, but that’s not what I

heard,” she retorted still giving

me that pry look.

Her last remark sort of came as a

surprise. We’ve barely settled and

gossip has already started flying

even to the extent of reaching

her ears.

“Biko nne, what were you told

and by who?” I asked trying to

get a lead from which source her

information came from and

possibly if I’m to continue with

the ‘beating around the bush’

tactics or just throw in the towel.

“Forget,” she said with a finality

tone.

I hate it when ladies end

discussions with “forget” or “no

problem”. It always leaves me

jittery and wondering what the

person may be planning. So I

always try as much as possible to

keep the conversation alive until

I’m sure to have gained insight

into the person’s thoughts.

“Baby, why are you behaving like

this na? Was I not the person

that brought you here with me?

Would I had brought you along if

anything was going on between

me and her?” I kept patronizing

her emotions until she finally

opened up.

“One girl told me you are with

your girlfriend while I was

dancing,” she had said.

“Who is the girl?” I asked.

“I don’t know her. She told me

and then left,” Ifeoma replied.

It took me quite some minutes to

convince her nothing was going

on between me and Nkechi; and

the truth is that nothing was

actually going on – at least, to me.

We spent the night under the

dim lights stealing touches. It

was indeed a fun night even

though it was the burial wake

keeping of my grandmother. We

later went back home in the early

hours of the next day. Everyone

went to his or her assigned

room just like my mum had

instructed.

The burial was conducted the

next without any hitches. Ifeoma

and I were too busy attending to

guests and making sure

everything went well. Nobody

had time for the other except

whenever our individual

assignment overlapped in space

and time. The family later

converged in the evening and

had a little prayer. All these while

my dad was yet to make a

statement regarding my crazy

act. It still kept me edgy because I

had really wanted to have him

say something.

Early the next day after the burial

I was awoken by little cousin

who told me my mother wanted

to see me. I went to check for

her in her room but was told by

my dad that she was at the back

of the house. I dragged myself to

the back of the house but was

shocked to see my mum and

Ifeoma already seated on a small

wooden bench like two wives

mourning the death of their

husband. The atmosphere

conveyed very deep and serious

conversation.

“Good morning ma,” I greeted

while rubbing sleep off my eyes.

A gesture I employed as a way of

masking the shock.

“Morning, sit down. We need to

talk,” she replied rather coldly.

I took a seat on a block

pavement trying as much as

possible to sit in an opposite

direction to Ifeoma in order to

have an opportunity to

communicate in sign and facial

language if the need arises.

“This is not my first time of

seeing Ifeoma, if I’m correct,” my

mother began while I nodded in

affirmation.

“Good! What I want to know is

what is really going on between

the two of you,” she asked while

raising her head with her gaze

fixed on me. Ifeoma on the other

hand also faced me with a ‘bring

it on’ look as if that was the best

moment of her life.

‘See dis people o! Na me una

wan use shine dis morning?’