in Short stories

The Ride of Tears

“Period in 3 days” the Flo app notification beeped as I was about to put away my phone and sleep. “How does time fly so fast”, I thought. it seemed like it was just a few days ago I was writhing in pain from menstrual cramp and just like that, another will soon be here. Not like I was so bothered about the cramp. Ibuprofen isn’t a good idea but it delivers me always from the evil of menstrual cramp. What I am bothered about is the thirst I feel that water can’t quench, it is the illness that drug can’t cure. It is the fire burning under my skirt. I don’t want too much, I just want to be a feast. I wouldn’t mind if it is just the tip nor would I hurt if it doesn’t tarry. I just want to get laid. That shouldn’t be too much to desire, should it?

” If you want it, then go for it,” I thought again. I have to try my luck before my cycle will come. So I cosied into his open arms. My heartbeat quickened as I made to feel the softness of his black beautiful skin. I let myself get drowned in the scent of his body. I could feel the sensational rush all over my nerve endings. It was beginning to get moist down there and I was ready for all the wetness that could be. It has been a while so why not?

Lost in the ecstasy, letting in the warmth of his body, I felt a shovelling push. I jerked backwards, acting like I was surprised. It was the norm every time I try but I wasn’t going to give up so quickly. Perhaps this night, his body might want mine as it should be. I called him softly “Ife mi, I just want us to have fun.” He rambled almost immediately, “you have started o, let me sleep now. I will have to resume early to work tomorrow. If you want me to leave the room, you can tell me.” He rolled and turned his back against me before I could utter a reply.

I wanted to beg, I wanted to plead. I wanted to pay for it if it means I would get it. I felt ashamed and defeated and in the next breath, I felt angry. I wanted to fight, I wanted to scream. I wanted to remind him of how many ovulation days have passed since we got married. I wanted to tell him how I have stopped posting my pictures on social media because every post gets me a “congratulations” comment or an “iya ibeji” title though I am not expecting. I wanted to tell him of the dms advertising baby’s wares I get every other day.

The last time his mother saw my comment on a new mother’s page on Facebook, she had replied my comment with “alakowe, allow people to rejoice with you too. Do quick.” I had told him and he asked me not to pay a mind to it. “Ignore her,” he said without giving much care. I opened my mouth to speak but words failed me. I couldn’t say a word even though my heart was heavy.

I knew he would wake up in the morning, hugging and kissing me like nothing went wrong in the night. I knew at dawn, he would call me sweet names and compliment my look like I wasn’t treated like a piece of shit just the night before and when I bring the issue up? He would say “baby, pray for me. When I have enough money that we don’t have to bother about the future, you will enjoy me. Na you go dey run later”. He would say that so lightly like I worry too much for what isn’t worth it.

My nipples are hard and I could feel my engorged clit with juice all over it. But today isn’t their day. Whatever is hard must get soft on its own. So I moved to my side of the bed. After turning for sometimes, I finally found an escape; sleep.

I woke up late and he was already out of the house. He had left a message for me on WhatsApp. ” Hello beauty, I thought not to disturb your sleep. Have a wonderful day, my chargie.” I hissed. I needed fresh air so I moved outside.

No one can get on my street without going through the untarred wide road just in front of my house. At the end of the road is a T-junction. Iya Amope’s shop is well-centred at this point. Nothing happens on the street that escapes her. If an ant should move, she must have caught the sight, the voices of the mosquitoes can’t miss her ears. Feet drag in and out of her shop almost every minute not only because she is the only one selling daily needs but more because it is like the centre for catching up with issues and things happening on the street. The CNN office of the street so to speak

Iya Amope has two close friends, Iya Lanihun and Iya Alake. Call them the three wise women, the ones who see through everyone. Call them “Atinumoran eke adugbo” and you won’t be wrong. As I looked out on the street, I saw the three wise women, each on a black stool, they were all picking beans from a bowl, removing the chaff and putting in a clean bowl. Their mouths were busier than their hands. I could tell they were more into the talk than the picking of beans.

“God knows whose life they are dissecting today,” I said to myself making to move away before they catch a sight of me. I saw a woman with a baby strapped to her back as I made to look away. She was just a few steps to getting to them so I paused. “E kaaro ma” she greeted them. “Kaaro o” they replied in uniform. “Se orun omo yii daada” Iya Amope said. Her voice was toned like she was talking to someone on the other street. “Eyin omo aye ode ooni ati ke ma pon omo wogowogo” Iya Alake added almost immediately criticizing bitterly the manner the woman has the baby strapped on her back. “Peele omo jare” Iya Lanihun added with a fake look of pity for the child on her face. She sounded like the baby was in great discomfort.

The young woman started throwing shoulders up and down in confusion trying to position the neck of her baby. It didn’t seem to me like anything was wrong with how the baby was behind her. The baby’s neck was well supported with the wrapper and the head didn’t flop backwards as they have implied. The baby was so comfortable and was sleeping so peacefully but trust the wise women to talk, not like they care that much about the baby, it is just a way women of older generation make the younger ones feel like they aren’t as good as them.

“Well, that’s what is good for her. Isn’t she the one that always sleeps at night and leaves her baby to disturb the whole street?” I murmured to myself. I waited for her to get right by me so I can also call out to her to adjust the baby’s head, throw her in more confusion for the culture. As she moved closer, my eyes caught the bags below her eyes. Her face wasn’t familiar but I knew we have a new grandma on the street whose son gave birth. His wife must have been made to come and stay with her mother-in-law as it is the practice with some people.

“Your baby is so beautiful. She is enjoying her sleep. Don’t worry, her head is firmly behind you. You have supported the neck very well.” I said feeling deeply hurt that I had earlier judged her earlier forgetting that a baby isn’t a stereo whose cry volume can be controlled. She looked at me, my eyes were about tearing up, but she smiled. Her smile was bright as she said “thank you” with a cranked yet graceful voice. It is so obvious she is sleep-deprived, although she still has the pregnancy fat, she looked frail. “It seems she hasn’t been sleeping like I assumed, it must be very hard having a baby.” I thought.

“Where are you heading to, I am also going out. Maybe I can take you in my car.” I asked her. I had no plans of going out before then. I was still in my pyjamas and haven’t even brushed my teeth. She looked lost, then she replied in a way that tells she was lying “I am just going to the second street,  don’t worry. Thank you”. She waved me bye like a little girl and moved. I rushed inside, picked my car key without changing my cloth and stormed out. I parked by her side and without saying a word, she hopped in.

10 minutes of driving to no destination in particular because obviously, we both had nowhere to go. I looked through the rear-view mirror and saw tears rolling down her cheeks. It occurred to me she just needed to go out to cry her heart out. At first, I wanted to give her the motivational talk I thought she might need by telling her she is better than me, ” stop crying, at least your husband has been sleeping with you and you have a baby to show for it” but I didn’t as that will be downplaying whatever struggle she was going through. I didn’t bother to pass her the box of tissue right beside me as that will mean interrupting her moment. So I drove on, crying out my heart as she cried hers.

Yesterday, I didn’t wipe a sister’s tears. Yesterday, I didn’t Invalidate a sister’s struggle. Yesterday, I didn’t force a sister to tell her story. Yesterday, I gave a sister a ride to cry her heart.

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17 Comments

  1. 1. So glad this amazing writer is back.
    2. This story is relatable, not exactly how it is written but the hurts and emotions in it.
    Sometimes, we just don’t need anyone to interrupt the tears.
    Sometimes, we just need 1 good comment or a compliment out of so many corrections to show it isn’t that bad.
    Thanks for blessing us with this❤️❤️

  2. No matter the situation of things we should just give thanks to Allah .
    Our faces are different the same way our problems are different .
    Fantastic story

  3. Beautiful! Women are also denied sex, each time we read or hear ear says, we usually hear that of men. The situations are usually portrayed that women deny their husband sex. In actual sense, it is untrue. Women are afraid to share their own sides of the story, why? They won’t be believed because , it’s the men who are usually denied sex. Society has really displaced women.

  4. Wow! Sensational
    If you are not 18+ don’t read 😃😃 is not for small chaid.
    On a street of anywhere in Nigeria found a group of the busybody, they will sha see something to say, they believe they are the only one that can back babies well (awon eke adugbo) the koko is don’t give then a reason to prattle about your affairs. The lady gave her the best compassion. Crying can be contagious for me.

    👍👍👍👍

  5. Really?? 😂😂😂
    This is so beautiful 😍. Like I always say, the beauty of your stories is the relatability, fun and life you infuse in them. This is another beautiful one, it’s a great comeback 👏👏👏👏

  6. “Different strokes from different folks,” they say. We all have our different problems eating us almost up but we must not allow these issues to destroy us. Again, the story brings to the fore the societal view of sex when it comes to women. African women should be at liberty to speak how they feel about “sex”. Very well packaged story despite that the original was lost.

  7. Woooooow 😍😍😍this is perfectly written…wisdom all through the phrases….MashaALLAH ❤️I didn’t want it to end😂😂

  8. A well written and relatable story,Your choice of words were handpicked and I couldn’t be more happier knowing sexual deprivation was pictured in its truest shade.