Dark Clouds 2


Though I was devastated, I did as he asked and took out my baby. I tried to
be strong; we will have other kids soon. I was wrong, very wrong. Two more times I became
pregnant and two times he made me take them out. I killed my babies because my husband
‘wasn’t ready’. I kept hoping that one day, we would be ready. That I would tell me husband
that I was pregnant and he would hoist me in the air, spin me in circles and plant a kiss firmly
on my lips. It never happened. I waited until the stark reality hit me: Rukewe would never be
ready. I steeled myself, wondering how and why Rukewe didn’t want kids. I was confused, I
was pained. I tried to hide my hurt but it was difficult to.
Then Oghene came. I didn’t realize I was pregnant until I was 7 months gone. I hadn’t paid
attention to the signs my body was giving and by the time I did, Oghene was well on his way. I
was overjoyed. I didn’t care what Rukewe had to say; I was going to be a mother. I expected
resistance from Rukewe, giving that he has opposed the other pregnancies. Amazingly he
didn’t. He just shrugged and said we would have to deal with it.
Two months later, I held Oghene in my arms, loving the feel of him against my breast and the
way his little hand flailed while he fed. He was my new best friend and I was already fiercely
in love with him. Amazingly, Rukewe played the part of a doting father. Though he wasn’t
excited about Oghene, he cared for him in every way possible. But soon Oghene left…. Much
too soon. When my handsome young man was 7years, he left me. One sunny afternoon,
Oghene had decided that he wanted to spend the afternoon with his father. He hadn’t ever
asked to do this before. I thought it would be an amazing opportunity for him to bond with his
father and so I couldn’t deny him. So I let him go. Just before he left, he hugged me tightly
and told me I was the best mum in the world. And then he left. That was the last time I saw
him alive. They brought him back to me broken, bruised and empty. My seven year old was
nothing more than a bruised body in my arms. Rukewe had been drinking, and his
carelessness had cost me my joy. The memory of his smile and happy laughter became my
agony. I would never experience it again yet in my mind’s eye I kept seeing him smile, kept
hearing him laugh. For months I wept, I screamed, I cried. It was no use. My Oghene was
gone and he wasn’t coming back.
It’s been two years and just when I thought that I was over losing my son, something
happened. It has nothing to do with me but it wasn’t something I could ignore. Four young
men were brutally murdered in a community nearby. It was a case of mistaken identity but the
manner in which they were murdered was so brutal that I shudder every time I think of it. The
picture of their bodies lying in the mud, not being able to move despite the brutal blows being
dealt to them is something I cannot forget. They reminded me of Oghene, who would have
been nine now. I remember looking at him, his bruised body and the feeling of utter despair
envelope me. I cannot move past it; I don’t think I ever will. It doesn’t help that I blame
Rukewe who is ever absent. Even when he is present physically, it’s like he is miles away or
like he can’t wait to leave my presence. I discovered recently that he had another family. A
wife and three kids. Three kids that look just like him. I feel like there’s a knife in my chest that
twists every time I think of him. He has a family…..he had had them for a while. I was just a
business arrangement between our parents. He carried out the arrangement and business
continued between our fathers, all the while making himself happy outside of our marriage.
He ate his cake and had it. That’s the bitter irony; he is happy and I am empty. How could I
have been so unlucky Boma?! Now I find myself filled with hate; burning so white hot in my
chest. Hate for him and everyone who put me here. I hate my mum for keeping quiet when
she could have spoken up for me, I hate your mum for retreating so deep into her shell that
five years after she’s still shell shocked from your passing. I hate my dad who put me up for a
business transaction shrouded as marriage; like I was no more than a pun…..a means to an
end. Finally Boma, I hate you. I hate you so much Boma. For drinking and driving knowing
how stupid and dangerous it was. I hate you Boma, for not being my friend when I needed
you the most. I hate you so much but soon I will be with you. There’s no other way. There’s
nothing left for me here.
* * *
It had been three days and she hadn’t returned. He wondered at her absence. She had left,
her face strained as she hurried away. He watched her leave, trusting that she would be back.
After all she left her book and a shawl. Surely she would be back to complete her writing.
Three long days and then he started to get worried. He had waited and watched; anticipating
her return but she didn’t come. His eyes roamed over the daily visitors to the cemetery,
looking for the lady with the cherubic face and empty eyes; stifling his disappointment when
he didn’t see her. He found his eye lingering over the spot where she had sat, wondering at
her, wondering at life, wondering if she’ll ever be back.
Overhead the clouds gathered and thunder rumbled like the stomach of a hungry,
malnourished child. He looked up noting that it would soon rain. He looked toward the tomb
stone that held the book and pen the cherubic faced lady had used. If she ever returned, she
wouldn’t like to see that her book was drained by the rain. Besides, he remembered stiffly, he
had lent her the book, she shouldn’t have just left it like that. Rushing over to grab the book
before the rain started in earnest, the last line caught his attention.
“…...I hate you Boma, but soon I will be with you. There’s no other way. There’s nothing left for
me here
He froze, refusing to believe what his mind had put together. He looked at the tombstone. The
name read ‘Oboma Rita Egharevwa. 1983 – 1999’.He shut his eyes as droplets of rain started
to fall on his face, the word of the paper emblazoned boldly in his mind’s eye.
“.…..soon I will be with you……there’s nothing left for me…….”
He knew as surely as he knew that it was raining that he would never see the lady with the
cherubic face and haunted eyes ever again.


2 Comments Add yours

  1. BRYTNEX says:

    awww. I feel sorry for her. Is it the end?

    1. Intoxyka says:

      Yes it is….the piece was written for women who are trapped in selfish marriages and who have no one to speak to….. a brief flash I got and decided to work on.

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