I am Rikimaru; I am Shadow

Writer, Poet, Social Commentator

Love Aids

Have you ever felt like all wasn’t well with the world? I get that feeling sometimes.

It comes in snitches; not too pushy, just slowly, crawling up your spine and then all over you it’s there…; when you want to pray, while you are bathing, when waiting for a cab or even while at work. Something is wrong with the world.

Today is like that. I try my best to say my prayers eat something and make it early to work but I can’t stop the gnawing. It’s in my head, my heart, my thoughts, all at the same time! I can’t stand it. If only I could place my finger on it.

Perhaps its the air; stiff and dry, or the crowd; zombie like as we all speed down the Carter bridge praying we don’t get locked up in the inevitable Lagos go-slows. Oh, maybe it’s the fact that all I have on me is enough to take me to and fro work and then some… maybe a biscuit and bottled water. I still don’t get it.

Everyone looks dazed or perhaps it’s just me? I know I am sick. But of what? Its not headache or fever. I would have known by now. Maybe I’m love sick?

I have never had sex before, at least not until last week. He said he loved me and it would seal our love. I really don’t know what that means but everything is fine. I wonder what that makes us now.

1300hours: all is still not well with the world. I have cleared my desk and having lunch, a snack really. I am restless and I am sad. Yes, I think I realize that now. Was it right for me to do it with Timmy? I wonder if God would forgive me. But I love him and I don’t know if I won’t do it again.

He should have called me by now. I know he will. He always does. Nice, cute and loving Timmy. For us things are perfect. In our world things are always well.

1730hours: standing at Maroko sand-filled, I need to get to Obalende before it’s too dark to get a moderate fare to Ikeja. The crowd is piling and the buses seem to be shying away from the increase. I’m being pushed from left to right, not like I worry because, my phone is in my right hand and all the money I have on me is in my purse in my left hand. My hand bag contains only make-up. What would anyone want with that? I’m slowly beginning to get tired but it doesn’t matter right now… Timmy is calling!

I can’t hear so well, the noise is choking but I get breaks once in a while. He is sobbing. My baby is crying. Why? He doesn’t say. He just keeps saying he is sorry. I don’t understand. Is it another girl? I’ll face her. Perhaps he’s had an accident? But it doesn’t matter to me. I love him. He is not a girl or I would have feared and I am not pregnant. So?

Then I’m reeling, it can’t be. I’m asking him what he just said. My baby is not talking anymore. The phone is dead and on the floor. I don’t care if it’s stolen I really don’t care if I live.

People are around me lifting me, talking to me, asking me, shouting at me. But I can’t hear a thing. All that sticks are the words of my baby, my Timmy; precious jewel and future spouse: ‘Bisi, I am positive!’
I can’t comprehend anymore. Now I know that nothing is wrong with the world. It is me that all is not well with.

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rikimaru@crowdkulture.com
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