I’ve always been afraid to love, afraid to give my heart to a person other than Jesus. I’ve always been afraid to let someone, a flawed being just like me, into my emotional life. I’ve always been afraid to give the steer to somebody, that maybe I’ll call my lover, to control my world. To make me smile at peebles by on the roadside, cry on the reality being awarded two confident blue ticks, laugh at the silliest of jokes provided that the words emanated from her mouth and to frown at the tiniest of provocation. However, she managed to change my heart and made me believe in true love laced with a dark trace of lust. But now I’m in trouble because _She Is Pregnant_.
She came into my life unexpectedly. I would like to describe the unexpected way she came into my life as a pop up notification, in a slay Queen’s Infinix mobile phone, that the data bundles are insufficient for her to post her latest picture. The picture that makes her look more of a Anti – Rickets brand ambassador from the way the legs are bent. She came into my life when I had never heard about anything to do with love. I viewed love as a thing of the birds since they flew together over the hills and far away and sometimes they wouldn’t mind making love on a frail branch in the glaring sun.I was a virgin. Not by the virtue of not engaging in a flesh exchange program with anyone , but by the fact that I hadn’t experienced love. My heart hadn’t felt the warmth that people in love have whenever thinking of their loved ones. But she broke my virginity, a thing I was happy about until I realized that _She Is Pregnant_.
The evening was surreal when she walked into my life. I was having a peptic upset and was seated beside a street in town holding my intestines with one hand while the other helped me lean on a painted wall. I was literally screaming of the deep pain I felt inside my small intestines by the facial expressions I showcased to the world. Many people never bothered to inquire the state of my situation. Most walked past me like I was some old excrement whose smell does not sting and so they end up even not noticing it. A few showed concern and for a moment I was tempted to believe in humanity but I was wrong. All they could offer were glances that seemed to say _Sorry you’ll be well soon. I wish I could help you but I have something urgent to do. So urgent than your aching stomach. Don’t worry though you won’t die_ and they walked away. I remember there was this Indian child who looked at me with such pity that I almost cried. Not because of the pain but because the child felt pity for me that she almost cried. I wanted to cry for her. Just when I was about to give up and throw my ailing body to the road to an oncoming truck, she came to my rescue.
“Hey, What’s the problem… your stomach??.. _Aki pole_lemme call a taxi… ”
She took me to hospital. She never knew that I had the ugliest name on earth . She never knew whether I believed in traveling light of the gospel or not . She never knew whether I liked gays or not now that they marry in the US . She never knew whether I liked Polygamy or not now that it’s legal. She never knew whether I was on instagram and wasted data bundles double tapping on twerk videos or not . She knew nothing about me save for the fact that I was just another guy who had a peptic upset in the mid of a busy street. Yet she took me to hospital and took care of me until the butterflies in my stomach began to dance as they used to. When I could fully differentiate between doctors and nurses for when I was I was admitted I couldn’t tell, I saw her. What my eyes saw seemed like I was in those bad dreams sent by barren ancestors to motivate me to get babies and make up for the children they never had.
She was the most beautiful thing my eyes had seen. As she waved her hand on my face, my hands were itching to fill the spaces between her fingers. When she smiled it had a magical effect on me that I forgot everything about my stomach. I smiled and blushed like a premature teen. If my being in hospital meant that I had her smile every day, I was ready to lie in the hospital bed for a century. Her voice was sweet and every time she spoke I couldn’t help but wish I could have a recording of her screaming. That recording of hers I would listen on it on repeat mode the way some guys listen to some crazy noises they call EDM. Does it matter anyway, her beauty and all now that _She Is Pregnant_?
I never stayed in the hospital for a century. So as soon as fate had it, I was separated from her beautiful smile. I knew that sooner I would find myself in the same scene acting out the same script hoping that the characters don’t change now that luck was the scriptwriter. Before doing that, I tried waiting for long hours in the street for many days praying that she walks the same path and I see her. It never happened for two weeks and when I gave up and decided to go to a club to soak my sorrows in a drink is when I met her. She was a waitress cum stripper at the club. When she saw me her eyes bulged out with love. She told me to wait for her until her duty ended so that I took her to my house for we had a lot to talk about. We had a lot to talk about. I never sipped a drop of alcohol into my blood that night and instead had my eyes transfixed at the plain face of a watch. Time was not moving. The things people do in the name of love.
As she had earlier stated, we had a lot to talk about. That night we talked and talked and talked. It all started with serious talks, the formal introductions until laughter pierced the air of formality. We began telling jokes while touching each others head and hands. The hand as an organ is never satisfied with touching the head and hands while there are more interesting parts. So our hands began the exploration expedition followed by our hearts professing immeasurable love for each other. My bed sitter became obviously too hot to contain to human beings with clothes. Off we rid the clothes and before I knew it she was screaming at the heat of the thing and just quickly morning came. We exchanged numbers and began a relationship.
Now I’m in the same street, the street where my intestines misbehaved and she came to my help. I’m neither waiting for her nor for another terrible peptic upset but I’m just from picking up her call. The shortest call in the history of our relationship. It was the shortest because she called to say _She Is Pregnant_. I don’t know what to do. Not because I’m afraid of making my barren ancestors proud by being a dad. This is the bit that troubled me:She works in a club. A waitress and a stripper. Is it possible that I am the only one she has let between her legs. I’m I really the father of the mass of cells that grows in her stomach?
Friends _She Is Pregnant_.