Prose || Easy Like Sunday Morning?

Hammock with pillow

 

Kachi was going to be late to church…again. She was always wary of Sundays and it was simply because her twins, her beautiful and intelligent but terribly mischievous four-year old daughters, always made the day such a chore. If someone wasn’t spilling milk on her dress, someone was refusing to brush her teeth, a shoe from a pair couldn’t be found or someone was smearing Ruby Woo on someone’s forehead. Those children clearly didn’t know the current cost of MAC lipsticks!

She always wondered why getting them ready on school days was usually such a breeze compared to Sunday mornings, which were, without question…nightmarish. She really was not a fan of Sundays and today was no different. Unfortunately, Nze, her husband, was away on a business trip for the weekend—not like his presence would’ve made any difference. He was even more hopeless than she was when it came to taming their girls. Those two had him wrapped around their tiny fingers.

That morning, she was at the dining area of their open-plan living room, her daughter Adaora seated before her on a low plastic stool as she redid the twists in her hair. The girl had decided to test the efficiency of a fork as a comb because her sister, Adaeze, who was the more mischievous of the two, had told her she could. The other twin in question watched a cartoon whose name Kachi didn’t know, while her mother fixed her sister’s hair.

“Benedicta,” Kachi called her live-in maid.

“Ma?” her maid replied from the kitchen before coming to her. The girl’s face permanently had the look of someone who was expectant—wide eyes, raised eyebrows and pursed lips.

“Please start putting the things in the car. I’ll soon be done with this madam’s hair.”

“OK ma.”

“Take the key,” Kachi told her, pointing to the car key on the dining table. “Don’t forget the cake. It’s on the microwave.”

“Yes ma,” Benedicta replied as she picked up the key.

At the sound of the word ‘cake’, Adaeze came alive. She turned around to look at her mother. Continue reading “Prose || Easy Like Sunday Morning?”

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Prose || What Pastor Kayode Said

I can’t do this anymore, I think to myself as I lean against the bathroom sink. This time I actually vomited. That has never happened before. I turn on the tap to rinse my mouth with water as I hate the taste of the mouthwash.

Spearmint.

After I’m done, I look in the mirror. My nose is running and my puffy eyes are watering—effects of the nausea. I want to speak to someone but I don’t think I would know what to say if I ever have the chance. How would it sound after the words escaped my lips?

One night, I threw up after my husband made love to me. Every time we make love I always come close to vomiting, but on that day I actually did.

Seems incredible doesn’t it? Who would be able to explain such an occurrence to me? I’ve thought so many times about leaving him. I feel terrible just thinking it and I can already hear the surprised voices of my friends and family if I do decide to follow through.

“But Jake dotes on you,” they would say. “He treats you like an egg!” Continue reading “Prose || What Pastor Kayode Said”