Your phone beeps. As your sister, Nneka stretches her hand to pick it, you give her a “if-i-kick-you” look, which makes her withdraw her hand quickly. You have warned everyone in the family not to touch your phone anymore, including mama, after Nneka almost catch you watching porn. You click on the messaging icon and read the message to yourself: Your uncle in the city has gotten you a security job and has sent you come resume the next day. You are happy, you break the news to mama and she dances joyously, “make us proud, Kwame, go make us proud”, she mutters. You hug her and say you will work hard over there in the city so you’ll send her money to buy a Nokia phone. She gives you a warm peck and packs some unripe bananas in your bag. You hurry off the untare road, with your bag at your back. The whole community comes outside to watch as you leave. They are happy one of their own is going to the city to work- some watch, many cry, others smile- they know you are not the one to forget them if the heavens should smile on you.

You arrive Accra in a blue bus, you come down and sniffle at the air- everywhere smells nice. You pick your phone to inform your uncle of your arrival but his number is switched off. You try severally but to no avail.
It gets dark, the city has swallowed its people. You wander around cluelessly. You cannot go back because mama burrows the money that gets you here, you do not even know where the park is. His number isn’t still going through. You’re confused, you want to cry, something tells you to be strong, that you are going to survive the night.
It is past midnight and you know it – the dew has wet the ground and there isn’t a single bird around. You sit by a road side, you are cold, almost freezing, your teeth are gnashing already. You know you’re going to die, in fact, you are already seeing the gates of heaven and imagining a white garment man with wings, stretching a cup of hot tea to you before ushering you in. Abruptly, a brown car parks beside you. Inside is a white young man, he signals and you drag yourself inside. He calls himself Mich and says he is into men. “Abomination!”, you say to yourself. But have no choice, he is your only hope for survival. Moreover, it isn’t strange to you, you’ve watched from two or three men perform sex, severally on your phone.

The Cathedral looks nice; it is bigger than any you’ve ever seen. The previous day as he picks you by the road side, “we’ll go to church tomorrow, the father needs to join us biblically” he says, and you’ve nodded in affirmation, and here you are at the entrance- beautifully decorated with flowers. Mich smiles as you enter. The father is already standing with a bible, waiting. You enter and sit by the alter table. The father starts the admonishment as you two stare at him. As he reads through a biblical passage, your eyes meet with Mich’s. You see him smile and rub his palms together as if to warn you will soon bear lashing from his penis.
You finish from church and go home. As you enter, he plants wet kisses over your face, not minding your already oiled face.
“Follow me” you hear him say.
Without any hesitation, you follow as he leads you through the back door. He stops when he reaches a small rusty door behind the house.
“This is your room”, he says. “This is where you’ll be sleeping, you can only come into the main building if I send for you” he adds, pointing at the little door. You stare at him surprisingly, he caresses your chin briefly and turns to go, leaving you there, standing alone.

He didn’t go to work. He lies when his boss calls him that he isn’t feeling fine and wants to rest. He cuddles around you all day, occasionally going out to receive some calls. When it gets dark, he lifted himself from the couch which you sit and makes for the kitchen. You smile as you watch him sway onto the kitchen. Truth be told, you like him. He takes care of you, and never allow you go through too uch stress, except from the hourse chores of sweeping and washing which you’ve gaken to be a form of early morning exercise, his jollof, beautifully exotic. what more do you want from a man?

Since you marry him, he has never allowed you two sleeps together. He has not even entered your room. He calls it “poo”. Anytime he wants you, he’ll ring the table bell and you will come running like a rabid dog. You’ll meet him unclad and he will naked you. He will rush to the table and scoop a load of Vaseline jelly on his palms and massage his penis until it gets erect like Kilimanjaro. He will then tie your hands to your back and fuck you on the cold terrazzo floor, almost emptying his testicles in your anus. He isn’t like the ones you watch on your phone, no licking, no nuzzling, no moistening and he pours his water into you, the ones you watch on phone never do that, they always shake their water on their partners’ bellies. After what looks like eternity, he will slip out of you and mutter something you never get. You will afterwards stagger uncontrollably around the room before bashing out. You’ll enter your room and ram into your mattress before lying on your belly, facing down and gently caressing your anus, and then you’ll imagine stools coming out without stopping.

Saturday welcomes you with a scary nightmare. You see mama in your dream, crying as if she knows what has happened. You feel a load of guilt in your heart. It is still dark, around 4:30am and he was still sleeping. You fume out of his house. Swearing you’ll never step in there again. You make your way to the Jack Molson’s park in your blue sweater.

You kneel at the alter and bow your head to mutter silent prayers, begging God to forgive your sins. You suddenly flare up. Like a dog will go back to its vomit, you travel your path back to his house in the dark. You stand at the door, banging. You know he hears, he just won’t answer.


Elijah studied English in University Of Ilorin. He has ardour for writing poems and short stories; he has over a hundred pieces in these genres to his name. He nicknamed himself "Germane" as a result of his frequent use of the English word. He says: "Art is my heart".

1 Comment

M.L. Janneh · October 13, 2018 at 6:46 pm

Love this story.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *