I’ll never say I have never cheated on a woman I loved so much. Niether once or twice have I ever done it. Four times? Five times? Ten times? I cannot remember, but maybe a dozen of times before I got jibe by a Christ’s follower. Anyway, all I know is that I have done this several times. I was just a young man. I was living the life to the best of my knowledge. I have been out on a date couple of times. Even with my receptionists and any other beautiful waitress that attracts my attention whilst on another date. I could winks at them when I’m with another woman. This was a tradition and I was living to my practices.
But however, despite all this, I knew deep down that I was never going to make it to heaven if God was taking all His people by what number of times they not have lied to someone special or who means a lot to them. I mean, things like “I love you with all my heart, with all my mind, with all my soul.” I knew I had done it. I have done it more than enough. And if there were key people that needed the salvation, they’re cousin Demon and myself.
I remember back in college when I would stop paying my rent for a semester and will hoover in between girls’ hostels just to put up. I would spend a week in Tabby’s hostel and then next week I put up at Zippora’s. This didn’t happen once, or twice, this was my college’s life until the day I worn a gown.
When I got my first job, I had focus on settling for once. I felt like I should face the reality of life. The same life that has been about drinking and dating back in college. “You have now become a man,” my mother would always heeds to me with such warnings. “You’re no longer eighteen. You’re twenty-six”: she would complain. And me on the other hand would give her a deaf ear. “Mom, why do you keep reminding me on how I should run my own life? It seems you want the CEO’s job?” These are the words I would vomit right into her face when I’m tired of her boring platitudes.
I did not know what love was. If at all, it existed, then, it must be in fictions. Nothing else. I had read most crime books; back in primary and high school. John Kagia Kimani, and all his books were on my fingertips. John Kiriamiti: all his three biographical books and the two fictions he wrote after he gave up on crime; and, the main center of focus was how he survived in all atrocities. Not love. Love played a small percentage in my daily life and I didn’t even care if the pipe that waters this shoot dies. I would have no any sheer sigh to mourn its demise. Not even a little.
Jualian, a girl I have known for almost half my entire life, the one girl that almost sunk me deep in the abyss of trouble before I converted. When we started. I knew that she was a reserved girl. She never drank anything beyond a glass of juice and Fanta Orange. Throughout our uncountable dates that I remember the venues, she would only order tonic water and a glass of juice to water her meal. On weekends, I would pick her and then we escort the sun as it sits on my mother’s village. Later, I would instruct the driver to take her home because she was the only kid from a single-parent family just like me.
Few months later, she starts leaving her knickers and bras in my bathroom. She later advanced into heels and handbags in my clothe-set. By the way, I’m not that guy who reacts at the things from the beginning. Instead, I always wanted to be sure who left the things. “Babe, are you the one with that dress in the cloth-set?” I would ask innocently. This is because I was used to buying things that are never that important to my cousin who’s at the university by that time.
“Yes. Any problem?” But these type of questions at times make me jump out of my wit when she answer them with confidence. Sometimes I frown, some times I just pretend and then take a mouthful of a drink I’m holding in my hand. She attempted to put her hands on anything: loving me extra more than the other girls, wash for me, cook and clean my house, but she never managed. At last, she said that I was pregnant for me. I was scared in the first place that I was going to be a father. Not because I was not able to raise the kid, but the fact that I was going to be expected at six in the evening. Someone has to monitor my moves: wherever I am, who I’m with and what time I will be home to babysit my daughter or son to be or both. My WhatsApp has to be free to her access. For a week, I was dumbfounded. One evening, I went to the bathroom and then found the pregnancy test kit and the full episode of lies. I asked her and she said that it wasn’t hers. That she was pregnant and then there was no need to do more tests again. But, I wasn’t convinced. The following morning, I dragged her to the hospital. And, by God’s grace, she wasn’t pregnant. My heart kept thumbing for a diamond in the dust. I never knew what I was going to do.
I had request for a day off earlier from my Indian boss and he gladly granted me two days off plus a weekend (call it a triumph of work freedom). I went to the house and then locked myself in. It’s my ending world and I. I did not care who wanted to check on me. The company WhatsApp was snoozing with over thousand messages and counting. But I was at a point where I wasn’t giving any fuck again.
I cannot tell how long I have been sleeping when I heard the bell intruding with my peace of sleep. It’s the lady who washes my clothes that came to do her job. I woke up with lazy eyes. My white vest was soaked in the content of Red Label Johnny Walker. I peeped and saw her. She was my distance relative, which, at some points, she is a vector carrier of any information between my mother and I.
I opened the door for her. She scanned the living room with her swanky eyes and then told me to Seek Yeah First. “ Seek Yeah First.” I was never that good with scriptures. The moment I stopped going to school, I have never opened a Bible. But this old school Elizabethan English can’t still go without notice. I stood there embarrassed. I looked at the company’s calendar that I had on a coffee table. I realized that it’s Sunday. I went to the shower, and then came out of shower naked. I saw her folding my bed sheets. I went back to the shower, this time, more embarrassed than before. But, this time, I didn’t care anymore. I found one of my wet Calvin Klein boxers, put it on and then I walked straight up to the guest room. I found one of my old suits that I have never worn in a very long time. I search again and then got something better than the wet boxers. I dressed up and walked out as a proud adult.
I came to the room and then my cleaner was still busy doing her job beyond her job description. There were condoms, both expired and the active. I have never taken a good look at an expired condom. What in the world would the condom be expiring? Is the company serious enough? What if they take long without coming back and the sexually actives like me run out of stock? Won’t it be a serious danger and mass killing against humanity?
By this time, I did not care what it takes. My mother will eventually know what has just happen. I drove a girl out of my apartment because she lied to me.
“Can I come in?” I asked. My goal was to catch up with the English mass as I rushed to church. “As you wish!” she growls. This is how people you don’t pay talk. My mother was her boss, not me. And at so many times, when I complain to my mother that I did not want her scent in my apartment, she always shuns the topic like the Egyptian plagues and the stammering Moses in the Bible.
I calculated my steps as I went to apply a lotion and perfume and then walked to the door with confidence. I went to St. Peters and then sat at the back. “Our reading of today comes from Mathew five.” Said a lady who was wearing specks that were matching her blue dress. Remember, guys, this was my time in eight years; that I have not been to Church. But, all in all, I was able to catch up with them. The scripture talks of beatitudes: the teaching of Jesus when he was on a small mountain with a group of people. “Blessed are poor in heart for the kingdom belongs…” and then she continues to read the scripture until I slept off.
I cannot tell how long I must have slept there when I was woken up all over sudden. When I looked up, it’s the same girl. I must have ignored her beauty when she was meters away from me. But, here she is, waking up a half-drunk sinner. “You should go home,” she says as she waited for me to give any excuse.
I looked around and then found no one to sympathize with me for my own embarrassment. She tossed her card in my hand and then walked away.
I changed almost everything from that moment when I met her. I resigned from my then job and then took a PR job with one of the local companies that were just setting up. We were exchanging emails almost on daily basis when she was overseas and phone calls when she is around. She wasn’t in the country for more than a month. She had a scholarship that was paying tuition for her full-time for media studies.
This time, my mother had seen the better side and now she was telling me to get married. “Son, I’m happy with your progress. Please give me an heir. There is nothing else I want from you.” She laments. I was still thinking about this girl. From her emails, she wears the same attire that I first saw her in and I knew she loved me. When I got tired of waiting, I went to the newspaper, wrote a full-page article, paid for it and I proposes to her. I took the same copy to the blog. I knew she was going to read it since she had subscribed to it.
That was on a Wednesday. On Friday, at eleven o’clock, I received a phone call from a stranger. “Is this Emmanuel Kenyi?” the caller asked with a faint voice. “Yes! Whom am I talking to?” I asked with curiosity.
“My name is Francis.”
“Mr. Francis, how can I help you? You want to place a quotation. I can refer you to our sales team. If this pleases you.”
“No! I call to tell you that there is an accident that has occurred around St. Peters Church. There is a lady; we have found that your number was the last to be dialed. Please come quickly and help us. If you’re a brother or any of her family members.” And the he ended. I wasn’t sure which one of the Achols that I knew.
I closed my laptop and walked out without informing my boss of where I was heading. When I reached the gate of St. Peters, I was told that the victim was in the Church compound. I walked in and saw a group of girls. The familiar faces that I have been seeing since I last became a member of this great Church. They were happily chatting. I walked very fast. “Hello, ladies?” I was breathing very fast because I have been half-walking. “Hello,” they responded.
“There is an accident that has occurred and I’m told the victim is here in the compound. Where exactly can I find her?” They direct me to the church. As I enter the Church, I saw something amusing. “The same woman I have been dreaming for one year and half was standing, facing the alter. I was shocked. Why would someone fake an accident?
“Hey?” I asked.
“I didn’t know you would do this? I mean, calling me to come to this place in the name of accident.” I said.
“Because this is how quickly you would be responding to my desires and needs.” And then she turned now.
“Emma,” she called me. This is how she always addresses me. “I like you. I love you and I wish I could make it up to you.” She looked at me in the eyes and the she continues, “but….,” and then she allows a small wind to pass before she resumes talking. “But what?” I was impatient to give her any second to pass anymore. “But how,” and then we heard the footsteps. We both turned. It’s Pastor Henry. She left my hands and then walked some steps ahead of me. I noticed something. She was two or three months pregnant and her protruding stomach was showing. I did not say anything. I reached for the door and then walked away.
Three years later, my wife and I started our very own PR company and it was really dong well that we even sponsored two orphans in a nearby private school. She was another Achol but this one, to me, was an updated version of lost Achols in the world. I was fond of her to a point that I wouldn’t spend a single day without seeing her or talking to her.
“Excuse me, sir,” said our secretary, “there is a client that want to see you. She had booked her appointment.” I looked at it and then saw the name of the client company she was coming. A very reputable company. “Let her come in.” When she opens the door. I recognize her once. My heart leaps. Luckily enough, my wife was out. She recognized me at once and this almost killed her. She was not herself throughout the whole of our business talk. As she opens the door to leave, my wife entered.
“Honey, who was that?” she asked.
“It’s a log story. I will tell you when we’re home. Now let’s get to work.” I told her as I got up to pick a file from the shelf.