MY FIRST MARRIAGE: THIS IS NOT A NOLLYWOOD STORY
The last 36 hours have been a big deal, that’s why I’ve been MIA. I’ve had to roam the streets of Lagos, in the pursuance of that creative venture. The life of an entrepreneur is not a joke. First thing you need to know is that one life is not enough. Better to invest in a second one, because you’ll need more than the steam that comes with one life. And by steam I mean strength, spunk, grey matter and a thick skin, amongst other things. They tell you how rewarding it is, but nobody prepares you for the way it’ll drain you, and how much you will love it. It’s superhuman stuff, I tell you.
Anyway, it’s time to tell you that story, first time I got married. I hope it does something to you (covers face shyly).
I was eighteen, in my final year of secondary school. Last lap actually, because we’d just begun writing the WAEC Exams. If you’re wondering why I was eighteen and still in secondary school, I better tell you now that I repeated classes, not once but twice, and both times I had Math issues. Let’s just say there was no love lost between Math and me, until the last minute, when it didn’t matter anymore. And don’t you dare judge me, hehe.
On the day that we wrote the English Language exam, I had a weird experience. Just as I stepped into the hall, a piece of paper on the floor caught my attention. I bent to pick it up, it was a tract. You know those unattractive-looking (sorry, but I’ve read over a hundred, and I’ve yet to read an attractively designed one) A6 sheets of paper that asked you questions like, “Who Is God?” or “What If You Die Today?” So I found one of those on the floor, cannot remember exactly what question this one asked me, but it was enough to catch my attention. I put it in my notebook, and made a mental note to read it when I got back to Dorm.
We wrote our school leaving exams in the recently built multi-purpose hall that the school authority was excessively proud of at the time, and I remember that the hall had at least three entrances; one main door and two doors on either side. Because seating arrangements were according to the alphabets in our surnames, my seat was stationed at the left anterior, so I always came in through the left door, and went out through the main entrance. It was at the left door that I found said tract.
After the paper, I made to leave through the main door, and just as I stepped out of the hall, there was another tract, identical to the first one now resting within the pages of my English notebook, but sullied by the trampling feet of hurried students who were late for their English exam. It lay there, like it was waiting for me to pick it up. This time I didn’t pick it. I figured I already had a cleaner copy in my possession, and I remember being a little unnerved to be the one that encountered both of them within a two-hour bracket. We were 260-something girls who sat for the exam that day, why did it have to be me who saw and picked both? In a matter of moments, thoughts of the tracts were forgotten as I talked with friends about the exam. I don’t even remember reading the tract that day.
Later that night, while I was asleep, something else happened. I was asleep, but it seemed I was awake. I could breathe, but I couldn’t move. And somebody was here. I didn’t know them, couldn’t see their face, but I could see that someone was standing in front of my bed and they (he/she) were talking. My head felt like it was floating in a pool of water, after somebody had pumped it full of water. The whole thing went on for five minutes, or maybe twenty five, I’m not sure, but I will never forget the feeling. It was too real. And then, the thing left. And I woke up. And screamed like I’d never scream again. I woke everyone in my dorm and we talked about it, mostly I cried and listened and was comforted, till it was morning.
And there I shall stop, till later tonight. Sorry, but entrepreneurship duties are calling.
Meantime, be great.
All my love,