I started reading the stories here and I thought what the hell – I should share my problems with Mac, too.
My name is Nehemiah. I am an undergraduate of the University of Lagos, Nigeria. I am in my final year and I cannot wait to be done.
I am dark in complexion and all round, a good looking guy.
Except, I am crippled.
When I was ten it was discovered that in my leg, were cancerous cells that had become malignant.
We tried everything, from T.B Joshua to Chris Oyakhilome, from this herbalist to that, yet, my right leg just kept swelling.
I remember that I was taken to a hospital and I had slept with two legs but woken up with one.
Hai! I felt bad. I’m a very emotional person, and I spent most of my days wistfully, rueing the new depths I had sunk to.
I would cry then I would throw my crotches away.
I would watch my friends play football and I would recall how good I had been.
Despondent, pathetic, a quickly dwindling self esteem, those are just some words that describe, partially, who it was I became.
Till I met Bernadette.
Bernadette came into my life the same way an earthquake comes; without warning.
In my head, replaying our first meeting always involves her sashaying her way through the always open doors of my small student apartment.
I remember her smile, ah! I can’t forget, the sweet way she asked me if she could plug her phone because there was no light and only my generator was on.
I think meeting Bernadette held even more value for me because it coincided with the period I had just ended my relationship with the one way traffic that was Ope, my ex, who left me feeling apathetic and miles less than a human being. But that is another story.
Berny was my breathe of fresh air.
She would go everywhere with me and she would assist me. She took my side in everything and even though people said Bernadette was just after my money, I knew her best. I felt she had a good heart.
I started to notice Bernedette’s way of life after I proposed and she accepted.
You see I just turned thirty, so I am not too young to propose but that’s beside the point.
Most Fridays, Bernadette would suddenly disappear. She would return on Sundays or Mondays and she would tell me she had been with her family.
To the best of my ability, I provide for Berny, so it was a bit shocking when a female friend of mine implied that
Bernadette was a “hooker” or in Nigerian terms, “ashawo”.
I slapped that girl so hard she lost a tooth but my curiosity was already pricked.
So I responded by trying my best to find out where it was she really went.
I was shocked.
It was not even the expensive type, there was nothing classy about it.
I saw her walk into one of the shabby rooms with a man fatter than any man I have ever seen ,after what seemed like two minutes he came out, zipping up his breeches while smirking.
Another guy went in.
I could not take it any longer so I picked up my crotches and left.
Mac, as I type she is cooking in the kitchen. I am seething, angry at the life I have but I am also afraid of saying anything that would make her leave me.
Berny’s all I’ve got.
What should I do?