Amaka Azie's Blog - Posts Tagged "amwriting"
Thorns and Roses: Excerpt
“I want to take you out this Saturday,” Chuma broke the silence again. Ifeoma held her breath, waiting for him to continue.
“I have a boat in Lagos Marina. I love to sail on Saturday sometimes.” Still speechless, Ifeoma dared not say anything, dared not move.
“The weather appears promising, no rain. We can have—”
“I have to work on Saturday … I work on Saturdays, remember?” Her voice suddenly returned, cutting him off. She could not allow him to continue, to paint a picture in her mind. It was hard enough not to reach out across the table and touch him. Keeping her desire for him in check was torture. She did not need him painting this perfect fairy-tale picture in her head. Especially when it was obvious that he wasn’t attracted to her. She was just a hobby to him. A problem to fix. Something interesting to occupy his bored rich mind. No, she won’t encourage this.
Chuma’s dark eyes flashed with anger. He took in a deep breath as if trying to calm himself. He didn’t succeed.
“I know you work Saturdays, damn it!” His voice came out harshly. “I know you worked last Saturday, and the Saturday before that and Sundays too!”
Taking a gulp of water as if he needed that to finally calm down, he swallowed slowly. “I just want you to have one Saturday off! Just one! And relax! Stop fighting the world!”
Ifeoma’s pulse jerked at the intensity she saw in his eyes. This was all too much. She felt like she was drowning. To spend a whole Saturday relaxing on a boat with him? How could she do that and not fall at his feet? Or beg him never to leave her? No, she couldn’t. He made her weak, she had to fight him, preserve herself. I am not my mother; I am a strong woman.
“I have a boat in Lagos Marina. I love to sail on Saturday sometimes.” Still speechless, Ifeoma dared not say anything, dared not move.
“The weather appears promising, no rain. We can have—”
“I have to work on Saturday … I work on Saturdays, remember?” Her voice suddenly returned, cutting him off. She could not allow him to continue, to paint a picture in her mind. It was hard enough not to reach out across the table and touch him. Keeping her desire for him in check was torture. She did not need him painting this perfect fairy-tale picture in her head. Especially when it was obvious that he wasn’t attracted to her. She was just a hobby to him. A problem to fix. Something interesting to occupy his bored rich mind. No, she won’t encourage this.
Chuma’s dark eyes flashed with anger. He took in a deep breath as if trying to calm himself. He didn’t succeed.
“I know you work Saturdays, damn it!” His voice came out harshly. “I know you worked last Saturday, and the Saturday before that and Sundays too!”
Taking a gulp of water as if he needed that to finally calm down, he swallowed slowly. “I just want you to have one Saturday off! Just one! And relax! Stop fighting the world!”
Ifeoma’s pulse jerked at the intensity she saw in his eyes. This was all too much. She felt like she was drowning. To spend a whole Saturday relaxing on a boat with him? How could she do that and not fall at his feet? Or beg him never to leave her? No, she couldn’t. He made her weak, she had to fight him, preserve herself. I am not my mother; I am a strong woman.
Starting over Again...Divorce in Nigeria
A little teaser from my upcoming novel, Starting over Again...
I have found that sometimes, divorced women in Nigeria feel judged by society, and more harshly than divorced men. Do you agree? What are your thoughts ?
“On your way home I see,” Onome heard a voice behind her. She turned to find Emeka, one of the managers, walking towards the elevator, behind her. She smiled, nodded and waited for him to catch up with her.
“Yes, but I have to pick up my daughter from the childminder’s first,” Onome said, pressing the button beside the elevator.
“I didn’t know you were married,” Emeka remarked. They stood side-by-side, waiting for the elevator to arrive. A few other people had since joined behind them, also waiting for the elevator. Onome wondered briefly whether to lie about her marital status. The strangers behind them didn’t need to know her business.
“I’m divorced,” she replied in hushed tones slightly embarrassed.
“Oh,” he gulped.
Onome saw the flash of surprise in his eyes before the elevator door sprang open. They walked in along with a handful of people. As the elevator descended, Onome felt a rush of irritation gather inside her tummy.
“Oh what, Emeka?” she asked him, unable to keep the irritation from slipping into her tone.
“Nothing, it’s just that you don’t seem like the divorced kind.”
“And what kind is that?” Onome asked incredulously, finding it hard to believe that someone as educated and enlightened as Emeka could reason this way. There was a voice in her head telling her to ignore him, that he wasn’t worth her annoyance, but she couldn’t seem to obey that voice.
“Well, you know how divorced women are.”
“No, I don’t. Enlighten me, please.” Onome’s voice was louder than she wanted it to be, but Emeka had hit a sore nerve with his flippant comment.
Quickly glancing around, she noticed the uncomfortable expressions on the faces of the other occupants on the elevator. They averted their gazes from the corner where she and Emeka stood, probably wishing to get to the ground floor instantaneously.
“You know, divorced bitches… I’m paying you a compliment. You are not like those divorced bitches.”
“Paying me a compliment,” Onome repeated, shaking her head in disbelief.
A few people in the elevator snickered. “For your information, Emeka, not everyone who is divorced is the devil. And why is the woman always blamed, called a bitch? Why not the man? Eh?” She heard someone chuckle.
“Get off your judgmental high horse,” Onome continued, bolder now that she was on a roll. She glanced at his finger. “I know for a fact that you are married. Yet you prance around the office without wearing your wedding ring, and flirting with female staff on the third floor. Keep that up and you will soon join me in the land of divorce to become a fellow divorced bitch.” Loud laughter erupted at her comment. The elevator chose that moment to chime, indicating that they had reached the ground floor.
As everyone exited, Onome noted the few glances of admiration that were thrown her way. An elderly gentleman winked at her before walking away. Their support warmed her heart. She stepped out of the elevator with her head held high.
“I was just playing o,” Emeka called after her, but she was already walking confidently ahead of him, a broad smile brightening her face. She was glad she had put him in his place. Never again would she hide her divorce status. Yes, her marriage didn’t work out. So bloody what? It neither made her a terrible person nor did it give her a reason to be ashamed.
The short trek to the car park kept Onome’s adrenaline pumping. She usually avoided confrontation. In the past, she always sought approval from others and habitually conceded arguments and let people trample on her. But since her divorce, she had become bolder. Maybe this change arose from having to defend herself so much or constantly fighting for Fejiro’s welfare without any support. Whatever the reason, she liked the new Onome. And this Onome was no pushover. If this made her a divorced bitch, then she would wear that title as a badge of honour.
I have found that sometimes, divorced women in Nigeria feel judged by society, and more harshly than divorced men. Do you agree? What are your thoughts ?
“On your way home I see,” Onome heard a voice behind her. She turned to find Emeka, one of the managers, walking towards the elevator, behind her. She smiled, nodded and waited for him to catch up with her.
“Yes, but I have to pick up my daughter from the childminder’s first,” Onome said, pressing the button beside the elevator.
“I didn’t know you were married,” Emeka remarked. They stood side-by-side, waiting for the elevator to arrive. A few other people had since joined behind them, also waiting for the elevator. Onome wondered briefly whether to lie about her marital status. The strangers behind them didn’t need to know her business.
“I’m divorced,” she replied in hushed tones slightly embarrassed.
“Oh,” he gulped.
Onome saw the flash of surprise in his eyes before the elevator door sprang open. They walked in along with a handful of people. As the elevator descended, Onome felt a rush of irritation gather inside her tummy.
“Oh what, Emeka?” she asked him, unable to keep the irritation from slipping into her tone.
“Nothing, it’s just that you don’t seem like the divorced kind.”
“And what kind is that?” Onome asked incredulously, finding it hard to believe that someone as educated and enlightened as Emeka could reason this way. There was a voice in her head telling her to ignore him, that he wasn’t worth her annoyance, but she couldn’t seem to obey that voice.
“Well, you know how divorced women are.”
“No, I don’t. Enlighten me, please.” Onome’s voice was louder than she wanted it to be, but Emeka had hit a sore nerve with his flippant comment.
Quickly glancing around, she noticed the uncomfortable expressions on the faces of the other occupants on the elevator. They averted their gazes from the corner where she and Emeka stood, probably wishing to get to the ground floor instantaneously.
“You know, divorced bitches… I’m paying you a compliment. You are not like those divorced bitches.”
“Paying me a compliment,” Onome repeated, shaking her head in disbelief.
A few people in the elevator snickered. “For your information, Emeka, not everyone who is divorced is the devil. And why is the woman always blamed, called a bitch? Why not the man? Eh?” She heard someone chuckle.
“Get off your judgmental high horse,” Onome continued, bolder now that she was on a roll. She glanced at his finger. “I know for a fact that you are married. Yet you prance around the office without wearing your wedding ring, and flirting with female staff on the third floor. Keep that up and you will soon join me in the land of divorce to become a fellow divorced bitch.” Loud laughter erupted at her comment. The elevator chose that moment to chime, indicating that they had reached the ground floor.
As everyone exited, Onome noted the few glances of admiration that were thrown her way. An elderly gentleman winked at her before walking away. Their support warmed her heart. She stepped out of the elevator with her head held high.
“I was just playing o,” Emeka called after her, but she was already walking confidently ahead of him, a broad smile brightening her face. She was glad she had put him in his place. Never again would she hide her divorce status. Yes, her marriage didn’t work out. So bloody what? It neither made her a terrible person nor did it give her a reason to be ashamed.
The short trek to the car park kept Onome’s adrenaline pumping. She usually avoided confrontation. In the past, she always sought approval from others and habitually conceded arguments and let people trample on her. But since her divorce, she had become bolder. Maybe this change arose from having to defend herself so much or constantly fighting for Fejiro’s welfare without any support. Whatever the reason, she liked the new Onome. And this Onome was no pushover. If this made her a divorced bitch, then she would wear that title as a badge of honour.
