The Rita Side

It's that terrible time of the month again; the one where I have to grab my midriff intermittently and cry out to whoever cares to listen. The one where I abandoned my bed and lay exhausted on a dusty haggard mattress with no covers, hoping that it is not dripping blood in the morning and still expecting that it is. Today is a little different. It's my sister's birthday and I should be elated, but a dark cloud hangs over my head and bitterness rises like bile from my stomach; burning my tongue as it pleases. Sleep eludes me. Hours after the rest of the world has retired, I toss and turn and wait for dawn. I have changed my underwear twice tonight. I have even reinforced the blood cloth between my thighs with pads of tissue, but the thick fluid still finds a way out to the world like the truth seeking light and a scorned woman in search of justice. It slithers out of my body deliberately  until it has penetrated every item of clothing I have worn and it has drawn yet

(Inspired by a true story) I was not even supposed to be at the lounge that night. It was not my shift, but Gina was so sure that her boyfriend would propose. So she begged me a few weeks ahead of that day and as the only male who was a huge fan of love stories, I agreed to take the shift. I was early as usual, ready to serve the drinks like it was my calling. If I could, I would have been studying engineering in the university not too far from the lounge where I worked. However, I neither had the money nor the brains to get into the school. Three flunked aptitude tests and my father's unpaid pensions were proof enough. So that night, I reluctantly wore my rehearsed fake smile and started the shift. I knew when she walked in and although I did not turn, I could tell when she approached me. "Have you seen any tall man here?" she asked. "He is very fair with beards." It was obvious that she had not come for me, but it did not stop her words from shatte

One eyebrow looked slightly higher than the other. You really had to peek closely to notice it, but no one was going  to do that. Not if I could help it anyway. Nneka had been on my makeup for nearly two hours  and our guests were slowly trickling in. Anyone else would have gotten a memorable scolding from me, but not Nneka. She was doing the job for free. "You know I am your friend. Remember me when you go to obodo oyibo o! " she had said just before she picked the brush. To show how serious she was, she did not touch my face until I said I would never forget her after leaving the country. It seemed like a fair deal, whether I kept my end of the bargain or not. "Nne, are you not done?" my mother asked her impatiently. Nneka was part of the family too and my mother took her like a daughter. "Ola's husband's people are here already and you know that ndi obodo oyibo adighi egbu oge ." White people do not waste time . "Mummy, I just n

"Praise Master Jesus!" "Hallelujah!!!" "The spirit is moving. Can you feel it?" "Yes pastor!" The energy in the church was palpable. Women were chanting meaningless words and men were dancing like snakes in a witch's festival. It was a strange scene for me. I had been an Anglican all my life until last month when my father died and I had no one to blame but God. I had done everything the church asked me to do. All the prayer groups and holy oil did nothing. I could not continue in a church that did not provide my most basic needs. Sister Titi, a colleague at my office had noticed that I did not make my usual silly jokes at work anymore, and she probed. I was a little embarrassed to tell her, but I was glad that I had someone to share my pain with. The least I could do was finally honor the invite she had tendered weekly since she was employed. "Come to my church," she said after asking how I was coping. It was two w

(Inspired by Twitter writing contest) Story 1 I watched as my uncle left the altar happily with his new wife and the memories gripped me. "Come. I will buy you coke," he used to say just before he fiddled with my penis. After he forced himself on me, he threatened to tell daddy about the CD I broke if I ever spoke. It was painful, but so was my old man's belt and honestly, I feared that more. That afternoon, while people struggled with the caterers for their food, I pulled his wife aside and poured out my heart. She smiled and patted my shoulder. "We like it kinky. Join us when you can," she said and I pushed her away in disgust. How could she even suggest that? Did she really hear me clearly? Her husband was a paedophile and a rapist! How could a normal human being smile at such evil? I joined the honeymooners that night. I had no choice. The man had already destroyed me in a way that no one else could understand. As I let his wife lead m

"Ada, come and see o!" I shut my eyes tightly like her voice was causing me physical pain. Slowly and grudgingly, I pushed my jotter aside. I was preparing for the entrance exam into LUTH. It was my dream university, but I feared that, with the way my mother was beckoning on me every second, it might be just that: a dream. My father had just gotten her a new phone and it seemed like shells had fallen from her eyes. Everything was exciting to her. Whatsapp was her new home and she never failed to send all the annoying chain messages she received to everyone she knew. It was like a civil duty to her. For me she always went the extra mile by making me  read the messages with her. The more I thought of all those frustrating, wasted  minutes of my life which I spent reading falsified information from her overly bright screen, the more I realized that I had to pass or pass the entrance exam. Spending an extra year in the house would definitely be the death of me. My mo