My Roman god

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The first time I met him, butterflies flew in my tommy. My innocent eyes twinkled with all pleasure. Oh, this new neighbour of ours looks just like a Roman god, I thought in my childish heart. His strong, angular face was so handsome. I kept smiling at him.

He flashed strong white teeth at me, and I was completely lost.

The mirror became my companion after that. My room became my runway. I posed this way and that, just to choose the right look for my Roman god.

Compliments rolled off him like raindrops on a rainy day. I couldn’t get enough of his praises.

Mama noticed. She saw my swaying hips when I walked. She saw the light in my eyes when he got back from work.

Mama cautioned me. “Finish your secondary school, dear child.”

My ears were deaf to her. I had the opportunity to be cherished and nurtured by my Roman god. I couldn’t give it up for anything. It didn’t matter to me that I was in my final class in secondary school.

My heart was lost to my Roman god. When he requested for my purity, I consented.

His request came with promises of marriage, a better life with all my heart desired. A life away from Mama’s watchful eyes, away from Papa’s belt for every wrong, and away from siblings trying to prove themselves to the world. I chose the world with my Roman god.

All too soon, I became sick in the morning. Mama gave me drugs with great suspicion in her eyes.

When my sickness in the morning continued for days, I had to stand before the doctor to listen to the consequence of the request I granted my Roman god.

The atmosphere became charged, and fireworks exploded in the house.

My cheek became a drum set as Papa landed slap after slap on it.

Hot tears found their way down my cheeks. My mouth trembled as I told them who was behind my sickness in the morning.

My Roman god stood before my family, head bent in shame and told the truth.

My things were arranged in a Ghana-must-go bag, and I was sent away with my Roman god.

The compliments stopped coming. The smiles refused to form. The face of my Roman god could rival the solidity of Olumo rock.

The beast became a Prince for Beauty, but my own Prince became a Beast.

I became the reason for every mistake. I became a good spot where anger could be unleashed.

Believe me, Soul Sister, his anger was unleashed regularly, and my little body took it all in pain and regret.

Along came our little one, and my Roman god softened like baby lotion. It remembered so until SHE came around.

She was the new employee in his office. He was drawn to her beauty and intelligence like bee to honey.

He sang her praises to my sad ears. He pointed her qualities that I could never have to my frustrated face.

Was I educated? Oh no.

Was I intelligent? Oh no.

Was I smart? The answer you know.

Was I experienced? Ah, Soul Sister, no.

What was my contribution to the family expenses? Zilch!

I swallowed the bitter taste of truth down my closed throat like Yoyo Bitters.

Seasons changed, and my life changed.

My Roman god packed my things into the same Ghana-must-go bag and sent me back to my father.

Papa would not accept me. He told me to go to my husband.

My Roman god told Papa he never asked for my hand in marriage. Nothing was legal between us.

Oh, what shame!

Papa spat on me and called me names that only a useless daughter like me deserved.

Seasons have changed again, Soul Sister, and baby is growing. My life is just taking shape, but I just heard my Roman god is getting married to the woman of his dreams.

My fingers are on my lips in regret as I write. The tears in my eyes are telling the tale of my shame. I stirred my love when it was not time.

Dear Soul Sister, what should I do? Do I have the right to stop the wedding? What would be my lot now?

 

 

 

 

Baby Mama

I am at a crossroad

And I know not which way to go

I have waited long for this

And it is finally here

But the cost of this gift is too high for me to pay

For I know the Lord

The Lord will frown upon the high cost of this gift

How then do I do it?

Should I let go and start over again?

Start again! The mere thought scares me

At what age, Soul Sister, will I start again?

My flower isn’t blooming so much

While the brightness was flickering,

He saw me and declared his affection

Yes, affection towards the one who taught she would never have a man of her own.

The going was good, and the good became blissful

Then came the proposal.

Oh, Soul Sister, it’s a ring!

I sang my yes like the cuckoo bird.

But his condition dampened my elated spirit.

Give me a baby first he told me with a straight face

A baby? I left the ring hanging in my finger in shock.

My confusion was communicated to him through my look

For he said, smiling, let a baby grow in your womb for me

Then I’ll walk you down the aisle as a proud husband and father.

The Lord’s words on defiling the bed flew into my head.

I shook my head in disagreement

It’s our tradition, he informed me

My mother will never accept you without a positive result. His voice was sad.

But we belong to the Lord; Christians we are, I tried to reason with him

His eyes left mine. Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s so says the good book.

Appease Christianity and tradition, even the Lord understands, he said.

My objections fired at him like AK47

His eyes darkened like the clouds in an African thunderstorm

That is my stand, his voice thundered. I can’t compromise.

The burden of loneliness came upon me like a thick blanket.

I want to be married

I want my own man

So I promised to think and pray about it.

But, Soul Sister, what do I pray about?

What do I speak in the Lord’s ears?

What answer should I expect?

 

 

 

 

A Sister’s Act

Welcome to series 2 in my dear soul sister series. Happy reading! 

I am a broken man, for I am haunted by my message.
Why is it difficult to practice what you preach with ease?
Why is it easy to dole out the right words to others, but difficult to take them yourself?
I feel this way with the message of forgiveness.
Yes, I must forgive others their trespasses, so my heavenly father can also forgive me.
True, I must forgive seventy times seven times a day.
But truth be told, no one has offended me that much in a day.
Still, I can’t find it in me to accept this message and forgive Sister Joyce.
Sister Joyce, God-fearing (so I thought), all smiles and humble, was a perfect disciple in our youth fellowship.
Never did I imagine the evil behind her smiles.
Never did I imagine her appreciation of God’s grace in my life after each service to be more than that.
Never did I imagine the innocent smiles I returned were fanning a fire I couldn’t control.
How could I have known, Soul Sister, that Sister Joyce had a lot of plans for me? (Oh, not plans of good I tell you.)
When she showed up in my house that rainy day a year ago, with tears in her eyes, I gladly took her in to comfort her.
Her fiancé had just broken up with her after meeting with the church’s marriage committee.
Her eyes were swollen from crying, and my heart went out to her.
I counselled and prayed with her.
She made a simple request: “Can I stay here tonight? I’ll leave very early in the morning. It’s already late.”
Oh true, it was late and rainy.
Her sad eyes tugged at my heart.
How do I send her out with such heavy heart into the rain, all alone?
My response: “It’s alright. You can stay here tonight. Take the bedroom. I’ll be right in the living room.”
Her eyes beamed with smiles of appreciation, and my heart swelled with joy that I had done well for a sister.
Soul Sister, I curse that day even as I pen this down.
When she wandered into the living room sometime after midnight in a flimsy night gown I never knew she had in her bag, I became an ordinary man.
Youth pastor you say. Leave that, this was beyond me.
She was too scared to sleep alone, so she said.
I was too tempted to say no to a damsel in distress.
The die was cast, and the deed was done.
My tears ran down like a fountain.
Sister Joyce told me to be a man. It was a secret never to be revealed.
So when I was summoned by the marriage committee months later, I thought it was to finalize my marriage plans with my fiancée.
Soul Sister, the secret was out! Sister Joyce told it all to the committee.
My wedding was put on hold.
My fiancée could not bear the pain and went her way.
I was disciplined publicly in church.
All lips told the story of my fall. Eyes looked at me in condemnation. Hands pointed at me in judgement.
Sister Joyce was the victim, deceived by the youth pastor. He took advantage of her emotional state. Thank God she was bold enough to expose him, so the tongues wagged in church. They never bothered that the story was twisted, or I had something to say too. What would a fornicating youth pastor say? He didn’t even had the mind to confess to his wrong deeds. He must have been into it for long.
I left it all, Soul Sister.
I left to a life of shame and deep regret, but I had to search for God again.
My search has been painful, but I’m pulling through gradually.
Then Sister Joyce showed up in my house this morning. (Deja vu.)
She wanted to apologize for what she did. She couldn’t resist me, and so she had planned it all. She wanted me to accept her after what happened between us, but I went with another sister. She had been bitter, but God liberated her in a programme and she cried for forgiveness. Now, she wanted to do right by me.
I looked at her with so much hatred. If looks could kill, mine would have killed her this morning.
I pushed her out of my house.
She knelt at the door, crying. I told her I would think about it.
But really, Soul Sister, how do I forgive her? Should I even forgive her?

Expect another life issue next week Tuesday. Share with friends!