"my heart lies deep in the ocean that is neither cold nor hot, but longs for warmth. it swims left right and center lost in confusion . it floats steadily as if it were dead, dead from the dryness of your love that made it beat" - the lovepoet

FARABALE

“Farabale”

“Farabale and touch my body,” she said to him. “I will treat you right; just take your time,” as he tore the clothes off her body. “Farabale,” she kept saying as tears rolled down her eyes. He threw her on the bed, forced her hands down, and slowly entered her. She tried to hold in the screams by biting her lips so hard it started bleeding. “Farabale,” she kept saying as her voice faded under his moans and groans. The pleasure she once felt with this man became unbearable pain, but she had no choice but to bare it. “that’s what you get for loving a drunk,” the voice in her head repeatedly said; that’s the price you get for loving a drunk. She wished death could come and eat her up at that moment. She felt so dirty with herself; it reminded her of her stepfather and the gifts he gave her every Friday night when her mother worked the night shifts. What did she know about love? There was no one to teach, show, and, worst of all, no one to love her.

                                              As he rolled off her, he went into a deep sleep. She could not think straight; all she wanted to do was to run away, far, far away from him, but where was she to go to? Who could she talk to and tell of her pain? As she got up to wash, blood dripped down from her, pain, another once lost. This life had paid her no respect and showed her no love right there, and then, she decided to walk straight into death if it failed to take her out of this misery that she called life.

                                                  She whispered into his ear one last look at him and one last tear for him, “I love you,” and walked out, leaving the door open. She got on the night bus going nowhere. She couldn’t help herself but cry. “Oga, where is the last stop,” she asked the conductor because she had boarded the bus from Lagos mainland, “to lekki Ajah aunty.” Ajah, who do I know there? Where will I go? She thought that maybe going back wouldn’t be so bad, but she had held too much pain in her heart to imagine what it would be like. What would lead a woman to go back to an abusive husband? Her mind drifted to when she first met Teni as a jambite at the University of Lagos through an old primary school. Teni was an Art major hoping to be a famous painter like many before him, hoping to reach the heights many Nigerians had not achieved. In 1989, four years after graduating from University and after six years of dating, they married happily. Their love was like one never seen, clinging to each other as if it was their last time on the face of the earth.

                                                             Unfortunately, Teni never made it as a famous artist, as critics understated his painting, saying it lacked true African inspiration and to European for a well-rounded African community. That’s when it all came crashing down; this drove him into the infamous Fela shrine, where he drank till his sorrows brought him joy. He would go home and make her a canvas of different strokes and colors. She loved him still like the first time they had laid eyes on each other, so she stayed after he beat her into three miscarriages and lost her friends and family. She stayed even after he made her watch him have sex with another woman in their home.

                             The sound of a baby crying brought her back to reality; she took a pen and paper and started to write the last words she would ever have to say to him.

Teni,

 Slow love songs playing, the dark room lit with scented candles, a lovely dinner in the middle of the room filled with strawberries and cream. We danced all night, telling each other about our great love. In my beautiful pink dress and you in your Hugo boss suit. Could this night get any better? I asked myself; then you took my hand and led me to the porch to show me the beautiful stars, and the next thing I see is a big sign in the sky saying will you marry me? When I turned around, you were on your knees with a diamond ring. Tears rolled down my eyes, tears of joy. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. I said yes, and that was the beginning of it all. The best night of my life. So we got married and started living happily, or so we thought. Every day I wish for us to have such nights. Then you started coming home late, sweet-scented perfumes on your body, drunk. I knew we were heading straight for misery. After everything you put me through, I didn’t think you would take it this far to have a baby with another woman. My love for you was like a flowing river; yours was like a broken bucket ever leaking. Now it’s time for me to go to a place where I can feel no pain, no harm, no emotions at all, but know even in death, my love for you will be forever like the sun.

From your first and last

Your everlasting love.


the lovepoet
p.s “farable” is a Yoruba term meaning “relax” or “slow down.” This story's first part was written in the fall of 2011, and the latter was written in 2008. I combined both stories for my fiction writing class. 

QOUTE

Every man,guy, boy  is a story, a poem, a written piece of work

                                                                                   Wuraola Damilola