I want to tell you of how I’m hanging by an almost-invisible string of happiness;
How I walk on eggshells around myself, afraid that my thin smile might just break into uncontrollably bawling.
I want to tell you how I feel when I look at all my friends laughing like they have no worries in the world;
How I feel when I see her, most especially, having the most perfect life anyone could ever ask for.
I want to tell you how un-silly I feel comparing myself with others.
I want to tell you how I feel as I approach my street;
How I feel knowing that it might be another night to be taken advantage of;
How I pray and groan to God to keep him sober one more night;
While I rehearse to be numb through all the thrusting and strangling.
I want to tell you how my vision blurs out
And I levitate my soul to my quiet and happy place;
A place without tears or sorrow or molestations
A place where everyone respects and genuinely loves everyone.
I want to tell you how I scoff at this imaginary place.
I am a fool.
There is nowhere to run from him.
I want to tell you how I felt when I first found out;
That vows made through happy tears had been broken by a cold dead conscience.
I want to tell you how stupid I was; in retrospect,
When I fought and screamed at him for cheating.
I want to tell you about the night I conceded and accepted;
That what was once my perfect pudding had now become sour spoilt rotten akamu
I want to tell you how worthless I felt when I said, ‘Okay. Just make sure you don’t bring any kraw-kraw disease into this house’;
And how I felt when he laughed and said; ‘Now we’re talking’.
I want to describe the image I see when I look in the mirror;
Of a broken and unfixable woman;
Of a terrible life ahead;
And of an irreparable self-worth.
I want to tell you about my stupidity;
How I joined a group of deviant and irrational young men that night;
And destroyed a family forever.
I want to tell you all the things they didn’t tell me before I joined;
…all the ‘caveat’ they owed me.
Like how killing another human being is easy compared to killing your conscience;
Like how I would roll over my bed every night sweating furiously as I remember the face of the little boy as the bullet went through his chest;
Or like how I would randomly hear his mother’s scream in the dead of the night.
I want to tell you how that the events of that night feel fuzzy in my head but yet I remember everything that happened;
I want to tell you how the index finger of my right hand still twitches; just like when I shot that boy;
I want to tell you how sorry I am;
I want to tell you how scared I am;
I want to tell you how stupid I am;
But I also want to tell you how rich I’ve become.
I want to tell you about her;
About how she makes me laugh simply by twitching up her nose and oinking;
I want to tell you how I feel;
That no one else has made me feel this way;
But I also want to tell you how wrong it is;
What my mother told me;
She said, ‘If I ever see you doing what you two were doing in that room ever again, you would understand why daughters should dread their mothers’
I want to tell you how I sit up late at night wondering how this can be wrong;
I want to show you all the scriptures that say that it is wrong;
And I want to tell you that I believe them.
But I also want to tell you that I don’t understand how I feel.
I want to tell you how I really want to change;
But how I don’t want to change.
I want to tell you that I’m confused;
And that it’s killing me.
I want to tell you how I wake up by 4am every morning;
I am getting used to the smell of my own saliva.
I want to tell you about the last time I slept on a normal bed;
But I really cannot remember.
I want to tell you how I stand close to my female passengers as they board the bus on my first trip of the day;
It’s the closest to smelling something better than my saliva.
I want to tell you how sore my throat is at the end of the day;
I want to tell you how I become an accountant at night;
Explaining why N50 is missing from the day’s fare proceeds;
I want to tell you how my heart races every time we approach a bus stop;
I don’t want to argue with these NURTW people; but my boss says if we don’t, we would be the most miserable of all bus drivers/conductors;
I want to tell you how I never look at the ground when I hang from the bus
I want to tell you what I think about when I get a bird’s eye view of the road;
And why I smile when the breeze blasts in my face;
I want to tell you that I particularly hate folding the Naira
But that would be too silly for me to say.
I want to tell you about my academics;
But I’m afraid I’m not smart enough to;
I want to tell you how I feel in class;
Lost and so confused;
I want to tell you how I can literally feel something blocking my brain;
And how I really want to visit the doctor and ask him to conduct a scan.
I want to tell you how I envy my siblings every time they say or do smart things.
I want to tell you how I daydream every time about being the next Ben Carson;
But I can’t even keep up reading anything at all for as short as 5 minutes.
I want to tell you that something tells me I’m not a dullard;
But that same something also told me to say that rubbish answer in class.
I would really like to tell you that I’m not a dullard.
I want to tell you a lot of things…
But I can’t…
Because they are better experienced…
And best not experienced.