By | 2018-12-18T17:44:10+01:00 December 18th, 2018|STORYTELLING|0 Comments
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In spite of all our effort to, at least, experience a miscarriage, yet nothing close to that word ever happened. Prayers I offered on the altar, making vows and promises that I convincingly know I could never keep. Everybody in our local church, down to the international headquarter – even if it never left the shore of our vicinity – has recognised my wife as the best crying woman during deliverance sessions. Hardly would any prophets visit our church for any programmes that my wife would not be called upon. In fact, she became the prayer-point of everyone, including mockers and jesters within our neighbourhood. Sake of this, I have relocated about five times just to keep my secret hidden. Family and friends would never stop adding salt to injuries. The only prayer-point on their lips is: Lord, disgrace the witch that is eating up our grandchildren before birth.

It’s rather intriguing and sickling when you marry late in life, only to experience a delay in childbirth. Angered within, I visited different medical professionals to understand the sole cause of my childlessness. All the medical jargons proved nothing worth believing. Though, on many occasions, they’d advised that I try another woman but “NO!”, it’s against my Christian doctrine – that’s ADULTERY! Nonetheless, I could not bear the bitterness and shame dominating my entire life and wife. She would cry-out her strength, holding me responsible for her predicament. Yes, because every vision interpreted by all the pastors we’ve visited always point to the fact that one of us has made a mistake in the past, which is why we suffer from childlessness.

My past record showed that I was a real womaniser. I was good at the game yet had a clean sheet. No woman has ever accused of impregnating her let alone committing any abortion in my name. That could have been a pointer to the fact that I have a low sperm count. I couldn’t still believe that premonition since several, not one…not two…or even three, physicians have confirmed that I was active.

What is Low Sperm Count?

Low sperm count means that the fluid (semen) you ejaculate during an orgasm contains fewer sperm than normal. A low sperm count is also called oligospermia (ol-ih-go-SPUR-me-uh). A complete absence of sperm is called azoospermia. By Mayoclinic

Fifteen years of our lives was a total waste. “If I’d known earlier, I’d broken the relationship before dragging her into this shit hole” I concluded. We got married six years ago, coupled with the four years of courting. It was indeed miserable and fruitless too. While courting her, we only had the chance to do the foreplay, of which she would always nag at me for committing fornication. **My wife is a worker in one of the fast-growing spiritual church in our vicinity. She never jokes about her service to God. A very nice and well-mannered lady. Although I never had the chance to know how she’d lived in her youth I met her in the church and we got very close until it bonded us as husband and wife.** I always beg her after such nefarious action of mine so that it won’t stir up any rift. I never wanted her to nurse the belief that I wanted her body at the expense of my genuine love for her. That was how we were able to sail through the four years of faithful relationship before marriage.

**Lot of people have the belief that it’s easy to abstain from sexual immorality but I boldly disapprove such sentiment. It’s all fallacy. Even those who preach against it on the pulpit understand better that once the sexual congii forms in your mind, your brain goes on permanent holiday. Little wonder we witness cases of rape in the society today. These are cheap information you can exhume from the society today. The society cannot be better if we do not tell ourselves the honest truth about Sex, Love, Relationship and the concept of marriage. Spreading the right information and tips can make today’s world better for the computer-age children to thrive**

“What is sexual immorality?”

In the New Testament, the word most often translated “sexual immorality” is porneia. This word is also translated as “whoredom,” “fornication,” and “idolatry.” It means “a surrendering of sexual purity”, and it is primarily used of premarital sexual relations. From this Greek word we get the English word pornography, stemming from the concept of “selling off.” Sexual immorality is the “selling off” of sexual purity and involves any type of sexual expression outside the boundaries of a biblically defined marriage relationship (Matthew 19:4-5) – By gotquestions

No way! I can’t just hold on to this fallacy until I’ve proven it otherwise!” I concluded. The decision didn’t just flash into my mind like that but under the influence of two bottles of Orijin and a plate of pepper soup served me by the best hands at Bay Lounge Bar. I immediately beeped my wife that I’d stay longer than usual that night, she should not worry about my safety. It was rather unusual of me to stay out late at night ever since I married my wife six years ago.


While I was busy with the bottles of Orijin Herbal Drink, I beeped Magenta that I’d stopover her place for the night, just to grant her long-time request. It’s been over a year Magenta has been persuading and lobbying for a one-time dinner at her place to make up for our past ordeal. **Magenta was my ex. We both attended the same varsity and served in the same state. Funny enough, we worked our posting to the same primary place of assignment and had to cohabitate throughout our service year, NYSC. Upon our passing out, we lost contact and got reconnected at the Bay Lounge Bar. I sighted her one cool evening, after the day’s work, at the bar, chilling herself with a fine bottle of non-alcoholic wine. Though it didn’t seem surprising to me since I knew her too well as a tee-taller. We reconnected and got chatting afterwards. She knew I was married. Magenta has always been beckoning on me to visit her but I never granted her request. Best of all is that I never discussed my family or marriage affairs with her and she never bothered to query.**

**Magenta occupied a two bedroom self-contain apartment erected in a secluded estate within the metropolis. The detached apartment, fenced with bricks and plastered with tiles, stood magnificently at the middle of the allotted space. From the exterior, you’d never had guessed how beatific the interior would have looked. Inside the apartment had the best view of modern interior decors. The walls, coated with creamy paints, flourished radiantly as the fine red curtains radiated in the colourized room. The light settings, as well as the electronics, were carefully positioned. The best side attractions in the house were; the kitchen and arrangement of the sofa.**

Magenta stunned me a little with the architectural designs of her kitchen. At one point I felt like sleeping in the kitchen due to its relaxed atmosphere. In fact, I almost dozed off ten minutes after sinking my butts in the soft leather sofa. The thermocool Air Conditioner was really a nerve-softener. “If only my apartment could be like this!” I cogitate for a while. Hardly had I continued in my lone sight-seeing expedition when Magenta beckoned me to join her at the dining. The dinning was systematically cornered at the side of the sitting room, adjacent to the entrance door to the bedroom. “Dinner is ready and served Uncle! Please, teleport yourself over.” She voiced calmly from the dinning.

I joined her on the table and watched as she served the banga soup into a cupped breakable plate. I was already fermenting due to my famished state. I couldn’t wait to say the grace before I attacked the Samtillah Sorghum Meal. I had swallowed ten morsels before I remembered the assorted beef and smoked fishes that decorated the banga soup.


Magenta kept close watch, triggering her surprise with sarcastic smiles. “Who cares?” I soliloquised. I’ve never had such a great meal for ages. The only time I enjoy such could be when I visit my parents in the village. It was indeed a quiet dinner, such that was rare to experience.

**Life is in phases and men are in sizes, but it only takes courageous men to change phases in life as they increase in sizes.**

Magenta was my ex, yet we still have feelings for each other. Even for the fact that I was married and connected to my wife – soul, spirit and body, Magenta still held a special space in my heart, as a bosom friend though.

The mealtime was over and I was supposed to hit the road immediately. It was getting late and my wife should be worried, even upon informing her of my lateness home. The harder I tried to break-off from the interesting memory-lane discussion, the tougher it became. Magenta had known me too well that she understood my weakness, which she aggressively used against me. We laughed at most crazy experiences we had together years back. This precious moment gave me smooth relief from many life’s pressure that I perfectly forgot it was already twelve in the midnight. Magenta was really a charmer with a great sense of humour. I loved it each time I’ve got to see her dimples wooing me as she smiles or laughs. A dark young elegant slim African Negress whose beauty made an ex-corps member, during our service year, beat me to pop because of her. I was later admitted to Awojobi Hospital for days.

The more we continued to remind ourselves of the past, the more we become emotional. The intensity of our discussion led to few touches. Touches lead to hugging. And hugs led to silence and kisses.

Fast-tracking to the climax of the ordeal, we had sex that night and that was it.

Silence engulfed the darkroom for hours as she refreshed her mind of the fact that we had unprotected sex. Magenta was so perturbed and anxious, gazing tightly at the ring I had on my fourth left finger.

What have you done?” She finally broke the ghastly silence.

I just had carnal knowledge of you!” I carefully responded.

She buried her head on her palms as I made to switch on the rare light to be sure if I was safe. **I remembered the day I tried to force her into something of this nature – she almost broke a bottle on my head.**

What…you’re…still intact? I can’t believe my eyes!” I sneezed out my shock as I fixed my gaze at the blood stain on the bedsheet.

For another hour we could barely find our tongues. It was a shocker to me. On the second thought, my wife told me that no man had ever climbed her but when I did it there was nothing like blood stain at all!

Sly, do you think that all the ladies you see out there, in rough places, are really as wayward and rough as you think of them?” she snared at me.

I have been like this for years, with a vow that only the man I’d marry that would break me. My fiancée would arrive next weekend from Canada to begin the marriage process as custom demanded. Now, you’ve naked me and taken away my pride. That’s not the issue but the fact that you did it without protection. You never thought that I could be pregnant?” she calmly expressed her displeasure.

Instead of flowing with the empathetic situation I rather busted into zany laughter. The intense laugher startled Magenta. I continued laughing until I saw the killer-frown on Magenta’s face. That alone explained how horribly senseless I had behaved. With no further delay, I had to open up every secret, about my miserable marriage life, to Magenta.

Now you see! I can’t impregnate you or any woman.

Magenta, sat, frozen and glued to the side of the bed. The atmosphere was beyond serene that I could hear every sound of the night owls, singing lullaby songs to frighten our already created fears and worries. Looking out the window was the only fun thing I could do since there was nothing else hidden about my life any more. It was indeed miserable. A life of regret. I wished, for once, that the owls should invade the room and chat me away. Desperation, depression and premonition were hauling at me as I laid slowly on the bed to moan my miserable life. I fret of the broken marriage vows and the acrimony I have committed.

As I continued in my silent cries, Magenta moved closer, raised my head on her laps and stroked it softly until I slept off.

The alarm played a fast one on me as I briskly awoke to its sounds. It was already six in the morning – time to go home to Eliza, my wife. I quickly dressed up, meanwhile magenta was nowhere in the room. While I was busy with my fast-and-furious kitting up, Magenta walked in with a tray containing a cup of tea and sliced bread and sardine.

 “Mr, where do you think you’re hurrying to? You’ll have to finish what you started, else, we’re going together to wherever you think you’re hurrying to!” She impolitely voiced.

I could not resent her motion. She waggled across me and dropped the tray on a short table beside the bed and gave a grim smile. **I remembered she once told me that if she smiles at a serious matter, she can actually be inhumane and act weird.** I have known Magenta too well that I can’t afford to dare her patience. Little wonder it’s often said the more gentle, the more dangerous.

Ashawo…promiscuous husband…irresponsible man without shame!” She charged at me upon opening the entrance door to our living room. I could hardly respond to all her name-calling and rattling. Instead, I stood to listen to the rumbling noises and jerking. The drama got interesting when she began to cry.

You’re a liar, cheat, heartless, wicked, and impotent! So, after rendering my life useless, you have the affront to sleep around abi? I await the breaking news Sly…that’s when you’ll know that I’m Eliza. You’ll know…” I immediately snapped back at her defensively. “What will you do? You ingrate of a wife! You should be lucky that I didn’t bring her home to you.” I flung myself off her grips and made for the restroom to empty my bowel of all that I’d eaten the last night.

Fast-forwarding to the breaking news, she’s finally pregnant.


Image credits: Pixabay, Google.

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I am a blogger, graphics designer and website designer. I am also-the Managing Editor of Community Watch Magazine as well as-the Content Manager of Runways Magazine.

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