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Posts Tagged With: African romance

The Mark

sad_black_woman_dreads1

Last time I checked, you can’t really escape your DNA.

My grandmother died from breast cancer. She was 35. My great grandmother, I heard, died shortly after she had my grandmother. Twenty two; from a tumor in her stomach, so big, that people on their way to the marketplace often stopped to say congratulations. They thought she was pregnant again. If only they knew. My aunts – they didn’t fare any better. One by one, cancer took them to their graves. Some, in their twenties; some, thirties.  The very lucky ones – about two or three, got to see their forties. But no one ever lived to celebrate 50. Forty-nine was the deadline.   But my mother – my mother was intense. Different. Or so she thought.  She’d left Nigeria to live in the US at a young age, and she’d bagged a PhD at age 31. But success always has a downside; there was that rumor circulating in our village that she’d gone mad from all her learning. After all, she was the only woman, or person, from our small village who talked to plants, and played with dogs and cats like they were children. She drank her boiled urine, saying something about the acid in the urine killing the toxins in her body. Mom took steps to make sure she didn’t end up with cancer as her predecessors. Except for the urine which I labeled ‘eccentricity gone wild’, she ate all the right foods. No alcohol. No smoking. No unnecessary stress. She jogged every day; refused to harbor bitterness in her heart towards anybody and anything. And meditated. A lot. Sometimes, I think she overdid it. But fate had plans. It always does. On her way to work that Monday morning, she stopped at the red light. If only she’d broken the rules and gone past that red light, she’d still be alive. She’d have been spared from the journey to eternity at 48 –no thanks to the drunk driver who hit her. One more year before the deadline.

So today, I’m having a party. Today, I  am 34. I’ve not exactly lived a healthy lifestyle. I drink, not too much, just occasionally, and I love my French fries and cholesterol-decadent burgers.  In my head, I’m thinking I have fifteen more years to go. At most. If I’m lucky.   And look, Tade is here with that big, silly grin on his face. He has taken his sweet, precious time to throw this huge, fancy party for me. His parents – they love me like I’m theirs – are here. His siblings are here too. Same with all our friends. They have this knowing, mysterious smile on their faces, like they’re privy to some secret. But what they don’t realize is, I already know. I’ve known since two months ago when Tade looked into my eyes and confessed his love to me, and I’d confessed mine for him; since that fateful night we’d dined at that classy Italian restaurant he loves so much, under the romantic ambience of the chandeliers, with sincerity shining in his eyes, as he said he’d never met anyone like me.

Tonight, Tade Ajayi would like to propose, and he’ll propose right here at my party. He’s so sure I’ll say yes. But he’s in for a rude shock. I’ll say no, like I’ve said no to all the other four marriage proposals I’ve had. He’ll ask why, and I’ll tell him exactly what I’ve told the others before him.

“I love you too much to make you a widower.”

I’ll break up with him because we’ve reached an impasse.  Then, I’ll move on to the next man I’ll love, and who, unfortunately will fall for me. The vicious cycle will continue, until, well, my own destiny, so marked in my DNA overtakes me.

Get my latest book, Lessons in Love, now available at Amazon and in Nigeria, exclusively at Takada Books.

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Categories: Blog, My Stories, Reflections, Romance | Tags: , , , | 13 Comments

First Love Diaries…the ones that walk away

three women, same story

Get my bestselling novel, for Wale Taylor, my first love Here

Remi

There are days the pain is too sharp, I can hardly breathe, and there are days when all I remember are the happy times – the times he said he loved me; the times he said I was funny. Eccentric. Sometimes cute. But never beautiful. No, he never, ever said I was beautiful. But he did say I had a brilliant mind, and that I was sure to go places. He wore a chain – a thin, gold chain around his sturdy neck, and he had a gold stud to his left ear. If you had the patience to wait for him to take off the dark sunglasses he wore on both sunny and not-so sunny days, you’d find brown eyes that held secrets. He was tall, too. Tall, brawny, dark, handsome – all of those adjectives you’d find in a romance book for a hero. I remember him laughing; it was always such an unusual chortle…almost like he was chuckling to himself, secretively. I remember him holding me one warm evening and looking straight into my eyes. The world was perfect that night. Everything stopped, including my heart. I was lost… lost to the awareness of him; lost to the awareness of my deep feelings for him. Lost to an ocean from which I knew I would never find my way out.

Yes, all those things, I remember about my first love.

Tosan

Seven years I’ve waited for my first love, hoping he’ll come back…wishing he’ll tell me he loves me and that he’s made mistake about me. About us. But he’s married a woman that is conventionally woman – petite; light, even toned skin; with an accent that screams intelligence in its foreignness. Even now, I still do not know what I ever did to him that would make him walk away. One moment, he said he loved me. The next, he is married. One moment he said he loved me, the next… he says he wasn’t planning to fall in love with someone like me – too dark, too tall, too skinny girl with too wide lips. One moment he said he loved me, and the next, it almost feels like he can hardly bear to look at me. And now, many years later, and finally, physically beautifully in all of the right places, the pain of his rejection remains a gaping wound screaming for help; for healing.  It screams for attention from anywhere, and anyone willing to listen.

Yes, all those things I remember about my first love.

Rola

First love? Ha! Let me tell you about my first love. He had kind, warm eyes that caressed you long enough to make you feel you were the most special woman in the world. Yet, he chose his parents over me. I wasn’t exactly what his folks would have liked for him to have, so he did some choosing  and, well, it hurt. Very much.  I needed repair, so I did a little walking of my own, searching for the filling that would stop my emptiness. It’s a walk that seems to have no end in sight.  I’ve become a heartbreaker in my quest for finding love. I take your love, and never give back. I make you believe I love you, then, just when emotions are running high with sweetness and the spirit of giving, I walk away. I walk, and leave you hanging, confused, hurt, and alone. I walk on, in this journey called life, searching, constantly searching for the approval of the first love that wouldn’t stay.

Yes, all those things I remember about my first love.

Get my latest book, Lessons in Love, now available at Amazon and in Nigeria, exclusively at Takada Books.

 

Categories: African Romance snippets, My Stories | Tags: , , , | 1 Comment

Secretlillies has Lessons

That’s true…It really does have Lessons, as in Lessons in Love the book, as in, it has something to say about the book, which in one word is what you would call a ‘Review’, but since it’s been a long day and the words are not coming to me (they usually never do come to me, except, well, the phrase ‘as in’), I will say, yes, secretlillies the website does have words to say about Lessons in love. Check it out here, and don’t you just love the website design? Simple, and classy. Have a good one wherever you are reading this. As for me, it’s goodnight.

Categories: Blog, Reflections | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

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