A LOVELINE CHAPTER ONE EPISODE ONE

 

 THEME: A LOVELINE

 GENRE:TRAGEDY

 AUTHOR: OLUSANYA OLALEYE

All rights rightly reserved. No part of this work should be used without the knowledge of the author himself.

 

EPISODE ONE

“Abeg make una carry come soup too, na small remain make the water don.” Chioma said sentencing more woods to eternal death.

Today was Chioma’s day and not her birthday going by. It was simply her day because she was a local trader and today was yet just another market day speaking of. Like a good mother she was Chioma actually believed in making hay while the sun shines, hence her reason for waking up this early. This as it would appear didn’t mean she woke up to this single reason, on the contrary, nothing else but the care of her family had propelled her to doing this. This she believed like most other Nigerian women could be partly shown by cooking for her family; just the same way every Nigerian man tried their possible best in meeting their family needs. In line with culture and belief family first had always been the motto of Wole’s household. Chioma only but upheld this.

For some soon-to-be-known reasons the sac Chioma spoke of was nowhere to be found in the godforsaken wooden cupboard that stood in the far corner of the small pantry, where she had assumed it to be. It should be here the walls heard Loveline her daughter complained after finding nothing but frightened cockroaches making a successful all the same irritating effort at her dark still lovely skin. She had naturally startled them and they had consequentially startled her in return—a mutual albeit discomforting reaction. 

“Mama I no see am ooo.” She complained giving up the search.

“Una don look inside that big pot, na there Francis talk say hm put am yesterday morning.” 

“Okay mama.” 

Loveline found it there neatly wrapped as said by Chioma in a pink cellophane bag that would beg for an-already-denied gentleness.

 “So wetin be the time now?” Her mum asked as she made the amala.

“I no carry my watch, but cock never crow: so six never knack be that.” 

“Eh, you sure:  me no trust these cocks ooo… these days, na so so wrong time dem dey crow. U know say recession dey now. Our neighbour, mama Faith, think say the cocks don dey feel am: say na why dem no dey crow the right time again; dem dey reserve their energy: ehn ehn, who wan die. Anyway,” she said, “when six knack, make una go wake that Francis up. You hear? Make him no come wake commot by twelve noon.”

 Loveline only smiled okay and took her seat on the stone opposite Chioma. She was quite much like her in every aspect: in looks, in speech, in behavior, even in joviality, the whole caboodles of it. Sitting opposite her was like watching herself in the mirror—the kind God would see when he looked down upon men. This was why neighbours sometimes teased her of being too much greedy. Why must she take after her mother so perfectly they asked; a little of her dad would have been okay and would have been fine. But within and without Loveline’s countenance suggested she had something else in mind. Something far from neighbours arguments and sentiments. Something she wanted to discuss with her mother. Something she should have discussed yesterday but couldn't owning to her coming late from Paulina’s. Besides and aside, she wanted a moment alone with her mother to discuss it. It was too early but such words would be better discussed when the heart was free and less saddled with loads of thoughts. Tomorrow would be her graduation day and she was yet to collect her dress from Mama Sikiru—her fashion designer. She should have collected it but was yet to have the money in full cash. And hence the delay.

“Mama my dress,” she said, helping herself with a stick she picked up, “I never collect am.” She reiterated when no response came.

“Mama, I say I never collect my dress for tailor’s place.” 

“Abeg carry the soup give me,” Chioma said, “and take this one go inside.” She said pointing to the sac of amala.

Loveline shrugged but went ahead and carried the pot. It was understandable they were becoming poorer, but her mum ignoring her words was uncalled for. Was it her fault? And why must she make everything about it.

“Mama…” She began again.

“You will collect it today when I return from market.” Chioma stuttered with a heart that would cry. 

Somehow Chioma’s words played a dirge to Loveline’s ear. The only thing she could hear was the sadness accompanying the words and how heavy they sounded, the rest and everything else were stripped of their meaning—the intent from which they were spoken. The sadness reminded her of a past, a prosperous past she and the family still wished was the present—a very beautiful and comforting past, one at that no one would wish to become a past. Chioma’s tears she knew was her fault, a product of nothing but a reminiscence she now blamed herself for. Had she not brought the dress issue up, the tears, she thought, would not have been born. But what choice had her, she asked. She moved touchingly for consolation.

Stop crying mama she pushed but the past played the present in her presence and rendered her trial a null. She herself broke into an uncontrollable soul damning sobs.

Continue reading EPISODE TWO EPISODE THREE