Why I Hate Tuesdays

Life is a lesson teacher, a wicked one at that. Not for a second did I ever think that I would fall prey to this pretentious predator called life. Little did I think I would even fall victim to such an ill-fated trap–a trap set by a man sent by life. But what does a lady in her early thirties undergoing back-to-back therapy have to say that will make you believe her? Sunshine or rain, I wondered why I was picked for this ill-fated life.

Hold on, I think you need to hear why I'm seated in front of this frowning psychotherapist, touching the 24-karat gold ring on my finger, and lost in another world I crave every day. A serene world, where even my money means nothing. I had always wished for a wealthy life, but now it's here, and I can't make any meaning out of it. 

I am pretty sure you know what it means when your fellow human being is kind to you. It may mean little to children from average homes or wealthy backgrounds, but to a twenty-year-old girl born and bred in Ikorodu, it means a lot. In case you have no idea where that is, Ikorodu is the real ghetto of Lagos, Nigeria. It was in that ghetto that I met Onuwa. 

Onuwa was the epitome of beauty. Yes, you heard me right. I have never seen a man so beautiful, with an angelic face, beautiful feminine brows, and full lashes. Onuwa was the real definition of kindness, hospitality, humility, patience, and above all, love. I don't think anyone else will love me the way he did. Most people think it was just a vague aspect of life I experienced. But it was real. It all happened ten years ago and to this date, nobody believes me whenever I tell them I knew Onuwa. 

It all started on a Tuesday, one of the days I now love and dread at the same time. I was returning home from my sales girl job, and it was raining that evening. My madam deducted 1,000 naira from my 12,000 naira salary, again. This time, her husband had purchased a bottle of expensive wine, refused to make payments, and denied purchasing it. My madam was popularly known for her aka-gum behaviour and once again, I was the lamb dragged to the slaughterhouse, without a choice. But I wasn't born to quit, so I had an option to go home and come back the next day.

Drenched in the rain and cold, I started a long walk from Ginti to Elepe just to save money. As I walked home, I realised how brutal my madam was, and I cursed her in my mind. I vowed not to resume work the next day because I only had 2000 naira left from my supposed salary. Of what essence did I have to suffer? 

It clicked in my mind that I was going to face another round of drama at home. I halted on the road and thought about ending it there,  but I would rather not dent my family history with suicide again, just like my father did. Save your surprise for later! My father, popularly known as Baba Igbo, committed suicide five years ago, leaving an inheritance of debts to my mother and my three sisters.

Then, a car horn jolted me back to reality. I stood at that spot, still and cold, until a soft warm hand held my arm and led me to a cozy car. I didn't scream or utter a word.

“A car would have hit you out there! It is raining, and you should have looked for shelter than standing in the middle of the road!” he scolded. 

He was an unknown man.  I still regret that he didn't maintain that status–unknown till eternity. I didn't even shake. Instead, my eyes roamed the interior of the car. Despite my stench and soaked clothes, I could feel a nice aura in the car. So, there were kind wealthy people!  The car was neat, it was the type of car that Uncle Toyin, a popular egbon adugbo in my area, liked to vandalise. 

“Since you have nothing to say, you should tell me your name. Think of it as a reward for saving you." 

I turned to rest my gaze on the man. He was wearing a white shirt, well-ironed and starched. Everything about him seemed rich. I clenched my fists and wished I wasn't born as a child of my father.

“Well, my name is Onuwa, and judging from the tiny vertical marks beside your eyes, I believe you're Igbo." 

Onuwa smiled.

Lest I forget, Onuwa had a gorgeous smile. The kind of smile you could drop your last penny for. At some point, I subconsciously began to imitate his smile. 

“You don't need to tell me your name now. Just tell me where you're headed,"  Onuwa said. 

Finally, something good to crown my bad day at work.

Immediately I heard this, I pointed to the route leading to my house. Onuwa started playing Nelly's Dilemma, featuring Kelly Rowland. I wondered if he had just suffered from heartbreak. 

“My name is Nwakaego, but you can call me Nwaka."  These were my first words since I entered the car.

I nodded in acknowledgement and the rest of the journey was in silence until we got to my destination–the jungle I called home. I allowed him to drop me at Iya Awotola's herb shop, just because I didn't want him to know my house. My habit of never letting strangers know where I stay helped me, I always felt ashamed of our face-me-I-face-you apartment and I didn't want Onuwa to find out.

“Thank you, sir,” I mumbled as I alighted.

Now, this was the beginning of a new phase for me. From the moment Onuwa came back to look for me in my adugbo, my life changed. Everything about him was too good to be true, but I decided to accept it because my mother told me to. It was the usual grass-to-grace switch she always wished for. Every day of my life, I regretted that she birthed me. If her mere presence around my father brought him so many mishaps, you could imagine how well she led me to doom. Although she is Igbo, my mother was nicknamed Iya Calabar–a perfect title for a woman who was born and bred in Ogoja. Not for once did my sisters and I ever feel the warmth of a mother, even when Baba Igbo was still alive. 

We joked occasionally and enjoyed each other's company. He was my man, even if he never asked me to be his girlfriend. But I knew everything about Onuwa, from the biggest secrets of his life to the tiniest information. 

Onuwa became our saviour. The first thing my mother begged him to do was to clear our LAPO debts because of her thriving crayfish business. That wasn't all, it was the beginning of almost everything, and  Onuwa didn't stop there. He did something unbelievable months later.

“I think you should own a business or a small startup that can sustain you for some time," Onuwa suggested. 

I pretended not to hear this, what do I know about business? I preferred working under an employer and receiving a salary at the end of the month. 

We had just finished a meal at Sweet Sensation, and we entered his Mercedes. 

“Are you planning to dump me?” I asked, naively.  

My small mind couldn't construe that money saved up in my name would help me someday in the future.

“Not at all. I just want something attached to your name. My parents or uncle did not consider this before I made money, so I would rather not make such a mistake with the one I love," he said before he turned on the ignition. 

Why was Onuwa worried about me? We could easily depend on the proceeds from the shops he owned, scattered all over Lagos with several umu boys that stayed at the boy's quarters in his compound. Deep down, I wanted to be an asset to Onuwa, somebody he could bank on in the future. It only took me a little caress on his hand and a soft kiss to assure him I wasn't angry.

The following day, Onuwa took me to a big store for lease on Toyin Street and registered my name as the owner. Before I knew it, trucks filled with male clothes trooped in to supply. I was ecstatic and that was how I became a business owner.

“I think we should go somewhere on Tuesday, Nkem,” Onuwa whispered in my ear one Sunday evening. 

I felt a tingling sensation as the man I called husband knew the route of affection to my heart. His whisper was heavenly, like that of an angel, and the names he called me, nobody had ever called me that. Not even the man I called father. 

“Are we going to your house this time? Just last week, you brought me to a car shop you own.” 

I can remember my replies, all the replies I gave to every question or statement.

“Not at all, just a random place."  Onuwa smiled, revealing his one-sided dimple.

Tuesday came, and I was anticipating meeting  Onuwa's parents,  relatives, or friends. Instead, Onuwa drove us to a private graveyard in Ikoyi. In silence, I watched him drive. Staring at his beautiful face filled my inner self with peace. His silver-beaded Rosary rested perfectly on his chest, while he hummed a Catholic hymn. I wondered why we were at a graveyard since it was quite obvious he was a church boy, but it wasn't Lent. We stood outside the gates of the graveyard, in the most pricey silence.

“Nkem, please ensure you visit here whenever you can. Maybe another Tuesday."  

There was something sad about his voice, it sounded like that of an abandoned puppy.

“If you can't make it this Tuesday, come the next Tuesday and if not, try to make it the upper…" He almost choked on his words, his face already red from fear. 

I interrupted his sad speech with a hug. Onuwa hugged me tightly and I could hear his sobs as he broke down. I pulled him away and dried his tears with the back of my palm. 

“Ozugo, it's okay." I tried to console him the way he did whenever I was in pain and he felt relieved afterwards.

It was the first time I saw a man cry. I didn't ask why he wanted me to visit the graveyard on a Tuesday, and I didn't ask him why he cried. We drove back home upbeat, playing Fe Mi, a new single Brymo had released. 

Onuwa loved me more than anything else, and he made this clear enough when he asked me to be his wife seven months later, with a 24-karat gold ring;  something I never dreamt of. We got married two weeks later, a quiet wedding that just my mother and my sisters attended. Not even the umu boys came for the wedding, not even my neighbours from my area, and not even his parents and relatives.

“I want to see your parents, Onuwa,"  I confronted him one Saturday morning after I had a little scuffle with Iya Calabar the previous day, and she had called Onuwa a nobody, despite all he had done for us. I needed to show her proof, or rather I needed reassurance for myself that Onuwa was for me. 

It was the first time I  called his name, ready for a fight. We just had breakfast and he was doing the dishes. I leaned on the door and watched his eyes become sad. 

“I told you Nkem, my parents do not want me. Ever since I left for London, they cut off ties with me. Uncle Adindu knows more, he set a trap for me and I fell in, like a fool,” he blurted out.

“This is what you keep on telling me.  Uncle Adindu this, Uncle that! I want to see them now or never!” 

All I wanted at that moment was just Onuwa, the world could get behind us. What would mouths say if ears heard of my marriage without the presence of my inlaws?

I broke down in tears, and Onuwa ran to sit with me on the floor. He was muttering the usual ozugo in my ears. Before we knew it, we were making love in the kitchen, on the kitchen cabinet. It was raw and lustful–a non-monetary apology from Onuwa. 

Exactly twenty-one days later, I was panicking in the living room, waiting for my husband. He said he was going to reunite with his cousin for the first time in years, but it was midnight and he had not returned home. Onuwa was not the type to return home late. I wondered what had happened. My instincts forced me to start calling all the lines I could use to reach him, but none were available. I called my mother, and as usual, she told me not to worry. So I stayed in the house, occupying my mind with reports from the shops.

A day passed, two days passed until my sisters and my mother came, wondering what to do on the sixth day after Onuwa's disappearance. My eyes were already covered in dark circles from crying and anxiety. The umu boys had no idea where their oga had gone as well. It was too late for my instincts to stop me from picking up my car keys and descending the stairs in haste.

“Nwaka, where you dey go na? If life show you pepper, use am do pepper soup. You no too dull!” Iya Calabar scoffed. 

It was nothing new how she never thought twice before uttering such words that remained engraved in my heart to date.

My mother followed me, ranting and yelling. I didn't stop, despite the fact that I was unkempt and dressed in my white pajamas which Onuwa liked. I had washed and dried it every single day, waiting for him.

“Mumu girl! Man don give you everything. Where you wan find am go? Me I no go find you, you suppose don know say Iya Calabar no dey tolerate nonsense." 

Her voice was like that of the ogene, loud yet destroyed by hard gin.

I did not look back as I entered the car Onuwa had given me on our engagement day. My mind was clamped, and since it was a Tuesday, I decided to go to the graveyard. I was not prepared for this overnight change, it wasn't something I had foreseen. I ran to the gate and the security guards were kind enough to direct me to their office.

“Madam, we don see you here before. You stand outside, only you,"  the tall guard uttered as soon as we entered the office. “Who you dey find?"

At that moment, it dawned on me that I was in deep pepper soup as my mother had said.

“What do you mean by that? I came here with my husband. We came to see what a private graveyard looks like! Oga abeg, I want to see my husband. He owns this place, it's part of his properties," I yelled. 

There was no need to shout, but I needed to exert authority, otherwise my efforts to look for my husband would be an object of ridicule. Fear had seized me and my hands were quivering.

The guards turned to look at each other.  They smiled like it was nothing new to them.

“Oya, wetin be your husband's name?” the tall guard asked again.

“Onuwa. Onuwabuchi Eze, Yagizie nke izizi of…"

“Madam! Why you dey do like this na? Oga Onuwa don die since, no remind us of our nice oga again, abeg!” the other guard scolded, quite rude for a short and robust man.

The tall guard smiled and I watched his eyes flood with tears. He led me out of the office, and we walked to a grave site. Vividly, I saw Onuwa's name written on the monument.

“Madam, this is where we laid our oga to rest about five years ago.  His parents came to celebrate his remembrance of his death last Tuesday. So, you don see say our oga don die and maybe na ghost you…"

“Don't tell me that! My husband is alive, and I saw him last Tuesday before he left to see his cousin. See na, see our wedding pictures," I interrupted, bringing out my phone to show him my home screen wallpaper. He held his mouth in his palm, in total awe of what he had seen.

I didn't wait for him to utter another word before  I ran out. My intelligence paid for my ignorance once more, and I found my way to the gate. The robust guard tried to stop me, but I had turned on the ignition. I was on my way to see the Ezes. Onuwa never lied to me, he even disclosed his home address and private numbers. Immediately I got to the gigantic gate, I slammed my car into it and let my horn blare. I had completely lost it. The guards tried to stop me, but Onuwa's aunt had just driven in.

“Oh, you're the exact description of Aunty Ndidi. I'm here to see Onuwa. Please ask him to come out and explain why he left home for six days without calling his family!”

The glare on her face was something I had never seen. She was Onuwa's first nanny and aunty, his mother's sister. 

“Abuchi?” Aunty Ndidi screamed. 

Her reaction stunned me. I recalled that my husband had told me that she was the only person who liked to call his full name whenever it was something serious.

A few seconds went past before Aunty Ndidi comported herself and asked the guards to drive my car to the garage, before leading me inside the mansion. All I could see were Onuwa's pictures all over the living room but there weren't any recent pictures. I only saw pictures when he was nineteen, there was even an altar dedicated to him. 

“What's happening here?” I turned to see Onuwa’s mother and father gathered before me. Aunty Ndidi sank onto the sofa and buried her head in her hands.

“I'm here to see my husband. Tell him I'm pregnant, I'm carrying his child. I need to see my husband," I cried out. I remember how worn out I was, but the fatigue did not seize my tears.

I was shameless in my pajamas, and unrestricted tears had started to run down my cheeks. On hearing this, Chief Adolphus Eze, Onuwa's father, slumped to the floor and collapsed.

“I'm sorry, nne. Onuwa died five years ago in a car accident. We only found out six days ago that his uncle orchestrated his accident,” Aunty Ndidi explained, breaking the silence and fear that had enveloped everyone.

Then, it dawned on me that I had fallen in love with a ghost, lived with a ghost, and gotten pregnant too.  Surplus surprises!

“Uncle Adindu? No, I need to speak with Ifeoma. Onuwa said he was going to see Ifeoma in Enugu six days ago. He promised to come back. Aunty, bikonu, where is my husband?"

I wished Onuwa was with me, hearing his soothing voice would certainly calm me down. My eyes scanned the living room and I found a telephone on a stand.

I walked to the telephone, reciting Onuwa's number, and tapped it on the telephone. My mind was undergoing something I had never felt before. It wasn't anger or pain. It was frustration.

“Ms. Nwaka? Can we continue our session, please?” Dr Okwuosa's voice rang out, bringing me back to reality. 

“Not anymore, Doc. I need to pick up my son, Nkemjika, from the dorms this week, so we can reschedule for next week,"  I found myself whispering.

“Are you sure you're in a good condition to see Nkem?”

This rhetorical question from Dr Okwuosa was one I should think of well. I was dressed in white pajamas just like that day. 

“Today is Tuesday, Dr Okwuosa and  I think I might just visit Onuwa once again. I might be lucky to get an answer today."  

I didn't know where else to go, despite my bleeding heart and worn-out mind. As soon as I noticed her lips move, I left the office without saying goodbye. 

Different thoughts penetrated my mind while I walked to the garage, but one remained persistent to taunt me. There must be a reason why Onuwa left me with Nkemjika, and I must protect him till my last breath.