Idia–A Story

By Ikenga Chronicles July 19, 2018

Chioma Ngaikedi,

He comes to me every night. Whether I’m lying under the Udara tree in the middle of our compound, nestled between my brothers or on the bamboo bed in Mama’s hut, he’d still come. Raising my wrapper, he’d run his fingers along my legs,forcing my clamped legs apart. He’d crawl to my neck, dropping a trail of kisses along his path, ignoring the echoes of ‘blood of Jesus’ slipping through my lips.

It has always been a battle of wills. A war he knows very well how to win. He knows where to plant the kisses to crumble my defenses. He knows how to stroke his thumb at the apex of my thigh and have me melting like wax. Dozie has been my lover as long as I can remember.

Even mama has tried to break the bond. Remember how she took me from prayer house to prayer house. Loud bells echoing in my ears, white garment clad men dancing around me, their olive oil dripping down my head. Yet, that night, Dozie still visited as I slept within the church sanctuary.

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“He is a spirit husband,” another prophetess declared. Her church was a makeshift bamboo structure by the shores of Elegushi beach.

“This was the final busstop,” the prophetess boasted.

Her voice rang deep into the night along with the responding echoes of her followers’ claps. The sea waves crashed on me where I knelt. My white satin gown glued to my body. I shivered but I dared not complain. Mama was standing beside her, her hands raised in the air, eyes closed, echoes of amens slipping through her lips.

Strokes of cane soon began to rain on me.

“Out! Out! ” the prophetess yelled with every wipe.

It landed on my head, my shoulders, my back…I wriggled, my cries sang an adjoining chorus to every stroke but the prophetess didn’t stop. Not until I slumped–bleeding, broken.

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A smile danced across her face. She opened her bag and brought out seven eggs, circling each around my head, she flung them into the ocean.

Her voice rang out ” Oh ye spirit husband. Loose your hold on this girl. Find for yourself a marine wife. Let this one go as I have decreed.”

Yet, that night, he came again. His face, a mask of rage. Tearing my clothes and pushing me deeper into the mat,he slid into me. His eyes never left mine, accusations burnt in his gaze. He thrusted, again and again till he was spent. Looking deep into my eyes, he spoke for the very first time.

“No one will take you from me, Idia.”

 

  • Chioma Ngaikedi is a writer and film maker whose works appear mostly on www.chiomangaikedi.com
  • Photo credit: Pinterest
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