She looked to her left, then her right. There was no one in sight. She could see light from afar but no shadows or figures. She kept walking, almost running. She knew that everything ends tonight.
It used to be sweet and good, but now, it’s painful.
Pain-ful. And bad.
Ugly-bad.
She continued to run-walk.
Everything had been good and beautiful until her husband, Ikenga, brought that witch of a sister to live with them. She had protested the decision, but Ikenga had promised her that it was just for some time. Maybe a month or two. But that month or two had stretched into six, seven, eight, nine months and half, and that girl became pregnant.
Pregnant! She almost screamed, she clamped her mouth with her left hand.
Pregnant for Ikenga!
Who would believe this?
And he never attempted to deny it. All he said was that she wasn’t related to him .
But how could she have been so foolish? How could she not have seen that they were not related? That the girl was his new wife, sent from the village by her mother-in-law, to come and take her Ikenga from her.
That witch of a mother!
She kept walking and running.
Crying.
That girl with her nonsense pregnancy! Ha the way she’d been flaunting it, as if she wants to torment my childlessness. It’s not my fault that my stomach cannot hold a pregnancy.
Ikenga had been so supportive of her, consoling her and fighting his mother for her. He had comforted her and followed her to all the doctors and pastors that were recommended. He had cooked and drank and bathed with all the oil and herbs and potions and concoctions they were given. He had prayed and fasted and thrown small parties for children like they were told, parties because children are spirits and if treated well and kindly with love and generosity, could bring babies to those who sought them.
Ikenga!
Why didn’t you tell me that you wanted a baby badly? Why humiliate me?
A light flashed from afar. A thick voice, almost like leather, asked who it was. She stopped.
Police! Yes. It was the police.
She ran towards them.
They kept the torchlight shining into her face, blinding her.
“Woman, what is the problem? Where are you coming from this late in the night?”
“I killed them! My husband and the pregnant girl. I killed them both with poison. Please arrest me… arrest me now!”
Som’Adina Kambilinudo is a writer, a human being.
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