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Ibidunni

This is not a story about love.

I know it’s not what you’re expecting, because who doesn’t love a good love story. But while I would love to distract you from the drabness and mundanity that is your life, I’ve come to share a more riveting tale – at least to me, anyway – a tale of revenge. I’m going to tell you why I killed my husband.

You see, now I have your attention. Because other than a good love story, there’s nothing people love more than wallowing in someone else’s misery. Because the assumption is that I’m miserable right? I killed my husband, and I must be drowning in guilt and grief – guilt because I’ve committed a crime that no one must find out about, and grief because I’ve lost my husband – the love of my life.

But you’re wrong again. I don’t feel any of those things. No guilt, no grief, no remorse. In fact, I feel lovely. That’s the best way to describe my current state of mind. Like I’ve just stepped into a field of summer flowers. I feel lovely, and happy and fresh. Like a daisy, or a sunflower.

We’re going to get into the story soon, calm down. I’m going to tell you why. But first let me tell you how. A single GSW to the head. For those of you that live under a rock, and don’t watch CSI or criminal minds, a GSW is a gunshot wound. So single GSW to the head  = a single bullet to the head. Efficient right? At least I thought so. There was no struggle, minimal fuss, and no pain for him. He was dead before he even knew it – before he hit the ground.

After I killed him, I wrapped him up in our living room carpet (thanks again criminal minds), threw his body into the boot of my car, tied a huge stone to his ankles, and dumped him over third mainland bridge. I know his body is going to be found eventually – or maybe not – we are in Lagos after all. But in the meantime, I am thoroughly enjoying the peace and quiet.

Okay so now for the ‘why’. Why did I kill my husband? Simple. He ate my apple.

Okay, okay, settle down now. Yes, that’s what I said. He ate my apple. The last apple that I was saving to eat for dinner. You see I’ve been doing this diet where I don’t eat for 2 days, and then on the 3^rd day I have some fruit. So I had planned to eat my apple, and two bananas on this day, and imagine getting home and not finding my apple in the fridge. I was livid.

He was like that, my husband. He took without asking, because in his head, he was entitled to everything. To everything and everyone. So yes, he saw my delicious green apple (I can’t stand the red ones), and he put it in his mouth, and ate it. No remorse, no questions asked. He just saw and took.

Obviously, by now, you should know that this story is about more than an apple. You should have figured that out by now, and if you haven’t then you’re not serious. You’re not serious about hearing this story, and I’m so tempted to just stop talking, and keep my information to myself.

But if I do, then I’ll go crazy. Because I need to tell the story to someone, someone I know will never tell anyone else. Because I killed my husband after all – I could go to jail. It would be a shame to get locked up without sharing this fascinating tale. So here goes nothing.

Young Love

I met my husband when I was 17 years old. He was a teacher at a JAMB tutorial centre, and I was attempting to write the exam a second time, after thoroughly bombing the first one. Lashile taught Math and Economics, and he was quite good – the best, really. Everyone wanted to be part of his class. He was also a fine-looking man. You know those guys that are so handsome, but have no idea that they are? Yeah, Lashile was one of those.

I ended up in his class because the two subjects I failed in the exams, coincidentally, were math and economics. It seemed like a lucky twist of fate at that time – I eventually came to wish that I failed English instead, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Back to the story.

Lashile took a liking to me. “You’re a bright student Ibidun. You just need to apply yourself”, he would say.  I’m not sure why him saying those things affected me so much, considering that my parents told me the same thing all the time, but there’s something about words of encouragement from a fine boy. Anyway, we became quite close. Did I mention that he was 25 at the time? So yes, he was robbing the cradle, but just a little bit. I, the cradle occupant didn’t seem to mind much, and that’s not the focus of this story so let’s not get distracted.

Anyway, we started dating officially after I passed JAMB. In fact, he promised that if I did well in the exams we would have our first kiss – we had only talked about our feelings before then. We knew we liked each other, and I thought him to be the most honourable man for waiting for me. Of course, I became extra motivated to pass, being the unserious girl that I was/am; I got 320 out of 400. Enough to get me into the University of Lagos to study Mass communication.

Now if I was a wiser person, the events that unfolded between when I passed the exams, and when I got into the University should have let me know that Lashile was a mad man. But remember I was 17, well I had turned 18 by then, but still ki l’omode mo? What do children know? So, here’s what happened. When I got my results, he was the first person I told, of course – remember that I had a kiss to collect. So, I rushed to the tutorial centre because I knew he would be at work, so I could give him the good news. He was happy for me at first, gave me my kiss, which was horrible by the way. It was my first kiss, but it wasn’t his, so you would have thought he would be better at it, but I took it with love.

So, we’re sitting and talking, and he says, “Ibidun. This one you’re going to university now; you know I haven’t gone. I only have my teachers training certificate. I think you should wait for me to go first. I plan to go to the university next year; once I’m done, maybe you can now go”. Now, if you are a sensible person reading this, you’re probably like huh? Trust me I was just as confused.

But then he explained.

“Ibidun, you know I’m now your boyfriend. How would you feel introducing me to people and I only have an NCE, while you’re getting your undergrad degree? Won’t it make me look unserious? Your parents won’t even take me seriously! As the man in this relationship, I need to look like I have my shit together. I’m just saying you should wait a few years. In that time, you can be learning a trade or something. Once I’m done, we can now work on your own university admission”.

Now, before I tell you what I said in response, please remember that I was 18. Reduce the volume of the judging you’re about to judge me – or don’t – what’s done is done. But sha remember that I was young and stupid, verrryyyy stupid. Anyway, I told him I understood what he meant, and I agreed. No quotes on what I said in response because I can die from embarrassment so let’s just move on.

So, I went home to my parents and told them that I wanted to wait a few years before going into the University. I had the wisdom (lol) to not tell them the real reason why –  I lied and said I wanted to learn a skill first, and would go to University after.

Dear reader, I want you to take a minute to help me thank God for my Nigerian parents, because they told me a resounding, unequivocal no! It never even occurred to me to rebel or fight my folks on the issue. I was the only child of moderately wealthy parents, and they usually gave me everything I wanted, and honestly, I was quite spoiled. I had no real backbone, which is probably why Lashile was able to convince me so easily. Anyway, shortly after making my stupid request, my dad marched me straight to Unilag to register for the school’s exams, and in less than a month, I was offered a place in the Mass Communication department.

Of course, I was distraught, and I avoided Lashile for a while because I didn’t know how to break the news to him – remember, no backbone. I eventually went to see him, and told him what my parents did, and cried and begged him not to break up with me. Yes, I am cringing too as I recall this incident but we all make mistakes. Judge all you want. Anyway, Lashile forgave me (lol), and told me to appreciate the sacrifice he was making for me because “not too many men would be able to handle this”. He decided he would just start a business instead of going to University, and I promised him that I would support him as much as I could.

I think I’m going to pause this my story here. I have a lunch date with some of my friends, and I’m already tired of talking. I didn’t plan to take you guys this far back, but it is what it is. Maybe I’ll continue tomorrow.

But before then, I hope it has occurred to you that I had an accomplice. It didn’t? Na wa o. You’re obviously not as bright as I thought you were. How did you think I was able to carry a dead body into a car, and throw it off the bridge? By myself?

Oh well. I leave you to wallow in your own foolishness.

Till next time.