The Tales Of Breakfast In Nigeria 🇳🇬 || 2023

🇳🇬 | Chapter 003

Maybe another woman could have dealt with you.

"Excuse me, I think we are in Abule Egba. I hope we have not gone past your bus stop," you had whispered gently in my ears so that you didn't bring me from my dreams abruptly.

I woke up, and looked at you. I took a breath in, hoping to catch your smell but nothing met my nose except the stench that came from the lady's wig sitting in front of us.

I know the smell was from her because I had bumped into her as we struggled to get onto the bus. This is why I keep a low-cut. I don't understand why women punish themselves using wigs.

This is a hot country and you don't have car with AC. Me, I don't like that kind of stress. "I am sorry, I didn't know when I slept off." "It's okay, I could tell you were tired." I wanted to tell you a little bit about my day but my thoughts were cut short by the driver who honked all of us out of the bus.

"We don reach na. Make una comot. Passengers dey wait abeg." We all rushed to get off but as we clambered down, I noticed you held my hands to keep me safe. "I'm Dele," you said after we finally got out of the chaos. "Nice to meet you. My name is Orode."

"Orode?"

"Yes."

"That is a beautiful name." You walked me to the spot under the bridge to take an okada home. Even though I was tired, we still talked for another thirty minutes. We gisted like old friends.

We had a lot of things in common but the deepest bond we shared was the loss of both our parents. That night when I got home, I told Chuchu that I had found my husband.

A year after we met on the bus, we were married. I had gotten a job as an Uber driver and I was making money, you were on the rise as a mechanic in John Holt, so we moved from Abule Egba to Salvation Road in Opebi.

The morning of our registry wedding, Chuchu adjusted the strap of my bra, pulled the neckline of my oversized wedding dress, and asked why I chose to marry you.

"What about Ebuka? That man really loves you."

"Chuchu, please focus on your boyfriend of four years that has given you a ring but won't walk you down the aisle," I said.

It was easier to deflect than try to defend my decision because I knew she wouldn't understand. Yes, Ebuka loved me, but there is love and then there is love.

You see Ebuka's own reminded me of when my mother was alive and we were still living in our unpainted house in Warri.

She used to buy these small, small ceramic things. Like ducks and cats and arrange them in one cupboard that had glass covering.

The roofing sheets of our house used to shake and vibrate with any small breeze and when it rained nko? We used to sweep water out every morning from April to September.

But those her ceramic toys were her pride and joy. She would polish them on Sunday mornings, humming and singing to herself in our parlour.

To Ebuka, I was one of those toys. If I stayed with him, our cement house will be flooded with water, but he will be petting me, thinking that he is happy and content.

You see your own, Dele, you were the kind that if there is a riot, teargas full everywhere and sirens are sounding off, I believed that you would come and find me.

You would hold my hand and you will run together with me to find safety. In the life I saw for myself, the way I saw you, you were the husband for me. The love that I needed.

With your charm and looks, you could have gotten anyone else but you chose me. I didn't believe that a prince was going to come riding into Abule Egba on a white horse to save me and carry me off to Ikoyi. You were the closest to a Prince Charming for me and I was content.

"My dear, no vex. I will leave you be. Marry him. I will support you." Chuchu conceded. And she did just that. At the registry in Ikoyi, she followed me around with a hand-held plastic fan so that my makeup would not smudge and the wedding photographs would look nice.

When I moved out of our shared room, she followed me in the rickety yellow and black taxi, cardboard boxes on her lap, joking about how she would be the one to do my omugwo because I had no mother and neither did Dele.

Chuchu will always have my heart for standing with me. After four months as an Uber and Taxify driver, our finances improved, even though I was splitting my profits 60/40 with the owner of the car.

It belonged to a former colleague from the hospital who wanted to help out. While she was working long hours as a doctor, her Toyota Camry was making money for both of us.

Being a driver was not dangerous at all. Like with all things, I applied sense to it. I never drove at night, preferring to start at the crack of dawn. I used to find plenty customers going and coming from the airport, and those were lucrative trips for me.

Not only that, I avoided clubs and hotels, those ones were too risky, whether night or day. I was quick to cancel those kinds of trips. In actual fact, driving Uber was very good for me as a woman because men loved to help me out.

"I like women that are industrious. I'll pay you extra to do trips offline," many of my male customers would say. I was never harassed. I was toasted but never harassed. I guess not every man in Lagos is unfortunate.

Except you Dele, how could you be so unfortunate? Aside from the pain I feel, I am just disappointed in you. I regret sharing my money with you. I regret sharing anything with you, Dele.

We were young, in love and newly married. Living in our onebedroom apartment, filling it with our dreams, hopes and prayers during the day and our passionate love making at night.

We worked hard and came home exhausted but we were never too tired to explore our bodies. No man had ever shown my pussy the kind of love you showed it.

The way your tongue swept over my clit, the way you sucked my juices dry and then made me wet again by sucking on my nipples while you teased me with your fingers.

The way you kept inserting your tongue in and out of my pussy, swallowing my orgasm over and over again. Dele, your tongue has more uses than your dick. You should cut that useless piece of shit between your legs off. Your tongue is enough.

Perhaps before I kill you, I will let you ride me with your tongue one last time.

One for the road. At least you will die with the taste of my vagina accompanying you to the hell you came from.

You nearly took everything away from me, Dele, and for what? Wherever you are now I hope it was worth it. Marriage to you taught me a lesson I hoped never to learn. I should have known you were up to no good when you disliked Chuchu, my only true friend, closer to me than a sister, for no good reason.

"What kind of name is Chuchu?" "It is Chichi but she chose to change it to make it unique-Baby please leave her."

"Iyawo mi, I don't like that girl, she is weird. I don't want her coming here." I was shocked. You knew all about us. Like Chuchu and I, you knew the emptiness of having lost your parents at a relatively young age.

Mine died in a car accident when I was ten and I ended up in St Ann's Orphanage.

To be continued.....

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