I have always wondered what it would be like to have blood on my hands.
I don’t have to wonder anymore; now I know.
There is so much blood on my hands that when I walk to the market place I hide my hands in a pair of black gloves because I am afraid that people will see it and start whispering behind my back; that they will start pointing when they see the dark red ooze sliding down my fingers and dripping to the floor.
The thing about having blood on your hands is that you can see the world more clearly. Things like sneezing or taking a shit doesn’t seem mundane anymore. Those activities become sacred because you know that only a man alive can perform them, you dig?
If you saw me, you would hardly peg me for the type who can take a human life. No…you would think I was an angel; a fly on the wall that just buzzes harmlessly about…but even a fly is capable of doing much more than buzzing…just ask my mother if you don’t believe me. She told her people that a fly has whizzed into the house and told her to cheat on her husband; told her that was the only way she was going to get her own cheating husband to come back home to her and leave that good for nothing woman my mother had housed and fed when she had lost her husband and was thrown out flat on her ass by her In laws.
My mother had promptly obeyed the buzzing fly and had gone off to seduce her rival’s younger brother who was married with two wives. You see, in spite of the fact that my mother was over forty then, she had the body of a thirty year old and she still knew how to be a woman when the need arose. Needless to say, the man in question fell like a matchbox house hit by the wind and didn’t seem to care that my mother was ten years his senior. Did the plan work? You can bet it did! Thanks to the buzzing fly with vocals, my father went running back to my mother as if the hounds of hell were after him. My mother never saw that fly again but she always talked about it with a wistfulness that had me eager to leave home and disappear into the crowd of another planet.
I could hardly bear the thought of squishing a fly not to talk about even taking human life. But when I watched the knife in my hand plunge into Ibe’s chest, I remembered thinking ‘and to think I couldn’t kill the chicken last Christmas properly!
The poor thing had run around the backyard headless for nearly twenty minutes ignoring my screams of hysteria before it flopped down and finally died an ungraceful death. I couldn’t eat chicken wings for months I tell you.
I digress once again.
Getting blood on my hands was hardly my choice but then again, when the shit hits the fan, do we really have a choice but to bask in the aftermath?
When I met Ibe I was a twenty five year old virgin who had just gotten a lucrative job as human resource assistant in a huge tax firm in Kaduna.
Now I wasn’t a virgin from the lack of opportunity. There had been several opportunities to thrust my maiden head on the roving lances of men around me since I was six years old but something told me that I would probably live to regret it if I did. My mother made me more resolute…She always used to tell me that men were like dogs; once they were done with one bitch, they moved on to the next when the heat was on. I didn’t want to be a discarded bitch with a litter so I simply closed my legs and watched the approach of sex starved men with wary eyes. Being blunt by nature seemed to help keep them at bay too.
The first time I told a chap that I knew he just wanted my kitty; he went quiet for a while then walked away. Impressed by that reaction, I never hesitated in telling the gents what was really on their minds. Men are kind of easy to read even when they are at their most charming.
So, when Ibe came along, I thought he would be like other men looking to get the goods and not pay the price for them. I was wrong.
I bumped into Ibe when he was transferred from Lagos to our office as the new branch accountant. The former was on the run after scrapping together a whooping six million naira over a span of five years.
There I was all green and eager to make an impression after six weeks on the job. I had to learn to wear heels and dress in power suits and I must say I loved the feel of it. The looks I got from both my male and female colleagues when I strutted into the office didn’t hurt my ego either.
The first day Ibe showed up for work, I knew I had competition in the looks department. We were in the boardroom for our usual Monday meeting when he was introduced the whole staff.
He was golden honey to my jet coal complexion. His chiselled looks put my own high cheek bones to shame; he was one of those men who had a barber that could carve beards into meandering streams around a human face… and his lips….I went hot and cold, hot and cold just looking at those lips.
But the feature that got to me the most was his eyes. They were intense.
I’ve always been a sucker for eyes as fine as his but he’s were the best looking pair I had come across in a long while. They made me weak in the knees and suddenly, I who had been a virgin for twenty five years was hit by images that had me rubbing my thighs together in an effort to control myself. But years of practice as ice queen won; so when it came to my turn, as unruffled as Justin Bieber’s hair, I said ‘Toni Lekwat human Resource Assistant.