I, Gbenga Phillips representing myself, state that: 1. The Defendant and I were married on 19th May 2008 in Silver Springs Maryland in a civil/religious ceremony. 2. I have lived in Maryland since 26th October 2003 , 3. My spouse has lived in Maryland since: 2nd May 2008. 4. The grounds for divorce occurred in the State of Maryland. 5.We have no children together – Adegboyega Philips versus Funmilayo Phillips, May 2012.
Funmi laid a well manicured finger on the third button of the series of nine buttons in the elevator; it jerked slightly and began to move smoothly upwards. There was no one else in the elevator, God, she missed human company. The soft background music irritated her and she turned to face the elevator mirror. The person in the mirror was strikingly beautiful, full soft lips, an almost Caucasian nose, large mascara lined eyes and a full head of black lustrous hair. Instinctively she looked down the front of her business suit. Even fully, formally suited, it was easy to see she had a statuesque body. How could Gbenga want none of this? As if on cue, the elevator came to a stop and the doors began to slide open. She turned just in time to see an elfin white man in sleeves and a tie reach out a hand to her. Quintessential attorney.
“Fuhnnmee Phillips?” he asked in a Texas drawl. She nodded, as she took his hand and stepped out of the elevator. She did not bother to correct his pronunciation. She was mentally worn out. She heard little of his small talk as he escorted her through very well appointed offices to a conference room where he motioned her to seat across from him. She looked at him straight in the eye.
“I realize this is a bit difficult for you, but I want you to be at ease, we are here to be of help”
Help? She wanted to scream, but she just smiled at him in stony silence. She did not want help. She wanted Gbenga. The tall, dark, dangerously handsome well built doctor she had met five years ago in Lagos. It was at the Palms, where she had gone to watch an old movie Kramer versus Kramer with her cousin Dele and his girlfriend Nneka. They had gotten there some thirty minutes early and when Dele offered to buy her a late lunch at the restaurant under the cinemas, she was glad. She had ordered brown rice with a meat sauce and hard boiled eggs. And as she turned with the plate, promptly overturned the contents of her plate on the barrel-like chest of another patron behind her.
“I am so sorry…”she began, slightly confused, to dab at the mess on his white shirt front or return the half empty plate to the counter.
“I am very angry, Miss and the only way I can be assuaged is if you have dinner with me…….” the voice was soft, with an American inflection. She looked up at his face. He towered over her, handsome, gap toothed and tiny wrinkles around his eyes as he smiled. She smiled. Who used words like assuaged? Six months later, she left her job with a telecom company and moved to Baltimore to marry, the young successful doctor. For a while it was bliss. But the only male child of his patriarchal family, wanted kids. Month after month until she began to dread the coming of her monthly cycles, year after year, she bore him no child.
“Ma’am?” the voice of the attorney jerked her back from her journey.
“Yes?”
“What do you want us to do about the property?”
They owned a spacious beautiful town house in the suburbs, and she remembered the joy she once had, choosing carpets, floors, bottom freezer refrigerators, TV’s drapes , cutlery, and the like. It seemed like a long time ago. It didn’t matter now.
“Im not contesting, I don’t want anything of his.”
The lawyer, a veteran of many lawsuits, seemed genuinely puzzled. He was saying something but now, she wasn’t listening. There was a large screen TV behind the attorney and although the sound was very low, she could make out some of the words “…..The pilot of the ill fated flight 9J-992, Dana Air plane that crashed into a densely populated neighborhood in Lagos, Nigeria, radioed that the plane was having trouble just minutes earlier, an airline official told CNN…there were no survivors…”
Her stomach contracted in fear.
“What is it Ma’am?” the attorney was asking. She dug out the Blackberry 9900 in her bag and quickly scrolled to Gbenga’s last message. “Please don’t hate me, I love you but I have to do this. Boarding flight 9J-992 on Dana to Lagos. Will call you from the international airport.” Her hands were shaking, even as now, the phone rang almost as if on cue. It was Lanre, Gbenga’s friend and her gynecologist. Her hands were still trembling when she brought the phone to her ear, but his voice was joyous.
“Iyawo, bawoni, your test results just came in a couple of moments ago. Congratulations, you’re pregnant and it’s a boy!”
She began to smile, looked at the plane crash behind the confused attorney, and started to cry, and laugh and cry all at once. She had already thought of a name. Babatunde.
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Lulu @Lulu
This is about a journey, not a destination. My father, a genuine intellectual, taught me the beauty in words and in the ordering of words. It became my first love (forgive me ) but what can best be described as the mundane things of this life took me on a different circuitous path and for a while, my dream slept. But there is something William, Shakespeare that is, said and I will try to paraphrase. There is a flood in the affairs of men when taken at the flood leads on to fame and fortune. I am at such a crossroad in my life. I did not train as a writer, I like to think that just as some were born leaders, kings and princes, I was born a writer but I also realize that it is possible to learn how to be a leader. I am humble enough to admit one can be taught to be a better writer.
Why prose? In a single word, Africa . Depending on where you are or what you are, the name conjures different images. A seemingly riotous, chaotic market with women in impossibly bright floral prints selling mysterious food items and managing to talk all at once? Or bare breasted females balancing earthenware on their way to the river gossiping gaily or the silhouettes of giraffes, their necks undulating gently with the golden brown sunset in the horizon. Yes this is Africa, yet there is an Africa that is missing from contemporary African and world literature. True there are stories about the community, about the collective, about the cock crow at dawn, the music of the mortars before dinner, and about the darkness and our metaphor for hopelessness. But there is another Africa, of a people familiar with foreign currencies, the internet and mobile phones, of people if the need be, more dubious than Sicilians, more pugnacious than Irish men and who gaze at the stars wondering Ïs there anyone out there?. Yet a people noble and strong, and a people of the future who long after technology has failed the West, will be a source of strength for the human spirit. I try to tell these stories, and with a hope, the hope that we will learn and if we learn nothing new to be entertained.Go to Lulu's profile, and read more of his/her posts.
For some reason I’m not connecting to the sorrow – the emotion (supposed to be) behind the story; but maybe that’s on me.
It’s a nice story. Nice perspective. How ‘sad’.
Nice.
deathstroke the terminator…….sorry it didnt work for you, maybe its the russian n me…will try harder next…
I like the idea of the story…as the death of one occurred it ushered in the life of another.
I just think the ending could have been more poignant.
And I love the title – Babatunde; it all syncs well into what the story is about and the fact that its a name of life returned.
I like the fact that I was indifferent to the story from the beginning, suddenly connecting with it at the end. But yes, the end was either too short or too weak or both: This is where you should have worked the emotion we all seek to connect with, to greater depth. All the nicely crafted details featured at the beginning and middle part of the story really mean nothing without the crucial punch of the end–which I feel you were not very successful at making impactful.
Nice perspective. Well done.
Well written but I think it was too short for the story you were trying to tell
I like the idea behind the story – rebirth. However, I agree you didn’t fully explore all the potentials of the story being told. The feeling at the end seemed too abrupt which does not bring the poignant emotions to full circle. I also think you need to watch your punctuation in some aspects.
Well done.
One of the things I love about the NS site is the fact that you will hear the truth and the truth will set you free. i FEEL THE COMMENTS…REAL TRUTH
I like the story. Bitter sweet tale in a way.
It’s sad that the son will be named after him, (that’s if she didn’t get to lose the pregnancy)
Nice one @lulu. It can be better though but I enjoyed reading it…
thanks @Lancaster , the son wasn’t named after him by the way,
Sad but sweet @Lulu…Kramer vs Kramer you say? Ironic aint it? the main beef of that very divorce was the CHILD. Our gal here was childless, but hey…thanks to the creativity and genuies combined; whoala!
we can say that bit is sorted!
I liked the style…did you say “barrel-like chest?” lol; fellas, the things you pin on women!
the conclusion I get from feedback fom this story is that it seems rushed and not well written. i will sit down again and se what i can do about it. glad you saw the kramer vs kramer reference @dottaraphels, and glad you enjoyed it…
Good story, @Lulu. I liked the idea behind it. And the story was well written, too.
I think that the reason that I didn’t feel so emotionally connected with the story was that while you sketched out the outlines of the progression of the relationship between the MC and her ex(?)-husband, you didn’t go into enough depth in describing the emotional relationship between them, so I didn’t feel the sadness that she would have felt on hearing that he had died in the crash.
@TolaO, I THINK i DID A POoR JOB OF CONVEYING THAT EMOTION, SEEING HOW DRAINED i WAS FROM SOME RECENT things in my schedule.No excuse sha….. I appreciate the candidness, everyone and I will try to work on it again….
Wow! A few more sorrowful sentences at the end would have done justice to this beautiful work.
Respect jare.
thanks for stopping by….A few more sorrowful sentences at the end would have done justice to this beautiful work? i can do that..lol@kaycee
I think the pregnancy was too early for the sex to be determined, don’t you think? She’s only just been confirmed.
I go with the others on the emotions stuff.
But you write well all the same.
@babyada, I never really thought of that. I just researched it and found out that you can only find out a baby’s sex from 12 weeks…..hmmm….thanks for pointing out that one, but we go chalk am up to poetic license, lol. Thanks again for the comments…
I ditto @TolaO‘s comment on the “emotion thingy” but I love the story all the same. It is sad indeed…
i swear i did not read your story before writing mine… good job though.
@kiah thanks, wheres your story? lets see…..thanks man.
biko am female oh and very much so last i checked. do i write like a man?
@kiah , honest mistake, no pic, wheres your story?
na Admin face we dey look oh!
http://www.naijastories.com/2012/06/laugh-lines/
there you go…:)
WELL THOUGHT AND PRESENTED-SAD
Like the idea of the death ushering in a life… You already know what to tweak in the piece. So, U got a nice story. A little more, and it would be a Hope-filled story. Well done…$ß.