‘He is the one, he is the one, he can’t leave me not like her, not like the woman that calls herself my mother. He loves me, I’m his princess, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t leave me.
After being single for years, she had finally met her dream man. He was just the perfect man for her, everything she had ever wanted. Bimbo spent her days dreaming and her nights fantasising about him. His name is Chidi; a wealthy businessman based in London with businesses in Nigeria. He seemed like a dream come true…he had the perfect lines for wooing a lady like her. She had always had a thing for Prince Charming with nice vibes and a slight British accent. When she was younger, her mother laughed at her cravings and thought it silly. It didn’t matter that she had to work extra hard on her accent to produce that slight lilt she found sexy. She was proud of that accent because being a Yoruba girl and growing in Lagos hadn’t helped.
That was why she liked Chidi. Although he was Igbo, it didn’t show one bit in the way he talked. And he was oh so handsome. He was tall and had the body of a model; she especially liked the chocolate colour of his skin. She never tired of staring at him. Whenever they were together, he said words that sent a tingle down her spine.
Her friends told her she was crazy to be in love with him, she paid no attention to their words; they reeked of jealousy. Although they refused to admit it, she knew they were dying to meet him. Soon, girls, soon.
She sighed deeply as she cast her mind back to when they first met. It wasn’t love at first sight. No, if anything it was crash at first sight. She was already having a bad day; work had been crazy, it was one problem after another and then mid-way through the day, her female time kicked in. She was glad to leave the office but then came the traffic on Third Mainland Bridge. She tried to relax turned up “Oliver Twist” playing on Smooth FM, when all of a sudden her body jerked from the impact to her car. She stepped out fuming to see a man dressed in all white with the most alluring eyes she had ever seen. His suit reeked of taste. She’d never seen a man who wore a white suit so perfectly. It was crisp and neat…well ironed in the right places.
‘Hey Princess, I’m so sorry about that, was just lost in my own little world. It’s just a small dent, can be easily fixed.’
Who was this person calling her princess after driving into her car? She wasn’t in the mood for this, please God not today she prayed. Then he smiled and truthfully at that moment some of her brain cells went missing.
‘Why don’t you give me your number and home address and I’ll get one of my workers to come fix your car.’ Again that smile, again a part of her brain died because she found herself writing her number and home address. He left her standing there holding his business card and wondering what just happened? She knew she wouldn’t see him again, knew he had just…like her people say; “419-ed her.” So she was surprised when two days later a man showed up at her door claiming to work for him and he was there to pick up her car.
She called to say thanks for sticking to his word. Men like that are hard to find, that was when he asked her out on a date. One date led to another and another and finally on the fifth date while having a private dinner at the rooftop in Marquee nightclub. He hired a band to serenade her and ask that all-important question.
‘Will you be my lover? Yes, No, Yes, No, Yes? Will you be my lover? No, Yes, No, Yes, No?’ To the tune of Banky W’s Yes/No.
Yes, it was cheesy but that smile of his confused her.
How could she say no? Even as a part of her brain warned her that she was treading on dangerous ground…she refused to heed to it. She had never been happier in her life. Every moment with her Prince Charming was golden, he took her through wonderful moments and she was more than ready to give her all to him. After all he deserved it. He deserved her body and much more…a body he made her feel good about.
He thrilled her beyond her wildest imaginations and called her ‘Princess’. How she loved that name! It was an instant turn-on for her. No one had ever called her ‘Princess’ so she found it very flattering.
“When do we get to meet your dream man?” Anita, one of her friends kept asking. “Abi, are you hiding him from us?”
Bimbo sighed. She knew they wouldn’t understand what she and Chidi shared. That special bond between them that was hard to break was what she couldn’t explain to them. They would only laugh at her and she couldn’t blame them …they had never known a love so real.
“I’m talking to you.” Anita shook her.
Again, Bimbo sighed. She had drifted off again as she usually did. It was becoming more of a frequent occurrence since she met her dream man.
“Soon, Anita.” She replied. “He’s a very private person and a bit shy.”
Anita snorted; a sound that annoyed Bimbo. Wait and see. She thought. You’ll meet him soon and be amazed at how perfect he is.
The truth was; Bimbo didn’t see the need to share Chidi. Yes she loved him and yes she knew he wouldn’t hurt her but the thought of sharing him scared her. She had fallen hard for him and she knew it was becoming obsessive but she didn’t care.
Anita once told her, her mother caused her issues. That she was too clingy always showering people she cared for with excess love. She told her it was because her mother gave her away when she was six, so she over compensated with her emotions. That’s total rubbish she had said to Anita. As far as she was concerned she didn’t show enough love. That’s why she wasn’t going to share Chidi. Chidi was hers and she intended to keep it that way.
Some days she sat and thought about what it would feel like having a little Chidi grow inside her. It excited her, excited her so much she stopped talking the pill; not that she would tell him. When he made love to her, she would cross her legs till the next morning praying that his seeds were good swimmers. So far though nothing had worked, but she knew it was only a matter of time.
Chidi sent her one of those sweet texts she loved today, ‘Hello Princess, my Nubian queen to be, just wanted to say a quick HI, I’m thinking of you and can’t wait to hold you later today.’ It always made her smile, these texts from him. The fact that she was constantly on his mind, made her safe.
‘So what’s for dinner? I wouldn’t mind a bit of you on top of me.’ Her smile deepened and she wondered what really would she cook that night? She loved Amala and Ewedu, but as an Igbo boy he preferred Pound Yam and Okoro. These subtle differences made her worry, would their tribal difference endure their love?
Bimbo was sure that if her mum met Chidi she wouldn’t mind their tribal differences. She was willing to risk their love for that. Chidi was everything a mother could want in a son-in-law, so their tribal differences shouldn’t be a problem.
She, on the other hand was going to do some quick adjusting to her Yoruba lifestyle. She and Chidi had different tastes in food and she knew that Igbo women were usually great cooks with a diversity of soups; she could count on one finger all the soups the Yoruba had. She needed to show Chidi that she’d be the best woman any man could have, Igbo or not.
This was why she decided to try out something special for the night. She was going to cook one of those soups he liked, the one he always talked about. The one his mother always cooked for him…Bimbo smiled to herself; by the time she was done tonight Chidi will be eating out of her palms.
She had never cooked ofe nsala before but had heard Anita talk about it, so When Anita came over to visit her she decided to ask her for the basic tips.
“You? Ofe nsala? Wonders shall never end. Whom are you cooking it for?” Anita asked.
Bimbo groaned inwardly, she’d known that Anita would ask. The girl never let anything get past her; she was always sticking her nose in places it didn’t belong. Sheesh!
“I have a visitor coming over.”
“And may I know who?”
“Well, if you insist. My one and only is coming to visit and we’re having a romantic night here.” Bimbo’s face took on an enraptured look.
“Yea, right.” Anita mumbled.
“Whatever. I just need the basic tips for cooking the soup”
“When is he coming?”
“In two hours. I want to make something special and different.” Bimbo was dancing lightly on her feet. “I want him to…you know…pop the question!”
Anita almost spat out the water that she was drinking. “Ooh…it’s that serious. Why haven’t I met him yet?”
Bimbo pursed her lips and blinked. Anita kept talking but Bimbo didn’t hear a word of what she was saying, she was lost in her on little world, one where only she and Chidi lived in
Anita left; she knew there was no point talking to Bimbo anymore not when she got caught up in Chidi. She looked at the clock on the white wall, it was 2:30 pm, thirty minutes before her next appointment, but she couldn’t help but worry about Bimbo and Chidi. It worried her that after all these months all Bimbo still spoke about was Chidi, the man that took over her heart. When she got to her office, she tried to write up her notes to get her mind ready for her next patient but she just couldn’t forget her friend Bimbo.
She met Bimbo about a year ago, just about the same time Bimbo met Chidi. They bonded over their love for books each always discovering the next great Nigerian author. She never did meet Chidi, but she heard so much about him. Six months after Bimbo met Chidi, they got engaged. Anita felt it was strange; it was all moving to fast and prayed that it wouldn’t all go wrong. But it was a prayer that wasn’t answered. One day about three months after they got engaged, she heard an erratic knock on her door. As she made her way to open it, she heard a loud scream then muttering, continuous muttering saying the same thing over and over again,
‘He is the one, he is the one, he can’t leave me, not like her, not like the woman that calls herself my mother. He loves me, I’m his princess, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t leave me. He is the one, the one meant to love me, to want me, not like her, not like her, not like the mother that abandoned me.’
When Anita opened the door she saw Bimbo pacing back and forth, she was wearing a torn nightwear, her breath smelt foul, her hair uncombed, a knife in her bloodied hand.
‘What’s the matter Bimbo, tell me what’s the matter?’ But Bimbo never said; she just kept muttering repeating the same sentences over and over again.
Anita somehow managed to talk her into giving her the knife and when she was calm took her to the psychiatric hospital she owned. Three months went by and through counselling and drugs Bimbo got better. Well enough that she wasn’t a danger to her health anymore but not well enough that she would ever leave her new home, Anita Brown’s Psychiatric hospice with its solemn corridors and depressing rooms.
Their counselling sessions were always the same. Anita would sit and listen pretend that they were just two friends gossiping about a man one of them loved. A man named Chidi that called Bimbo his princess, and she was sure she would marry.
She would pretend she was hearing all of it for the first time. That it all hadn’t happened. That Bimbo hadn’t tried to kill herself when Chidi left her, just like her mother did. That Chidi was on his way to eat Bimbo’s food (a meal she would never cook), to ask her to marry him. She would pretend that Chidi was a man; her friend met and fell in love with, a man who stole her friend’s heart but also her mind.