Echoes Of Silence – Pt. 8


She watched the van moved down the street. Perhaps it was the attractive hue of purple and orange or the loud music emitting from the van that drew her attention from the novel she was reading.

The novel, by Francine Rivers, was quite different from the stuff she was used to. The bookshelf in the living room has several books from the same author and various other authors, as well. She had been drawn to this one because of the picture of the handsomely bearded man and the beautiful woman on the cover page. The story was so interesting that she was eager to know what eventually happened to one of the lead characters, a very beautiful, pregnant young woman who had to finish a long distance relocation journey without the presence and assistance of her husband. He died in the course of the trail despite that he initiated and insisted on the journey in search of a better life for himself and his family. His wife, who had tagged along grudgingly was left to face the daily hardships of their journey with what was left of her family, and in her pregnant condition.

The book had been a good cure for her boredom as there was virtually nothing much to do here in Lagos. She was hesitant to go visiting the few acquaintance she knew in Lagos because she was unfamiliar with the routes. Hence, whilst she relied mostly on Uncle Wale to assist her job scouting, she had only gone out with him on the few occasions when she was required to attend a couple of interviews. Mary pored hungrily over the pages of the book with interest until the music van distracted her.

As the van disappeared from sight, she was returning to the book on her lap when her sight caught another view in the garden.


Wale and Abike took advantage of the quietness in the house, assuming other occupants were observing a Saturday mid day siesta. The cleaning woman was around today and, as usual, everyone went indoors after breakfast to allow her do her work.

She left about twenty minutes ago and Abike had come downstairs to lock the doors. However, she couldn’t resist taking a walk into the garden as she peered and saw no one was there. Everywhere was quiet and serene, like before. It was her garden again. Her face lit up in pure pleasure as she hungrily breath in the musky scent of decaying leaves and slightly wet earth and walked towards the long bench.

Wrapped in that serenity as she sat with her eyes closed, she startled when she felt Wale’s arms around her.

“Hmm, caught you now. So locking the door was mere excuse for you to come garden, abi?” Wale’s wrinkled smile and cologne were doing crazy things to her hormones and she shifted in his embrace to face him, a guilty expression spreading over her face.

“Oops, sorry, I couldn’t resist taking some of the cool natural breeze of the garden. Let’s go back upstairs so I can finish trimming your nails”, she offered conciliatory.

“L-a-t-e-r, I think I like the feel of old times this place gives me”, he drawled sexily and they both giggled mischievously, unaware of being watched.


Mama stood at the window and watched as Wale cupped and fondled one of his wife’s breast affectionately. She had come out of the room when she heard footsteps in other parts of the house, with the intention of making small conversations with her son but was greeted by the emptiness of the living room. The laughter from the garden had, however, drawn her to the curtains.

“No wonder he doesn’t have my time these days. I was wondering why he has not come to my room all day. See the two of them carry on shamelessly as if they are newly weds and she has nothing to show for all of my son’s hard work. How can anyone be happy without children, e-h-n? … Am sure it is high time I know what am doing here. Ha ha, am not growing younger neither is Wale na”, she mused as a frown furthered the wrinkle on her forehead.

“Mtcheew, my son cannot come to Lagos and become a woman wrapper. Not even for one as disrespectful as she is”, she hissed as she hobbled away from the window back to her room.

2 thoughts on “Echoes Of Silence – Pt. 8” by Musemussang (@Musemussang)

  1. It keeps getting better

Leave a Reply