The Sands of Bar Beach
They always told me it would end in tears, but I didn’t listen.
A woman in love, they say, is a blind fool with her head in the clouds.
He’s rich; he works in bank, drives a big car and has an apartment on Banana Island and he’s handsome. In short he’s everything that makes a woman excited.
….and he’s also abusive, controlling and insanely jealous.
We met by chance at De Place night club, in Lekki, on a night when DJ Cuppy was spinning the decks and anybody who was anybody was there.
I was with my friends and he was on his own, prowling.
We met at the bar and hit it off straight away. He was charming, witty and for a man as tall as himself he danced effortlessly without the usual awkward-man-forced dance routine when we decided to try out the dance floor.
I took to him instantly.
That was over a year ago and in this time I’ve seen my Prince Charming periodically metamorphose into an ugly monster.
There have been his manic rages spawned by his jealous belief that I cheat on him all the time. Like a Master he wants to know what I’m doing twenty-four seven. He eavesdrops on my calls and checks my phone, for messages, periodically. I’ve even caught him trying to hack into my Facebook account.
And when he can’t get his own way he’s quick to pull out his fists; with all the charm and décor he sees no shame in hitting a woman.
I had had enough.
I called him from work and told him it was over.
I was surprised that he took it rather very well without flying into a rage and asked, politely, if we could meet up at bar beach, for one last time, after work.
Stupidly, I agreed.
We have a little beach hut made out of palm fronds and bamboo, by the sea, that we go to often. It’s away from all prying eyes and the Aladura worshippers who frequent the beach and we can be on our own.
He was already there when I arrived; sat on the bamboo bench, nursing a bottle of something on the table before him.
We embraced; it was a cold meaningless hug devoid of any emotion topped up with a perfunctory peck on the cheek.
We sat down.
“ So you’re finishing with me?”, he asked, his voice calm and almost sincere.
I nodded, tears welling in my eyes. Was I doing the right thing?
A dark cloud seemed to envelope him instantly and his countenance changed. His brow knotted as his eyes narrowed – you could almost see the malevolence in them – he started to unscrew the bottle and stood up.
“I don’t take kindly to women who dump me and disrespect me”, he was right in my face and I could smell the cologne he had on,”…you sure you don’t want to change your mind? We can make it work”.
Scared, I shook my head.
“Then if I can’t have you, nobody else will”, he lunged at me and I could see him raise the bottle.
I didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to work out what the clear fluid in the bottle was – acid! I had heard rumours of him pouring acid on women who rejected him, disfiguring them, and had not believed them at the time.
It was true and he was going to do the same to me.
The sands of Bar Beach are not designed for high heels and I fell in my mad rush before I could get far away from him.
He took his time as he strolled over to where I was on the ground struggling to get up. The waves lapping around my hands and feet impeded my progress and I only fell more, my tears complimenting my soaked muddy dress.
He towered over me, his back to the sea, with an evil grin on his face. “This is for you”, he said finally unscrewing the bottle.
Paralysed with fear, I could already feel the fluid spraying over my face burning my skin. As if to commiserate a wave of sea water washed over me.
They always say the seventh wave is the biggest and most powerful and when it hit him he fell over, backwards, the bottle of acid too.
As he toppled over backwards I heard him scream in agony as the bottle’s contents ended up all over his face and chest.