There was a great cheer when the plane was spotted. The arrival time was 2pm but as early as 11am, a mammoth crowd had gathered at the airport. Story had leaked out that Chike was coming back to Nigeria from Ghana after over three years in exile. Initially people considered the news as fake. How could Chike be alive? He was killed as he attempted to escape from the prison. His death was in the news both locally and internationally. But over time it became obvious that Chike was still alive and well, and indeed coming back to Nigeria.
Friends and people that wished Chike well therefore trooped to the airport to welcome him. Even his parents came all the way from the village. Everybody was anxiously waiting for a great reunion. It was therefore not surprising that they became wild with joy when eventually the plane touched the ground. The cheers heightened as Chike emerged from the terminal and started towards them.
Nneka broke away from the crowd and ran to meet him. On sighting her, Chike dropped his luggage and ran to her as well. He had been looking forward to this reunion and was grateful to God for making it possible.
As they got close to each other, he spread his arms to hug her but the first bullet, which cut through his chest stopped him in his track. The second bullet shattered his head and he fell in a heap.
Nneka let out a loud cry and opened her eyes. She sat up in bed and heaved a deep sigh. She got out of bed and went into the bathroom. It was already 7am. She must hasten up as she was supposed to be at the cemetery by 8:30am. The mass usually started at 9am and she had never been late. The date was November second, a day set aside by the catholic faithful as the feast of All Souls. The nightmare about Chike's death had become a kind of alarm clock in her head that reminded her to join other mourners who gathered at the cemetery on that day every year to pray for the souls of the faithful departed.
She showered quickly, dressed up and set out for Saint Michael's cemetery located in Yaba. It was 8:35am when she arrived at her destination. She discovered that only few people had gathered. She chose her usual seat and waited. The cemetery would soon be filled and the mass started. The priest was always on time, so was the congregation.
As always the mass started at 9am and was over two hours later. Most of the mourners dispersed immediately after the mass but Nneka and few others stayed back to say additional prayers and meditate.
She barely concluded her prayers when he spoke to her.
"Hello!"
Nneka looked up and saw a total stranger staring at her. She was sure that she had never seen him before. He was tall, dark skinned, athletically built and very handsome. Just like Nneka and other mourners, he was in black attire. Nneka noticed the camera in his hand and wondered why he came with that instead of a bible or a prayer book. It was supposed to be a sober event, not a picnic. Perhaps, he was a photographer. Most Nigerian photographers attended events uninvited, snapped guests without their permission and of course expected them to pay and collect the pictures.
The stranger was definitely one of them. And the last thing Nneka wanted was to take pictures. She only came to pray for the repose of the soul of a loved one; nothing more, nothing less.
"May I sit?" the stranger asked, cutting into Nneka's thought. She answered with a shrug, implying that he should go ahead if he wanted. After all, the seat wasn't hers.
He smiled and sat down. They were sitting side by side and not facing each other. Nneka's gaze was on the ground as she waited for the stranger to make his mission known.
"Is it your husband?" the stranger asked casually as he gazed into space. Nneka looked at him and wondered why he wanted to know. He had kept the camera beside him and was now fiddling with a pen.
"Are you a detective or a journalist? Am I being investigated?" Nneka was not in the mood for questions and answers and she made it clear.
The stranger smiled and shook his head. "I am neither a detective nor a journalist and you are not being investigated," he said and paused. He heaved a sigh after a while and continued. "I lost my brother over three years ago. He was assassinated."
Nneka turned to face him. She wanted to sympathize with him but hesitated. It was possible that the stranger wanted to use the assassination story to win her attention. She had to be wary.
"Ever since he died, I have always come here on this day yearly to pray for the repose of his soul. I was very mournful the first time I came and I noticed that most of the people were, as well. When I got home that night, I had a dream. In my dream, my brother appeared to me. He told me that the best prayer I could say for him was to be happy, insisting that it was only happy people that could make others happy. I never believed in dreams, but that particular dream made so much sense to me and I resolved to spread the good news. So, I come here every year not just to pray for my brother but also to cheer mourners up …, to give them the message from my brother. Funny?" he laughed briefly. "See, my dear, the bible says that we should not mourn like the gentiles but like believers. Death is not the ultimate end but only a transformation to everlasting bliss. This is our faith, so instead of grieving without end, we should happily wait for a great reunion which is sure to happen on the last day."
The stranger was right and Nneka couldn't agree more.
"You are a pastor, right?" Nneka asked. She earlier mistook him for a photographer, later tagged him a detective or journalist but right now, she was sure that he was a pastor. Only a pastor could speak in the manner the stranger spoke to her. He was so articulate and knew his bible verses very well.
The stranger smiled at Nneka's assertion that he was a pastor. He smiled a lot. Nneka could attest to that.
"I am not a pastor. I am an insurer," he told her. "I run an insurance company."
"Really?" Nneka said. "In that case, we should meet someday and discuss business."
"That will be nice," the stranger was happy to hear that. "So tell me; who are you praying for?" he asked again.
"My fiancé," Nneka answered simply.
"What a pity!" the stranger said sympathetically. "What happened to him?"
"He died." Nneka's tone indicated that she didn't want to discuss Chike's death. No need bringing back bad memories.
There was a short silence. "You must have loved him so much to be coming here every year to pray for him" the stranger said as he tried to take a picture of a kit of pigeons flying about the cemetery.
Nneka wanted to ignore the stranger's comment but she didn't want to embarrass him. He seemed genuinely concerned and didn't deserve any malicious treatment. "I loved him more than words could explain," Nneka's voice cracked as she spoke. "And he loved me too. He was a very good man…, a gentleman par excellence, an embodiment of Mr. Right. We shared many memorable moments together. It is very difficult to forget such a man," From the way Nneka spoke about her relationship with her late fiancé, the stranger could deduce that though the man was dead, he was still very much alive in her heart.
After over two hours of chatting and laughing, they said goodbye. The stranger gave her his business card and she promised to call.
"I am sure we will do business together," she said as she glanced through the business card.
"I will appreciate that," he said, shook hands with her and walked away.
That night Nneka kept vigil, reminiscing on her encounter with the stranger.
…only happy people could make others happy.
The stranger was very correct. Her heart had been filled with anger and frustration. It just occurred to her that she had been complaining to God instead of praying for the repose of Chike's soul. The stranger had really inspired her but beyond that, he had also swept her off her feet. She liked him. But which lady wouldn't like such a handsome man with a very sound mind. He seemed to be godly as well.
She picked up the business card she had collected from him, looked at it and smiled. She had promised to call for a business meeting but she knew that she wanted much more than business. She wanted friendship and if possible, a relationship. She smiled again when she remembered that she was the one that initiated the only blissful relationship she ever had.
Chike had been the lead detective that investigated the case of embezzlement which took place in her father's company. She had met Chike in her father's office and it was love at first sight. Chike wasn't just handsome, but equally bold and smart. Nneka wasn't surprised that he solved the crime within the shortest possible time. She would have been disappointed if he didn't. He was too smart not to have solved that case.
She had invited him for a drink to celebrate a job well done and that birthed a very wonderful relationship; a relationship that would have led to marriage but for Chike's death.
She looked at the business card once again and that was when she saw the stranger's name. She laughed when it occurred to her that there was no introduction between them and here she was crushing over him.
Samson was his name and she hoped to be the Delilah in his life. Not the Delilah that would bring him misery but the one that would bring him happiness and peace. She decided that she would call him the next morning but never did. She couldn't muster enough courage. She dreaded rejection and embarrassment. It took over a month to make up her mind and when she finally called, it was the most awkward telephone conversation she ever had. She had to explain herself over and over again, yet Sam seemed not to have any iota of idea of who she was. She was so embarrassed and angry that for a fleeting moment she wished she could become the real Delilah in this Samson's life just like in the days of old. She wished she could make him feel the kind of pain she felt at the moment.
She went through the conversation once again in her head and felt like crying:
"Hi! This is Nneka," she had said into the mouthpiece with so much excitement.
"The only Nneka I know is a prostitute. Is it the same Nneka?" Sam had responded scornfully.
Nneka had been taken aback but she felt better when she remembered that he didn't know her name. He didn't ask her at their last meeting and she didn't volunteer but that shouldn't justify his reply. He was rude but nevertheless, she tried to explain herself.
"I am the lady you met at the cemetery about a month ago."
"Are you a ghost, too," Sam said with a laugh, "because the only people that live in the cemetery are ghosts?"
At that point, Nneka heard a female voice in the background, asking who was on the phone. "It is either a prostitute or a ghost or both. I am not sure yet." Sam had said in response to the voice.
As Nneka angrily cut him off, she wondered whether the arrogant and rude folk she just spoke with on the phone, was the same handsome man with a very sound mind that inspired her a lot at the cemetery. She had already saved the number on her phone before making the call and the only option she had right now was to delete it and of course tear up the business card and trash it. She was close to doing that when an idea occurred to her. She could actually retain the number and pretend that nothing happened and wait patiently for revenge, for she was certain the Sam would call one day either by mistake or intentionally. Most brutes would do that. Some might even apologize, raise your hope and dash it one more time. Savagery was their stock-in-trade.
She retained the number but edited the name from Sam to Bastard.
Nneka's prayer wasn't answered as Sam neither called back nor texted. She was once tempted to go to his office and confront him but she later advised herself. She might be assaulted physically this time. Time was the ultimate healer. With time, Nneka healed and moved on. She still remembered Sam once in a while but she had become indifferent about him.
It was a Friday afternoon and as usual, Nneka had to close at 1pm instead of the official closing hour of 4pm. She was gathering her things to leave when her secretary announced that there was a man waiting to see her.
"Not now," Nneka cried. She had already scheduled to see her hair stylist at 2pm and she had a dinner party at 8pm. "Who is he and what does he want?" she asked impatiently.
"I didn't find out. I needed to be sure you could see him, bearing your schedules in mind," the secretary said as she made to leave the office, probably to go and find out the visitor's name and reason for coming.
"Just let him in," Nneka said, feeling that protocols would waste more time. She reluctantly sat back and waited.
"Come in," she said when someone knocked gently on the door. The frustration in her voice was unequivocal.
The visitor slowly opened the door and stepped in. On sighting him, Nneka instantly sprang to her feet. "You!" she screamed, pointing menacingly at the visitor. The confused visitor stopped in his track and looked back. He was sure that his hostess wasn't addressing him. Someone else must have entered the office. But there was no one else. It was just the two of them.
"Are you talking to me?" he asked, pointing to himself.
"Is there any other person in this office?" she said as she circled her desk to approach him. "I can't see any other person except you. Oh, why am I so forgetful," she said, hitting her forehead with her left palm. "How could I forget that you see ghosts? And how could I also forget that you patronize ghost prostitutes?" She laughed and sobered up suddenly, "But this is not a cemetery. Please, go to the cemetery and meet your customers. They are not here."
"What are you talking about?" the visitor honestly didn't understand.
"You don't understand?" Nneka smirked, as she circled around him slowly. "I will refresh your memory then. I am sure you are familiar with these sentences; 'the only Nneka I know is a prostitute; … you must be a ghost because it only ghosts that live in the cemetery'. You even had the guts to tell someone in the background that I was either a prostitute or a ghost or both." she halted in front of him and began to look him eyeball to eyeball as though it was a contest.
"How could I have said all these to you when you didn't call me as you promised?" Sam had never felt so embarrassed in his life. He only came for marketing. He didn't even know that the office he came to belonged to the lady he met at the cemetery and fell in love with. He had waited for her call day and night to no avail and one could image his happiness when he walked into the office and saw her. But she had succeeded in turning his happiness to sorrow by accusing him wrongly.
"I waited for your call. I truly did but it never came. I pined for you. I really did but you never called, probably because our meeting didn't mean anything to you. The feeling I had was obviously not mutual." He paused briefly. "I couldn't call you because I didn't have your phone number. I didn't come looking for you because I didn't have your address. So I resigned to fate. Then coincidentally, fate brought us back together but instead of a happy reunion, you are busy accusing me of something I know nothing about."
"Does it mean I called the wrong number?" Nneka thought aloud and fell silent for a while. "But I copied the number from your business card," she said to him. She sounded subdued. Even though she felt he could be lying, she had to give him the benefit of the doubt.
"Can I have your phone number?" Sam said as he pulled out his phone from his trousers' pocket.
"What?" Nneka asked, wondering why he was asking for her phone number.
"Just give me your number," he repeated. Nneka obliged him and he dialed the number. "Your phone is ringing," he said, pointing at the phone lying on her desk. "I don't know if you saved the number you called earlier. If you did check if it's the same number that is calling now."
Nneka reluctantly did as she was bidden and that was when she saw it. In her anxiety, she had replaced 6 in Sam's phone number with 9 and of course ended up speaking to some tout, probably living in a certain ghetto. The mere thought that she could have spoken with a criminal sent shudders down her spine. She heaved a noisy sigh. "Look, I am very sorry. I thought you were the one I spoke with."
"It is ok." Sam smiled.
"Thank you so much for understanding." Nneka said with relief and hugged him briefly. "Come," she said as she dragged him to a seat. "Please, sit and make yourself at home, and tell me what I will offer you."
"I am here for business not pleasure," Sam reminded her as he sat down and crossed his legs.
"I know but we will discuss business later. I have a dinner party this evening at 8pm, we will discuss business then."
"But I won't be at the party," Sam also reminded her.
"Why not?"
"Because I am not invited."
"I am inviting you, then."
They attended that party together and four months later, they announced their engagement. Both of them agreed on a quiet wedding. Only family members and few friends were invited. Sam had earlier met and adopted Chike's parents as his since his own biological parents were dead.
The wedding reception held at Nneka's parents' house. Her parents had wanted a fanfare but Nneka insisted on a quiet reception. She had passed through a lot in the past few years and just wanted to get married to her former fiancé reincarnated in Sam. The only difference between Sam and Chike was their faces. Other attributes were exactly the same. She couldn't thank God enough for gifting her with Sam. He was just a perfect replacement.
The event was low-key only in terms of the number of guests but grand in terms of other components. Everything was provided in excess; food, drinks and souvenirs. Famous musicians and comedians were on the ground to entertain the guests. The high point of the reception was the settlement of the new couple by Nneka's parents. The couple got two brand new choice cars, a house, fifty percent of the equity of Nneka's father's conglomerate and of course a voucher for honeymoon in any part of the world. The initial plan was for the new couple to travel to Dubai but because of issues at work that needed Nneka's presence, they decided to stay around.
They were therefore driven straight to Golden Tulip from the reception venue. They were to spend a month in the hotel before moving into their brand new mansion.