Short Story: Beloved In Christ (Part Two)
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Honestly speaking, for all this while Maa Christy had no idea as to what I have become. I remember the very day I came home after our final exam, we were watching a movie (you know these Akan-speaking telenovelas), so as the couples were about to get intimate, would you believe that she turned the television off, alleging that I will not watch this while she’s here, “until you are eighteen and in the University.” Funny enough I would be eighteen in three months to come too. The “thing” that I have experienced every bit of it . . . what is there to hide from me? ‘Maa Christy should come again’.
Unbeknownst to her, even for the past two months of my stay at home after graduating from school, I have always brought new methods for conning her not to attend church services on Sunday and any other day. My mother is a staunch member of the church. I remember she had earned the name “sorlemotsumli Kwakwe” (literally, church rat but it actually means a prayer warrior), at the Orthodox Church she had been worshiping together with my father. She was not worshipping with the Charismatic church a year ago when she was still my father’s wife. I want to state it as it is.
But things got changed the day my mother called me after our last paper. “Adukwei, we will be living at grandma’s place for now. The tenant has vacated the building.” I did not ask any question; my mother had always taken the best decision for us.
Later I would realize that she had filed for divorce after she had caught Mr. Awoka, my biological father, for the umpteenth time, walking into a restaurant with one Evelyn, a woman he had always claimed was just a longtime friend. Until my mother got to know that he has a ten years old son with her. The sad thing for me is that I cannot bask in the fantasy of being the alpha and omega of my parents anymore. There is now a last baby.
So, when my mother came from church after I have had that angelical advice from Dr. Efua cum the deleterious but save abortion, I knelt in front of her and proclaimed with verve: “I want to be a born again.” “My Girl, do not be silly! Every child is a born again. Do not tell me you have all too soon forgotten about the verse of Matthew 19:14, which I made you cram into memory? There is no sin on you that you would need to reiterate ‘I want to be a born again’. It is people of my age that need to be born again, not a seventeen years old like you. I know you hated the fact that we have stopped going to your father’s church.” “Oh, Maa, it not like that; I need to repent.” “Leave there! Go and prepare the dish. I have bought you the dress you requested for!”
You would have to understand my mother, she knows that I am now about turning eighteen so she thought of me a virgin, but she does not know that I have had my fourth abortion today. And that I have slept with men who are even older than her and Mr. Awoka. If she had known that Koo Kuntu, our school’s Principal, had taken turns with me, she would have crucified me upside down that hot afternoon. But it is what it is . . . she is not aware that I have had multiple encounters with him. It was as a result of those iniquitous acts I won the Assistant Girls’ Prefect position, though Mansa deserved the title.
The first abortion I had while on campus was orchestrated by Koo Kuntu. He is my mother’s personal friend whom she entrusted me into his care. He started calling me “My wife” when he first saw me with my mother during the orientation for first years. Maa Christy laughed about it, thinking Koo Kuntu would be my personal savior; like being a father to me. That man promised me the world and he did deliver too. I came home with an A in core and elective math, physics, chemistry, biology etc.
My mother, on that day, thrown herself all over Olooti Street, repeating joyfully the chorus of ‘What shall I say unto the Lord’. She even called Koo Kuntu and showered adulations on him. But this is not to say that I was a super excellent student. Koo Kuntu instructed Sir Appiah and Nimo to surreptitiously solve those papers for me on that day for free. They did. But I exchanged what is between my legs with them at the blind side of the dotard Koo Kuntu.
TO BE CONTINUED…
By Abdul Rahman Odoi
Copyrights Reserved.@2022
#storiestoldAreNotInnocent
(UNEDITED)
NB: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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