SCRIBE & INK

CHAPTER FOUR (The Voyeur's Path ) But the night sky also revealed my dark desires, a twisted side of my quiet and innocent side I couldn't tell any of my friends I was still a virgin. I wouldn't survive that mockery and if i did, I would lose the feeling of belonging and my only source of answers as well. If you've blazed the trail of teenage years, you would understand. You know it’s not just me, it’s not a male thing. It’s the status quo. You know it without seeing it. I often cook up dumb stories to sound hard core but I’ll avoid being explicit because i still lacked knowledge of the chemistry of sex and human sex organs. This trying time as I count them to you Diary, brings tears down my cheeks. If only someone was there, if my mom had seen the invisible lines and if my dad wasn't only interested in discipline but my body too.

Chapter Two ( The Urge) What was more disturbing to note is the fact that my dad treated me as one with a plague. P uberty brought with it certain daily demands, sexual arousal was one of the daily rites. I was afraid to walk the streets during the day without tight underwear we referred to as " Paiint " in the Nigerian Pigin language, because of the bulge inside my shorts due to an erection. Other times I had to hold down my erected male organ through one of my pockets to weigh down the bulge.

...I became afraid. No! Terrified to bath in the bathroom even when it was vacant, even in his absence I feared him... Chapter One Dear dairy, the nightmares began when I woke up one morning. I was fifteen years old at the time; I headed for the compound’s public toilet as was my routine most mornings. Immediately I opened the toilet door I noticed the floor was wet and I could smell urine, which signified am not the first to visit, the single toilet was shared among at least twenty three neighbours of all age brackets, it’s a miracle the ceramic toilet bowl retained some level of whiteness. I had always loved the toilet floor dry. It somehow aids me in doing some level of thinking, although I always go into the toilet with my own plastic mobile potty.

He parked his car and opted out, got to the store, he bought her a red night dress and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon red wine, some chocolate, an album each of Blues and Country music. He wondered why he couldn’t remember what she liked. But he convinced himself somehow that he had made a good choice.

... I turned my back on her exiting the scene, she had first grabbed at her chest, seeming to rip out her heart but grabbed her stomach rather, as if to bring a child out of it, like an evidence to refute my last words. She went down on the floor with a howling cry. I could care less if she wept... I banged the door so loud, the neighbours should have jumped out of bed… but they didn’t ... T hinking about it in this lonely park, I resented this night, “why did I have to come home tonight?” I said out loud.

I strolled out of the room in anger wondering why we fell in love in the first place. Hell shouldn’t be as tough as my marriage was. I could hear her sobs filtering through the bang of the front door. She was hurting but my heart was burning, maybe twice as hell itself. She had nagged life out of me. She had complained away my innocence. She makes me feel so guilty of nothing precisely. I am a good man until am home; she tries to paint me into a monster, the worst kind. Perhaps I made a wrong choice marrying her. I deserve to be happy, not having to put up with her complaints and obsession of attention. Oh gosh! She upsets my stomach. I plunged the key into the car, drove for a mile and half or so or more, I really didn’t care. I am far away from her, that’s all that mattered. I stopped the car and strolled into a deserted park, a gentle breeze bidding me welcome, it embraced my chest and sought to douse the fire burning within it. I looked the moon in its face, like a fluore...