After waiting for what seemed like forever, the doctor came up to me

“You’re her sister right?”

“Yes doctor, can I see her now”

“Uhm… we’re sorry Madam”

“Sorry?, Doctor what’s going on?”

My temperature had risen, my cheek flattened. I wanted to act like a matured girl, but my eyes betrayed me, the numbness in my bone found a way to express itself through the heated tears drooling down my cheeks. I was a shy girl, but this time, dragging the doctor’s Labouratory Coat was nothing compared  to how I was eager to let out my frustrations. 

My mind travelled back to the day after NYSC camp, how she had begged me to stay; I would  have stayed but Lagos was almost breaking me. I was tired of the hustle bustle, and traffic-jammed life of Lagos.
Moreover, She was having serious marital issues at the time. Emeka had turned her into an opponent in a boxing ring. Most days opened with screams, shouts and blows. Some boxing sessions landed her in the hospital and she’d come back with either a broken jaw or a torn flesh. It seemed Emeka enjoyed creating those designs on her body.  She had  real scars plastered on her shiny body. Her perfect, mirror-like skin reflected every single day of the torment. Her beautiful hair were strands he could pull anytime he was drunk, he would caress it so hard  till they pulled off, then he would break the bottles on her skull to heighten the pleasure.

A thousand times I had arrange her  escape. I wanted  her to run so far from him. On the 25th of July 2016, I went to the extent of renting an apartment from the little savings I had so we could relocate with the Children and put an end to the myriads of mishaps. But Idara was too weak, She was afraid He’d find her and her punishment would be worst. I suggested divorce several times but being a ‘Public Figure’, She was too concerned with her reputation in the eyes of the society. She wanted her marital life to seem perfect and arranged in the eyes of the Public. As a Banker who had risen to the level of a Director with Jecho Bank Plc., She’d rather die in Silence than let her marriage be a public ridicule.

I was a tough girl, I could have stood by her and support her but watching her suffer everyday was affecting me. I didn’t even realise I was getting rude towards the Kids, we had little or no time to play video games or go to our favorite shawarma spot; I remember the day  Emineimo came for the normal moonlight stories, I had shouted on him out of frustration; I never realized he was deeply hurt untill I went to the balcony and found him crying. 

There I knew I needed a break, If Emeka was a saddist and a tyrant. I didn’t need to add to the tyranny, the home was already heated and if there was anything the kids needed at the time, It was love, care and support from their ‘considerate’ Aunt. The  daily frowns on Idara’s face however  seemed like a live coal on my head. I was boiling every single moment;  I had lost the calm on the inside and I really needed it back if not for me, for the kids who at the time were helpless.

When NYSC presented itself, It was just the perfect opportunity to escape. I needed the serenity that the walls of Ibadan presented. I had to choose Ibadan over Lagos and I gracefully completed my NYSC  there. Now it seemed it was the worst decision I’d ever make in the Century.
Idara in her secretive habit had kept the pregnancy from me. When it comes to having her babies, She had her way: She’d rather keep it a secret till her tummy protrudes enough to  break the news to the world.
That was the pattern with  Emineimo and Uwemedimo. But this time around, her Surprise pack was almost destroying me.

I found out She was heavy during the  Covid-19. But that was rather late,  I was already given a Primary Place of Assignment in Ibadan.  There was little I could do, I offered all the support I could during the lockdown and left to my Primary Place of Assignment when it called. Now it was all about  the guilt that hunted me. Maybe things would have been different if I had stayed but I was scared of my attitude towards the Kids. I was becoming an angry bird and loosing my temper at the slightest provocation. Flashes of these memories added to my torment as I found myself rolling on the floor.

“Madam, you don’t have to be dramatic, Carrel Specialist Hospital would  do everything possible  to ensure that she delivers safely”

” Doctor it’s been days since we came to this hospital, Regarding these lovely kids over there, She hadn’t spend up to a day in the hospital”

” The issue  is She’s having obstructed labour and vaginal delivery might put either her or the baby at risk”

“Hmm but…”

” Ma’am all we need is your signature on this Consent form so we can proceed with the Ceaseran section…”

I scribbled my initials in the paper without bordering to read it’s content; Down in my heart, I was praying that nothing goes wrong.


If we are stars shining from our corners
In the galaxy
Creating a sporadic spot and a milky way,
Why do we behave like footballers
Scoring own goal
Why do we run marathon
For fear of allowing others to out run us
Why do we constantly criticize one another
As though we need it to fill our bellies
Why do we inspire ourselves with so much hate
And feel happy when our others go down

If stars really shine all day
Why do we try to trade our selves
For heights we’re sure we’d reach
If stars make constellations
Why are we in constant competition?
Planning to break grounds
We don’t have interest in
Cause we want to outlive others

If stars are held by their gravity
Why do we forget we are held by our gravity?

If stars do really end
Then we must remember that one day we will end.
And new stars will glow at their own pace and time

© Writingcarrel 2020


I dislike writing
Especially Fiction,
It’s always a battle
Between the pen and I.
Most times, I want a story
That won’t be long
And I plan it that way

But once I start writing
I find the pen running on its own.
I try my best to stop the flow
To make it sound my way,
But the pen outruns me
And hits the line.

And then, I want the story to end
But the pen keeps running.
I watch myself struggling
Between my pen and my will
The will of the pen most times prevails
And just leaves me just there.

©writingcarrel 2019