[…continued from WELD-LOCK(6)]
I came to that one point in my life I had to speak up, and spill it all out to someone. I hardly ever did that. I had always enjoyed life as a loner, slugging it out all by myself. But then my life and home were carving in here. It was becoming a matter of life and death already.
So I got talking with Dr Dapo, a senior colleague at work in the dental clinic. I fondly called him Egbon ‘Dee’. He was much older and quite experienced. I piqued interest in his composed and unperturbed way of life- cool, calm and collected. He struck me as one unusual gentleman, uninfected with the ‘gra-gra’ spirit of my age and time.
I had adopted him as my workplace small Uncle. He had been married for 10 years already, and seemed to be getting really well along with his lecturer-wife. They had no children yet as at then, but it didn’t seem like a bother to the man at all. The young old man was ever bubbling and cheerful and happy go lucky.
I told Egbon my story at once, raising the ‘Save my soul’ alarm. When I was done exhausting a bowel full of offences, he had heaved a sigh, smiled and spoke. The smoke of which had ever lingered with me. The words -neatly engraved indelibly on my heart.
Egbon said- “ When you wedded your woman, you married her with her scum and junk. Her person, the real ‘her’ endeared to your heart, lies buried beneath her scum… now dig her out, love her, clean her up and be ‘welded’ to her”.
It sank deep into me, and altered whatever might be the chemistry, physics or biology of my body, soul and spirit. I needed no more. I was ‘beleful’, yet hungry, hot but shivering. It was looking like malaria. But I knew better.
It was close of work. I just slid into my car- one sleek Tokunbo Volvo like that, and drove straight down to the recreation club. It had ‘kuku’ been my haven of the torturing six months of marriage. I would resort there after work, eat well, hang out with friends and play tennis or draught, before returning home. And for sure by then, my tummy would be too full for Funke’s ‘poison’. So that I would usually get home and just ‘zone off’.
This evening was different however. The club was light, with just a handful of guys hanging around. Understandably, it was a Monday. Good thing. I just drove down to a quiet spot, parked, rolled up the window glasses and broke down. I wept. Jesus did too. But it took him just a verse. I wept in chapters. I hadn’t wept in ages, not even at my granny’s death. She was very dear to me, and the circumstances surrounding her death were far too mysterious. Yet, no tear dropped.
But that evening , tears flowed torrentially. With the tears came release. So that I wept more. I wept the guilt out. I had been most unfair. It had all been my fault. It had always just been all about me – my picture of the ideal woman, my perception, my standards. And who meets up to that or not.
But what about her?. What about ‘making’ and ‘moulding’ her into that ‘perfect’ woman of my dreams? What about being the Gardner, taking responsibility for this untended field? All I had done in 6 months was to mock a failure. Who in actual fact is my responsibility . The ‘failure’ is actually my failure.
It must have been some two hours. I felt so light afterwards. It was looking like a fountain just broke within. Like a surge. I was in love over again. My bosom heated up with the fire of this intense feel, like the excitement of a new crush. I made for home immediately. Funke must see this. Her man was back .
I made a stop at Mr. Biggs. It just came to town and was one expensive venture in vogue then. Got 2 packs of heavily endowed and condimented rice, with grape juice from a big store uptown. I was looking forward to a night to remember.
My heart was almost pounding against the steering wheel as I negotiated the final bend to our street. I was too excited. I knew she would be home. She had just rounded off her masters degree program , and had already applied for a graduate assistant position at the Mechanical engineering department in LAUTECH. She intended starting up her Ph.D program then too, and run it alongside.
I was home. She was there on the sofa sleeping. She apparently must have drifted off to sleep waiting for me. She usually won’t eat dinner until I was home.
Dinner. I knew dinner that night would likely be another food disaster. But I cared less.
My entry didn’t arouse her. So I just made my way to her side. Knelt. I found her very pretty, way too irresistible. I planted a kiss on her forehead. She jolted awake. Looking all bewildered, like she had seen a ghost. She was trying to mutter something. I stopped the flow of words with another kiss on her lips. French, English or Danish I know not. It was an intense 10 seconds.
I was speechless afterwards. She was stupefied and dumb. Our eyes spoke. They welled up with tears and streamed. We had never had this moment before, not for once in 6 months. It looked so strange and odd.
We were both overwhelmed. Voiceless. Just looking into each others’ eyes.
Moments later, still on my knees, I muttered ‘Will you please let tonight be our ‘welding’ night’.
She couldn’t speak a word. She just shook her head affirmatively, the streams of tears pouring still. Then I got up, whispered softly into her ears: “I’ll make up for everything”, and made for my guitar.
My three months in the guitar class paid off. I sang her Orlando Julius’s evergreen track- “Ololufe mi”. I had scored the song a couple of times. It come way too fine on the night. I felt a rush of adrenaline. It was mutual. The tears couldn’t stop flowing, and her mouth wouldn’t speak. I got her lost in the firmament of love. We just locked in each others’ arms. Fed each other. And had a toast to a ‘welding’ night to remember.
Heavens sanctioned it. For it rained. It rained. It just had to rain. And it had to be bedtime that time.
We dragged our ‘intoxicated’ selves to bed. The rain came heavy. It was a very cold night. We simply flowed in bed with the weather, and got all wet swimming in the pool of passion. Can two lie together and not be warm? Hell no Preacher! We had heat, paradisiacal heat.
We had a good audience from above -the thunderclaps approving the ‘rough play’ below. The bed joineries from under, were squeaking excitedly in acknowledgement of the thrill of every smoove move going on ‘upstage’.
Ẃe couldn’t have enough of each other that night. Morning came too quickly. But the show must go on. Surely, the show went on. Verily verily, it has ever been on.
It’s been some 15 years now. And I remain locked in the experience of that night. I don’t want to ever break out. I’ve got the most beautiful woman as wife you know. I’ve learnt over the years that the true worth of a woman is not in what she is at a given time, but who she actually is. Only that defines her person and value in the truest sense. Not her abilities or weaknesses.
I can also attest to the fact that the only truly objective perception of a woman’s beauty, is one illuminated by unraveling the beauty of her person. That way not even ageing or circumstances, or what she turns to be would make her less beautiful.
Trust me, the cooking and housekeeping ‘ish’ all fell in place with time. I got maami to come stay over for some time. She’s been the best of mother to my wife. It was just three months. Of intensive coaching and frequent ‘spanking’. Funke learnt. She was made. She had started ‘killing’ me since then, for years now. She has numbed my taste buds to food outside the house -in eateries, food outlets, anywhere. Till I became ‘dead’ altogether to food not prepared at home, and by her.
This night already, I’ve had my favorite of Amala and Gbegiri ,with pretty pepper-mutilated fried snails, casting crowns and lifting hands over the whole plate. It was sensational. I bit my tongue twice. I licked my plate. Now it needs no washing.
We since moved to Lagos. I had my residency program in LUTH and now run a private dental clinic somewhere in Surulere. Funke works with the Lagos state Ministry of Science and Technology in Alausa. She dumped her Ph.D plans. Story for another day.
Funke and I now counsel singles and young couples, and we get speaking engagements too. We tell folks our love story, and practical tips from our adventure together. We’ve helped several singles make informed choices under right light, and added value to many marriages. I felt like sharing a bit from my experience so far, of the good, the bad and the ugly of my several encounters, in counselling sessions and everyday life. Hence the series – The Marriage Counsellor.
It’s bedtime. She just called from inside. Oluwafumike.. I must drop my pen now. My manuscript is still a long way from finish. But then, here’s a call I can’t resist. It’s for sure going to be a night of bliss. Another night to ‘weld’. Wish me luck….!
P.S: Thanks so much for following The Marriage Counsellors!
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