BLIND LOVE - Episode 1

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Nigeria's leading story blog. Like Osuofia, I wiped my face, perspectives on love and relationship, dissecting Maryjane’s math and physics, like Einstein himself, travelled to Port Harcourt, men are far more likely to cheat than women.


I have heard it over and over again, “men are far more likely to cheat than women,” most women  would say. Most ladies like to make that assertion with an air of blunt assurance. I don’t know what statistics say, if at all there is any out there to ascertain the veracity of that assertion, but I will speak from my own experience. Irrespective of the side of the argument you belong, I think our view of promiscuity is often formed from our experiences; those events in our lives that wrought the walls of our perspectives on love and relationship. I used to call myself a ‘lover boy’. Growing up, I dreamt of that one girl; the beautiful one that would come into my life and make me feel like the prince I believed I was. I was going to love her with every drop of blood in me. I was looking forward to worshiping the air she breathed and throwing the proverbial red carpet on the floor for her to walk on. I was going to adore her beyond anything that words could ever describe.

I waited for the day love would strike me like a thunderbolt. Of course I had crushes on other girls here and there, nothing really major though, until I ran into her. I am referring to who I once considered to be the love of my life - Maryjane. I was in an all-boys school, while she was in an all-girls school, but we attended the same extramural class outside school. Every guy around my area of town wanted to date Maryjane. Her richly dark skin radiated sun waves with ‘glowing incandescence’. She literally shimmered under the gaze of the sun. I was a shy guy back then, so I could only think about Maryjane in my own little world. I had an overwhelming crush on her, so much so that my knees wobbled when I was around her. My best friend, Kanu was the opposite. He could ask a ghost out and the ghost would be shivering under the influence of Kanu’s ‘oratory vibes’. The guy could flow and the ladies flocked to him like hordes of birds deserting the northern hemisphere at the beginning of winter.

He was the first to ask Maryjane out. He had boasted about how no girl had ever said no to him. He was dressed in an immaculate white short-sleeve shirt and a pair of black trousers. He had taken extra care to polish his shoes. Kanu was a man on a mission. After the last class at 9:00PM, he walked towards Maryjane with perfect aplomb. The guys in our group watched expectantly, waiting for him to come back and announce that his magic had worked once again on the girl that everyone called ‘Bianca’ in our extramural class, because of her impeccable beauty. My heart was beating fast. I wanted Maryjane so badly that I prayed Kanu’s mission would crumble before his very face. Thankfully, Kanu was not quite as confident when he returned to us.

“She wants to think about it,” he announced.

He tried to smile in an effort to convince us that Maryjane was leaning towards a yes, but I could see through that rare gloomy look on his face. There was a crack in his voice too. Maryjane had told him a categorical NO! Some days later, we found out through Maryjane’s friends that she had given Kanu the dreaded ‘boots’. My terrible prayer had been answered, even though I had no plans to ask Maryjane out any time soon, unless I managed to buy or borrow a healthy dose of confidence from some magician. I did lack the confidence to ask a girl out as a teenager, but what I had going for me though was my academic aptitude. I was blessed with the ability to look at a mathematical question and it would begin to solve itself just by the mere fact that I bad looked at it. Girls would come to me to help them with calculations in math, chemistry and physics. I was always happy to offer a helping hand.

I prayed and fasted, literally that Maryjane would someday ask me to help her solve a problem. She did not for quite some time until one faithful evening. I still remember it as though it were yesterday. She walked up to me by the entrance and said, “Ikemefuna, please could you help me solve some math and physics problems?” I could not believe my ears. My heart was pounding so loudly that I thought it was going to jump out of my mouth.

“Yes…yes,” I answered with boiling exhilaration. You could hear the excitement in my voice.

“When do you need it? Now?” I asked jubilantly, barely able to conceal my elation.

“No, later. Maybe by weekend. Can I come to your house?” She asked.

Hallelujah!!! I nearly shouted. “Yes you can,” I answered.

I barely got a good night’s sleep all week long. I looked forward to dissecting Maryjane’s math and physics problems like Einstein himself. On Friday night, she reminded me that she would be coming to see me on Saturday. Who forgets a thing like that? Of course I had been looking forward to it all week. I told her that I’d be waiting.

I saw hear saunter down my street like a true beauty queen. Her full lips left mine hanging. Her eyes were faultlessly bright and beautiful. Her braids were immaculate and her fragrance caressed my senses with merciless liberality. We went to a primary school near my house and within minutes I had deconvoluted her problems. There was a quiver to my voice as I solved her calculations, not because I was afraid that I might make a mistake. Far from it! I was excited…scarily excited to be seated right beside a girl I had been ‘crushing’ on for months on end. Her fragrance wafted into my nostrils like a flood breaking murderously through the walls of a dam. Each time her skin brushed against mine, it felt like I was set into motion; floating effortlessly to the heavens.

After solving the calculations, we had free time to chat. With time, she gave me the hint that she liked me. For instance, she left her hand hanging on my lap. I wish I could aptly describe the electric waves that ran through my body. Then, she would look at me and smile seductively. Every now and again, her hand returned to my poor lap leaving me in a state of utter delightful confusion. Yet, I was too afraid to ask her out at first. I managed to invite her over for another round of math next weekend and the one after. Soon, we were spending time together. One afternoon, we were seated beside each other. My brain refused to function…it felt like I was experiencing an engine knock. I was completely overcome with the thought of asking Maryjane out that I barely understood anything. It was as though I was breathing through my ears. My intestines churned and roared while my hands mimicked a noisy volcanic eruption.

“I…You know I…I really like you Maryjane,” I managed to finally say.

You should have seen the eruption that was going on in my chest as my poor heart smashed relentlessly against my ribs.

“And I like you too,” she said.

Am I dreaming? I thought. Like Osuofia, I wiped my face with my hand to check if I had been sleeping. I even pinched myself and for real, Maryjane liked me. Soon, ‘like’ transitioned into love, and our lips were wading against each other’s with ravenous desire.

Maryjane and I went to the same university two years later. Our love grew stronger by the years. We were always voted the best lovers in our faculty…you know all that stuff at university. I can tell you that with each passing day, my life depended more on her. I loved her very deeply and wanted to do everything possible to be there for her. You hardly found us apart on campus. We wrote letters and poems for each other even though we were together almost every day. I took special pride and care in writing those letters for her, which I mailed to her hostel address. She would squeal with excitement each time she unwrapped my letter, which she always proceeded to read with delight. I recall once when there was a long strike by university lecturers. I had travelled to Port Harcourt to spend some weeks with my uncle. Weeks stretched into months and the strike was not nearing an end. I had to pack my things and run back to Onitsha. I could no longer breathe without Maryjane. I made up a story for my uncle as to why I needed to leave town.

By final year, I began to notice subtle changes in Maryjane. They say love is blind…it is true. When you are truly in love, you’d find yourself do and tolerate things you would never stand ordinarily. One night, I had gone to see a friend. I stayed out late at my friend’s. He had asked me to stay over but for no reason, I refused. I took a commercial motorbike home, but midway through the journey, I told the rider to change course. I suddenly wanted to see Maryjane. It was nearly 1:00AM. The rider dropped me in front of her hostel. I went in and Maryjane was nowhere to be found. Her roommate said she had no idea where Maryjane had gone. I went to all her friends in her hostel and the nearby ones and she was nowhere to be found. It was stupid of me to wake her friends up, but for some reason, I knew something was wrong.

I managed to find another bike home. When I saw Maryjane in school the next day, she told me she had slept in Nkechi’s room. What she did not know was that I had been to Nkechi’s the previous night. When I confronted her with that, she switched to Jane. Well, I had been to Jane’s room too. Four names in, she was still beating about the bush.

“Where did you sleep last night?” I asked her desperately.

The above story was sent in by Ikemefuna Obiora (actual name withheld) and was edited by editorial team. Ikemefuna Obiora is a staunch fan of He spends his spare time writing short stories about trends and his personal experiences.

STORY CONTINUES...                 BLIND LOVE - Episode 2

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BLIND LOVE - Episode 1
Nigeria's leading story blog. Like Osuofia, I wiped my face, perspectives on love and relationship, dissecting Maryjane’s math and physics, like Einstein himself, travelled to Port Harcourt, men are far more likely to cheat than women. An African Literary Blog
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