FIRST LOVE - Episode 1

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Nigeria's leading fictional story blog - Igbos, Africa, America, mother, father, love, married, Nigeria, Nigerian girls, boy, white, black, phones, Igbo, inspection, room, boys.


I was betrayed by my lover, my first real love. For four years I was chained every evening to a bewitched tree by a road in Alabama USA and yet no one saw me or came to my rescue. My name is Silvia Obidike, I am from the Igbo extract in the Southeastern part of Nigeria. Some years ago my entire family immigrated to the United States through the Diversity Immigrant Visa programme otherwise known as Visa Lottery.

“We are Igbos. We are Africans. None of you should forget that. We are going to America to get the opportunity to live a better life. When we are done, we will all return to Nigeria, our country, our land. Did you all hear me?!” That was my father drumming the rules into our ears weeks before our travel to America. “I am a tigress just like your grandmother and you all know it. I don’t give a hoot about the stupid rules they have in America. My words are law here and they will be laws in America! Now listen up Nneka, Silvia and Chichi, there will be no falling in love with white boys in America. Don’t for any reason bring to my house wanna-gonna boys in the name of love. I don’t even want black boys. They all smoke weed and get shot at by white policemen.” That was my mother. We called her the enforcer. Her eyes flashing with anger, she looked from face to face to make sure we got the rules she just laid down.

“Hey! That is not just for the girls. The same goes for the boys. Emeka and Samson, no white girls and no black American’s. If we stay long enough in America for you all to get married, then we will get in touch with your uncles, aunts and cousins to find you wives from Nigeria. “Daddy, Nigerian girls are worse! I would rather spend my life as a single man than get married to one of them, seriously,” Emeka protested. He was just like my mother. We called him the hothead. “If you say one more word about getting married to foreigners, I will castrate you right here!” my mother threatened. “Mommy your time has passed. The time when there were good girls to marry. Do not compare your time with ours. All Nigerian girls want, is money. They are looking for money bags to dump cash on their laps. I am with Emeka on this one. There will be no Nigerian girls in this family,” Samson said. “Taawai!” That was a slap on Samson’s face. My mother served it to him. Samson help his face momentarily and then rubbed it before he began to laugh.

“But mommy, who are we to get married to?” Nneka asked. “Ndi Igbo! (Igbo people!)” my mother replied. “How are we to find them in America? America is a big place,” Joy inquired. “How did your cousin find the Orlu lady he married in America?” “That was one in a million, mommy.” “Shut up Nneka! Your own will be one in a million too. I have said my piece; I don’t want Americana as sons in-law or daughters in-law.” “Listen children, instead you all will go over to America and forget who you are, I will go in right now and burn all your passports,” my father said standing to his feet. We were all scared down to bone marrows. Though he was a man of few words, he was full of action. “Please daddy, don’t burn our passports, we will marry Igbo people,” I pleaded. I could not imagine staying back in Nigeria after I had boasted to my friends that I was going to America. “If you all want to go to America, then you have to stick to my rules,” my father said and started heading for the bedroom. “We will stick to your rules, daddy!” all five of us chorused.

One month after we arrived in America, I caught Nneka, my elder, sister chatting with a white boy on Facebook. “Hey! Nneka! You don’t want mommy to catch you,” I said and drew closer to have a better look at the white boy. “He means nothing to me. We just chat,” Nneka said. The look of her face said otherwise. “Oh my God! Nneka you are lying. Look at your face. That boy means much more to you,” I observed. Having caught Nneka red handed, I decided to reveal I had a secret lover too. I cupped my hand around Nneka’s right ear and whispered, “I have a black boy who is head over heels about me.” The two of us giggled and jumped on the bed. I pulled out my phone and showed Nneka my lover’s picture. “He is a fine boy. What’s his name?” “Ryan Tyler… your white boy has a name right?” “Brian Connor. He is very romantic. A good kisser.” “Oh my God! He has kissed you already?” I asked, my hands waving in the air excitedly like a music conductor. “I don’t know how I am going to get rid of him. Mom will kill me if she finds out.” “She won’t find out if you keep things quiet. But I hope Brian has not found his way into your…” I asked pointing at her waist. “No! Never! I am still a virgin believe me… but he likes to look at my underwear…” “What! You dress down for him?”

“It is not like ‘dressing down’. I pull up my skirt or pull down my trouser for him to see what I am wearing under. He likes that a lot…” “He doesn’t take photos, does he?” “He does.” “Huh! These American boys. Why do they like to look at what we are wearing under?” “Don’t tell me Ryan has asked to look at your undergarment?” “He does and takes photos too.” “Maybe they want to know if we are really women. You know we are from Africa. They think Africa is like the wild.” “Yea they all do. That is why they laugh at our accent.” “I am working on my accent Silvia,” Nneka said and jumped out of the bed. She put her fingers on her nostrils, pressing down on them and began to mimic American accent, “Hello Neka (Nneka), we are goin (going) to the mountn (mountain) this weekend. Rither (Rita) will be coming with us. She wants me to invite.”

The door to our room opened suddenly and left us startled. Our phones were on the bed. Some chats we had not deleted were still in them. Thankfully it was Chichi, our youngest sister who barged into the room. “What are you two doing?” she asked sniffing the air. “Mommy and daddy want you in the living room with your phones. It is time for phone inspection,” she concluded and turned to leave the room. Suddenly she stopped and began to sniff the air again. “Huh! You two were talking about men before I came in. I hope they are Igbo men,” she said and left the room. Nneka and I looked at each other in disbelief. “That girl is a witch! How can she sniff out of the air words spoken in her absence? We have to let daddy know about this,” I said angrily. “Silvia, don’t bother with that. You’d better delete those chats I saw in your phone before submitting it for inspection. We hurried to delete the chats and left our room to submit our phones to our parents.

“What took you so long?” my father asked. Nneka and I said nothing. Chichi looked at us suspiciously from where she stood. I prayed in my heart that she would not tell my parents what she might have sniffed out of the air in our room. Such was life at the early stage when we came to America. Our parents checked our phones regularly to know who we were talking to and who was talking to us. They had our passwords and could ask us to submit our phones for inspection at any time. If any of us had changed his or her passwords without letting them know, they would almost bring down the house for that reason. In spite of their strict rules and measure put in place to keep us from having romantic relationships with American boys for the girls and girls for the boys, I and Nneka managed to find ways to date our American boyfriends. Nneka was luckier than I was. My boyfriend, Ryan Tyler, was from an occult family. A cult which dated back to the time of slavery in America. For over a century, the family had been looking for a virgin blood directly from Africa to break the curse over their family. Sadly, for me, the Tyler’s family found in me, the perfect damsel they had been waiting for to deliver their family from the curse on them.

I was in love with Ryan Tyler with all my heart. I loved him like mad. Though my parents would kill me for falling in love with him, yet I was willing to face their wrath just to be with Ryan. I was ready to give him my virginity and told him so, but strangely, he never bothered me for sex. Though we would kiss and touch each other passionately, somehow, Ryan would stop short of making love to me. I loved his touch and craved it. He always told me how much he loved me and helped me a lot with school work. I still cannot believe it that Ryan would agree to betray me when his family instructed him to bring me into their coven for sacrifice. Our relationship was perfect until he took me to visit his grandparents.

STORY CONTINUES...            CLICK HERE TO READ EPISODE 2
 
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Uzoma Ujor

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Moofyme.com: An African Literary Blog: FIRST LOVE - Episode 1
FIRST LOVE - Episode 1
Nigeria's leading fictional story blog - Igbos, Africa, America, mother, father, love, married, Nigeria, Nigerian girls, boy, white, black, phones, Igbo, inspection, room, boys.
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