JUDGE ME NOT - Episode 2

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Nigeria's leading fictional story blog - brothel, random prostitutes to sleep with, a wonderful mother…an amazing wife, father, mother, judge me not, prostitute, money, Hear my humble cry, Savior, donot pass me by, thou art calling.

Like a child, afraid of breaking her parents’ rules, she walked sheepishly to the bed. “You have never done this before, right?” She shook her head. He got up, picked her up and placed her on the bed. Before she knew it, he was ripping off her clothes. Her eyes closed tightly. “Open your eyes! Talk to me! Tell me you are enjoying it!” he spoke, barely stopping as he appeased his burning sexual flames. A torrent of tears broke free from the corner of her eyes, dropping down her face and then, onto the mattress. God, please forgive me, she said quietly in her heart.

Every few hours, she was woken up to satisfy the insatiable man. Each time, she was buried in a sea of guilt and broken-heartedness. “I see you like it very much from the way you cry. You little girls, you are all spoilt,” he said to her in the morning when he handed her a rumpled crump of naira bills totaling five thousand naira. “Thank you!” She said, barely looking him in the eye. “I don’t know how to go home, please could you drop me?” “Drop you? You are truly new to this business. I am through with you, girl. You should be on your way. Your colleague did not tell you how to get home?” She shook her head. “You should have asked her. If you want to be an ashawo (prostitute), then you should learn the trade fast. It is not a game for the faint hearted!”

“Judge me not, sir,” said Oluchi. “That is what all of you say. Go jare!” She walked out of the big compound, rummaged through her purse and dug up her phone. Then, she called Nneka who told her how to catch a bus home. “I hope he paid you well. He normally pays well. Such a gentleman.” “He gave me five thousand naira.” “That is more than he gave me the first time I slept with him. You must have done a good job, girl. That is more than I made last night sleeping with seven men!”

She got off the bus and walked slowly towards the brothel. “Ashawo!!!” Some young boys in the street shouted at her as she made a turn for the brothel. Oh God, please forgive me…save me from this, she prayed, facing the ground as she walked briskly into the brothel. She refused to leave the brothel until evening, afraid that another group of boys would target her. Each night, she went out to the streets with the rest of the girls. “You will get more comfortable with this,” Nneka said to her each day. Lord, I never want to get comfortable with this. When she was not out in the streets, she lay back in the brothel wondering how her life would turn out.

Oluchi sent everything she made home. Slowly, her earning increased and her father somehow, managed to hang on to life. One night, she was picked up by a man in his thirties. He offered to take her home. In fact, he paid her ten thousand naira, more than Oluchi had ever made in a night. She ran back to the brothel and stowed the money away in her purse. Then, she returned to the man who was waiting patiently in his jeep. “In case you…I mean…I don’t mean to be rude, but I took down your plate number and I have given it to my friend in case she does not hear from me by morning. I don’t like to ride home with customers. You know, safety issues,” she explained to the man. “You are in safe hands,” the young man assured her.

He lived in a sumptuously furnished flat in Surulere. After a few early sessions, she lay beside him. “Do you enjoy doing this?” he asked her abruptly. “How can anyone enjoy this?” she asked him. “Then why do you still do it?” “Why do you pick people like me up?” He paused for a moment. Then he said, “I know I shouldn’t do it, but I can’t help myself. I keep telling myself to stop, and sometimes I do…just for a while before I go right back to it.” “Do you enjoy it?” “Momentarily, but I carry a huge bag of guilt within. After each time I do it, I feel…I feel terrible the next day, and then a week later, I am back picking up girls…random prostitutes to sleep with.”

“You can’t help yourself, right?” He nodded his head. “I wish I could help my situation as well.” “Do you enjoy it at all?” he asked her. “No…” She paused as she tried to wipe a conflagration of tears racing across her face. “What is it?” he asked. She said nothing for a while. He turned on the light, and sat beside her on the bed. “What is it?” “I wake up each day wanting to quit this…this thing, but I know not where to go from here. My father is dying on his sick bed. He needs surgery to remove a tumor that is gradually snuffing life out of him but…but we don’t have the money for the surgery.”

She began to cry again. “Stop crying…Please stop crying.” “I hate what I do! I grew up thinking I would someday be a wonderful mother…an amazing wife, but life is snatching that dream from my very hands with each passing minute. I want to raise money to save my dear father’s life. I love him! I love him so much. He has given up so much to raise us. Even when my mother was alive, dad, worked non-stop to provide for us.” “Your mother is dead?” “Yes, five years ago. And I have three young siblings that depend on me too…How am I supposed to…to carry all that weight? I just lie on my back, switch off my emotions and watch as men mount me like a male donkey mounts a female donkey. I collect whatever I can with the hope…with the fast fading hope that somehow, I can raise enough money to raise my father and help my siblings.”

“So, if your father dies, you will be the sole bread winner for your siblings?” She nodded, still crying profusely. “I am sorry.” “So, judge me not. I am not a prostitute; I am…I don’t even know what I am but deep in my soul is a slow-moving ocean of love that drives me to cater for my family. At nineteen, did I ask for this? No! Life thrust it upon me. I wish I could do something different, but what? Who would offer me a job? Who would help me? Each day I do not spread my legs wide open for me, my siblings go hungry and my dad’s journey to the grave becomes even more certain. So, please judge me not…I am not just a spoilt brat – a prostitute who enjoys sleeping with men for money. I hate it…I want out, but where do I go from here?”

The young man walked to the window away from the bedroom and stood on the window frame with tears crashing down his face like Victoria Falls. “I looked at you a while ago like some other prostitute, but after hearing your story…if that is true, I feel…I feel ashamed of myself. I am fairly rich, but I don’t care about anyone. I care just about myself, and when I am not making money, I am trying to sleep with every girl on earth; including prostitutes. My mother died about eight years ago. She…she told me to…to allow God to take away my selfishness. She said that only God can change us, and hearing you talk now, my heart went back to her. She was the most loving woman…the most loving and kind person I ever knew.

“Hearing you talk, it felt like she was speaking to me again. She used to tell me that God can change anyone and anything, and after each time I sleep with prostitutes, I play a song she used to sing to me when I was younger. The song goes like this; Pass me not oh gentle savior. Hear my humble cry. While on others, thou art calling, do not pass me by. Savior! Savior! Hear my humble cry. While on others, thou art calling, do not pass me by…Do not pass me by…


Written by:
Victor Chinoo

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Moofyme.com: An African Literary Blog: JUDGE ME NOT - Episode 2
JUDGE ME NOT - Episode 2
Nigeria's leading fictional story blog - brothel, random prostitutes to sleep with, a wonderful mother…an amazing wife, father, mother, judge me not, prostitute, money, Hear my humble cry, Savior, donot pass me by, thou art calling.
Moofyme.com: An African Literary Blog
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