Sign me up for luxury (2)

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Trips to Paris, vacay on the Bahamas, shopping sprees in Dubai, these had become the order of my life activities. My dreams were finally a reality, so why do I feel empty? 

Four years into my Union with Funso, and all I have to show for it are credit cards, plane tickets and fancy shopping bags. The wedding ceremony seemed like it happened  not too long ago, almost as though we got married yesterday . It was the ceremony of my dreams. 

Though my family members swore not to grace the event with their presence, the hall was populated with many of Funso’s friends and buisness associates. Where family was concerned, he didn’t really have any. One would have thought he was a loner who dropped onto the earth surface unassisted. With further probing however, I discovered he was an orphan forced into the indecisive world of foster care. He couldn’t place a finger on the number of times he had been rejected by a prospective adoptive family. 

I felt for him the day he narrated his ordeal. In my opinion, the only thing that takes “tragedy” precedence over poverty is being devoid of people to call family. 

Speaking of family, I honestly miss mine. I called their bluff when they threatened to withold blessings for my union to Funso. At the time, I was driven by impending luxuries, so I damned the consequences. I felt they would eventually come around. Four years down the line, and I still haven’t gotten word from them.

At best, I keep tabs on  my siblings via social media. Rolake ; now married to a middle class lawyer is blessed with two kids. From her pictures she seems happy. Our younger and only other sibling; Gbenga, just graduated from a private university with Honours.

Who would have thought right? That my absence would be so insignificant, and that my family members would stand firm on their embargo of accepting me, their prodigal black sheep back.

Were my actions so unforgivable? I mean, is it a crime to go after a life of luxuries?

Perhaps they felt my acquired luxuries came at an unethical expense, nonetheless, it’s been four years and they are basically acting as though I was dead. 

Perhaps if I had been blessed with the fruit of the womb in the four miserable years I have spent with Funso, my family members won’t matter much. Don’t get me wrong, Funso wasn’t violent or anything. Infact, the way he showers me with credit alerts is not your regular.  He is however an emotionless bag of bones, who hardly stays home and obviously doesn’t care about starting a family. 

Who knew you could have all the money in the world and still end up miserable? I didn’t. The only person I am grateful to have in my corner at the moment is my friend Remi. She has been my only companion and confidant through all of life’s challenges. She is married as well, and she gives the best advice. Last Sunday, she spoke about a certain Baba who could help with my marital problems.

Now, if I am being honest, I was born and raised in a Christian home. Though not a die-hard Christian, I never really believed in traditional/supernatural solutions. Remi however swears by this Baba. Besides, at this point, I am too desperate to think logically, hence my agreement to visit Remi’s Baba.

The road to his shrine is just as mystical and rugged as the shrine itself. Constructed with stacks of dry wood, accompanied by an unpleasant musty odor and a loosely fitted corrugated roof, this make shift shelter leaves much to be desired. 

The interior of the Baba’s shrine is quite similar to the set designs of those local horror movies with intense “Babalawo” vibes. My eyes catch black/red clothes, with idols flying over the place as we walk in. My first instinct is to take to my heels, but my problems come flashing in my head and I stay put. Besides, It is already too late to back down.

“Elegbede oko awon emere, a Juba fun yin….” These were the scary praises screamed to his idols. It seemed as though this old man couldn’t spit a word of English even if he tried. I instantly noticed goose bumps after he spoke, it is as though I am on a visit to the devil himself. How did it even get this bad? His croaked voice jolts me back to reality.

“Ki lo gbe yin de ibi bayi?” He asks after sitting comfortably on his wooden stool. Remi seats up on the mat to begin the narration of my ordeal.

“ Duro n be!” He screams again. “Je ko salaye fun ara e.”

“Ehn Baba, mo… mo fe mo idi ti mi o ri omo bi fun odun Merin ni ile oko. Mo tun fe mo igbese ti mo le gbe lati fi bi mo laye. “ I speak hastily with a brittle voice in my local dialect.

This Baba after his incantations burst into bouts of laughter. It was the height of wierd for me and I was getting super uncomfortable. 

“O o le bi mo ! O ti fi ijekuje fa isoro si nu aye e.”j

Remi and I share a confused look before the Baba continues with his worrisome statements. 

“Oko to fe ti fun awon Egbe e ni gbo gbo omo to ye ko bi laye. Afayimo ki iwo na ma ba won lo.” He callously informs her.

So basically, this man is telling me that my husband is a cultist who got his wealth from sacrificing his unborn children. It makes absolutely no sense until I remember the reason Rolake gave for ending her engagement years back. 

“She must have known! My God, she did know” I scream in Remi’s vehicle on our drive back.  Rolake did me dirty! I am her twin for goodness sake., how could she have watched me walking into danger without fighting for me.

I have just two options. The first is to let go of the luxuries, return to my family and beg vigorously for their forgiveness. Perhaps they could help me get delivered from the obvious dark forces hovering round my head. The second option is to continue with my terrifying predicament and enjoy the blood money to its maximum.

Either way, I am definitely screwed. 

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