Sentiments and Schizophrenia: Where Happiness Comes to Die.

My sister was the most sensitive and emotional of the three of us. She gave too much. Love, money, time, effort, and often to the wrong men, her body. I worried about Lade a lot. I feared that, one day, she would fall into the hands of a man who would recognize her weakness and take advantage of it. So I questioned every new guy she fell in love with weekly, her boss who needed her to work weekends without extra pay and her flatmate who stayed with her but wasn't paying a kobo, yet consuming Lade's meat, milk and space. My sister was a gentle soul and i needed to protect her so i told them off, stood up for her, did the things she was too shy to do and generally watched her back.

I met my soulmate on a hot Saturday morning as the sun beat down with a vengeance upon my sticky back and I stood at the bus stop waiting for a cab. I was however unable to raise a hand to shield my face, or reach into my bag for a mini towelette I could blot my face with because both hands were loaded down with an incredibly fragile red velvet cake that was due for delivery to a cranky client who had called me approximately 5 times in the past 20 minutes. No big deal though. I was used to demanding clients.  So i stood in the sun and felt my makeup curdle and run down my face in a manner that was bound to leave me looking like a failed chocolate ice cream experiment but i wasn't bothered by that. The problem was, the valley between my breasts was beginning to itch with all the sweat, and if I didn't get a cab soon, cake be damned. I would dump it facedown on the hot tar and race for an air conditioned shelter.

    Wife chewed her lower lip softly as she stared at his sleeping form. The way his chest heaved when he breathed looked violent and forceful. Like he was angry, even in his sleep. She walked away from him and went to peek at the baby, safe and equally asleep in his tiny crib. Her heart lurched with the affection that had been absent in the stare she had fixed on the baby's sleeping father. She touched his sweet little face and almost couldn't wait to play with him when she got back home in the evening. She then tiptoed back to her husband's side and nudged him with her handbag. He used to be a light sleeper but these days, it took more than a nudge to get him up. Husband blinked his bleary eyes to focus them then said "oh you're ready for work. Wait, let me wear my clothes and open the gate so i can escort you to the bus stop"

I stare straight ahead through the cream colored veil as I walk down the aisle. I am not hanging on to anyone’s arm. My father left us long ago and I honestly can’t stand the rest of my other male relations. I am very happy but calm as I stare at my husband to be. Victor. You bring peace to my life. You radiate warmth, goodness, and an inner kindness that only your soul can possess. You were worth it Victor. Worth the expense, the time, the risk.  And you seem so proud of me. I wonder if you would still feel this way if you find out what I did. For you. For us. So we can be happy. But you will not find out. You must never find out.

Weeks after Oyin, Bibiana was closing a deal with a potential customer when someone tapped her on the back and signaled that her attention was needed elsewhere. She excused herself and sashayed over to a black SUV inside which Oyin waited nervously. She carefully composed her features and held out her hand to him. He smiled back shyly and took it. But this time, he led her up the stairs and into the familiar room where no words were exchanged but none were needed anyway, as their bodies, a modicum of privacy and the saggy mattress were the only requirements.

Oyin drove idly through the town with no destination in mind but to leave the source of his anger behind. He and Yewande had just quarreled again. Pulling up at a red light, he scrolled absently through his phone and wasn’t surprised that since he had left her over an hour ago, she hadn’t called to ask where he was, or even apologize for her part in the quarrel. She was probably taking another selfie that would be shared as a good night treat to the numerous social network followers who eagerly awaited Wendy’s regular and often risqué pictures. Then the ladies would go to bed with envy in their hearts and tears on their cheeks, while the guys would go (or not go) to bed with lust in their eyes and their right hand down their pants.