As the afternoon sun shun heavily on me, my legs started to tremble with every step I took. But I kept on walking, I paid no heed to the soreness of my feet or the sharp pain in my stomach. All I wanted was for me and my daughter, Ihuu as I fondly call her to be as far away from my sins as possible. I had exhausted the five thousand naira I was able to grab as I fled from the one billion-naira mansion I had called my home.
I heard the shouts “woman, get out of the road” “stupid woman, you are looking for who will kill you abi”. But the tears in my eyes made it almost impossible to see the truck heading towards me.
Who would have thought that my life could suddenly become a shadow of itself, just yesterday I was happy, I was the wife of billionaire and the richest man in the state, but now I walk down the street aimlessly and possibly as a fugitive, all I had was my child.
I have not always known that Prince, my husband was a ritualist, though I always suspected that his money wasn’t legit, I didn’t care as far as it didn’t affect the lavish lifestyle I had become acquainted with, or so I thought, up until he came to my beauty salon to tell me that the life of our one year old daughter was required as a sacrifice to the god of wealth. I burst into laughter as I thought it was one of his numerous jokes. Even if it were true, the love he has for his only child would not let him give her up, so I casually ended the conversation.
That evening I got home to a gruesome sight of ihuu surrounded by fetish objects like feathers and dead animals. Upon realization that our earlier conversation wasn’t joke, I confronted him on his willingness to sacrifice his child, he bluntly retorted that at least he got to know her this time unlike previous times. It was at that moment that I realized that my last 6 miscarriages were at a result of his covenant with the ‘god of wealth’. He called me a hypocrite for strongly objecting to the sacrifice, saying that I am willing to enjoy the wealth but do not want to pay the price.
Upon realizing that he was adamant on his decision, I rush toward ihuu and he did the same, and in the struggle for the child, he slipped and hit his head of the silver armchair we had bought from Dubai on our honey moon.
There was no further movement from him, just blood, lots and lots of it. For a while I stood there paralyzed by fear, but as I heard the sound of the gate opened and saw Prince’s mother walking in, I panicked and fled grabbing Ihuu and the little money on the table
As I tried to stay clear of the upcoming truck, ihuu fell.
They say in your moment of sorrow, you remember the ones you love, but that wasn’t the case, all I had were regrets. At that moment my whole life flashed before my eyes, every bad decision that lead up to this moment became as vivid as ever. – How I rejected good men like David Okoye, John Nweke , Emmanuel Idungafa , Stephen Damilare , solely because there were not affluent people. – How I followed Prince from the bank, seduced him and later blackmailed his fiancé into leaving him
“Woman your child is dying and you are standing there like a fool”, that was all it took to bring me back to reality. I quickly rushed Ihuu to the nearest hospital where the demanded for Fifty thousand Naira before they can to commence treatment. I didn’t have such amount of money on me, and I couldn’t go back to the house to get it, I didn’t have a bank account because Prince has insisted, I don’t open one. I couldn’t call me in-laws because the hated me and regarded me as a trophy wife and they would have found out that I killed their son. My family who was totally against my marriage to Prince wasn’t an option as I haven’t spoken to any of them in two years.
I begged and pleaded but they would have non of it.” It’s hospital policy” they said,” they can be no exceptions” they said. In the midst of my confusion, I remembered my old apartment where I lived in before I met prince in the bank where he came to withdraw fifteen million naira in cash while on his way to a night club on a Friday night
I quickly rushed to the apartment, broke in, as I poured through the rags I had once called clothes, I saw it, with a trembling hand, tears in my eyes and a heart filled with sorrow, I read aloud, “Happy New Year to Me, this is the year I will stop going into relationship for Money”.
Augusta Ndeche is an Accountant by profession, but also has a passion for creative writing and Fashion designing. She hails from Anambra State and can be reached at ndecheaugusta@gmail.com
