Chapter 31: The Conflicting Dream.

posted in: Jennifer: Grass To Grace | 1

We didn’t go out again in the night of December 31st 2005. We decided to stay indoors. The truth was that I wanted to be outside. I wanted to watch people fire up the sky with bangs. It was usually fun to also buy your own bangs and knock them like everyone else but the man of the house decided against it. He said we weren’t going anywhere that night.
“I know how much you want to go out there and join the band but we are not safe in the night. We don’t know where Jose and his friend are. We don’t know where Madam Grace is at the moment. It is true that they don’t know where we are but if we go to the city center to witness the New Year celebration bangs, one of them could easily spot us and you can imagine what will happen. I am sorry but we aren’t going anywhere,” he had said.
I totally understood what he said. He was right. We were on the run. The little make out we had at the cabin led me to believe we were invisible.
We stood near our open window and watched the sky turned into flames of fire as soon as the clock turned to 12 midnight. Different kinds of sounds could be heard from every corner of Braga. It was beautiful to witness but dangerous for us to participate on.
“Sometimes we just have to forfeit what we want to do what is right” That was what Solomon said before I agreed not to talk about going out that night anymore. A quote that eventually got stuck in my head.
As the bangs faded away with time, we discussed what we would do the next day.
“We will stay inside and cook for ourselves,” I said.
“I think we should return to the Cathedral and get married,” Solomon said.
I laughed out loud and asked him if he was serious.
“Of course, it’s no big deal for me. We can do it, white people do such things all the time,” he said.
“What about our relatives, are you seriously suggesting that none of them witness our wedding?” I asked.
He smiled. “It looks that way to me. I don’t really care if they are here to witness it or not. I understand women usually wanted the entire human race to witness their weddings but I don’t see those things as anything,” he said.
My expression changed. “Do you mean you don’t like big weddings?”
“Yep, that’s what I just said,” he said, “the objective is to get married, not to invite the whole Africa to witness the wedding.”
I asked if he wouldn’t want people to drink and eat on his wedding.
“That’s the African way. We are no more in Africa,” he said.
I didn’t want to argue much on the topic but I certainly didn’t buy his idea of wedding. Wedding was supposed to be the happiest day in a woman’s life. At least that was what we were made to know back in Nigeria. We fantasized over how our weddings would be when we get married. Every girl I knew wanted a big wedding. Perhaps it was because the weddings itself were usually sponsored by the husband in Nigeria.
I knew he wasn’t serious about going to get married in the Church the next day but it got me thinking the entire night. If that was what he wanted, I would gladly follow him to the Church. What other options did I have?
If that was what was required to secure my relationship with Solomon, I wouldn’t let anything stand in the way.
The following morning, we didn’t go to the Cathedral like I wished. I actually had a dream the previous night. Perhaps it was the work of my conscious imagination but I dreamt about how life eventually turned out with Solomon.
In my dream, we lived in a large house in a city I couldn’t even remember when I woke up. My parents came to visit us from Nigeria. My father didn’t like Solomon, he said he was Igbo. My mother liked Solomon and sided with me during the argument that eventually ensured. Every effort I made to convince my father that being an Igbo man didn’t make Solomon different from Edo people but he didn’t want to hear it. He said he didn’t approve our marriage. It prompted a heated argument in which Solomon himself asked my father to leave our house.
“You can’t throw my father out of the house like that,” I had said in the dream.
“Yes, I can throw him out of my house, I pay for this house.”
We were still arguing when I suddenly woke up. I didn’t know what to make out of the story but one thing I decided instantly was that if I eventually married Solomon, I would not invite my father to our house. I knew I could be wrong, people said dreams were usually the opposite. In that case, it would be my mother who would hate Solomon for being an Igbo. Unfortunately I wasn’t going to hate my mother irrespective of what she believed.
For some reasons, I decided to keep the dream to myself. I didn’t know how Solomon would react if I suddenly tell him a story about how one of my parents didn’t like him. Solomon was a very sensitive person that hears you out, decides what to do and do it without your consent. I believed that telling him about the story could make him hate my father and if that happened, it would be difficult to love him with all my heart.
Since I was in charge of the kitchen, I decided that we cook on that New Year. The African way of belief was that whatever one did on New Year, he or she would continue to do that until the end of the year. Irrespective of how silly it sounded, I still believed it and as a result, I told Solomon we were not going out for food. Rather we went out and bought Chicken and unripe plantain. I heard that the Plantain made men to want sex all the time. I wanted Solomon to have sex with me all the time because in truth, I wanted to get pregnant. I was sure he wasn’t going to abandon me if I got pregnant for him. Since he didn’t abandon me when I meant nothing to him, it was logical to agree that he won’t do it if he had a reason to stay with me. I knew love was such a good and binding thing but the truth was that we human beings have a lot of expectations. Love would eventually wear off if nothing else happened to take over from it. In my years on earth, I have seen such things happen.
Solomon was an Igbo man and the truth was that he was required to have children when he gets married. Black men never got married for the fun of it or for love, the objective has always been as clear as diamond; they all wanted children.
And so was I…

Previous Chapter
Next Chapter

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *