-Ameboi
I remember the day I killed my wife. I remember cutting her throat and watching the blood gush out. Her eyes had ridiculously popped out with surprise. She held her throat with one hand and stretched her other hand towards me. In no time she was on the ground, jittering and muttering -trying to mutter- something I couldn’t hear. I saw as she froze and the ofter snow-white bathroom floor tiles were deeply reddened with her stinking blood. I stood there, kitchen knife in my hand feeling victorious. It was the best feeling ever.
You see, Ralia and I met during our NYSC in 1998. I would never forget the sight of the short lean lady in soaked T-shirt and baggy trousers dancing sweatily to Michael Jackson’s “Pretty Young Thing”. I approached her on the dance floor and we traded contacts afterwards. Within a week, she was mine. We were head-over-heels in love. I was particularly fond of her but marriage was far from her thoughts. I was only 22! She began to pressurize me into marriage and two years into our relationship, I got a dreadful phone call.
“Kevin, I have some news for you,” her sober voice shook with unease.
“Go on,” I signaled to my barber to give me a minute. The funny half-barbed shape of my bushy hair in the mirror did not even lighten my anxiety.
“I went to the doctor today…” She was sobbing now. “I’m pregnant.”
I said nothing. The next day, we visited the local clinic where it was confirmed. I was sure I was the father. I had been cornered. My parents would never want their grandchild to be born out of wedlock. A small wedding occurred two months later. I was getting accustomed to this new life at a very slow pace. I missed having drinks with my friends every night but I didn’t blame Ralia. I couldn’t blame her. When it was time to deliver the baby, the child came out without breath. Heaven seemed to cry that day. There was ceaseless rain throughout. I could not control my tears. Ralia lost another pregnancy a few months later. I was beginning to resent her. She disgusted me. The way she would walk round the house and sit beside me on the sofa. The way her feet made slap-slap sounds on the tiles when she walked… The way she snored while in bed… The way she took no less than thirty minutes bathing… The way she chewed food loudly while eating… I resented it all. I was contemplating divorce and I told my friends. They must have told her friends because she soon lied to me that she was expecting again. I believed her. Not because of her characteristic honesty, but because I was too tired to do otherwise. I was tired of the whole affair. But when she organised for a “prophet” to approach me on the streets and tell me to stay married to her because this new baby would not die, I was hooked. I began to love her back. Her belly soon grew bigger to me. I didn’t see it bare but it did seem to beef up beneath those maternity dresses. She avoided being naked near me, because according to her, it was bad luck for us. Her secret was revealed when I walked in on her bathing. Her stomach was as flat as a square. I searched her closet and saw a small pillow just big enough to look like a protuberating belly. She was dumb-founded. She broke down and started crying. I rushed out and came back with a kitchen knife and killed her.
That was two years ago. I do not know why this court still wishes to punish me. I beg of you to let me go. I am morally justified. She toyed with my feelings and made me believe my life was about to get better. Now she has paid for her sins. I am justified, or am I not?
