A Short Story about the struggles of Inter-Religion dating in Nigeria.
Don’t fall in love heart! Thus I beg you every day yet every day you ignore me and we both get shattered.
I’ve always been against inter-religion dating. “Why?” You may ask. Because I come from a family that will never compromise in marriage. “You will marry an Igbo man and he will be a Christian, all your children shall be Christian also” My dad had told me when I tried to explain to them that tribe or religion didn’t matter in love. “When you marry a man, you marry into his family, You know that don’t you?”
“I know, Mum” I replied. “I hope you also know that you’re not the kind of person that can live with another wife?” My mom explained. “I understand you very well Mum” and I did understand. So when Ahmed approached me at a wedding telling me all kinds of sweet things, I was sure I wasn’t going to date him. The way he was able to get my number from me despite my unfriendly face is one of the plenty questions which cloud my mind. I plan to ask my professor when I start my Master’s degree. Ahmed asked me to go to a restaurant with him and I couldn’t control the movement of my legs neither could I control my hands as it moved around my face and drew an extra layer of beauty for him to behold. While talking and laughing with him in the restaurant, I couldn’t help but notice his perfect set of teeth, his straight long muscular hand and his lovely northern accent that made all his words sound evidently sweeter.
‘I’m attracted to him’ I finally realized. But that was not going to change anything. I wasn’t going to let this handsome monster claw his way into my heart.
He called every night, Just to check up on me, he said. But with time, his voice became the last thing I heard before I slept and all I could do every evening was wait and wait till the time I knew he was going to call. One day, the waiting became too much, I decided to take the bold step and call him.
” Hello, Ahmed. Isn’t it past the check up time? ” I asked making sure my voice sounded as sweet as possible.
“It is” a tired female voice replied “But he came back home extremely tired. He is fast asleep now, I’ll tell him you called in the morning ” and I heard a click. The call had ended.
I called back, “Please who are you? ” I inquired
“I’m Ahmed’s first wife. I guess you’re to be the second “
Anger at this point was unfounded. The only thing left was to move on. My parents were right, An Igbo girl from a very strict Christian family would hardly find love in the North.