ARÍRE (We Have Seen Goodness)

Tonight Na Firecracker Knacking

**************

You know how they say marriage is like a groundnut; you have to crack it to see what’s inside. That’s exactly the situation I have found myself. I sat on the cool, tiled floor of my room, my back against the couch, knees drawn to my chest. The ceiling fan spun softly above, its gentle whir blending with the distant laughter of the neighbor’s children, Yewande and juwon, playing Ten/Ten outside.

Four days had passed since Ikenna left the house, and I held on to the faint hope that, just maybe, he might return home today. Yet my mind remained a prisoner of that night, the night when it all began.

That night was the genesis of my sorrow. We had been at home, celebrating our five-year anniversary with a quiet dinner. Candles shimmered on the table, casting a warm light over our faces as we laughed and reminisced. My husband hand rested lightly on mine, fingers intertwined, his touch gentle yet reassuring.

"You are the best thing to have ever happened to me," Ikenna had said, his thumb gently stroking my cheek. His eyes, filled with love and gratitude, reflected my own emotions. "I can't imagine my life without you, obim."

I smiled, feeling a warmth that filled my heart. "And you are my life, Ikenna. These five years have been the happiest of my life."

"Tonight, I'm going to ravish you," he said, his voice thick with desire. "I'll pounce on you like a predator, making love to you all night. Those two weeks away have been pure torture. This pestle of mine"—he pointed to his down part—"has been yearning for you all week. Kai, the kind of pounding you'll receive tonight, ehn, Makachukwu, it will be like I drank firecracker." His smile was broad, his eyes gleaming wickedly with anticipation.

"Mr. Predator," I said teasingly, "please, no firecrackers in this house," as I rubbed his thighs with my palm seductively.

"Speaking of your pestle hardening all week, Ikenna, I hope you have not been using my pestle to pound all these Port Harcourt girls with broomstick legs."

"Jealousy, jealousy. I, Ikenna, the husband of Arire, cannot have full flesh meat at home and still be looking for bones outside." We both burst into loud laughter.

The aroma of the meal I had prepared-white rice, goat meat stew, and fried plantains-still persisted in the air, mixing with the scent of the jasmine candles I had lit for the special occasion. Ikenna's eyes sparkled with joy, his laughter infectious as he recounted a funny story from our early days of dating, the day we had visited Iya Amoo's alamala spot at Ajegunle.

"Do you remember the first time we went to your favorite amala joint?" he began, his smile widening.

I chuckled, the memory flooding back. "Yes, when you decided to try amala and gbegiri for the first time as the proper ajebutter Igbo you are."

He laughed, a deep, hearty sound that filled the room. "And I had no idea what I was getting into. I thought it was just another soup."

As popular as amala was, Ikenna had never tried the popular Yoruba dish before that day, and his curiosity was piqued by my love for amala and gbegiri. We had gone to my favorite spot, Iya Amoo's alamala, a roadside buka with long wooden benches and aluminum tables.

Ikenna looked skeptical but determined as I ordered for us. "Two wraps of amala and gbegiri with assorted meat, please," I had said to the thick fair woman behind the counter, who nodded and quickly prepared our plates.

We found a spot to sit, and I watched as Ikenna eyed the brownish amala and the yellowish gbegiri soup with curiosity and a hint of trepidation. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

"Trust me, you'll love it," I said, unable to hide my amusement. "It's one of the best Yoruba dishes."

He took a deep breath and picked up a piece of amala, dipping it into the gbegiri. The moment the food touched his tongue, his eyes widened, and he coughed, reaching for the bottle of water on the table. "It's... it's spicy!" he exclaimed, his face flushed.

I burst into laughter, drawing curious glances from other customers. "I told you to take it easy," I said between giggles. "The first bite is always a surprise."

Ikenna smiled, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "You Yoruba people and your spicy food. It's a conspiracy, I tell you."

We both laughed, the sound blending with the buzzing mood of the buka. Despite the initial shock, Ikenna bravely continued eating, his expressions ranging from surprise to enjoyment as he savored the food. By the end of the meal, he was a convert, declaring his newfound love for amala and gbegiri.

We laughed as we reminisced, making the moment feel very intimate. It was a description of a perfect night-or so we thought.

********************************

A/N:
Here is the first chapter, what do y'all think about this chapter so far.
Please feel free to comment, I will be in the comment section waiting for y'all.

Please hit the vote button❤🙏