ARÍRE (We Have Seen Goodness)

THE INTRUSION

But then came the crash, a violent rupture of our tranquility as intruders forced their way in, dismantling our sanctuary. Three men, masked and menacing, stormed into our home. Their odor-an unpleasant blend of sweat and cheap cologne, reminiscent of those Hausa traders from Sabon Gari-hovered the room, mixing with the acrid scent of our mounting dread. Ikenna sprang to his feet, a reflex of protection driving his movements, his body tense as a bowstring, positioning himself as a shield before me.

He tried to protect me-he truly did-his voice a desperate command, unwavering despite the tremor of fear. But his bravery was futile against their raw strength. Rough hands, calloused and unyielding, seized him, while another grabbed me, pressing the cold, unforgiving metal of a gun to my temple.

"Lie down and face the bloody floor!" they shouted, their voices vibrating to my core. My heart pounded in my chest as I obeyed, my body trembling with fear. I glanced at Ikenna, his face pale with terror, his eyes wide as he watched helplessly.

They demanded the staff salary he had brought home that evening, their voices harsh and cruel as they raided the house. "Where's the money you brought home this evening?" one of them said as he kicked my husband, who was lying on the floor.

"Please don't kill us," Ikenna pleaded, his voice shaky, his eyes pleading with mine.

"E be like say your ear dey pain you abi? I say where the money? I go blow your wife head with the English wey dey my hand," the intruder snarled, pointing the gun at my head. I could feel the sweat trickling down from my face to my breast. I pleaded soberly and meekly with them. "Please don't kill me."

"The money is in the black suitcase on the wardrobe in our room," Ikenna finally said, his voice breaking. I took a brief peek at him and saw his white office shirt drenched in sweat. "Oya, you follow am go pick the money," the man with a jagged scar across his cheek, who I presumed to be their leader, pointed to one of the masked men.

"If the money no dey there, just prepare to kpai," he threatened us as he blew air into the gun in his hand before patting the satanic instrument. His face was plastered with an evil smirk.

The man dragged Ikenna with him to the room, his hands up in the air as instructed, with the masked man pushing him into the room.

I lay on the floor in nothing but fear. In retrospect of past events in my life, tonight was the most terrible night of my life. Even the night I lost my parents to a car crash on the Ibadan expressway twelve years ago did not come close. My breathing quickened heavily as I lay on the cool tiles of the living room.

The man with the jagged scar hovered towards me in a three-sixty-degree motion, and I feared what was coming. "This your ukwu dey whine me ooo," he said as he smacked my butt loudly. I yelled, a scream of pain escaping my lips.

I felt his rough hand caressing my inner thighs, and I froze for a second. "Please, I beg of you, don't do this," I whispered, my voice breaking.

"See this yeye woman, move your body and I pull this trigger into your skull," he breathed, his stinky smell invading my ear, the hairs on my body standing abruptly. I shivered, my entire being recoiling from his touch.

Ikenna walked in with the masked man and saw the man with the jagged scar on top of me. He tried rushing to my side, but the masked man kicked him hard, and he fell flat on the floor, the masked man pinning his back to the ground with his brown worn-out leather boot.

"The money dey intact?" their leader questioned the masked man. "Yes, boss," he answered swiftly as he glanced at the black suitcase in his hand, happily.

"Make I chop this one first," the jagged scarred man said as he tried to unbutton my dress. I had worn a very simple Ankara flowery gown that my apprentice, Kemi, made for me as an anniversary gift.

The violation was brutal and swift, leaving my body bruised and my spirit shattered. My husband's anguished cries were a haunting soundtrack, his helplessness a reflection of my own despair. My throat tightened as I replayed the sequence of events. The rough hands that had grabbed me, the cold barrel of the gun pressed against my temple as they forced my husband to watch, the way the walls seemed to close in on me, the weight of the jagged scar man, the force, the pain-it was all seared into my memory. I had screamed and fought, but my strength was no match for his brutality.

When the intruders finally left, it was as if the life had been drained from our home. I lay on the floor, my body and soul battered. Ikenna lay next to me, his hand reaching out to grasp mine, his eyes filled with tears and pain.

The days that followed were a blur of police reports, hospital visits, and hushed conversations that did little to heal our raw wounds. Friends and family offered support, but their words felt hollow, unable to reach the depths of our shared pain. My world had shrunk to a pinpoint of fear, every sound and scent a potential trigger.

Now, a tear slipped down my cheek. I glanced toward the lonely room and felt nothing but pain. It had been four days since I last saw my husband. I sighed wearily, using the back of my hand to wipe the tears from my cheeks before sneezing heavily, like someone who had eaten a cat head. The evening light dimmed, and the shadows lengthened as I seated in the darkness, waiting. Waiting for him to enter the room. Hoping that maybe he might just come home today. But the clock kept ticking, and Ikenna didn't come home that night, just like the other four nights he had stayed out.

"Why me?" I shouted loudly, my voice hoarse from too much crying. "Why all this misery?" I yelled as I lay my head on the wine-colored couch in the room. "When will goodness visit me, as my name implies, Arire... We have seen goodness."

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