Echoes of passion

Chapter 1

Rage could not begin to describe how furious Iris Nkem felt. As a matter of fact, standing in an airport with a poncho on and the rain pelting on one’s body (while waiting for a late aunty) could be enough to burst anyone’s good bubble – if there was any in the first place. The flight had been a tedious one for Iris; she had to sit in between an old lady, who decided to snore throughout the entire seven hours, and an old man who decided that it was time to look for a wife as he kept telling her how beautiful she was and how he had been searching for a lady like her all his life. She did not even bother to correct him as he was old enough to be her grandfather. By the time she came out of the plane, she almost dropped to her knees to thank God for surviving the journey. However, the elation she felt was soon dispersed when she realised that her aunt was late in picking her up. Using her cocoa coloured left hand, Iris tucked an errant braid behind her ear while her right held on tightly to her meagre luggage. She remembered mama’s effort in braiding every strand and the extensions with precision as she gave her usual sermon on how to be a proper Nigerian lady in a western world filled with ‘wolves’.

‘Nnem, don’t forget where you are from. Remember our culture and traditions. Don’t go and start wearing all these face paint these girls call make-up and these short skirts and tops they call fashion’. Iris listened with an apt face but inside she was scoffing. As if she would be able to wear those! ‘Anyway, I’m sure your aunty Agnes will take care of you. You are just a 16 year old girl going to secondary school, albeit a beautiful one’, mama said while smiling down on her daughter. Iris reciprocated with a warm smile, however, this time she was laughing inside. Mama really knew how to give theatrical sermons; Iris saw herself as an ordinary young African girl, unlike their pretty neighbour, Chioma, who got all the attention from the boys in the village. Lookers, however, would disagree with Iris’ assession of herself. The young 16 year old may have kinky hair (which she braids often), however it gave way to a face as dark as dark chocolate, held big brown eyes with natural arched eyebrows, a big but pointy nose and a mouth that could rival  those who dipped theirs in pouty lip gloss. This was further complimented with a curvy body and a blemish free skin. However, to Iris, she looked like any other Nigerian girl.  Iris’ thoughts were soon dispelled by her mother’s next words; ‘And when you return from the white man’s land, Obinna will be here with the items for your bride price. I’m sure he’ll make you happy as your father did me’, the older woman said with a wink. Iris again nodded and smiled beatifically but her insides were nauseated. Why, oh why were they forcing Obinna on her?! She was only 16 and she didn’t even like him!! But her family thought him to be a good choice, he was from a well-to-do family and they didn’t want her to end up like those girls who grow old and never marry. That would break mama’s heart. Papa always wanted her to marry as well. Just thinking about her once favourite man caused tears to well up in her eyes; papa was always the strong one in the family, level-headed and calm. She looked back on the stool where he would sit after returning from a day’s work and eagerly awaiting the food mama prepared while singing about the gods, the forefathers and whatnot.

It was the work that killed him, it was never safe climbing a tall palm tree trying to collect palm fronds with only a single rope holding you in place. She remembers mama’s cries when they brought his body home while she was too frozen with shock to do anything. Papa had been her hero, her knight in shining armour especially when her uncle Matthew had been here and tried those things with her. Just thinking about that mangled-faced paedophile caused shudders to rack through her entire body. If only papa was alive, then maybe she may not have ---

‘Iris? Iris my child! Is that you?’, the voice of her aunt brought her out of the past and back to the chilly airport. Before she knew it, she was attacked by a hug from Aunt Agnes. ‘Ehen! Iris! Look at you! You’ve grown up so much and gorgeously so! Where’s that chubby little girl that used to follow me about eh?’, her aunt said pinching her cheeks. All the anger in Iris evaporated and was replaced by embarrassment as she looked down ‘she is right here aunty’. Aunt Agnes threw back her head and laughed, ‘still so shy? Hmm? Well, we’ll have to change that. Come on then! It’s a long drive back to Oxford and I don’t want your food to get cold’, Agnes said, picking up Iris’ luggage. Iris followed while she began to look around from underneath her poncho. She was amazed at all the sites, the different people coming and going with their personal worries to ponder on. The little amount of teenagers here and there with their belts, jeans, painted nails, giggling and talking among themselves. She could faintly hear her aunt garbling about how difficult it was to enrol her in a school here and how she would love Oxford, make new friends, blah blah blah. But her mind was filled with wonder as she looked around and thought; ‘So this is how it will be for the next nine years of my life’.