Three Letters I Am Ashamed Of

"Even as the Archer loves the arrow that flies, so too he loves the bow that remains constant in his hands."- Nigerian Proverb.

Pit pat, pit pat. I turn in my bed at the sound of the raindrops splattering against my windowpane. Throughout the night the rain had fallen endlessly. I can't say at which point it had come to a drizzling end, but I could definitely attest to a night well spent sleeping peacefully, my mind interwoven between one dream and the next. I think I might have seen Fola, my secondary school best friend in one of my dreams.

Pit pat. Pit pat. Pit pat. The sound of the rain drops was becoming annoying. I throw the covers off my lean body and make my way towards the tiny bathroom across the hall from my bedroom.

The cold water I splash across my face jars me back to life, but I still feel partially sleepy as I rub my eyes furiously with my hands. I look up at the vanity mirror. I have a slight red rash on my forehead. I am not surprised. That happened from just a week of missing my medication. My mother would be furious.

"Chizoba! M na agwa gi ma I gere nti! I have said my own!" I imagined her yelling at me in her baritone voice. I had always wondered why she had such a deep voice since I was little. It had a rich sound to it and I'd learned to wrap myself in its warmth.

Not when she was scolding me anyway. And certainly not after the incident that had changed my life forever. As I get ready for work, I can't help the bouts of nausea that run through my body. Guilt washes over me for not taking my medication. It should be easy. Three pills every day. One in the morning, one in the afternoon and one at night.

It is far from easy. Especially if I have to do this for the rest of my life.

Somehow, I get through the morning without throwing up my breakfast and I am soon on my way to work plowing through the traditional Lagos traffic. One of my favorite songs Iwa by 'Phyno' and 'Tekno' plays on the radio and I sing along while making a mental list of my tasks for the day.

Client meeting at ten. Board meeting at two. Client meeting at three. Support group at six. Dinner with my sister at eight.

The last two tasks I do not look forward to. If I skipped out on the fourth I was asking for my mother's trouble and if I skipped out on the fifth, Chioma, my sister, would have my head. I sigh in exasperation.

A few minutes later, I drive into the garage of one of the few places that serve as a temporary escape from the reality that is my life. F.O Akinrele & Co, one of the top law firms in the country. I am a divorce lawyer.

When I'm not consumed by the challenges of my condition, I handle family law issues like divorce, marriage annulment, and child visitation rights. This is my happy place and I am passionate about my job.

My first client, Mrs. Adekunle, has been in a messy divorce battle with her husband for three years now. Today she is extremely bitter, and it doesn't take a magician to see that she just wants to be done with anything related to her husband. Our meeting wraps up and I am soon talking to my second client of the day. Another messy, long, divorce battle. Worse, a child is caught in the middle, and the father wants custody.

Subconsciously, a part of me is grateful at the possibility of me not having to deal with such issues. I don't foresee a relationship, much less marriage to anyone anytime soon. The first man I had told about my condition had fled before I could completely say my name. And I have a short name. Chizoba. Or Zozo as my close friends and family sometimes call me.

My mother calls during my lunch break. Fortunately for me, I had just taken my medication in the privacy of the female staff bathroom. I can still taste the crusty pill at the back of my throat as I answer her call. I won't tell her that I skipped the pills for a week.