Dance With the Masquerade II

Hi guys, today is friday and our March story continues. A couple of people have said the one week interval is too short. Please bear with me, it has to be like that for  while. I only implore you to wake up every friday morning and read over a cup of coffee. And when you‘re done, please click the share button. So many people need to learn from these stories. Enjoy this week’s episode and have a great weekend.


Michael flung the door to the parlour opened and was greeted with Tope’s body, in brazier and pants, curled on the rug. He managed to pretend not to smell the aroma of freshly cooked yam pottage. She peeped at him from the corner of her eyes and greeted.

“Good morning”, he responded.

“I’m sorry about last night”, her teary eyes shined, and he wondered if he saw remorse or seduction. His mind became a convoluted maze of emotions; anger, lust, excitement, passion….He gave in to one of them and it was not long before his boxer shorts were on the floor.

“Michael, I cannot help myself anymore. I am deeply in love with you”, she said twenty five minutes later to an emotionally exhausted man on the rug beside her.

“I am sorry I have to be this bold, but I have stifled my emotions for too long”.

Michael stood motionless for a long time. His body wanted to respond through his mouth, his mind could not focus on any other thing apart from the naked woman before him. His spirit was crushed, and he felt like a candle about to be blown out by a strong wind. He chose not to respond.

“Do you have my phone?”

“No”, she said quickly.

“I am looking for my blackberry”. He stood up.

“I saw it last at the restaurant. Could you have forgotten it there?” she asked. She dialed the number on her phone but the line could not connect.


Michael could only recollect the passionate sex from the previous night. He could not put a place to the location of his phone. After upturning the sitting room, he believed he must have forgotten the phone at the restaurant. He found the restaurant’s number on the dinner receipt and called. The operator said they did not have any phone reported at the reception. He concluded the phone was missing when the restaurant called back later to confirm that his phone had not been found.


As far as He was concerned, the problem of the day was not the missing phone, it was a colleague he had now known as a woman, the woman he was struggling to get over, the power of fornication that was crushing his spirit, and the guilt of betrayal tugging at the bottom of his heart. He could not get himself to return Ifeoma’s call. He wondered if he could go back to when he agreed to take Tope on a date, or at least to the point where he started hearing alarm bells ringing in his head. He knew if he had left the restaurant earlier, He would not have encountered robbers on the third mainland bridge, and his colleague would not be sleeping naked beside him in his flat. He looked from her curled body beside him to the ceiling like one crying for freedom, as though a chain had bound his body to hers, wondering if God would hear a prayer from him. Tears welled up in his eyes, as he struggled with the movements in his torso. He remembered the song “Create in me a clean heart, Oh Lord. And renew the right spirit within me”, but the melody did not match the atmosphere he found himself. Driven by hunger to the dining table, he ate the pottage Tope prepared and soon forgot his sorrows. At her instance, they had their bath together in his bathroom later in the afternoon.


Ifeoma fought the feeling of disgust and distrust that welled up in her heart for her fiancé. She had been calling both lines all afternoon, and none connected. She logged in to facebook to see if he would be online, but his avatar was cold. Why was he suddenly incommunicado? Who was the lady that picked up his phone early on a Saturday morning? She kept reminding herself of the scripture “God will keep in perfect peace, those whose minds are stayed on him”. She knew God was asking her to keep her mind on him, and not on Michael, in far away Nigeria. Her focus on God was punctuated frequently by questions. What if Michael was cheating on her? What if there was a woman in his house? She decided to turn from her frustration of complete darkness to spend time praying.

“If he is truly my husband, please keep him, in the hollow of your hands.” She slept off while praying.


Tope stood atop the balcony of her sitting room on a 4 storey building in Iju Hills. She watched as Michael drove effortlessly round the bends guided by the strong xenon lights of his Mercedes benz. She loved the view of the area from her flat, and it was even more exciting watching Michael drive back to his house after the events of the last twenty four hours. Watching him gave her the feeling of a bird’s eye view of the colleague she had loved secretly since the day she started working with Skyescape Architecture. She had had five boyfriends since then, and it ended the same way. They were all bad boys; and they always had one excuse or the other for ending the relationship. Michael was a cool, calm, and collected guy who obviously knew God and despite the fact that his fiancé was out of the country, he was faithful. She knew if Michael fell in love with her, she would never be heartbroken again. She was living out a script for the audacious independent, twenty first century woman. This time around she was not going to wait for those liars at the malls and cinemas in Lekki. It was time to take her destiny into her hands. She wanted Michael, and she was going to get him. No fetish, just passion, genuine love and unlimited care. Sitting down with Michael’s blackberry to retrieve all the information needed for her conquest, she replayed the script in her head over and over again, and the climax was still the wedding ceremony of Michael Asuquo and Tope Lawal.



Winter had ended rather early in London, but the blooming flowers of spring did not warm Ifeoma’s heart. She was cold on the inside and it was a dark world outside. It was March, but it felt like winter all over again. Her relationship with Michael was like a ship without anchor and sails at sea heading towards an iceberg. They spoke sparingly on the phone, and when they did, the conversation lasted more than five minutes only when there were arguments. He was either complaining of her rude manner of speech, or picking at the lackluster pictures she uploaded on facebook, and anytime their conversation was impaired by network connectivity challenges he never called back. She was beginning to believe Charity’s conclusion of the matter; there was another woman in Michael’s life even though he denied it every time she asked.


She logged on to to book a two-day flight to Nigeria and picked a direct British airways flight that would touch down Muritala Muhammed International airport at 9pm on 23rd of March, 2013. With only her hand luggage, she envisaged she would be out at the arrival lounge an hour after touchdown. Baba Kala, her father’s former driver, who now ran an airport shuttle cab, would be waiting to take her to Number 5 Clarion Street, Lekki Phase 2. Venom crawled through her blood as she thought of the number of times she would slap Michael if she found a woman in his house. Names like “Bastard, ass hole, bloody-liar,cheat, whore..”, crossed her mind as she keyed in her debit card details, waiting for the confirmation page. 


7 thoughts on “Dance With the Masquerade II

  1. I think the one week interval is too long, I look forward to reading it daily, please kindly make it an everyday story because waiting for one long week in suspense is not funny at all.
    Thank you.
    Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device from MTN


Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s