Engr. Gbenga Adekola, Funke’s dad, is beginning to deal with the fact that I would become his son-inlaw. He wanted a Yoruba man each of his three daughters. The first two got Yoruba men, but Funke, who is the last, got me, who is Delta Igbo from Agbor in Delta State.
My people don’t really care about the choice of tribe one wants to marry from as long as she is well behaved.
The First son of her parents, who is also the first child, Tunji, got married to a Yoruba lady. And finally, Tunde, who is the last among the five, is in his final year in the university.
I was in good rapport with every member of her family except her father until three months ago when he had to soft pedal because he had no other option than to accept me, since Funke was adamant to quit the relationship, and was being supported by the rest of the family including the in-laws.
I was carrying the bag she came home with, which had her belongings, as we walked towards a small market. The road that leads to my apartment was under a quick reconstruction, so we had to walk to where we directed the uber driver to.
We stood behind a police van while waiting for the driver. My left fingers were locked in her right fingers when the driver parked behind the police van, about three steps away from us. He honked to let us know he was ready.
“When are we seeing again?” She looked at me inquisitively.
“Come see me anytime. You have my keys, don’t you?”
She raised her brows to mean, really?
“Yea, I will always have your time henceforth. The guys are really doing great at the job now. So, I will always be free for you, baby.”
She smiled with satisfaction. “I love you. Don’t you ever forget that.”
“I love you too.” I said as we hugged.
When we hugged was when we heard that gunshot. It was also that same time that darkness beclouded me.
When I managed to look through my eyelashes which refused to separate completely from each other, my elder twin brothers were seated on a bed opposite the bed I was lying on, while my younger sister, who was the last born, was sitting close to me on the same bed.
She had noticed my right leg, which was in contact with her body, shake.
“He’s awake!” She screamed, showing much care.
“Don’t shake him o!” Kenechi, the younger of the twin shouted as they all came closer to me.
“Ngozi, go and call the doctor.” The older of the twin ordered my younger sister almost immediately. “Kene, call papa and mama, biko?
Seated in the large sitting room of the Adekoyas, my feet are trembling in disbelief. My official visit with my family to Funke’s home should be to begin the necessary marriage rights, I thought. But look how events have twisted and have left me to my fate.
We are all dressed in black. It is a condolence visit. The sounds of groaning fill the air. Funke died on the spot. The bullet we heard went through her heart and pierced through my right chest. “…that’s why he made it.” The doctor had explained.
For fear of being attacked, the armed robbers, who had robbed a micro finance bank for close to twenty minutes, opened fire on the police van on their way out. It was the first bullet the shot that hit Funke and me.
Seated where I am, so many thoughts and questions are beclouding my mind. I blame myself for her death, and am feeling sorry for everything that happened, starting from when we started dating. I blame the Local Government for construction that road, I would have driven her home myself. Although, the question that’s the most terrifying is, “will I ever get to love again?” Certainly, I know I would try to love any lady I will later get married to, but I know that as it stands, love died when Funke had her last breath.
THE END
