3983806649_87076c299d_zI stick my fork into my husband’s body and bring the meat into my mouth. I chew.

The women boo on and continue to smack my clean-shaven head. I still hear Nkechi’s voice. She strongly believes I killed my husband. She had joined them to cook his heart and liver. Now, I’ve been forced to eat the half-boiled meat of my own husband. They also washed his dead body into a bucket and served me a drink from it.

I take a sip and almost throw up. If I did throw up then it proves that I’m guilty of killing him. If I fall sick within a week of eating my husband, I’m guilty.

My son returns without the police. I knew they wouldn’t come. “They do not like to dabble into family matters” I had told my son but he wouldn’t have it. He is as stubborn as his father was. I hope it doesn’t kill him.

I’m not sure if I would survive my husband’s family. If I did, I’d come for all of them. One by one.  They would face the same fate as their son—my dead husband.

I warned him, but he was too stubborn. I told him in plain words that I would kill him if I found him with another woman. The Police found his dead body in the hotel room with his naked mistress cowering by his side.

I can’t bear stubborn people. See where his stubbornness has landed him? In my plate!

I bring the fork to my mouth again and chew my lunch. I close my nostrils with my right hand and take another sip of my husband’s bath water. Nkechi slaps my right hand off my nose, and I stare at her and smile.

I hate stubborn people, and Nkechi is a very stubborn person. Just like her brother… Just like him.

 

********

Post image by THOR via Flickr

About the Author:

Portrait - Osemegbe

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I hold a doctorate in English from Duke University and recently joined the Marquette University English faculty as an Assistant Professor. I love teaching African fiction and contemporary British novels. Brittle Paper is the virtual space/station where I play and experiment with ideas on how to reinvent African fiction and literary culture.

6 Responses to “Lunch | by Osemegbe Aito | An African Story” Subscribe

  1. Iheme Nzube 2015/11/20 at 01:45 #

    Some traditions can be too tricky for Africa! What if she was not the one that killed her husband, she would still drink and eat human pepper soup. Nice read all the same, you led me well. A bit funny too, especially towards the end.

  2. Chiziterem 2015/11/20 at 13:31 #

    Grim and funny. Grim, mostly. Sad too. Yea, and disgusting. Craftily disgusting. Good read tho.

  3. chinenye 2015/11/22 at 07:46 #

    Morbid tale but yet yet very interesting, love the twist at d end

  4. Fatima 2015/11/23 at 04:04 #

    I love how this played out.

    In my mind, I am busy plotting with the widow (*insert evil laughter here!!!)

    Great short story.

  5. Victor 2015/11/24 at 07:14 #

    First it looked like she was the victim, then it turned around and she was the culprit. Nice twist.

  6. Shakiru 2015/12/21 at 05:14 #

    Osemegbe, You should consider making this into a short story. The theme is relevant and one can relate. I like the humour in it but iI wasThe guy proposing to many girls but ugly girl denying him. I was like ‘is that all?’ I’d wondering what the role of religious figures are in this and would love to know what the law says and has to offer the woman, considering human rights promotion in our part of the world.

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I hold a doctorate in English from Duke University and recently joined the Marquette University English faculty as an Assistant Professor. I love teaching African fiction and contemporary British novels. Brittle Paper is the virtual space/station where I play and experiment with ideas on how to reinvent African fiction and literary culture.

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