You perform your daily routine. After having your bath, you slather your body with lotion put on your Calvin Klein boxers then your pants, which you tightly secure with a leather belt like a noose around a neck. Next comes your shirt, your immaculate white shirt that has been starched until it feels like cardboard- like if I knock on it would be like knocking on a door.
Aha! there it is, your Rolex watch hiding under the bed, it must have fallen there while you were undressing last night; you secure it on your wrist letting the coolness of the metal comfort you, you throw on your jacket, and last you shove your feet your new designer shoes expensive enough to befit your big boy status.
Then you stand in front of the mirror and drench yourself with cologne three times as if you are scared a gust of wind would blow away the first two sprays. Your morning routine is complete; it gives you a semblance of the control you constantly crave.
One last thing you think before you move closer to the mirror, ‘the smile never forget the smile,’ you chide yourself. You curve your lips a little but it is not enough so you use your fingers to push your lips upwards making your smile deepen, showing of your pearly white teeth.
‘Yes’ you nod, ‘now you’re ready.’
On your way out you kiss your five-year-old son and tell him, ‘Daddy loves you.’
You hug your beautiful wife and squeeze her ample bosom; she laughs and waves you away with the knife in her hand. For a moment, the sharp silver mesmerizes you, your façade of control wavers and you remember that you hate work, that for a year now your wife and child no longer bring you joy, that you are tired of this life. You wonder how the knife would feel when it slices through the meat on your wrist. You want to snatch the knife from your wife just to check but she gives you a peck and it draws you out of your trance.
You kiss her fully on her lips and tell her, ‘I love you.’ – Empty words.
You get to work; the hails from your colleagues follow you from the entrance all the way to your office.
“Boss! Oga mi! CEO of lay lay lay of Lagos!”
You land another perfect pitch and get the contract. The company adores you; you have been given a raise. The congratulations pour in; you want to scream at them to get the hell out of your office that you hate it here. You do not want to slave away the rest of your life working a 9-5. For once, you would like to sit down at home while your wife worries about being ‘the man of the house’ never mind that she works just as hard as you do. Society says you must pour your heart and soul into a job you hate so you can provide for your family especially your parents and your degenerate brother. Therefore, you smile, shake hands, and accept the numerous congratulations.
After work, you meet your friends at a bar, ‘Odogwu 1,’ they hail you as you enter, ‘life of the party after you na you biko!’
You greet your friends, shaking hands in that unnecessarily violent manner that men do then you relax into a wicker chair and unbutton your shirt. You hail a bartender and ordered two rounds of beer and nkwobi for everyone. The bill is on you. Your friends start with the hailing again but you simply shrug and say, ‘you be my guys.’
You tell them about the raise. ‘How do you do it Odogwu? how do you manage to excel at work and have time for your wife and friends, show us the way,” Emeka says.
‘O boy na God o,’ you reply and plug your mouth with a bottle of star, relishing the cold liquid as it races down your throat to cool your belly. You wonder if you should tell him that you are losing pieces of your sanity every day, that you are beginning to hate your wife and child, that you have a perfect life but you would throw it all away if it would make this inexplicable emptiness you feel to disappear. You want to tell him that friends surround you yet loneliness grips your heart squeezing it tightly, you want to ask if he ever feels that way. However, you glance at him and the corners of his eyes are wrinkled from laughing too much.
‘Nah he would not understand,’ you conclude. He would not understand the overwhelming sadness you feel, this need to make it all go away. If only you knew what was going on in his head then you would not reach this conclusion you would say that you did not have the right to complain anymore, if only you knew that he desperately needed an answer to that question he asked. You don’t so you laugh harder at a joke and order another round of beer.
It’s 10 pm, you get up and tell your friends you have to go home before the Mrs gets worried. They call you lover boy good-naturedly and remind you to greet ‘our wife.’ On your way out, you catch your reflection in a mirror hung haphazardly on the wall; you notice your smile is not as wide as it was this morning so you fix it even though no one is looking.
You get home in time to kiss your sleepy wife and son goodnight, she notices the dullness in your eyes but you distract her with the news of your salary increase, the distraction works, she forgets and tells you to remember the rent is due.
Tomorrow you will wake up and repeat this monotonous cycle. This thing they call life.
Written by Tito Amanda