GREEN, WHITE AND BEAUTIFUL BOYZ

This story is written for you, rest in peace.

Love, Onyema.

GREEN WHITE AND BEAUTIFUL BOYZ

The day started with a reflection of what life meant to me early in the days, how the frivolity of freedom was like a sweet tune to my ears and the sound of gates closing tripped my heart down the red mountain. Life wasn't fair to me the same way it wasn't fair to anyone but there was something different about me that attracts negative emotions like an open candy decorated with sugar ants.

Reflecting for me was a bad decision because it meant reliving emotions I wanted to let go of. I was 16 when I had sex for the first time, his body fell to mine with a huge slap and he forced me on the bed. He kissed me, left bruises on my neck, pinned me down and thrusted in and out groaning like a dying dog. He kept at it for hours before pushing me to the floor and calling me a dirty pig. That's how I like to remember it, with so much devilry so when I think of the first time I had sex, I wouldn't think of roses and chocolates.

I felt awful that day, the image of him reaching for my head and pulling my hair back and forth as he thrusted in and out, tormented my emotions.

I couldn't eat for days, but most of it all I felt useless because I would have stopped it if I had control of my body at that moment.

Udochukwu Omego was one of the most influential reverend fathers in my church "St Gregory De Great Catholic Church", so everyone trusted him. We would bring wraps of fufu and coolers of jollof rice and Egusi soup to his home whenever we visited for our weekly blessings, and my mother would end the day with a huge smile and a wave offering that ended with "If you weren't a priest now, I would have brought one of the girls in my village to be your wife".

I found that statement pathetic, not just the way it sounded but the calm misogynistic demeanor it enveloped itself with. It felt like a gift but not too charming to be a gift, it was extreme possession of one's self.

I loved Father Udo, there was no one I admired more than him. His sleek tender hair fell back like a river goddess and he talked in calm intonations that showed how innocent his spirit was. He wore more of jeans and shorts because he didn't want to bow down to the stereotypical fashion standards of being a Reverend Father in Nigeria.

Most times we would hold hands and take walks down the street after evening mass and he would tell me how beautiful my slacked green shirt and brown trousers made me look. He said it meticulously as though he had practiced for a very long time. He talked with pauses so he gave enough time to think through and digest what he just said before he drops another bombshell.

Sometimes he called me sexy and corrected him self by saying beautiful, most times he would touch my bum and digress to dusting off the white from my trousers.

On a Sunday evening after 6pm mass, Father Udo invited my family and I over for our usual weekly blessings but my parents couldn't attend because of my sister who was hospitalized with Malaria parasite, so I had to go alone. I wore a long sweat pants that almost swept the floor with a white long sleeve T-shit and face cap that consumed my entire face. When I reached his house, he offered me sweets and biscuits, I politely declined because I had to run back to the hospital.

He sat down beside me and played one of Father Friday's preachings and asked me to pay close attention to it. He relaxed his back and looked at me with a cunning side eye. I was scared because he had never looked at me that way before, and by this time, I was running late and papa began to leave missed calls and messages.

"Uncle Udo, can I go?" I asked politely.

"Wait a little and have a drink", he requested.