A Collection of Short Stories

We only die once
Jumoke Omisore
I put the towel back in the bucket and wrap myself with the duvet once more, because a
chill grips me from the inside that spreads to my limbs. Although Alaba says it is unwise to
trust any man, I know AJ’s wife, Aunty Labake, very well. Although she’s presently away at
her mother’s house in Ikorodu, I still stay. It is a risk, but Dede the street hawker once said
people only die once. Whatever happens, I can only die once.
AJ comes in with a tray. On the tray sits a steaming cup of Bournvita, a slice of buttered
bread and a sachet of pure water. I want to sleep, but AJ persuades me to eat a little. He
pulls out a white envelope from the left pocket of his jeans and takes out two white tablets.
“Here, take this. It is Panadol Extra.” He takes away the bucket.
I lie down afterwards, praying the painkillers soothe my aches and alleviate the pain in my
mind and limbs..
“Apeke, don’t you have anyone else that can take you in?” AJ asks as he sits on the
armchair, stretching out his long, lean legs. I tell him my mother gave my grandmother sole
custody of me when I was two. She expressed her wish to remarry. Taking a child with her
to Ibadan where she worked as a a tailor’s apprentice would have deterred potential suitors
.
“I went to her house last Christmas. She won’t let me move in because her husband does
not want me to live with them.”
“Why can’t your father talk to his wife? It is his house!” AJ’s voice rises.
“I don’t blame Father. He lets me live in his house. Alaba says I am lucky. Her father sold
her to Mrs Coker for two thousand naira a month. The money pays for her brother’s school
fees.”
108
Tales from the Other Side