KING OF GIRLS

womanizer

WRITTEN BY CHIOMA NGAIKEDI

A Bomb isn’t always made of gun powder and mercury. Sometimes, It is the tension threatening to explode in your pounding heart as you sit in the doctor’s office awaiting your HIV result.

Chude is your name and you are the ladies’ man. At 33, money wasn’t your problem and ladies of course are your prize. You have tasted them all—torn the veils of a thousand hymens and shattered a million hearts.

You’ve done two sisters, clashing their heads into one. You’ve played two friends, like a sweet game of chess. You’ve driven a mum and her daughter, like a smooth sail upon the sea. Nothing was beyond your reach… Not the University runs girls or the scarf tying, Bible carrying ones—no female escapes your trap.

You’ve had the models and you’ve also laid with a dwarf, an albino and even a blind girl. Variety was your spice.
You, Chude, are the king of girls!
So, when your mother began to cry for a grandchild, you knew it was time to get a wife. All these city runs girls will not have you, you are too smart to fall for their gimmicks. You needed a village girl, supple, young and fresh, in your words, “a girl who never open eye”.

So, you packed your bags and travelled to Utuh Nnewi, it was a two months hunt. Chinaza, the girl you met in the church, wasn’t tall enough. Chioma was too fat, Adaolisa was rude and Chidalu couldn’t even spell her name.

All these village girls… None appeared qualified until you met Ndidi.
Ndidi was the definition of a diamond in the rough. Her hair adorned with white ribbons and plaited with owu thread. Her ebony skin glowed like a setting sun. “She is from a good Anglican home.” Your mother had vouched. And when you invited her home, she cooked a delicious Oha soup and pounded yam. And that night, as she laid on your bed, she was timid, shy and frigid just the way you expected your virgin bride to be.

Two weeks later, You carried 13 kegs of palm wine to her father for introduction and soon, the wedding preparations begun.
Everything was smooth until the church insisted on HIV test results. You became terrified because you’ve never gone for a HIV test not once in your life.

So, sitting here in the doctor’s, your heart in your mouth. Sweat roll down your face,Ndidi is sitting besides you. You two, have come for the test results. As she sat there eating her biscuits, she didn’t notice the battle that was waging inside you.

Will she still love you if she finds out that you are HIV Postive?
The door opens and the doctor enters with some papers in his hands. Drops of urine escape your organ.

“Do you prefer I tell you the results individually or together? The doctor asked.
You begin to stammer. Ndidi tells the doctor to continue. You immediately begin to regret all your past escapades as you mutter prayers to heavens.

The doctor begins to explain the history of HIV, his voice soothing as he stated that HIV wasn’t a death sentence. As he spoke, his eyes darts to you in compassion. You almost let out a cry.

For you, HIV is almost a death sentence. DAMN! the antiretroviral drugs bullshit. You don’t want to live your life a slave to drugs.

“Mr Chude Amanze,” the doctor says. “….. You are HIV….Negative.”

“Miss Ndidi Ochie, you are HIV Postive.”

You couldn’t believe your ears, Ndidi broke into a wail,thrashing through the plastic chairs and wooden table. You snatch the results from the doctor’s hands. A quick scan through.
The doctor had indeed told you the truth.
You peer at Ndidi… You know that HIV could be transmitted through blood transfusion,pregnancy sexual intercourse etc.

But you will be damned before you believe that Ndidi got it any other way other than the popular way. She must have been a village champion. The kind of girl, you could corner in the stream and squeeze in the fields.

How could you have been deceived?

You turn to her. Rage pumping in you heart—A pot began to call kettle black.

Image source 360nobs.com

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