Akaa & Alima XI

Hiii You! Long time!

I hope you are well! It’s been hard out here, but we move! Before we get down to it, this blog, lettersfromthisheart, has been nominated for the Afroblogger Awards 2021! Please vote for me under the Creative Writing category, right here: Creative Writing:LettersfromThisHeart!

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! And if you haven’t read any, please start here: Akaa & Alima!

I wish you an excellent weekend. Let me know your thoughts in the Comments!

Love,

Elise

Just in case you need a refresher….

Akaa regretted his decision the minute he met the girl he was given! Not because she was not beautiful – because she really was. Average height with a bust that could save an army. Honestly, it was not because of what she looked like, or anything she had done. He just really missed Alima. This one lacked the naïveté that Alima had. The sex was not bad. She could bend whatever way he wanted her bent. But when it was all over, his mind was screaming for Alima. For the laughter and the conversation. For her true friendship. How had he not realised that was not something he could replicate? How had he hit her so hard with that talk of never coming back? And her name made it so much worse. How did they give him a Nina when he was so desperately missing his Lina? 

His Lina. 

The whole time he was with her, his mind wasn’t. It felt almost as if he was making love to his wife. Because regardless of all that she was doing to please him, his mind was on Lina, and he banged her almost as if to prove a point – as if he could make it so good that Alima would return. 

Every thrust, every kiss, every stroke, every caress, was his way of willing the universe to bring her back to him. He missed her! Missed everything about her. 

Mid-thrust, holding her small thighs to steady himself, he suddenly remembered one particular time when he’d made love to Alima. 

He’d ended their pleasurable afternoon with his face buried between her legs. She had climaxed, and almost crushed his head in the throes of it. “You almost killed me”, he’d quipped later on. She looked at him with hazy eyes, still clearly not descended from the high of her orgasm. “Thick thighs save lives!” she’d said.

He chuckled despite himself and was sure that this Nina girl was wondering what was wrong with him. He knew what was wrong with him. He missed his girl. These small thighs were not his cup of tea.

He didn’t spend the night. It was probably the first time that he had done a return trip from The Agency. Of course, he tipped her heavily. And still left a tip for Alima regardless. It had been six months since he got back from that trip to Paris to find her gone. Six long months of wondering what had become of her. 

And he still wondered how he had he gotten himself consumed with a girl who was supposed to be nothing more than a fun toy. He got home after 3AM, and went straight to bed, distraught. 

He woke up at 7:00AM to a text from Dionne. 

I have such a busy day today, Akaa. But when I get back, we need to talk!

He wondered what it was about. Did she know? He went through his phone to make sure everything from the agency was deleted. There was nothing. He checked his laptop, and there was nothing there either.

God, if this is some sort of punishment, I beg you, make it stop. I am tired. I cannot keep obsessing over a woman that I cannot have. 

He chuckled to himself after saying that, because it was probably the first time, he had actually prayed in many years. Alima was God knows where, inspiring him to pray!

You see, she even brings out the good in me. She makes me pray! Don’t you want to help me find her?

To: lina@theagency.com

Cc: nina@theagency.com

From: anna4@theagency.com

Alima,

Your darling 007 came by the other night. He spent the night with Naana. She seems to have stories, but she refuses to tell me, or email you. She’s been going on and on about how much the man knows how to use his ‘tools’… she even said she understands why you fell in love with him! She has a stupid smile on her face, and she refuses to tell me exactly what went down. I’m curious, and I’m sure you are too!

So I’m bringing you the kokonsa, cc’ing her and hoping that she gives us both the full gist. Weird thing though. He didn’t stay the night. Didn’t he stay whole weekends here when you were here? Well… whatever it is, I want the full story. 

I miss you. When are you visiting? How are you? And how is his package? When is it due? Also, where are you? I overheard Ms. Nita saying you had left the agency’s accommodation? 

Write back to me soon. I know you are safe; I just want confirmation.

Love,

Adzo.

Alima read the email maybe five times before it really sunk in. She chose to overlook the fact that Adzo had called her baby “his package.” She couldn’t overlook that Akaa had lied. He didn’t have any plans of getting things right with his family or stopping at the agency. He just didn’t want her anymore. Her face felt hot.

But he didn’t stay the night. He never left after just one night when you were there. 

She thought about this over and over, quietly fighting a mental battle. Tears threatened to pour, but she refused to keep crying over him. She was tired. 

She was momentarily distracted by her neighbour. Apparently, he was a former priest called Bose. She’d heard him over the phone once and eavesdropped enough to come to this conclusion.

It sort of explained why he was always in white apparel. He was fast becoming a nuisance. He woke up at 6am every morning with one specific song on his wireless set. A Twi song that she had never heard before him. Her Twi was not great in general, but she had learnt to understand and speak enough to get by. This song was peculiar though. It was as if it was meant to make you cry. She knew it was a Christian song, but she did not know what the words meant. She had no idea why he played it every single morning. Repeatedly, for about an hour. Passively, she had probably learnt the words, even though she had no idea what they meant. 

Ahyɛ mi bɔ dɛ ɛka me ho daa nyina
Me twer woaa me twer obotan bi kɛse…

As she resolved not to think about Akaa, the song blared, with its solemn tune, making her think maybe this resolve was useless. She wanted to storm outside and ask this Father Bose to stop playing it.

Menkwa daa nyinaaa

Mɔsum wo Awurade

Nyimako, okoyi megyae mawoo oo

Instead, she gave up, and just sat there, staring at the computer screen in disbelief, and imagining Akaa doing all the things he did to her, to Nina. All the heated kisses all over her body, all the slow steady thrusts while he looked deep into her eyes, making her feel as if he could see into her soul. All the times her name was groaned and whispered over and over in her ears “Lina…Lina, Lina!” 

The baby shifted a little more than usual. In fact, he kicked a few times! Somebody didn’t seem to want mummy thinking about sexy time.

The song was grating on her nerves, making her mood so much worse!

  
Ɛnkwagye bi owɔ wu mu
Ayarisaa bi wɔ womu
Enyimnyam bi owɔ womu

Emmanuel.

Though his daily sad song routine irked her, she had not mentioned to him how annoying it was. Not just because she didn’t know him much, but also because he helped her out. He brought water to her door every morning since that first time he noticed her struggling at the borehole. He brought by some of the vegetables from his backyard whenever he had any. He didn’t seem much like a talking person, so beyond the Hello’s and Hi’s, they hadn’t said much. But she woke up every morning to water at her door, and every few days to some vegetables. 

Her bump was still barely noticeable, even though she was quickly approaching her seventh month. And wasn’t all the nausea supposed to be gone by now? Didn’t they say these things only lasted the first three months? Why was it persistent? She had to learnt to tie a scarf on her nose anytime she had to cook, so that she wouldn’t smell the full potency of the meals. It wasn’t a 100%, but it made it bearable. She wondered if Akaa would cook for her if he was around. Would he baby her the way she wanted to be babied?

Her first visit to the Battor Hospital to get registered was very nostalgic. It reminded her of the night she’d gone to hospital with Akaa. They took a urine sample for the pregnancy test, and that only brought back more memories of their time she spent at Akosombo.

Now she went for monthly visits, and these visits were usually under a shed, across from a small walkway that led to three consulting rooms where the doctors usually were. She hadn’t seen a doctor so far; it was only the midwives. But that was apparently a good thing. It meant that she had a normal pregnancy, with no issues. Every time she went for one of those visits, she missed Akaa some more. She wondered what kind of lover he would have been if he knew and wanted this baby. He wondered if he would hold her hair when she threw up or rub her back when the heart burns got bad. She wondered if he would go with her on the antenatal visits. Maybe even sit with her. So far, she’d only met one couple at the hospital that came together without fail. The nurses teased the man constantly, but it was clear he was happy to be there. “It’s because it’s the first baby” they told the woman. “Let the second one come, and he will act as if he doesn’t know you!” The couple always just laughed. Alima couldn’t help but wonder, had Akaa been this way with his wife? 

Your Holiness,

Grace and Peace from our Lord Jesus Christ be unto you!

I write to you as a friend, in reference to my initial letter to the Papacy seeking dispensation from the commitments of the priestly ordination as well as from religious vows. 

It has been close to three years since I began the process, prior to which I took a short leave of absence, to retreat and confirm if the dispensation was really in line with the will of God for my life, or if it was mere human whim. Three years down the line, and the voice of God couldn’t be clearer to me – I have been called elsewhere. Where exactly, I still cannot tell. But the voice of God has come to me in so many forms, so many ways.

I have not returned fully to serving, as I await the dispensation, however I celebrate mass with a small congregation in this village I have secluded myself to, and I have been serving about fifteen people. Fulfilling as it may be, I get a daily reminder that my assignment is not here – and not in any way as a priest.

I beseech you by the mercies of God, that you help me confirm, if I will be granted the dispensation, to pursue whatever calling it is that God has for me. 

Sincerely,

Father Bose.

Dear Akaa,

Am I ever going to stop missing you? Or wanting you? It’s so hard. I spend more time convincing myself that I am doing the right thing by leaving you alone… than I do actually feeling that way. but it’s so so hard. I miss you badly, and don’t think the tears are healthy… at least not for your baby. You see, I think that I assumed I’d only miss the sex… because it was almost always heavenly. Truly. But I miss you… the person you. Your mumblings, your enthusiasm about your job… about life in general. Your ideas. The most random things we could talk about.

 I know I can’t reach out to you. But I hope the universe or God, or you know, who you believe in, is treating you well. I hope that you’re thriving somehow and still believing in something. You may never see this. Which is a shame, because I don’t know how to convey to you that I think about you every day. That I want you so much that I cry unprovoked… but hey, that could just be the hormones. I try to tell your baby some of the things you used to say. The most prominent of which is “lightning never strikes twice”

This morning, he kicked me a whole lot. I think it was because he knew. Knew that you had lied to me. I thought you said you weren’t coming back to The Agency. I thought you were going to try to do right by her. I thought wrong, I guess. 

I hope being with Naana was worth it. I hope you had a good time. I hope she gave you better sex than I ever did. I’m sure you did a good job, because apparently, she’s full of stories. Not that I’m surprised by that. I still don’t even know how I feel about this. 

I have a neighbour who plays some music everyday… and whenever he does, the baby does a light flutter in my tummy. It’s one of those intimate things I wish I could share with you. 

Akaa… am I being stupid doing this all by myself? Is this what strength looks like? Doing this on my own?

Teju was adjusting well. Other than a few of the guys at the agency, he didn’t miss much. Talata was very much her workaholic self. And to a large extent, it worked for him. He didn’t want himself getting tired of her. So it was great that he didn’t have to work with her directly, or see her all the time. Their little arrangement worked for him. And it was really the perfect way to get out of the agency. 

The other day, he woke up to food on the table in the bedroom, and a note:

You know I can’t cook, so I won’t lie and say I made this. 

But I remember how much you loved food we had the last time ate went out.

So I ordered you some. It’s going to be a long day for me today. Please check on me. 

I’m determined to do better with this marriage thing this time.

Have a good day.

T.

This was a big deal, and it made him smile. They’d had the food conversation long ago, even before he’d thought of any possibility of this arrangement – this sham marriage they were planning for. She said she didn’t have the time to cook. And while she could cook, the only things she could make were the Frafra dishes her mother taught her as a child. Things she hadn’t eaten in so long, because somehow, they reminded her of her mother, and she didn’t have time for that. 

He was glad she had at least put in some effort.

He had faith in this arrangement. He intended to make it work!