I
did not kill Uncle Fiifi because I hated him. Who could hate such a man? He had
the body that I had thought only existed in myths, a smile that brought
daylight into my almost always cluttered and fuzzy brain and a voice that sent
me off on yet another daydream in which we were again, all alone on the mounds
of divinely crafted earth somewhere in Aburi, overlooking the city in sleep,
saying nothing to each other yet feeling everything. He was all I knew in and
out of my dreams.
I
never hated my father’s youngest brother. I loved him beyond what was expected
from a 16-year old. I wanted to marry him the very next day if possible. I
loved Uncle Fiifi, and that’s why I killed him.
He
led me on. For almost five years I had been the only one for him. In High School,
he had been the one who’d visit me every other weekend, take me out on a ride
in town, and treat me special. I looked forward to what always came at the end
of our day out - he’d take me home. I loved his flatscreen TV, and I loved to
sit on his huge comfy sofa and watch high-school movies. I loved his pure white
and silver kitchen with the island made from glass. I loved to push ice out of
the icemaker and sip a little alcoholic wine on rocks with him. But most of
all, I loved his queen-sized bed and all the pillows that were carefully
arranged upon it. I loved to get lost in them as his hands made me feel
grown-up and loved. He was the man in and out of my dreams.
My
18th birthday was the best I’d ever had. He had taken me straight
home that morning. First, he made me breakfast, my favorite - tombrown and egg
sandwich. Then he got me to dance to all my favorite songs. He had taken note
of all my favorites and that made me love him more. We danced till I was in
stitches from too much movement and laughter. He taught me the two steps
forward and two steps backwards high-life dance.
“I
love you”
His
eyes said it all as we swayed from side to side, to Kojo Antwi’s love songs.I
never had to tell him I loved him too. He had always known I loved him more.
Uncle
Fiifi had magic in his hands, is how I can describe it. The moment he touched
me, and whispered in my ears, in that deep bedroom voice, magic happened along
with fireworks. That day, when I turned 18, he taught me more than I had known
before. More magic than I knew he had in store. And it more than quadrupled my
love for that queen-sized bed. That day, magic swallowed up the very last of my
innocence.
“Happy
Birthday, my dearest” he had said to me, after it was over. As I got my clothes
back on, I took in the blood that had drawn an interesting shape on the sheets
and smiled. There was officially no room left for any other human, in and out
of my dreams.
Then
it started to fade. The fireworks became less colourful, the magic too forced.
He was mostly absent-minded around me and I felt like a distraction or more of
a disturbance to him. I noticed the warning signs before but I never paid much
attention to them till he quenched it all, all my dreams. The signs had been
there. It was a little folded up prayer brochure at first, then a Christian
magazine, then an actual Bible. I had never asked him why I was seeing those
foreign materials. I had never wanted to link it up to his sudden stiffness
towards me. But he had allowed them into our world, those nosey Bible-clutching
theives. They had slowly wrapped their invasive hands around his heart and
without warning, snatched it out from my reach. He had gradually lost that look
in his eyes, that smile that was only meant for me. His sinful voice spoke
another language that splashed cold water all over my ever-heated being.
He
had started to preach to me.
“What
has been happening between us is wrong. I have wronged you, Baaba. I should
have known better. Forgive me and understand that there is a better life
outside sin. This change is good. Change with me, won’t you?”
For
the first time ever, I saw him cry. He went down on all fours, sobbing like
someone had died. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t Uncle Fiifi.
He
had started talking about repentance, remorse, forgiveness, salvation. That
wasn’t part of our deal. He was supposed to take me all the way to heaven, but
not on those wings. That wasn’t part of the deal. There was no room left,
remember? No room left for anything else in and out of my dreams.
What
drove me? I’d say some amount of desperation. I loved him, I still do but he
had been blinded. And a little dose of jealousy to top. They couldn’t have him
without a fight. I couldn’t draw it out of him anymore, the magic I survived
on, so I had begun to starve. The hunger played a major role. If I couldn’t
have him anymore, then no one else could. That sounds selfish, I know but he
was supposed to be my property and mine alone. His heart was mine and so I had
to find a hiding place for my treasure before they hid it from me. It had to be
done because I loved him more than he ever knew.
The
day I took it, he had thought I was finally ready for the change he couldn’t
stop talking about. I’m sure it’s because I got there dressed like one of those
church girls. It was quick and easy, drugging him to deep sleep.
As
he lay there on the couch in which magical things had happened, I cried. I
watched as my tears formed a tiny pool on his bare chest, right on the spot
where minutes later, the dagger I had taken with me drove through. It was
quick. He shuddered violently for a moment then went limp. I was shaking badly. I couldn’t control
myself. My heart was merged with his and so as I cut him open, and with trembling
hands clawed out his heart, my heart felt it all, the pain, then the joy. I had
his heart in my hands. For love he drew my blood and for love I drew his. No
one could take it from me anymore. The bloody gem was mine for safe-keeping.
Tomorrow
is the day I die. I have been on death row for almost seven year now. I’ve
become very famous worldwide and that adds nothing to my life, really. No one
understands me. I did it for love and no one cares.
After
my parents had found the decaying heart in an iron chest under my bed,
everything else was like a scene in slow motion. The court proceedings, the
media, the verdict are all shadowed memories. I can’t give all that any room.
There is none, but for Uncle Fiifi, in and out of my dreams.
Tomorrow,
I’d beg to be shot straight through my heart, for it will add no pain to what I
already feel in there - the pain from loving too much and from expecting too
much, the pain from giving my all to my dearest Uncle.
Tomorrow
I die for love…In and out of my dreams.
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