Love's Second Chance (18 page)

Kevwe’s chest felt tight as they neared home. This place held mixed memories for him. What reason could there be for his father’s actions? How could his mother have bought into it? She met them at the door, eyes soaked in tears. Welcoming them with an apologetic smile, she hugged Efe and then Kevwe and Ofure.

“
Efe and Kevwe, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes were swollen, and Kevwe knew she’d probably not slept much in the past few days.

“
Mum, let’s go in,” Ofure said.

As she followed Kevwe’s mum into the house, Efe looked around and felt like they were back in the UniBen years again. She could not believe how much the older woman had changed. Her voice was a wavering whisper and her clothes hung on her.

“
Did you and Dad plan this between you?” Kevwe asked when they were all seated. The air conditioner was on, but cold sweat made Efe flinch as it ran down between her breasts. She adjusted her blouse and wiped her nose.

“
No we didn’t.” Kevwe’s mother said, shaking her head. “I’m sure your father did not even know it would happen that way; it just did. It was a bad time, you know that.” Her eyes flitted between all three of them, pleading for understanding.

“
Why did Dad hate Efe so much? Why? You told Ofure he was determined I would not marry her?” Kevwe fixed his eyes on Efe while she stared at his mother.

“
It wasn’t about Efe personally.” Kevwe’s mother shook her head. “He didn’t speak about it to you boys, but Kevwe, you lived with us after we moved to Benin. You must have heard him talk about the Itsekiri, especially during the violence in Warri...”

Kevwe rubbed his brows, his closed eyes fixed on the past. Due to his father’s diplomatic postings, he and Ofure had spent a lot of time in boarding schools. The longest he’d spent with their parents had been those years while in university and even then, he was either at the flat in school or away on business. Still he recalled how his father and Edewor had tried to poison his mind against Efe. His mother’s voice brought him to the present.

“
The beginning of your father’s hatred for the Itsekiri was the crisis of 1952
. He was just a young boy then, but the events of that time left a deep scar on him.
Warri became volatile when Awolowo changed the title of the
 
Olu of Itsekiri
 
to
 
Olu of Warri. It was supposed to
reward the Itsekiri for their votes in the 1952 elections.”

Kevwe looked at Efe and remembered their discussion with her father in 2001. “The Urhobo went to court right?” he asked. “And I think they won...”

“
They won but failed too,” his mother replied. “They succeeded in getting the name of the Province changed from Warri to Delta Province but failed to get the title of
 
Olu of Warri
 
to revert to
 
Olu of Itsekiri
. Even the name was again changed to Warri.”

Kevwe looked at Efe and Ofure, who listened with rapt attention. “But Mum, what did all this have to do with us, with everything?”

“
Your father buried his scars, but the ethnic violence in 1997 raised old demons. I’m sure they contributed to his death.”

His mother’s tears reminded Kevwe of her reluctance when his father insisted on returning to Benin in 1999. His heart problems had started then, and his death had also been after another round of Urhobo-Itsekiri violence last August.

“
Did Dad ever suffer a personal tragedy?” Ofure asked.

“
Yes, he did.” Their mother’s sigh filled the room. “You see, the Itsekiri organized a reception for Arthur Prest, the minister who had gotten them the province.”

Kevwe looked up as she continued, “On Warri-Sapele road, some Urhobo youths attacked and started a riot. The violence spread all the way to Sapele and the Itsekiri retaliated. Your father used to live with his parents in Sapele then. His father had gone to their village near the Ethiope River to tend his farm. Some fleeing refugees brought news to Sapele that evening. The rampaging Itsekiri youths had ambushed and butchered your grandfather. Two days later, though your father was just ten, his mother took him with her to the family house under cover of night.”

Mrs. Mukoro blew her nose and wiped her eyes. She never knew she would be telling this story which her husband, thinking he would die after his heart attack in 1997, had told her. True, he’d meant for her to pass it on, but then, there had been no fear their son would want to marry from the tribe he considered the enemy.

“
When they got to the house, it was looted and vandalized. The grandfather’s remains were strewn in the yard,” she continued, “Your father told me he’d never seen his mother cry like that, ever. She cursed and wailed, and warned him in strong words. “Avoid the people who did this and their people; they will never bring you any good in this life. Never marry them, and your sons, and the sons of your sons!” That was what she said.”

Mrs. Mukoro raised teary eyes. “Your father grew up, got educated and tried to forgive. But when Warri blew up again, when his sister was almost killed, I think something snapped in him. And then Efe came on the scene.”

“
I told you about Efe first. Why didn’t you tell me?” Kevwe asked his mother. “After Dad’s reaction when he met her, after you guys sent her away, after Dad died, why didn’t you tell me?” Though he now better understood what had driven his father, Kevwe’s anger towards the dead man had not diminished. There was nothing he could do about it, but his mother had to give him some answers.

“
I have no excuse. Please forgive me, Kevwe.” She opened her palms to him and then turned to Efe. “I thought my husband would get to like you for the lovely girl you are. After the bad start, and until Kevwe’s accident, things seemed to be going well...”

Efe stroked the bridge of her nose, and felt a knot of tension begin to uncoil in her stomach. She’d puzzled over this event for so long, and now it was beginning to make sense. The pain and confusion sloughed off her skin in waves as tears suffused her eyes.

“
I don’t know exactly what happened between your father and Efe that last day,” Kevwe’s mother said, “but when I walked in on them, it was obvious she wasn’t there to break up with you. I knew immediately what your father had done, but I was too tired to intervene. You were there in the hospital, and your father blamed her for the crash. I was afraid for his heart condition, and so I kept quiet.

It was later, after the confusion passed that I realized my initial silence made me guilty too. When you got better and then after he died, I simply couldn’t muster the courage to face you.”

She shuffled towards Efe. “I’m sorry... I hope you believe me…”

Efe stood and hugged her. She accepted the story and the overdue apology. Her heart felt freer than it had for a long time, relieved the complex deceit had been unraveled. What made her more nervous was the tense figure beside her. She smiled at him through her tears when she pulled away from his mother, but Kevwe stood there with a scowl on his face.

Kevwe hugged his mother. “I forgive you, Mum. It’s OK,” he whispered into her ear. He knew it wasn’t OK, he knew there would be more discussions and explanations, but she was his mother. He remembered her sacrifice during the period he recovered from his injuries, and he thought of Efe smiling at him right there in the room, and his heart melted. He raised his face and drew her into the embrace. Ofure was also there the next moment.

Kevwe could not believe how lucky he was to have this second chance with Efe. She had both arms around his waist, with her head in the crook of his neck. Looking up, he saw Ofure heading out of the room. Their mother followed him, after pressing a small box into Kevwe’s palms. He stuffed it into his pocket, first checking what it contained. Then he led Efe to her seat, and sat beside her,
anchored to her hands.

Sobbing now, Efe buried her streaming face in his chest. Kevwe whispered all his love, his whole heart into her ears. “Efe, I love you with everything in me.
I swear by every
fiber of my being, I am still yours. I love you with every beat of my heart
.”

She finally calmed down, raising her face and wiping away her tears as she spoke, “When I thought you betrayed me, I wished to die and I nearly did.
Since I found you again, I’ve come back to life. You’re the breath I live by and you make my life worth living...” she started crying again but went on,
“You were my first love and I promised you’d be my only love, my last love and...”

She stopped as their gazes caught and held, tear washed black eyes and liquid
brown ones. Kevwe kissed her, kissing away the tears and claiming her lips.

He
pulled slightly away and brought out something from his pocket. Efe looked at him
with all the love in her heart shining from her eyes.
He raised the jewel box before her and snapped it open. Nestled in black velvet within it was the ring he’d given her all those years ago. The tiny diamonds set within caught the light, throwing off bright sparkles, and she appreciated it now more than she had the first time she’d accepted it.

“
My mum told us this was waiting for you to return when Ofure called her last Friday. With it,
I’ve come asking for another promise, Efe. You are my soul, and life means nothing
without you.
I want to marry you. Please say yes, again.”

“
Yes,” she whispered, “again.”

Kevwe’s smile rivaled the sun. “I love you and
this
ring is to pledge my heart to you.” He slipped the ring onto her finger, and t
heir lips met in a kiss to seal the promise.

**

PRAISE FOR
A LOVE REKINDLED

“…
a moving love tale of first love, the challenges of tribal biases and the importance of hope, persistence and forgiveness – critical ingredients for every relationship to survive.”

Lara Daniels, author of
Love at Dawn

“
Reading
[this]
is like holding up a cloth of kente: each piece rich with history and beauty. With confidence and deftness, Myne Whitman weaves a riveting brocade of friendship, heartache, and love
…”

Uche Umez
, author of
Tears in her
Eyes

“…
.a romance novel that affirms one’s belief in true love and that it truly does conquer all. It also proves that though external forces can cause a delay, they cannot kill love.”

Folake Taylor, author of
The Only Way is Up

PRAISE FOR A HEART TO MEND

“…
the beauty of this book is that there is redemption for all…in tandem with the title cover, that there can indeed be mended hearts.”

“
Written by a Nigerian….with Nigerian characters and setting, A Heart to Mend is a fun and fast read.”

Pamela Stitch, African Loft Magazine

Peoples of all cultures face the same emotional issues when it comes to relationships – this is Myne Whitman’s message in her debut novel.” Belinda Otas, New African Woman Magazine

Acknowledgements

I am grateful to the following people who helped me to polish up this particular manuscript and my writing craft as a whole; - Members of the Eastside Writers Meetup Group in Seattle Washington, who read excerpts and gave useful critique; - those who commented on
mynewhitman.com
; and the feedbackers on my blog;
mynewhitmanwrites.com
, for their encouragement.

I am highly indebted to my editor, Tola Odejayi, who with eagle eyes and a compassionate pen, draws out the best in me. It is a pleasure working with you to spin the sweetest stories.