I want my sister. When I returned home from the States after four years of studying neuroscience, I was amazed at how my sister had matured. My only sister and sibling had blossomed into a woman, a beautiful woman. Like a flower, she had germinated from the seed that was the pretty little girl I remember. Four years was really a long time to be away from home, I realize.
Anytime Nkem walks past me into the kitchen, I never fail to notice how her ample backside rolled in her jeans and her two shapely mounds pushed the seams of her tight fitting blouses. I long to touch that golden brown skin that shone as if lighted from within. I always had one of my thick textbooks on my laps to cover my ever present erection.
The image of my sister occupied my mind completely. It was like a wildfire, burning out any rational thought. I imagined her naked, in my arms. Then I began to spy on her, stealing glances at her breasts when she bent over to clean the tables and her blouse opened at the neck, peeping through the bathroom keyhole while she had her bath.
Then a thought happened upon me. Something that should never have crossed my mind; rape. I know Nkem is not a saint or even a virgin but she would never consent to my advances. I know I have to take what I want with force. I can only imagine what my parents and friends would say if they ever get to know about this ignoble want of mine. I am ashamed. But my chronic guilt is no match for the intermittent waves of arousal that surge through me.
I wonder how I ended up being so lustful of my sister who adored me so much. The one who had gone to public school so they could pay my way through an American university. I who could get any girl that was to my fancy, now so smitten with my sister. Abomination. I am scared. I picked my mobile phone to call my Nigerian born American best friend.
“Yo Francis my man” I said as the trans-Atlantic call connected.
“What’s up, David ma nigga” Francis’ strident American accent laden voice came over the phone.
“How’s D.C my man” I asked “How’s it going with Sally too”
“We all good down here man” Francis replied “You sound all stressed up, what’s going on, is it your med school application? You don’t have to worry man you gonna get in”
“It’s not that bro” I answered “Georgetown Med isn’t a problem for me. How many African folks graduate pre-med summa cum laude? It’s something even more grievous”
“What is it then” came Francis’ impatient reply.
“Man I’m going all frisky over my sister here. I could just pounce on her any moment.” My agony is palpable in my voice. “I mean she is just so hot now, it’s shocking.”
“Oh my God!” I had to hold the phone away from my ear as my friend’s boisterous laughter came over the phone.
“What the hell man. Do you know how sad this is for me and all you do is laugh” I protest.
“It’s not that brother I had the same experience last year when I traveled home too. It was until I did my sister too that I had peace of mind. And what’s funny, she enjoyed it. My she-wolf of a sister” Francis succumbed to another round of laughter.
“Wow. You are just a mad man” I said as I burst into laughter too. “I gotta go. Think I hear sobs from my sister’s room. Later man”
I stride across to my sister’s room from whence long sobs emanated. My sister was crying like her existence depended on it. Her tears were flowing like water from a burst dam. She was flanked on both sides by her two best friends, Sandra and G.
“Nkem what is it?” I asked. The consternation I felt must have been registered all over my visage as one quickly responded.
“Brother David. Don’t mind this girl o.” It was Sandra, the dark skinned voluptuous one “She is crying like this because she is so happy” she said laughing.
“Your sister is strange o. This is how her own happiness manifests o, like she is mourning somebody. I think it’s her hormones sha” G chipped in laughing too. I never manage to remember why they call this one G even though I have heard the gist a million times.
“Ok so what’s the good news” I asked, puzzled.
“Your sister, our best friend has just been offered admission to study Business at the University of Lagos.” G announced in a gleeful voice. “And all she does is cry like an ogbanje”
I was dumbfounded with joy. My sister’s dream of becoming a successful importer and exporter was going to come true at long last. At this point she put a pause on her crying exercise and ran to hug me. Her joy was palpable. But all I could feel was the soft flesh of her breasts against my skin and the fresh smell of her powder, which the tears had made a muddle of on her face. I muttered my congratulations and literally ran out of the room, mumbling some incoherent excuse. I was becoming hard.
My sister’s friends left about an hour later and she called out to me that she was going to tell her boyfriend, Isa the good news. She stepped into the bathroom. The moment I heard the reassuring sound of running water I rushed to the bathroom door to peep. I watch as her pert breasts with nipples the color of currants heave with every breath she takes. I revel in the graceful curve of her pelvis. Her golden brown skin dazzled in the gloom of the bathroom. My sister is a goddess. Equipped with the knowledge that my parents and neighbors will not be back for a very long time as they all went to another neighbor’s party in a neighboring state, I allow my fervor to overwhelm me this time. All the primal urges I had kept carefully vaulted rushed to the surface; raw and unrelenting. I open the bathroom door and approach my bathing sister, my head bent like a pugnacious ram’s, intent clear. She was as naked as a newborn. Her eyes widened in shock.
“David what are you doing” she gasps.
“David stop it right now” she cries as I hold her in a tight grip. I wrestled her to the cold tiled floor of the bathroom. I held her down with my steel arms. She whimpers and struggles. I glared down at her and I can tell she sees the fire in my eyes as she went mute, in fear I suppose.
“This will not hurt I promise” I whispered. I can’t believe my own voice. It was the harsh grunt of a feral animal.
She writhed and wriggled to get away from under me as I forced her thighs open with my knees, but her effort is useless ;The rebellion of a housefly caught in a spider’s web. With all the power of my six inch hardness I plunged into her, leaving a bloody trail of broken tissue. So she was a virgin after all, but I was past caring. Sweat oozed out of the minutest pore in my skin as I trod her. She wept through the whole session. But I was in paradise. I could not stifle the scream of ecstasy that rose to my lips as the last drop of semen squeezed out of my testicles.
* * * * * * *
It’s been a month since my despicable brother broke my hymen and my life. He is running mad. He talks and laughs to himself now, he even sucks his thumb like a hungry infant. And he weeps at my feet anytime my parents are not home. His guilt is consuming him. I’ll be damned if I should ever forgive him, I would sooner die of hate. I wonder how my parents could be so unobservant as not to notice the bitterness that has overcome me or the madness that is overcoming their golden child. They were not home the whole time anyway, attending one social event or the other, following each other like two lost goats.
I will soon leave for university. The same institution that offered me Business the day my brother attempted to ruin me with his manhood. I will not stay broken. The Lord and Isa are my strength. If not for Isa who didn’t relent until I was out of the shell I withdrew into for days, I would have made myself food for the Atlantic Ocean carnivores. This handsome final year undergraduate stayed with me through it all. He had no reason to share in my calamity and ignominy. But he did. He told me it took all of his reserve not to stab him (he couldn’t bring himself to call out his name) with the kitchen knife he was using when he ran into him.
It is now two days after I should have welcomed my monthly visitor. I am scared shitless. I called my Isa and talked to him about it. He got a tiny pregnancy kit that he claimed was really effective. The type you had to urinate on and wait for five minutes for a sign. He called me over to his house to get tested. I went into my lover’s bathroom, urinated on the kit and waited, my fingers crossed over my breasts. I waited for five minutes, a wait that will determine the course of the remains of my life. I sat on the toilet seat and peered at the kit. Then I started to weep.
Isa must have heard me because he was as soon knocking violently on the door screaming, wanting to know what the result was. As close as Isa was to me, as well as he knew me like his own genitals, he never could tell when my tears were of joy or of grief.
Umar Farouk – @bro_oumar