It was January. It was 2009. It was Ilorin. I was in love.
"You are serving in Lagos" he said suddenly and I smiled, said nothing as I held on tightly to his neck.
"I want you to be in Lagos, we are getting married in your service year... You are serving with my rings on your fingers. I can't let them steal you" He said.
I could feel his breadth, we were so close... Still I said nothing, but mentally calculated it all. I would be graduating in four months.
He was the first man I would love with my heart and soul...
I would be 25 in my service year, Perfect! I held him tighter. My heart beating rapidly... I was going to burst.
Instantly, I connected my heart, my soul, my life to the moment. There's no loving another, I told myself.
I knew it wasn't easy holding me in that awkward position but my baby never complained. We held for hours and talked as the moon illuminated our shadows.
Seriously, I still cannot believe it. But that was the last time we held each other.
No, not tragedy. He didn't die. He left for Lagos the next day, we talked over the phone around 6am when he was leaving. Promised him to take care of myself for him, told him I loved him and that was it.
Flashback to One month earlier.
He broke my heart. I won't say how, cos we are still very good friends and some of my friends know him...
Now don't think it's the everyday kind of heart break you hear about. The ones that let you live, eat, sleep or laugh.
When your heart breaks literally, you can't do any of these things even if you tried.
Simply put, he took my heart into his hands, gazed at it for moments, crushed it in his palm, threw it down and stepped on it, then walked away.
It was December 13 2008.
I did not want to live. I stopped eating, stopped sleeping, did not get down from bed for two straight days until my friends came to my hostel and took me away.
I was a shadow of myself. I wore black like a widow and imagined life without him... All I did was cry. My friends sat around me, mopping their own faces.
Then my heart stopped functioning all of a sudden. Even my heart could not take the blow. I collapsed.
The school clinic would not take me in anymore. I was referred to the General hospital. Lifelessly, I watched as I was lifted into an ambulance and driven to the General hospital.
I couldn't breathe. I was gasping and wheezing. I was calling for my family. I just didn't see myself leaving. I was wheeled to the emergency room. I heard faintly as the paramedics asked my friends what was wrong and I was mouthing the words "my heart hurts"
I couldn't breathe.
My uncle and his wife arrived with my cousin and sister. I was relieved to see family...
Relieved as I saw family.
Tears rolled out of the corners of my eyes, danced into my ears and fell onto the pillows. How do I tell them I was heartbroken?
The oxygen mask had arrived, peace as I stopped struggling to breathe and let the oxygen help me.
It didn't stop there... I was transferred to a private hospital where I spent many days. I was diagnosed with Syncope attack... I still do not know the meaning.
Let me tell you about the heart scan.
I went with big Uncle and my mum who had arrived days before.
I walked into the room, and the man told me to get naked.
I looked at him like he was crazy, but he meant it. He made me remove my blouse and bra. I felt ashamed as he grabbed my left breast and smeared it with some greasy substance. I closed my eyes and cried inside. Mtcheew. It was not kuku his fault.
Then I went for heart X-ray and several other tests I cannot even name now. I became a regular at the general hospital, going for tests and check ups and results!
Those weeks were terrible.
And the man who threw me into that mess was 'busy' with his life in Lagos while my family spent tons of money curing heartbreak.
I forgave him.
We moved on. (I was Toke Makinwa... But not anymore.)
To be continued...