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     There is so much light pushing through the thick brown blanket covering me. I last remember listening to an episode from a new and exciting podcast channel I found on anchor two days ago. The Gist with Grace Podcast has become my newly found late night therapy. Music used to be my late night therapy. All manners and presentations of R and B were usually perfect for my lonely evenings until they started opening up a portal I had driven deep down the closet of my heart and thrown its keys into the Atlantic a long time ago.

       Henceforth, I am moving in with the new podcast channel. The presenter, Jossy, Giftie, Confy, Gracey… whatever the name… appears to have depth and I particularly enjoyed her episode titled ‘5D model for a long distance relationship’. It was pretty insightful, at least, up until when I dozed off. I enjoyed it. That’s the best I can make out of it – of anything love and relationship.

       Many times, I wish I am as good at love as I am good at working and that I didn’t leave people behind so often. Other times, I remind myself of the due returns received by the part of my brain that once attempted to delve into the mysterious path love is.

It was rather an overdue return!

So quite clearly, I don’t want to know about any relationship and I am not expecting anyone to ask me.

      There’s static in my head now as I force what feels like a superglue off my tired eyelids until light comes rushing in through my retina with the aggression of a wounded tiger.

“What the heck!” I groan, squinting from the extreme brightness.

“Good morning! Thought you’d love some breakfast in bed.”

“Mum?” I frown.

      She’s on a pink night gown and her hair fits neatly into a purple bonnet. Is mum wearing a make-up this baby hours of the morning or it is just my eyes? I honestly hope not. Her mouth keeps saying so many things unclear to me while her rainbow-coloured manicured fingers motion my eyes to the part of the room where a desk is standing beside the wardrobe. Save age, nothing else changed in this gorgeous mother of mine.

       My eyes trail her fingers to the top of the desk. A mug cup is sitting pretty on a white ceramic plate and hot smokes are struggling to gain freedom from deep inside. That is really kind of you, mum is what is in my mind to say, but no. I am not going to give her that satisfaction.

“I am guessing you may want more cream. I don’t know how you like your tea these days. I just made it the exact way I remember making it for you back then.” Her tone sounds strained. I ignore her searing eyeballs until I find something neutral to distract my attention the purple curtains.  

        This room is wide enough to take more than three permanent occupants only that it is unarguably the most abandoned part of the house. The king-sized bed I am lying on is occupying only a little above one-fourth of the room space. The walls are cream in colour with what-I-now-consider disgusting wallpapers of military men gummed to just about everywhere. The only part of the wall without a wall paper is where the flat screen TV is hanging on the wall directly in front of the bed.

      Against the wall on the left side is where the wardrobe and desk are standing. The woods must have been polished over and again to still look this new. I trust my prim and proper mum to make sure of that. There are camouflage military uniforms, boots and capes all around the wardrobe. One of the twin doors is open and I can see what used to be my clothes in there. They look pretty too neat, like they’d been washed just yesterday. Thinking about it now, it dawns on me the young teenager I used to be and how much of a direct opposite of that my adult version is right now.

       The right corner of the room bears a mini bookshelf with so many genres of texts. Several books are littered on the tiled floor too as there’s no space to fit those into the shelf. I loved to read Shakespeare’s works with her back then. Then, when everything was just… perfect. I can see one of our very favourites squeezed to a corner amidst the hundreds of books. It most likely have not been touched in years. Hmmm… Sometimes, you know? You have to agree you cannot control everything.

      Above my head is a large painting of a military shootout. At this point, I wonder whether I had been infected with some military-addiction virus as a teenager or not.

      Once more, my attention returns to mum as she takes a seat in front of the desk.

“So tell me about…”

“Mum,” I cut in and jump onto my feet. Sliding my feet into the black Prado leather slippers just in front of the bed, I push my entire weight onto my feet. “… you know what? I have to leave now.”

      Mum jerks up immediately, her eyes filled with utter confusion. “Leave? But you just got in here last night.” The helpless tone of hers I dread is rearing its ugly head again. “You came back home just 8pm yesterday, after 11years, Ayegba and…”

“It is 10years and five months, mum.” I say, fixing the second button on my Polo shirt.

Mum scoffs loud enough for me to hear. “What is the difference?”

“Everything, mum. A day can make so much difference, how much more seven months.”

“Believe me, son, I never told her to…”

“Mum!” I shush her, yelling at the top of my lungs before I could stop myself. This makes a lone tear drop down her smooth face. Looking at her right now breaks what’s left of the organ tucked in-between my lungs. This is the singular reason I avoid coming here.

Singular reason, yeah?

Well, I am just going to convince myself that I am saying the truth in all these. After all, stories always drive experiences.

“Why are you doing this to me, Ayegba?” Mum asks, defeated.

“Got to go, mum. Love you!” my mouth moves to the right side of her face and gets in contact with her cheeks in less than a Nano second. I withdraw almost immediately as if stealing a peck from mum will earn me a life jail term. I refuse to look at her face while heading out of my father’s mansion – the place that I once called home.

     Outside, my newest ride, a Mercedes benz AMG GT swerves in elation as I slam on its accelerator, hurriedly driving out of the compound. I am driving out of town again, and out of mum’s life for another couple of years. I am not certain how long this will be, so I would just leave the clock to do its job – countdown. If mum truly loved and cared about me as she claims, she should never have done what she did.

To be continued,

You’re asking yourself what a mother could have done so wrong for her son to abandon her for over a decade.

Can you guess in the comment section?


I am very excited today and thought to share my virtual cake with you all my dear friends. PLEASE MARRY ME is a story that will blow your mind. I am undecided on how frequently I’ll be releasing it. Thinking of twice a week if your engagement is impressive. Liking and commenting. Haha.

If you want to listen to my 5D model for a long term relationship, the one Ayegba above loves, please click here,

If you are yet to buy my book, THE BOY ALL MY LIFE… you’re missing out. I’ll give a 50% discount for purchase throughout this week. Just click here now and send GRACE’S BIRTHDAY COUPON.  


Happy birthday to ME.




About Grace Ochigbo

Grace Ochigbo is a Christian, storyteller, inspirational speaker and the Founder of Gemstone Sickle Cell Aid Team, a non-profit organizations working to end Sickle Cell Disease. email;

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  1. This is really wonderful thought I was reading a piece of Chimamanda😀 More grace to you Grace, keep on keep on souring higher 💯💯💯💯💯

  2. This is awesome Gracie…

    You had to use our names ehn- Gifty, Confy, Gracie..

  3. Nice piece MA.

  4. Thank God the site opens today after weeks of trying to open it. Thanks Mama Gracee.

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