HiveComb

I am thirty-eight years old, unmarried, unwanted, and slowly turning into the kind of woman that society whisper about. I mean the "Aunty" type that everyone pities in family gatherings, the one neighbours uses as a warning to their daughters. The one people say, "She's doing well, but no husband".

Chiamaka is my name and to be frank, I am exhausted. Tired of being pitied, of my neighbours judging non-stop and the way my mother looks like me.

It is actually funny and annoying how people who are single at my age are treated like they have broken the law just by being single. Whenever I walk down my street, I can hear the women whisper amongst themselves and shaking their heads at me like I have some kind of illness because I am single. One even told my mother once, "Pray for your daughter o, maybe it's spiritual." I heard. She didn't even bother to lower her voice

My mother, of course, believed it. So began the endless church crusades, prayer camps, night vigils, and deliverance session. We've been to churches that I can't remember more than half of their names. Each time, I am told the same thing:
"God will do it. Your husband is on his way."

But after years of hearing the same prophecies, even them start to sound like noise. And my mother, God bless her, mean well, but she never stops talking. She will look at me and shake her head.
"Chiamaka change your ways" she would say. "Men don't like women with strong faces. And stop dressing like someone's grandmother all the time."
Sometimes she would go and on until my head hurt. "It is because of your bad characters that men run away from you. If you were soft like your sister, you would have been married since."

The constant barrage of insults, comparisons, and shouts of chaotic prayers that all have been thrown over my head eroded something crucial in me. It's not like I do not wish to get married, but hearing all those negative remarks made me start to believe that something really was wrong with me.

Then came Chinenye. She is my younger sister, twenty-four, beautiful and smart. Everything my mother wished I was. The day she came home and said, "Mummy, I brought someone", my heart sank, though I smiled.

His name was Michael. Michael was tall with confidence and showed politeness. I stood next to my mother, who had a big smile of pride as she welcomed him "Ah! God has finally answered my children!" said my mother and then she looked at me as if she wanted to say, "At least, one of them."

The house was filled with my mother and Chinenye's laughter that day. My mom kept asking questions about their relationship and Chinenye kept blushing. While Michael appeared very comfortable being around us like he already a part of our family. I only watched the three of them from where I was seated. I do not know how to define how I felt at the moment but my heart continued to beat fast and tight.

After that, things got worse for me. Everywhere I turned, someone was talking about Chinenye's wedding. The church women congratulated my mother, and one even said, "At least, you will soon carry grandchildren." The others were looking at me with those 'sympathy' faces that are kind of when you feel sorry for someone but do not know how to express it verbally, so you just smile instead. I can pretend to not notice them but it is still painful. Even at home, my mother never stopped.

"Chiamaka, learn from your sister. See how she carries herself. See how she dresses. You think husband is looking for a woman that's always frowning?"

That was the week I snapped.

I remember that say clearly. I left the house and go to buy a new SIM card.
"And where did you go?" My mom asked when I returned back home.
"I went to look for an husband" I said sarcastically, forcing a smile. My mother hissed and went back to her cooking muttering that maybe I should. But I had other plans.

I sat on my bed, the new SIM card in my hand and aked myself why I was doing what I was about to do. I thought about Chinenye, and I tried to convince myself that I just wanted her to slow down and to stop rubbing her happiness in my face. But I knew that I was actually jealous of Chinenye.

I already had Michael's number. Chinenye had shown it to me days before while giggling about how he saved her contact as My Heartbeat and then asking me to save his number in mama's phone. I had laughed with her that day, pretending it was funny but I memorised the number.

That day, using the new SIM, I messaged Michael. I didn't even think twice.
I told him that I was someone who knew Chinenye well and my intentions was to help him not to make the wrong choices regarding her.
I told him that Chinenye had done six abortions for six different men.
And she lost her womb as a result, and cannot bear children.
I also emphasised that while Chinenye acts like a woman of virtue, in reality, she is not.

I sent Michael these messages in rapid succession. I felt both guilt and relief after sending the last message.

Michael replied immediately, "Who are you?"
I told him that my identity did not matter.

One week after, Chinenye arrived home with tears streaming down her face. She collapsed into Mama's arms, while screaming Michael's name.
"He said he can't marry me anymore."

Mama panicked. "Why? What happened?"

Chinenye could barely speak. When she finally showed us the messages he sent, I saw that it was my words. I pretended to be shocked while Mama and Chinenye cried.

Since that time, the house has not been the same. Chinenye barely eats. Mama prays but says little to me. Maybe she's too tired. The neighbours think my family is cursed.

And me? I have been living with what I did. I tell myself that it's not my fault, everytime I see Chinenye staring into space.

Chinenye was going to leave me behind, I only did it because of what life did to me. But still, when I hear her cry in her room, I feel that guilt. I want to say something to her, but what should I say? "Sorry I ruined your life because I was tired of being pitied?". No.

So I keep quiet.

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