“Love swells like the Solway, and ebbs like its tide…”
~Sir Walter Scott~
Our love was so real we could practical feel each other’s heartbeats; it was so sweet we could actually taste each other’s kiss; it was so thorough we virtually saw the sun rise and set in other’s eyes; so divine we truly took each other for the center of the universe; the waves of that love practically swept us off our feet. We fell in love, and rode the crest of the waves, but we crashed out when the tide ebbed.
The Story of My Girlfriend And I is not the story of a love scam, it is the Story of What Goes Down When The Tides Ebb.
It all started with an Idle banter on a friends facebook wall. A friend (chuks) posted on his wall that studies have shown that men with big dicks have small brains. My comment disputing that claim earned me some acclamation, and I made new friends. Bandile, Adrian, Tselane, and Yewande. I accepted all their requests pronto. I had commented that I was endowed both at the up and down stairs. That “I have made great investments up North, yet my assets down South wasn’t doing bad at all”.
Yewande did not become my friend until we met again on another friend’s wall. It was a discussion about food. I had commented that I was a good cook, and I like to tease and please with my culinary skills. Yewande replied that she will marry any man who can cook, then I said “marry me, and I will serve you breakfast in bed for the next 100 years happily ever after.” As at that time, she had the picture of a pretty young woman as her profile picture.
She later made me understand that she is married, but we become good friends. We could chat about anything and at anytime and at any length. She made me understand that she was in an abusive marriage. I counseled her to work out her relationship with her husband. She said no, that she was separating from him. I turned around and encouraged her to leave for the reason that abusive relationships don’t improve. And she told me she intended to never reunite with Musa- the Gambian Muslim, she had married. She had had previous unsuccesful marriages, and several lovers before Musa. We are both Nigerians, She lives in London, and I live in Lagos. We closed the gap (nicely) with a digital bridge we built all on our own.
I had become her counselor and guide. She trusted my judgments. They seem to always work for her. We exchanged telephone numbers, Email adresses, mailing Addresses and residential addresses. We talked about anything and everything that catches our budding amorous fancy. I was lusty and she was too. She send me a message on my facebook inbox, that she’s going to take me on the “dinner in bed for 100 years” offer. I saw that as a come on sign. A little internet flirting won’t hurt anybody, and I am not such a cad to spurn a lady’s romantic overtures. I obliged her for a online dating. It was a beautiful experience for me. I was learning a lot of things I never new was possible. We had fone sex many times. We meet in dreams at night, my days are filled with thoughts of her. I tell you, it was a profound amorous experience for me. I discovered a lot of new things about myself that period until the bubble burst.
She is a good hearted woman. She love africa and everything africa. She has values for books, and respects me for being a writer and researcher. She loved my poetry and I wrote her loads of them. We exchanged some books and CDs. But we have irreconcilable differences. She hates white people, and I don’t; she likes voyeurism (pornography) and I loath it; she smokes weed, I don’t smoke at all; she is a far older woman (than she pretended to be). She is the mother of a full grown and independent man, the mother of a married young lady, and carer to 12-year old Gbenga (her last born son) who suffers from autism. She wants no more kids, I want to get married and have kids. She wanted me all to herself for keeps, but I have a life I am just starting to live.
She started having problems with my female online friends. Nobody (especially white females) dare say a kind word to me. When she chats at me and I don’t reply quickly enough, she says I am chatting with my KKK whitechicks, when she calls and I don’t receive the call on the first ring, she say I am busy fucking some woman. When I fall asleep during late night communications, she says it is deliberate.
Then she wanted me to install a webcam so she could see me live. She sent me £25 to procure a internet modem and a webcam. I got the modem but no webcam. She sent another £22 for webcam and internet subscription. But before I could do that, she further instructed to used the money to conduct some research into some historical facts about African history, and african deities. This was to help her get stuff to post on her new facebook page on negritude. I did. And it was a continuous project. She liked the research stuff I was sending her and she was using them as her own. She also sent me a BlackBerry fone to improve chatting between us. But our differences got in the way of our otherwise fine romance. Communication started breaking down. She want my every second of the minute attention (bad connection was no acceptable excuse)
She had some problems with the British authorities which, I believe totally unhinged her. The British Government wanted to put her autistic child in a special school, so he may learn such basic life skills as using the potty, wiping his own arse, and feeding himself, and walk straight and stop banging his head on the wall all night. But she will not have it. She contracted a attorney to plead her case. She wanted the boy with her always (the government actually gives welfare packages- money, and traveling allowances to carers: carers are citizens living with invalid family members) the boy was her single source of income. If Gbenga is taken away, then she will have to find work and fend for herself. That was not what she was ready to do. I offered to help at that time. The offer blew up in my face.
I offered to be with her to help raise the boy, whom I had fallen In love with- poor little boy. My family had always wanted me to go back to school (I am a university drop out). My sponsor wanted me to secure a overseas admissions in America. I had previously turned down that offer before I met Yewande. But now, I want to use that offer to get into University of East London to study journalism, and be close to her and her son, since they live in East London. She said It was a good thinking, she liked it, and will do her part to see that I achieve my goals. And we will be together. But a little later she started asking what happens when I wish to get married and have kids of my own? I said I don’t know, that when the time comes things will take care of themselves. We had a long argument. She ended up disagreeing with my proposal. And now she accuses me of being like every other African who wants to get out. That I was trying to use her to get a British green card. That is not true! Our relationship started going down hill from then. She had always warned me to never conceive traveling to the UK, that it the UK, especially England, was one racist plantation, where black people are forever subject to slavish servitude. I broke the creed. My objective viewpoint on the issue of colour separation. I am one colour-blind artist. She is an artist too. She mess with colours- she paints.
My mom took grievously ill sometime last year. She was diagnosed with a blood-sugar related ailment, and was admitted into the Emergency Unit of the University of Benin Teaching Hospital. There was an intense pressure on me as my mom’s eldest child and her supporter. I turned to my dear Yewande in trust for help. There has never been such embarrassingly inauspicious time to turn to a friend for help. She responded by calling me liar and scammer. She said she’d watched some vidoes on YouTube interview with Nigerian scammers. She said she is wiser now to my tricks, eish! “There is no trick here for christ’s fucking sakes” That was when she took to the internet to warn the whole world about me. Sending inbox messages to all my female friends. My very good friends told her off. And scorned her, and stuck to me more, even if I was the very devil.
Things got so bad. I struggled to redeem her image of me. Even if she cannot have a love relationship with me, I wanted to be her friend. But no, she’d had more than enough of me, and from me. I had to return the books she’d given me before. She asked for her BlackBerry, but I don’t have it, since I lost it. I proposed to replace it ASAP, but no! She wanted her BlackBerry back. I was a thief, I had robbed her. I can as well keep it. That is the last time I spoke with her. She no long take my calls, or return my missed calls, or reply my SMS’s and Emails. I still want her for my friend, in a new understanding. But I am the fool. She’d had enough of me from me. She’s moved on. I am the fool.
The moral of the story is: The Devil don’t only wear Prada, The Devil is your Online date. Keep your head, be yourself, if you are honestly in love with this friend don’t make it a life career to prove it. The short of it is: online love, like most unproven conjectures, is real. It is like a knife. If you think it is not real, try cutting your own throat with it.