True life story…
I am still alive because of grace – I failed a thousand times, but His mercy remained…His mercy found me every single time; as the song by Hillsong United goes…
I clutched a bottle of aromatic schnapp under my armpit as I dangled along the empty streets of Onitsha. The streets were so quiet, you could almost hear your own thoughts. Like a balloon suspended in air, I swayed from left to right under the influence of alcohol and at the mercy of the cool breeze that nudged me around with the gentility of an Archbishop. Alcohol was my fuel, powering me home and blurring what was left of my poor vision.
Even though I fell – several times – I rose again and continued my perilous journey home. When I reached home, I banged on the front door like an angry soldier, ready to make an arrest. Our neighbors had grown used to my late night arrival from the bar. My wife opened the door, as she always did. I shoved her aside and trudged to the bedroom where I’d jump into bed without taking a shower. I began to snore away, almost immediately. My breath reeked abundantly of alcohol, forcing my poor wife to sleep on a mat in the living room. Now, I can imagine her fragile body creaking under the rough touches of the unkind uneven floor of our living room.
Despite my drunkenness, I knew that I was the laughing stock of the entire street, not to talk of my family and town. My wife and children received no mercy from friends, neighbors and extended family members. I recall one evening; I was on the balcony of our tiny apartment in Fegge, Onitsha. My oldest son who was just eight years of age at the time was arguing with a neighbor’s child. “That ball is mine,” my son’s friend yelled. “No, it is mine. Yours is grey and this is milky white. It is my ball, my daddy bought it for me,” my son insisted.
“Can your daddy buy a ball for you? He’d rather buy beer for himself. After all, the other day, he was so drunk that he had to be brought home – wheeled home in a wheelbarrow. When they reached the front of your apartment, you mother ran out and shouted, Okoye, you are drunk again! Then, you father replied, who are you – husband snatcher. This woman is not my wife. She wants to steal me for herself. Take me to my house. I live down there,” he maintained, pointing to the big sewer down the street. “I guess he likes heaps of fecal matter, right?”
“Hahaha!” Other children laughed. I had no recollection of that event, but I was certain that it was true. I was in the habit of drinking almost every evening that I had created lots of stories that my family was taunted with. I wanted to stop drinking – wake up and be completely healed of the flaming urge to drink, but I just could not help myself. I made the resolution to stop drinking every day, week, month and year and each time, I went right back to the bottle
If I only drank, perhaps it could have been an entirely different story. With drinking came other vices. One morning, I woke in a brothel. I had returned to the brothel – as I did quite often – with a prostitute after a night of heavy drinking. She lay beside me as the sun peeked into the shaggy room through cracked windowpanes. The prostitute looked haggard. Her scrawny legs hung forlornly on my body. The room stank of death. How did I drop this low? I asked myself. A pang of disgust swept through me…momentarily. I rolled out of bed, pushing the prostitute away from my body. My legs were weak and so were my eyes, hands and heart. Alcohol had ravaged all that lived within me, leaving me giddy.
“Where you dey go?” the prostitute asked. “You never pay me!” she yelled, lying naked on the bed. How did I sleep with this thing, I thought to myself. There was nothing appealing about her. The lines on her face had furrows so deep that trailers could fit into them. Her teeth were discolored from heavy smoking, and her skin was wrinkled. I rummaged through my pocket in search of money. I found a lonely five hundred naira note in my right pocket. I tossed it at her, turned and headed for the door. “It is one thousand naira!” she shouted. “I don’t have any money left. I will pay you tomorrow.”
“You better do!” she retorted aggressively. God, I never want to come back here again, I thought as I descended the stairs, holding onto the railings to steady my giddy self.
