A Woman's Dilemma

By Gozie Igweze

Amas story goes from fairy tale to hard times, as she finds herself as a school drop-out, with no money and a young son to raise. She was estranged from her parents. Her fianc and the father of her son was incarcerated. He was being detained by officers of a state agency.

An unwitting incident from her past catches up with her and compounds her current problems. Amas is subpoenaed to be a prosecution witness in a case against some young men believed to be the killers of a fellow student six years prior.

Used to having others do for her, Amas struggles to get her life back on track by herself and on her own terms. With some help from her parents, now reunited with her, Ama begins to piece her life back together. She goes back to college, no longer the heartless young thing that only enjoyed the attention of older men with money. This time Ama is older and wiser and has her attention fully focused on getting her architecture degree and raising her son.

Love visits again, this time dressed up as a sharp police officer who wants her to help him nail the bad guys. This is Amas second chance at finding true love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477244463

Gozie Igweze

Gozie grew up in Nigeria, where she graduated from law school in 1985. She worked in private companies and for the government before moving to the United States in 1997 to begin a new life. She successfully embarked on a new career as a registered nurse as well as pursuing her love of writing. She lives in southern California with husband Ben and four children.

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Prologue

The news ended with the obituaries as it did every evening on the local TV station. The announcer announced, With hearts full of sorrow, the Nduka family of Ogidi, in Idemili local government area of Anambra state regret to announce the death of their beloved husband, father, brother, and uncle, Ugochukwu Nduka, after a brief illness.

That was all Dr. Ifedi heard, and he quickly turned off the television in frustration, sighing at the announcement of the death of yet another son of the state to the mysterious brief illness. Why did everyone just seem to so readily accept it? Why did no one question what this strange, mysterious illness that was taking the lives of many young people in the country really was?

Across town, Emma Nwobia was just passing through the living room on his way to his bedroom when he heard the obituaries. He stopped. Nduka. The name certainly sounded familiar, he thought; then he remembered. Ugochukwu Nduka was the young business tycoon that had come to his laboratory a year ago for HIV testing. He remembered that they had called to invite him to come back for retesting because they had a questionable result from his blood test. He never did come back, and now he was dead. He shrugged tired shoulders and walked on into his room to get a well-deserved rest after a day at the laboratory. Tomorrow would be no different from the day that just passed.

He made it only halfway across the room toward the big welcoming bed when the phone rang. He wanted to ignore it but reluctantly picked up in case it was something really urgent that required his attention.

Nwobia residence, this is Emma …

Emma it is me, Dave Ifeadi.

"Nna Kedu? I thought I was the only working man still awake. I was just about to get into bed. Kedu nke na eme?"

I am sorry to be keeping you awake, but I felt somewhat disturbed. There was an obituary announcement tonight, one Ugochukwu Nduka; do you remember him?

I do. He came to the laboratory last year and we tested him. We had an inconclusive result. Remember? You asked me to call him to come back for a retest, free of charge. He never did come back.

Isn’t it strange that we both remember him?

Not that strange. We don’t get too many men coming to get tested at the lab. You know our culture. Men are the last to accept that there is a problem, especially if it is a problem of a sexual nature.

Man, this is different. This is something that could mean life and death to someone who is very close and dear to the patient. You would think that he would have come back to know. What if he was really HIV positive? Wouldn’t he like to know so that at least he could do something to protect his family, his wife, or girlfriend?

Dave, you are sounding naïve tonight. Isn’t this what we have been fighting the last few years, the ignorance of our people? The rule of thumb being if we pretend there is no problem, there is no problem. You and I, as well as the few people who are involved in the HIV/AIDS awareness program, have been out there trying to get the word out to our people that AIDS is real and that it is killing our people, but people are not listening. It has been difficult enough to get through to our educated people, but the depth of the ignorance in our uneducated business community is mind boggling.

What can we do to change people’s thinking in this country about HIV/AIDS? I feel really bad about people blaming all these deaths on ‘brief illness.’ Anyone dies, all you hear is talk about juju or voodoo. They always think someone killed the person whenever anyone dies. No one ever dies of natural causes, and certainly not something as foreign as HIV/AIDS. I am sick of the ignorance of our people.

Take it easy man. I love my job. I love being able to work independently and to own my own business, and I feel your frustration because of the seriousness of this health problem and the fact that the greater part of our nation’s population has no clue about the enormity of the problem that we deal with on a daily basis.

I am so glad that the Catholic Church has started making it mandatory for members intending to get married in the church to get tested for HIV/AIDS.

Absolutely. I wish our government would do more than it is currently doing to increase HIV/AIDS awareness programs at the national level. However, that is not happening. The powers that be are too busy selling oil, way above the budgeted price, lining their private pockets, and hiding money overseas in Swiss bank accounts while ignoring the health and education of our people.

Yet our people continue to elect thieves into office.

That is where you are wrong. These people are not elected; they rig their way into office. The good ones never even come out to run for office, because they get killed. You know the dirty political arena where the game played is not for the good. It is populated by rogues and killers in agbada. When they fail in one way they get the lawyers and the judges to get them in anyway.

Don’t let us stay awake any more bemoaning the problems of our people. We have a business to run, and at least we are here to help the few people who are coming out to get some help from us. Thank God for the Ford Foundation’s West Africa office and the Journalists Against AIDS program that enables us to do free HIV/AIDS tests and to give out low cost medications to people who need it.

Good night then.

Yeah, good night. See you at work tomorrow.

They hung up, but neither man was able to fall asleep right away. Each man was still immersed in thoughts.

Dave and Emma owned a joint business that they called Mercy Laboratory and Mercy AIDS Clinic. Emma ran the laboratory while Dr. Dave Ifeadi ran the AIDS Clinic. Through their connections at the Ford Foundation’s West Africa office and the Journalists Against AIDS program they were able to get grants to do what they did.

Ogidi

Ona, one of Ogechukwu’s neighbors known as the village’s worst gossipmonger, came into Nduka’s compound and greeted everyone with the general greeting "Ndewonuo, before going over to Ogechukwu to sit down beside her next to the mat and chat for a while. What is this I am hearing, Oge? They think Ugochukwu died of unnatural causes."

What are you talking about, and who have you been talking to?

Everyone is talking about it.

Who has been doing the talking?

Everyone.

I see. Following a small pause she asked, What is everyone saying that my husband died of?

Oh, I don’t know.

Come on. What have you heard?

Oh, different things. Nothing specific.

Listen, I am not asking you to be specific, Ona. What have you heard?

Okay, don’t say that you heard it from me. The small pause was followed by a big sigh. Some people are saying that Ugochukwu died of AIDS.

AIDS. What the hell is AIDS?

You know, HIV.

I don’t know what either of those words mean. What is HIV and what is AIDS?

It is a disease that men get from sleeping with a woman.

Like gonorrhea? So people are saying that I gave my husband gonorrhea, or are they saying that he was sleeping around with other women? Tell me, what are they saying? I swear to God, the spirit of Ugochukwu will rise and strike those busybody gossips down.

You are both wrong, very wrong. Ezinwa, who was a school teacher, cut in. "AIDS is caused by a virus, the human immunodeficiency virus, and it can be transmitted through sexual contact or through blood transfusions with blood from someone who has the disease. People can also get AIDS from sharing needles and from barber shops, nail shops, and even the dentist when they use the same equipment from person to person without decontamination, especially in our country where people are not even using the simplest form of precautions because of ignorance and poverty.

Ona, you must stop spreading your evil rumor; my brother did not die of AIDS. He had a blood disease.

Don’t take it out on me. I am not the one saying all those things. I just thought that you should know what people are saying. I have my own thoughts on who I suspect did Ugochukwu in. It must be that wicked brother of his, Uwanekwu. I am sure that he paid a visit to Aro to bring juju for his brother because of jealousy.

Hush, woman. Hush. I don’t want you to bring down any problems for me from my in-laws with your mischievous gossip. Privately, Ogechukwu was thinking, are you thinking what I am thinking? Outwardly, she moved toward the woman with a shushing sound and a wave of the hand, edging her out through the door and out the gate."

Okay, I am leaving. In fact, I have already left. Consider me gone. Like the proverbial madwoman. I already left before the brouhaha erupted. With that she finally allowed herself to be edged out of the compound.

Chapter One

What do children know about anything? In the backyard Ogechukwu’s children ran around playing. They kept to the walled-in compound because they had strict orders never to go outside the gate without one of the maids. Even the youngest one, Amala, knew that rule, although she was only four. "Nnenne, Nnenne," Amala was yelling excitedly as she ran round the corner to hide, Uzoma, her immediate older sister, plunging after her. They were playing at catch, their favorite game but a very noisy one.

Theirs were the only loud voices that could be heard. The adults around talked in low tones. It had been so for the past few days. The children had been affected by it and had been subdued for a while. However, they quickly snapped out of it. They did not comprehend what the gloom and sadness was all about, and now nobody stopped their playing. There were few people still around. The compound had been like a fairground at one time, but now people only trickled in.

Oge, my dear, how are you? Ezinwa asked, walking up to where Ogechukwu was sitting in front of the house.

Hmm … well, I m not dead yet, Ogechukwu grimaced. She was sitting on a raffia mat, feet crossed and her chin in her hands, starring towards the eastside of the compound at the new marble white tombstone. She was lost in thought. She had been reliving bits of her life with the man, now nothing more than a lifeless shell in a box underneath that white marble tombstone. She was remembering that Ugochukwu would usually awaken early so he could bathe, eat, and leave early for the office. Business usually started quite early for him. Even after many years of owning his business and having apprentices under him, he still preferred to deal with customers personally, unless he happened to be out of town supervising the branch in Kaduna.

Ogechukwu would hear his usually cheerful voice as he sang or hummed a tune in the bathroom while taking a shower. That was usually the first thing she heard in the mornings. She would, however, burrow deeper into the pillow, pulling the covers all the way up to her chin and try to get back to sleep. However, the minute Ugochukwu entered the room after his bath he would walk straight to the bed, yank off the covers and gruffly say Wake up, woman. If she still refused to stir, he would tickle her foot interrupting her sweet early morning snooze.

Oh God, why would you not let me sleep for a little while longer? she would grumble, kicking the abused foot to dislodge his fingers. The next minute he would have her laughing as the assault continued with her executing some more violent kicks as she struggled to get out of bed to avoid more tickles.

It was a ritual both of them enjoyed and missed whenever they were away from each other. The last year before he died, Ugochukwu had seemed to change somewhat. He was away from home a lot, but he explained that things were getting bad at the Kaduna branch. His boys were stealing him blind, and he needed to spend more time there to straighten things out. He was so busy consolidating the Kaduna branch. Then he fell ill and died. She simply could not believe even now that those shared moments of closeness were forever gone.

Hopeless shivers ran down her back as she sat on that raffia mat in front of the house with her back to the wall. Her head was bowed, not even resting on the pillows that were placed behind her to prop her up.

Her eyes appeared abject and lackluster. They seemed almost lifeless with their lack of expression. Ezinwa felt intense pity for her, thinking this was not how it was supposed to be. It was better when those eyes were red with weeping or white as they were when they still dripped tears of silent, poignant sorrow. The way Ogechukwu looked with the dull colored scarf carelessly tied around her shaven head was heartbreaking. Gone was the beautiful young woman her brother had married.

It was two weeks after the death of her husband and one week after the burial and funeral ceremonies. Yet custom demanded that she keep the assumed position of a woman in mourning until four weeks after the burial and funeral ceremonies. The poignancy of the first few days, revisited during the burial, was now over. Thoughts and realities were stealing in. It was time to begin to consider her situation.

Most of the relatives who came home for the burial and funeral were beginning to return to their stations. Within the next few days most of them would have left. Only the ones that lived in the village would be left behind.

She was not very close to most of those relations. A lot of them she met only during festive periods, like Easter and Christmas, when most people returned home to spend the holidays. But some of the others, especially the daughters who were married outside the village, she rarely saw. The exception was her husband’s immediate older sister, Ezinwa, who some how had taken her very closely to her heart. They were friends. She was the one who had helped her keep her head during the first few days of shock and confusion.

Before she left that morning for Aba, where she lived with her husband, Ezinwa talked to Ogechukwu for some time, trying to help her sort through muddled thoughts on what to do next.

What are you going to do, dear? she