Black Woman's Emotional Truth

By Jane Uzochukwu

In life there are so many truths we tend to hide. So many emotions we will never let out. Veronica would never tell her husband the truth behind his lost money or her supposed attack. Neither will Richard tell his wife that he still has other children outside the marriage. It is not their place to tell, they will try to convince themselves. If fate hides it for them why should they exhume it? Neither will I ever tell Dafe that the reason why I proposed to him is because my supposed prince charming, the man I thought was the answer to my prayers ended up being a broke pimp who lived off a wealthy single mother.
Abbey will never tell Ashe` that he may never stop dating Lillian as long as he remained working in his present company even though he swears he really does love her. And maybe he does.
Veronica has gained a new voice that spurs her on to fight for her liberation and self actualization. This voice has given her the valour, profound strength, and prowess to balance her life in order to make her marriage work and to seek peace and tranquillity.
She has learnt a new truth what she felt before and what she feels afterwards may never be revealed to the world. She might smile, she might scorn, but her true emotions and feelings will always remain protected, locked and hidden within. For that is the black womans emotional truth, she most often never lets it show.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jun 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496979421

Jane Uzochukwu

Jane Uzochukwu Born into an Igbo family in Lagos Nigeria of the parents of Prof. & Mrs. Uzochukwu where she grew up in an academic realm. She has her first degree and master’s degree in theatre arts both from University of Lagos, Akoka. A staunch catholic who has a background in creative studies. She has worked in advertising and media companies in Lagos both as a creative contributor and an administrative staff.

Book preview

Chapter One

Staying Out of the Sun

Looking out of the window / staying out of the sun. I heard these words as I listened to the song Don’t Cry for Me Argentina as performed by Madonna. I smiled as she sang the lyrics because they described exactly what I was doing.

I had just gotten an appointment as a guidance counsellor in a federal secondary school in Lagos, and for some reason I wasn’t particularly excited with it. This was what I had yearned for, wasn’t it? I had survived long years at the University of Lagos in Akoka. After the months of waiting, praying, and hoping to be hired—after all the applications and interviews—all I could do when the job offer finally came was to imitate the lyrics of a song.

The cold wind blew swiftly, chilling my high cheekbones as I tried to push away my fears. I closed the windows and sat on the burgundy sofa in my little apartment overlooking the Lagos sunset. I shared the small apartment with my cousin Ashè. The living room had beige and red jelly-bean coloured walls, white-and-coral satin curtains, a rug the shade of cotton candy, and two settees. The two-bedroom apartment was quite comfortable for the two of us. She is quite handy when it comes to planning and organizing events as well as accessorizing. Ashè is a good cook, and she claims to be gifted with an eye for creativity. She, of course, spearheaded the interior design of our apartment.

Coming from a family of five: my two parents and three of us children. My mother is a civil servant; my father, a businessman who currently resides in the eastern part of Nigeria. I have, however, grown used to well-furnished residences. Ashè and I couldn’t afford a television set, but my DVD player seemed to afford us the adequate entertainment at the moment, playing songs with words that stirred up my innermost feelings.

Sometimes sharing an apartment with Ashè seemed a good idea, and sometimes she was a little over the edge for my introverted nature. But today it seemed like bliss.

Ashè entered the apartment with so much enthusiasm which my solemn mood found hard to match up to.

Why are you so excited, girl? I asked. She continued grinning rather than giving me an answer as she sat on the burgundy sofa with me. Out with it, girl. I know you left this apartment with a gloomy mood this morning, so what caught your fancy out there? Ashè, like me, had been job hunting for a while, but unlike me, she hadn’t been able to get a steady job yet. She woke up this morning with so much disdain for the poor employment rate in the country and set out with a folder full of resumes and application letters in pursuit of sustainable income.

You? she finally murmured.

What on earth are you talking about?

"You, joor. Guess who my first client is."

The last time I checked, you didn’t even have a job. Where did your client appear from? I asked.

You see, ma sista, that’s where you come in.

Me?

Yes, Cous, I have resolved to never pick up an application letter or CV again. Rather, I will start my new business as an event planner, Ashè bragged.

Hm, interesting. So, where do I come in? I asked as my curiosity grew. Actually, nothing would suit Ashè better than being an event planner, but she had a bad reputation of never finishing what she starts. But who am I to let her down, in an economy so hindered by unemployment?

I have taken it upon myself to be your wardrobe planner. To be as convincing as possible, she was thereby more dramatic than she needed to be. I will take it as a point of duty to ensure that not only are you the best dressed but also the most exquisitely dressed. So, my sista, get ready to explore the wardrobe of a twenty-first-century working-class diva! she exclaimed.

I tried reconciling the difference between an event planner and a wardrobe planner, but that was Ashè for you—full of life and valour but sometimes incoherent. Correcting her was not my imminent desire as I remembered the low-income adventure I was about to embark on. Yeah, a twenty-first-century diva . . . I guess you read my employment letter? Hope you saw my gross pay written in bold, I said as I tried to imitate her dramatic gestures. It really isn’t much to write home about, sweetie, so I know you mean well, but changing my wardrobe isn’t on my to-do list for now.

Aw. She seemed discouraged.

But maybe in a month’s time, after my first pay cheque. I hope there is room for an instalment plan though, I added.

Sure, but diva, you really need to sparkle. Your wardrobe says a whole lot of ‘oh no’, she said teasingly.

Tell me about it. I chuckled. In a more serious tone, I added, But you have to promise me you will see this project through to the end. You will make a fine event planner if you do that.

Sure, thanks, Cous, she said as she widened her arms to embrace me. As long as I have your support, she added.

Yeah, I will always support you, I replied as I tapped her knee. I could only wish her success in her endeavour.

You know I am talking financially?

You are so on your own, I said, lightly hitting her knee again.

Chapter Two

The New Counsellor

The morning sun shone into my chocolate-coloured face. My ebony hair was swept off my face into a ponytail. This hairdo highlighted the thick brows, nude-coloured lips, and high cheekbones with a light dusting of blush. Wearing a simple black knee-length gown with gold zippers by each pocket to accentuate my waistline, accompanied by black silk peep-toe shoes and a black bag, I was ready for the first day at my new job.

A car horn rang in my ears, making me aware that I had been standing on the same spot for too long. I turned and saw Ashè in her car after dropping me off in front of the federal secondary school in Onikan.

Well, go in, girl, she yelled in her usual squeaky tone. She knew exactly how I felt—awkward. I was unable to move for a few long moments after Ashè dropped me off. Similarly, she was unable to move her car forward because of the heavy traffic as parents dropped their children in front of the school compound.

I finally walked inside, conscious of every step I made and every pair of eyes that looked my way. I was searching for a familiar face, someone to talk to, but found none. I finally got to the principal’s office, which was my first point to report to before I would be led to my office. The principal was absent from the room, but her secretary addressed me.

Mrs Denrele is on her way to the assembly hall, so you might have to check back for her later, but I can direct you to the guidance and counselling staff room if you would like me to, said the secretary.

That would be nice, I responded as I followed her.

It was a big school with five guidance counsellors. I made the sixth and I was to advise the second-year students, as the previous counsellor in my position had been transferred to another federal school. The reason was unknown to me, and at that moment, I didn’t care to know. My school was confined within eight acres of land, beautified with colourful flowers and trees, and there were seven main buildings. Six of the buildings belonged to the different arms of classes. The seventh was the administrative building, which included the teacher’s staff rooms and classrooms for practical courses like the home economics studio, technical studio, art studio, and so on. The principal’s office was a simple bungalow connected to the administrative building. Close to the entrance of the school was a field for sports and games, and beside it was the assembly hall where all the students and staff were presently assembled.

I was