Izuchukwu

You will fall in love with an Igbo Man.

Izuchukwu.

His pink lips drowns the brightness of his black skin. Lips full, caressed by a moustache he tickles when he stares at you. On those times of the day he speaks English, his mouth spills out words deeply submerged into a jar of our Igbo language.

He is gap toothed too, it gives his home trained tongue the opportunity to roll out “nne” with a glowing ease of our rich Igbo accent.

Chai! Igbo’amaka !

He will call you “nwa”.
Anticipate. It would be during those nights when his breaths are heavy and warm, when his arms capture you beneath his soothing thrusts, when sweat drills through his forehead as he labours to please you inside. Then his whispers will sock your lobes, in your clouds you will understand what it means to call you “nwa” in such pleasure.

Izu will hold you like a trophy, his pride. You will hear him tell his friends “Lekwanu babym, asa nwa”.

Follow his pace, run with his speed. He will propose marriage to you in a local joint that holds pot bellied men, a place where palm wine and isiewu is bae, on that night, the background sound of Osadebe’s tunes will rock your love for him to its highest frequency. You will say yes, then you will be qualified to earn the pet name “obim ” or “mummy’m”.

Least I forget, on the day you will birth his child, your child too. Izu will grace the hospital with his Ndi’ichie. He will pace the lengths of the corridor, praying to his chi and scanning his mind for the best gift to welcome you into motherhood.

You are Nwunye Odogwu, life will come soft for you because Izu will fight hardship off your. Motherhood won’t be just you, it will be his mother, your mother, his sisters, your sisters, aunties and distant relatives and friends.
Then, on the day you christen your child he will look you in the eye, wrap his arms around your waist and say “mummy’m Dalu o!”.

You will fall in love with an Igbo man.
Izuchukwu.