Anulika

Dear Anuli,

When you introduced Okosisi to me, you didn’t call him a mortician; you said he was one of the men with an office behind our health centre. You didn’t say that this udara ocha with irises the color of the sun had his hands in a business I fear?

There are two offices behind the Umuora health centre. One is the one Mma calls “officili,” where we send our breathless relatives to find soothing until the monies we task ourselves are complete for a funeral. The other one is Dr. Odumu’s office, a mini private clinic. I hear he is sent youth corpers every year from Enugu—corper doctors. So when you said Okosisi works behind the health centre, my mind didn’t run beyond what you told me. I held firm to my thought that he was probably one of those doctors they sent from Enugu.

Nwanne, Okosisi has dug my insides with his fingers. The same fingers have made me water recklessly, and with those same fingers, he spread my labia open and drank from my juice. I forgot my home training the night he had me trapped under his masculinity. I behaved like an Akunakuna; I licked the very fingers he dipped inside me, and rolled my tongue across his broad chest. The night was a good shield, who would have believed I would satisfy a man that tall? 

Anuli,  the same fingered that filled me are the same ones that have laddered the bodies of those we will no longer see?

Chai Chineke nnam ooo!

I hear they never wear gloves, that they tear up femoral arteries with bare hands and feed the bodies with formaldehyde.

Anulika, idi very wicked.

How do I move on with life knowing that I have shared my insides with a man who cares for our long-gone relatives without even a pair of gloves? 

Read this letter with your legs in my shoes. Don’t you dare roll your eyes because you tricked me.

Anuli, idi wicked.