RED STREAMS

I woke up that beautiful morning thinking about the activities of the day when I heard a shout from my neighbour’s house. Though not my first time hearing the scream, but I did what I always do. – mind my business, have a bath, get dressed, eat breakfast, grab a hand full of peanuts and chips and throw them into my mouth, run to my TV stand to get my car keys and zoom off to work.

But this time, it was different. The shout was unusual. It was as though I heard my name from the house. I tried my best to ignore the shout until I heard it again. This time I heard clearly. It was my name. I quickly ran out to check on my neighbours. I knocked at the door once, moved close to place my ears on the door trying to figure out what was going on inside. I could only hear some moaning.

Did I spoil the family’s time, Did I stop them from having their morning fun as a couple? Well, she must be in her best mood I said to myself. I decided to go back to my apartment when I heard the sound again. This is not the sound of pleasure I thought, it is different. It’s been four years but I could still differentiate when I hear sounds of pleasure and pain. The one I hear is of pain.

This time I knocked again, angrily and frightened. The door’s handle moved then I saw him. Dark, huge, with dreamy eyes, half dimple, wearing a white vest and zebra like jogger. His lips looked slimy and adoring like that of a new born. Then he smiled “Good morning my neighbour, how can I help you”? I was trying to catch my breath and put my words together then I spoke calmly as though I’d been poured a bucket of rose “ermm I heard a shout so I came to see if all is well”.

He quickly said “oh yes, all is well” and banged the door right on my face. I came so suspicious of him, went upstairs, got my phone and placed a call across to 211. The Nigeria Police emergency number. Luckily it went through at one dial, that was very unusual I thought. I told them there was an emergency.

While I waited for their arrival, I kept wondering why I heard and could still hear my name. The emergency squad arrived 30mins later looking like they were coming in from a battlefield.


Madam, what is the emergency? they asked. I took them to my neighbour’s house and told them someone has been calling my name. It sounded crazy but they had to go ahead to knock. No one answered after 5mins of banging and threats from the Police. Madam, they called out to me again. “Are you sure someone is in this house”? I said “yes”. He opened the door 45mins before your arrival. I saw him. And he has not left the compound.



After a while, they forced the door open and I saw her. I saw her lying in a pool of Red Streams that was created by her own body. He was nowhere to be found. He killed her! He killed Onyema his wife and went through the back door.

I regret everything. I regret not going to the house anytime I heard her scream. I regret not persisting when he asked “How can I help you”? Or maybe he would have killed me too. Just maybe.



But she is gone. No one told her story, she told no one her story. What do we say happened to Onyema? Who would we ask how she managed to get stabbed by her husband? How he fled through the backdoor, how they started their journey as a couple. No one knows what happened. Not even her Best friend Nkechi.