“Jump. Walk to the edge and jump.”
He was with a tour group at the
rooftop of the Empire State building. It
was a whopping 381m from tip to
ground; 81m higher than the Eiffel
Tower. He ignored the voice and
pretended to listen to the tour guide.
Fortunately, none of the other tourists
were telepathic, so nobody could hear
the silky smooth yet self-destructive
urgings in the depths of his
subconscious. He paid no heed to it,
but nonetheless, he steered clear of the
guard rails and outer edges of the roof.
A few minutes later, the group entered
a lift and descended the lofty building.
He was safe…for now.
Lagos, 7 years later
Dozie weaved his way through the
bustling melee of travellers, visitors
and airport personnel. His luggage
made it easier because it had 360⁰
directional wheels and pre-collision
detection.
His plane had just touched down from
Port Harcourt and he made straight
for the exit. Dozie walked past other
travellers waiting anxiously at the
baggage carousel and smiled to
himself. He relished travelling light. It
was the only way he could take his bag
into the main cabin.
God knows how much he hated
watching bags loll lazily on the
carousel while he and other travellers,
like expectant parents at a school gate,
strained to recognise theirs. It was
even worse if he had a bag that looked
like ten others. Whenever he travelled
with family, such things were Ugochi’s
forte.
As he entered a taxi, he wondered how
Ugee (pronounced You-jii) was faring.
Sometimes, their two boys could be a
handful, and his occasional trips to the
Garden City didn’t make it any easier.
“Parkview Estate, Ikoyi,” He told the
driver as they left the airport.
Ugee’s Story
Ugee had never done it before, but
there was always a first time for
everything. In her five years of
marriage- even long before- baking
was never really her thing. She could
whip up a chicken casserole or cook
delicious rich Egusi soup (Dozie’s
favourite) without breaking a sweat.
But here she was, struggling with a red
velvet cake recipe.
“Use one bottle of McCormick red food
colour,” said the YouTube cook. “Be
careful, you’ll also want to gauge the
quantity of cake, so don’t overflood it,”
the internet chef warned.
Ugee poured the colouring into the
doughy mixture, her eyes never
leaving the computer screen. Her
concentration was suddenly broken by
two loud toddlers. The younger one
ran behind her legs, trying to hide
from his brother, forcing Ugee to drop
the whole bottle of colouring into the
bowl.
“Oh no!” She groaned. Can’t you both
stay calm for one minute? I beg you,
just one MINUTE!” She yelled.
The rambunctious kids couldn’t be
bothered. She might have as well been
speaking to herself. Chuma, the first
son, ran back into the living room,
giggling loudly. He was immediately
followed by an also-giggling Ebuka, the
younger one, oblivious to the
‘accident’ he had caused.
Ugee took out the dough-covered
McCormick bottle and set it on the sink
for rinsing. The bowl of dough was a
now a deep pool of scarlet colouring.
She stared at it, wondering what to do
next. Apparently, the online chef
didn’t have a playbook for how to
bake with boisterous children around.
The doorbell rang. She knew it was
Dozie, and she hadn’t got anywhere
with the cooking. She would have to
warm last night’s leftovers.
“Daddy!” the boys ran to the door,
excited.
“Hey, champs!” He said, lifting both
children in his arms.
He pecked Ugee on the lips.
“How was the conference?” She asked.
“You know, same ol’. But I’m glad to
be home.” He replied
Dozie’s Story
It was with a fleeting feeling of dread
that he rang the doorbell. He could
hear his boys running to the door and
his heart skipped a beat. Remember
what she said, he told himself. He took
a deep breath and broke into a smile
when door opened.
His two sons were the first to greet
him, his wife followed behind.
“How was your trip?” She asked.
“It was great, but nothing beats being
back home,” he replied and kissed her.
Somehow, he wished he could be more
truthful with Ugee.
Something nice was cooking in the
kitchen. He put his sons down and
took his bag upstairs to the bedroom.
He sat on the bed and looked at the
family portrait on the dresser.
Everybody looked happy, even he. He
shook his head and began to take off
his shoes.
The boys were causing a ruckus
downstairs. He could hear them.
Sometimes, he wondered how Ugee
coped with them. They could drive
anybody mad. Shoes off, he lay back
on the bed and sighed. The events of
his trip replayed in his mind for the
umpteenth time. He was supposed to
tell Ugee, but, how could he? He knew
she was understanding, but this was
complicated. It had toppled several
strong marriages before, why would
his’ be different?
At that moment, Chuma and Ebuka
burst into the room, shouting at the
top of their voices.
“Daddy! Dadddddyyyy!”
Chuma mounted the wheeled-luggage
and rode it along the bedroom floor,
drawing faint lines in the tiled
flooring, while Ebuka hopped on the
bed and tugged at his hair. That was
the last straw. He decided he needed a
drive to cool off.
Ugee’s Story
She saw him descend the stairs. He has
showered already? The soup hadn’t
even thawed completely.
“I’m going to get new light bulbs. The
one in the bathroom is out,” he told
her.
“Okay, don’t be long. Lunch will be
ready in 20.”
He was about stepping out when she
called him.
“What?”
“Can you take the boys with you?
They’ve been cooped indoors all day.
Plus, I need to get them out of my hair
for a bit.” She pleaded.
“Umm…sure.” He answered.
Ugee couldn’t help detecting a tinge of
reluctance. In the past few months,
Dozie had been somewhat distant.
Tuned off- like his true emotions were
hiding behind a shallow façade of false
expressions and insincere responses. It
was probably work and nothing more.
When they left, she put the soup on the
burner and resumed her red velvet
cake. Instead of cream cheese, she
opted for Heritage frosting on the
layers. That should add a delicious
twist, she thought to herself. The cake
was going to turn out nice after all, she
smiled.
Dozie’s story
Dozie drove towards Lekki. He wasn’t
sure exactly where he was going, but
he just wanted to leave the house. He
found it ironic that Ugee should saddle
him with the kids when they were the
reason he was ‘escaping’ the house in
the first place.
He spied them in the back seat through
the rear-view mirror. They were calm
now, but it didn’t stop him from being
uneasy.
Dozie’s problem, as he reasoned, was
truly complicated. About seven years
ago he had suffered a mental
breakdown. He wasn’t sure of the
cause, but doctors treated him for
stress and anxiety. It seemed to
disappear not too long after he met
Ugee because he was happy. She had
brought succour to his life.
However, he suspected his mental
troubles hadn’t completely vanished,
but merely lay shackled beneath layers
of his subconscious, like a three-tiered
red velvet cake with a bitter twang.
Unfortunately, he was right. The birth
of his two sons triggered the same
stress and anxiety he suffered before.
Only few months ago, it unleashed the
voice, and once again, he could hear it.
Soft, persuasive and dangerous; the
urging tone of his inner demons.
At first, he tried to ignore its
beckoning. But as pressure increased,
he began to give in to the voice’s self-
destructive desires.
A few months ago, he was boiling
water for tea and it urged him to place
his hand over the burner. Put it in
there, heat yourself a bit. Burn, just
burn. It urged. Later, when Ugee asked
him about his bandaged palm, he
brushed it off as a minor accident.
Not too long after that, he was
chopping carrots for salad when it
emerged from the recesses of his mind.
Dark and sinister, but insistent. Stab
yourself in the eye , it suggested. Stab
deep! For five seconds, he held the
pointed tip of the blade in front of his
right eye, as if in a hypnacogic battle
with his mind. But Chuma walked into
the kitchen, and he quickly snapped
out of the trance.
That was when he decided to seek
professional help. Somebody
recommended a physician in Port
Harcourt. It was important for the
doctor to be far away. He couldn’t
bear the stigma if his friends, or God
forbid his wife, knew he was seeing a
psychiatric professional. Ugee believed
his occasional trips to Port Harcourt
were business-led.
During his last trip, Ms Aboyade, his
physician, had told him to come clean
about his mental health history to his
wife. But he didn’t know how to. How
would he even start the conversation,
he wondered?
Ugee’s Story
The food was ready and set on the
table. It was over 30 minutes since
Dozie left the house with the children.
He hadn’t returned. Ugee wondered
what could be keeping them.
Dozie’s Story
Having been stuck in one place for too
long, the boys in the back seat began
to get antsy. (They were strapped in
child safety seats).
“Daddy put Minions!” said Chuma,
motioning to DVD screen.
Dozie shook his head. This wasn’t some
leisure drive. Besides, Minions was not
on this car’s cartoon collection.
“Not here Chuma, when we get home.”
“But I want Minions NOW!” The boy
yelled, belying his small size with a
high-pitched tone.
“You can’t see it here. You’ll have to
wait till we get home,” Dozie repeated
firmly.
“Ohhhhhhh!” Chuma screamed and
broke into a tantrum in the back seat.
Ebuka, who had been quiet until now,
also began to cry. Whenever his older
brother cried, he did the same. It was
as if they shared some kind of unseen
crying bond together.
God! Dozie thought. He had no idea his
children were this spoiled. No thanks
to Ugee, he assumed. The car was now
too loud for comfort and it was
starting to agitate him. Nothing good
happened whenever he was agitated.
Then he felt it. He always knew when
it was about to surface.
First, goose bumps would break out on
his arms and back, followed by a
sinking, enveloping feeling. The voice
was emerging, and at a very bad time.
“Keep quiet!” He shouted at his kids.
But it only made them bawl louder.
End it now, right here. Drive off the
ledge , his subconscious whispered
soothingly.
They were currently on Lekki-Ikoyi
link bridge. It was persuasive. He tried
to fight it, but the urge was too strong.
Instead, he felt his foot push harder on
the pedal. He had increased speed.
Yes, faster. It encouraged. Drive into
the Lagoon. Now!
Dozie shut his eyes to ward off the
voice, but it was in his head- loud and
clear.
The voice increased urgency. It’s easy,
just drive into that guard rail. Do it!!
Dozie looked back at his boys, as if in
finality, and drove towards the guard
rail at top speed.
Ms Aboyade’s Story
It was now well over an hour since her
husband and sons had left the house.
Ugee called Dozie’s phone several
times but couldn’t get a response. She
was beginning to worry.
What could have happened? Why
wouldn’t Dozie answer his phone?
The house phone rang.
That must be them, Ugee thought,
hurrying to answer it.
“Hello, Dozie?” She was anxious.
“Hello, um…Mrs Ekezie?” It was a
woman on the other end.
“Yes, this is she. Who’s this, please?”
Ugee replied, disappointed and
impatient.
“I am Ms Aboyade, your husband’s
therapist…has he arrived home yet?”
“I don’t understand. Dozie doesn’t
have a therapist.”
“I’m sorry madam, but I have been
treating your husband for the past
four months.”
Ugee’s hands trembled. What?
“I believe Mr Ekezie has become a
danger to himself and those around
him. During our last meeting [this
weekend], he revealed typical self-
harm behaviour. The session ended
quite abruptly, so I thought it would be
important to check up on him. Is he
home now?”
Ugee wanted to brush it off as some
prank call, but she knew this woman
wasn’t lying. Dozie had been off lately.
But she didn’t think it was serious.
“Hello? Mrs Ekezie, is your husband
back from his trip?” The therapist
inquired again.
“Yes, but he went out with the kids—”
The kids!
Ugee quickly dropped the phone and
grabbed her car keys from the living
room console. She nearly knocked
down a flower pot as she reversed out
of the driveway and sped out, in
search of Dozie and her children.
Ugee’s Story
The pieces finally began to fall in
place. It was clear now. The emotional
unavailability, his quick irritability
and frequent absence. The signs were
all there, but she had refused to
acknowledge them.
In a society, where mental health
disorder was a taboo, it was easy to
dismiss it as the last point of
consideration- if at all. But Dozie
seemed perfectly normal, how could he
be affected? She wondered.
Sure, the past year had been tough,
with work pressure and all, but was it
that bad? The problem was that Dozie
rarely opened to her. She almost
always had to pry every information
out of him- especially his personal
problems. Ugee said a short prayer
and hoped her boys were okay.
She had been driving for ten minutes
now. She didn’t have a clue where she
was going, but she was on Lekki-Ikoyi
Link bridge. As she drove on, she saw
Dozie’s Maroon-coloured Ford on the
other side of the bridge, close to the
edge the rail. The driver’s door was
open.
Ugee quickly parked her car and ran
across the road, stopping only to scale
the divider. The first thing she checked
was the back-seat. Thankfully, her
boys were safe. They were surprisingly
calm. She looked around and saw
Dozie sitting on the kerb, curiously
studying his hands.
“I stopped just on time,” he told her. “I
stopped.” He repeated, his eyes tearing
up.
Ugee sat on the kerb beside him. “Ms.
Aboyade called me.”
Dozie looked at her.
“So you know?” He asked, a tear
dropped to the ground, wetting the
sandy pavement.
She nodded, “Yes”.
He began to sob. “I don’t understand
it, Ugee. Why me?”
She hugged him and he cried into her
chest.
“It’s okay dear, you are not alone
anymore.” She reassured. “You are not
alone.”
The sun was beginning to dip in the
horizon as cars zoomed by. A few
fitness enthusiasts jogged past them
without so much as a glance. Certain
sights were no longer unusual in
Lagos- not even a man sitting by the
roadside and crying in a woman’s
arms.
THE END
