The Vision

Chika Unigwe

It was tough growing up in Enugu. It was tougher growing up as one out of five close-in-age girls . It was toughest growing up in Enugu, one out of five close-in-age girls , and the daughter of a father who made a sport of cleaning out his hunting gun whenever a gentleman-caller called for any of his daughters.It was difficult convincing my male friends that Daddy had never even shot a squirrel with that gun let alone a full grown human. I told Obi, the latest in the long line of male guests to get the "gun treatment":

"He means no harm. He just enjoys it."

"I don't think so. He handles that gun like he would love to aim at my crotch."

I never saw him again.

Between my father and my more beautiful, smarter sisters, it was a hard job finding a man interested in me and keeping him. I was tired of explaining my father's weird hobby. I gave up on men.

And then I met Chris. Chris was everything I had ever hoped for and more. He was tall. I love tall men. He was dark. Just the right shade of cocoa. He was well-built , with arms that looked like they could uproot an Iroko tree. Chris was the very first man that I was determined to fight for. Fight to keep with everything I had.

Chris seemed to like me. At my best-friend's birthday party where I met him, he had asked me twice to dance. He did not mind that I had two left feet which constantly stepped on his black patent-leather shoes. When he whispered that he would like to see me again, I sailed on the moon. But I felt obliged to caution
him about my father.

"I should warn you. My father always shines his gun in the presence of male callers."

" Really? Why?"

"I don't know."

"I guess everyone has a hobby."

His reaction relieved me.

Chris came to visit me the very next day. And the next. Very soon, we were an item.

By the time we had dated for a year, I was convinced I wanted to spend the rest
of my life with him.

I threw hints recklessly at him, stopping to admire every couple we passed who looked remotely married. I regaled him with stories of every happy married couple I knew. I cut out every magazine article which featured the scientifically proven benefits of marriages. Yet time passed swiftly but Chris did not ask me to marry him.

When I wistfully proclaimed that I would love to have my own babies, he grunted about how messy his baby sister was. Whenever I caught the bouquet at friends' weddings, he laughed at "that imported tradition."

Still, I loved Chris and could not imagine spending my life with anyone but him. However, it became clear to me that I had to take drastic measures to get him to propose to me.

There is something about Chris you should know. He was a born-again Christian and believed strongly that God uses dreams to send us messages. I have always been cynical of this but I decided to manipulate his belief to my good. One Saturday morning, I went to visit Chris, wearing a serious look on my face.

"Ada, what's wrong?" he asked as soon as he saw me. He was dressed in a blue overcoat . I fixed a solemn stare at a framed picture of Chris at an angelic six, hanging on the cream living-room wall.

"I have come with a message" I said in a voice I thought must sound prophetic enough.. "A message from God."

I moved to a brown leather couch and sat down. I motioned to Chris to sit across from me.

"I had a dream last night in which I heard the voice of God. He called me three times, Ada! Ada! Ada! I answered, "Yes, my Lord" He showed me a huge mountain and on that mountain you stood. He said to me. "behold, there is thine husband. Asketh him to marry thee". Then He disappeared in a puff of smoke."

I was sure I had just delivered a winning performance, even remembering my "thine" and "thee." I felt somewhat guilty that I had to lie with God's name to get Chris to marry me. I took a look at Chris, at his perfectly-shaped head and I shook off the guilt like a pair of dirty work-clothes I could not wait to remove.

Chris looked at me long and hard. Then he got up and told me in a barely-there voice, "well, if it is God's will, surely, He will appear to me too. Tonight I will pray over it and let you know. "

The next morning, Chris stood at my doorstep. He looked like a picture in his blue jeans. Standing half way between the front door and the balcony, he announced to me that he too had had a dream. My heart did a wild acrobatic dance. He started, his voice coming out in spurts, like boiling water, "God came to me in a dream and showed me to you standing on a mountain top." He paused. I made a mental note of the wedding dress I wanted. I wondered which of my two best friends I should ask to be my maid of honour. Then from somewhere far away, I heard Chris continued, "the Lord called me and told me, Chris, behold that lady. Keep away from her." I stood rooted in shock, unable to move while Chris told me he knew I had lied about the vision. As he turned and walked away, I knew he would never forgive me.