LOVE BEYOND BLOOD Episode 1

My name is Shewa, and my life has always been simple. Every morning before the sun became too hot, I would tie my apron and stand beside my mother in her small amala and gbegiri shop. The shop sat by the roadside, noisy with passing buses and shouting conductors. The smell of fresh gbegiri and hot stew filled the air, and customers came in their numbers some kind, some impatient, some proud.

I wasn’t ashamed of helping my mother. In fact, I was proud. It was our means of survival. But there was one thing I struggled with my English. I spoke it badly, mixing Yoruba with broken sentences. Whenever I spoke, people laughed politely or corrected me, and each correction felt like a small cut to my confidence.

Then Kola started coming.

From the very first day, I noticed he avoided me. If I tried to take his order, he would wave me away and call my mother instead. At first, I thought maybe he just preferred older people. But one afternoon, when my mother stepped out briefly, I attended to him. As I spoke, stumbling over my words, his face tightened with irritation.

“Please, can your mother serve me?” he said sharply.

The words burned. Not because he asked, but how he asked like I was an embarrassment.

From that day, he made it clear he didn’t like me attending to him. And I noticed why. It wasn’t my face. It wasn’t my attitude. It was my English.

Something inside me hardened. If he didn’t like me, then I wouldn’t like him either. I started responding coldly whenever he came around. I served him with silence, sometimes with sharp looks. If he complained, I didn’t care. In my heart, I had already labeled him proud and wicked.

Yet, he kept coming back.

Day after day. Week after week.

Sometimes, our eyes would meet, and for a brief second, I wondered why someone who disliked me so much never stopped coming to our shop. Life has a funny way of keeping people around, even when they clash.

At night, after closing the shop, I would lie on my mat and replay everything in my head. His words. His tone. My broken sentences. I hated that I cared. I hated that his dislike made me feel small.

Continue reading Episode 2