Koo Hima The Bossman
©Cobby Grant: Episode 1
Koo Hima sighed contentedly as he surveyed his sleeping wife lying asleep on the bed. He counted himself a lucky man indeed as he looked at her exposed, sleek thigh, glowing from the moonlight that shone through the open windows of their bedroom.
He smiled ruefully as he glanced at his slightly heavy tummy and mentally shook his head. It’s been five years since he tied the knot with his wife, Judith, and she has remained the same in body and soul, despite giving birth to a son.
They had gone through a lot of trials and problems, same like any other ordinary married couple, and they had come out of them all, largely unscathed.
He remembered his days as a happy-go-lucky truck driver who had felt he had a rightful claim to every woman he set his eyes on. And then of the days before his return to sanity when he landed his job with an upstream Oil Company: And also of how by divine providence, he had reconnected with Judith after a long and difficult period of separation.
Now, he owned his own logistics company, having been encouraged by his former employers to do so when it became evident that the local operators they dealt with were proving to be not very efficient with their lackadaisical approach to business and suffice it to say that their confidence in him had been justified.
He was now worth millions of dollars and was regarded as a respected opinion leader in society.
His success had not gone to his head but had spurred him on to seek perfection and attain success in all he did.
In his reverie, with eyes glued on his wife’s exposed thighs, he sort of drifted into a semi-conscious state.
Judith turned and, with the awareness that he wasn’t holding her in his arms, opened her eyes and saw him in the dim light, his back resting on the head of the bed, looking down at her.
She gave him a sweet smile, and when she didn’t get the usual response, tapped him on his arms to get him awake.
“You seem to be devouring me with your eyes,” she said lightly when he came to.
He smiled but said nothing.
She arched her eyes questioningly at him.
He saw the question and replied, “I was just reflecting on things”, he said slightly and slid back into bed.
She went into his arms, placing her head on his chest as they slept, relishing the comfort of each other’s arms.
It was daytime soon, and Judith, just when she was relishing the feelings of the contact of flesh with her husband that comes with the onset of dawn, was startled out of her comfort zone by knocks on the door. They were persistent and impatient. She smiled and gently got out of bed, careful not to disturb her darling husband.
“Mama, you promised to prepare me Tom Brown today,” Kwame, their 3-year-old son, said as soon as he stepped into the room.
“Lower your voice. Daddy is asleep,” she said softly to him as she coaxed him out of the bedroom. She glanced at the old-fashioned alarm clock she had refused to part with despite her obvious rise on the social and financial ladder. It was 05:45 am.
She looked down at her son, a spitting image of his father.
Sometimes she even gets overwhelmed by how identical the father and son were. In looks, mannerisms and even with their voice and language structure, even though Kwame was just developing.
She had promised him Tom Brown, just to get him to go to bed last night, and obviously, the boy had taken her to her word.
Later, as Koo Hima and Kwame Hima left for work and school, respectively, Judith sat at the dining table, a contented and satisfied look on her face as she sipped her mug of Milo. She didn’t share the passion for Tom Brown as much as the rest of her family did.
She heard a car drive into her driveway at an insane speed and screech to a stop.
“This can only be Adiza,” she said to herself as she got up to prepare for the storm that was about to enter.
Adiza, having parked her red convertible Benz, zoomed into the house, wearing a long dress that covered the whole length of her body. She also had a silk hijab on as required of a married Islamic woman.
She removed the hijab on entering the living room, threw it onto the sofa irritably and rushed into the kitchen, ignoring Judith, her hostess.
Judith followed her to the kitchen and took the bowl she had picked up in her attempt to dish herself some of the Tom Brown.
“Good morning to you too, and what are you doing in my kitchen?” she asked as she dished her friend some of the Tom Brown, adding milk and groundnuts.
“Don’t you have cake?” Adiza asked after grabbing a spoon.
“How’s Alhaji doing?” Judith asked as she cut and buttered a piece of bread for her, sensing that something was eating her up.
Adiza said nothing as she bit into her bread, slightly smearing her lips with some butter.
Judith sat quietly and watched her friend eat and lick the bowl clean as she usually did, and placed the bowl in the sink.
“Hey, do I look like your maid?” Judith said, half-jokingly as she followed her to the living room.
She actually had a great likeness for Adiza, and they bonded well despite her having some history with Koo Hima.
She said nothing more as she sat down facing her friend, whose face was now a picture of fury, misery and anger.
“Zongo gerrs don’t cry o,” Judith said, trying to get her out of her shell.
“Alhaji wants to marry another wife,” she hissed furiously, clenching her fists.
“Ohh, but why?” she said, feeling sorry for her friend even though she knew their religion and culture allowed it.
“It’s all because I have been pretending to moan and faking orgasms; he thinks he is the best stud in the world.”
Judith whooped with laughter despite seeing her friend’s obvious distress.
“The idiot thinks he is the ninth wonder of the world and Allah’s best gift to womanhood just because I have been praising and thanking him for his two-minute lovemaking,” she said and smiled brightly at Judith.
The laughter that had been forming around her lips escaped, and she laughed so hard that for a moment she couldn’t breathe.
That was Adiza for you. Never a dull moment with her around.
#readforlifefoundation#
It’s time for a refill…
Story shared with author Cobby Grant’s permission.
