Three categories of women belong to this club, called ‘’Kiridi’’ which translated into English language means ‘What is in a husband?’ Members are referred to as Kiridis while their greetings and responses are twofold. Greeting: ‘Every Problem,’ Response: ‘Has Solution’ and ‘When the soup gets soured‘ the response will be ‘The face squeezes’. They are addressed with the prefix “Kir” for example Kir Philo, Kir Marvelous, Kir Jane, Kir Susan etc. Addressing them without attaching the prefix “Kir” to their names, especially when you are a member, attracts a fine of N1,000.
Membership is drawn from divorcees, women driven out of their matrimonial homes by their erstwhile husbands as a result of bareness, infidelity, unbearable nagging, being chronic liabilities, and women who voluntarily left their husbands as a result of battering, the inability of their husbands to satisfy them sexually and financially, or their husbands’ unbearable number of side-chicks, excess drunkenness. Another category of this group is the young and vibrant widows; single mothers who chose not to live under the same roof with any man for reasons best known to them; women suffering all alone without help from their husbands etc. This last group of women has the consent of their husbands, to do whatever they like, provided their families can feed.
The Gist
Maxwell was at the Asaba/Onitsha New Road Motor Park at Umunede to join a vehicle when he met Suzan and sat on the empty seat next to her. He was returning to Asaba from the recent Igwe festival held at Umunede. Susan was chewing gum, though decently, not like some girls who do it with all their mouth opened; or laugh with all their teeth displayed, even when they have ugly dentition.
She looks beautiful but appear to be arrogant and proud, a trait Maxwell was able to glean when she tried to reject the N200 note that the bus conductor handed to her. She threw the money at him, asking him if she looked like one who receives notes that are supposed to be out of circulation as a result of their torn and dirty nature.
Susan, despite the conductor’s pleading with her to hold it first perhaps a cleaner note would get to her before she disembarks at the Ezenei Iunction, refused to shift grounds and insisted on getting a better N200 note immediately.
When the relative peace in the bus was lost to hot arguments coming from Susan, the conductor and other passengers who tried to calm her down, a man sitting behind us in the 18-seater bus, brought a N200 note and gave to her so that everyone in the bus would be at ease again.
As passengers in the Asaba-bound bus started disembarking at the various bus stops from Issele-Asagba, Okpanam City Gate, Airport, Basket Market, Summit junction, Old Deputy Governor etc, Susan refused to make way for a woman who pleaded with her to get down the bus first to enable her and her baby alight as she was sitting at the window’s side next to Susan. She refused, asking if the older woman was the only one who has a child.
It was when the driver, his conductor and some passengers in the bus started shouting at her that she deemed it fit to get down. When the woman and her baby came down, having been delayed by Susan, she vented her spleen on her, saying ‘Look at what a woman that says she has a child is putting on, half-naked, Ashawo-nmo’ ending it in Ika language with ‘nmo’ which means chronic prostitute.
‘It’s you and your female generation that is Ashawo’ Susan replied. Her see-through trousers were neat and revealing. Her pants that covered her rump popo mildly went further to expose the shaved rooftop of her front Appian-way.
We all in the bus guessed the clothes she was found in was actually meant for the night-runs and perhaps she left home too early and never knew daylight will still be in her ‘favour’ before she gets to Asaba where she hoped to strike that night. Still some few hours to get to night, the sun refused to go down as the day appeared to be longer.
I was the first to stop at the Old Deputy Governor junction. From there, I took a bus to ‘A’ Division Police Station to chill in one of the bars around the station.
Just as I ordered a drink and a plate of pepper soup, I looked up to the other table and saw Susan seated all alone like one waiting to see somebody. She had seen me too, waving one of her fingers and looking somehow agitated like one saying within herself ‘Is it not this man I joined the same bus with?’
She walked up to where I was now sipping my larger beer and pepper soup. ‘Where you not the man I joined the same bus with to Asaba from Umunede that dropped off before me not quite long?’
‘You’re right. So, it’s here you were coming?’
‘Yes. But the lady I’m calling to let her know I’m already in Asaba is not picking up her calls” Susan said.
What would have led to a long-drawn silence was broken suddenly when she requested I fix her up with what I was taking. I called the bar attendant and she was served what she requested.
‘I’m Susan. I come to Asaba to see my friend. We belong to the same club and were classmates in the college. Do you live in Asaba, or did you just come for a visit just the same way I did?
‘I’m Maxwell; I live and work in Asaba. You say you belong to the same club with your friend?’
‘Yes.’
‘What club is that? Is it Rotary or Lions Club?’
‘Ours is Kiridi. It’s an all-female social club. When I finish taking my pepper soup and drink, I will tell you more about the club. I don’t want pepper to go the wrong way.’
It was already 8 p.m. when her friend picked up her call for the first time and told her she was at home and should start coming immediately. This time we had both emptied six bottles of their contents, with four plates of pepper soup.
Being tipsy to a point, she was able to lure me away. Where I was taken to by Susan was far from where I reside; Akwuose down town Power-line area of Asaba, on the Asaba-Ughelli Expressway.
It was a two-bedroom flat with a large sitting room that was moderately decorated. The wild-whirling fan and the air-conditioner were busy at work. And it helped me a great deal.
Susan’s friend, Medlyn, as she later introduced her to me, asked Susan in their native language where she got me. Thank God I did not tell Susan where I came from at that time. And when it was time to find out, I told her I was from a place she would never believe I understood their language. Everything about my identity was concealed because I knew they were up to something. They were oblivious to the fact that I understood it and that it was my own very native language. I just concentrated on the bottle of beer and the big fish from the stew Medlyn offered me, pretending I didn’t understand what they were both saying.
‘Susan, I know you were the one that brought him. But you’re not going to have him alone. He will have both of us. Thank God the bed is wide enough.’
‘When have we started sharing men again? I brought him to service me, and no other person than me. Invite your own to come nah?’
‘He travelled. But Susan, I won’t be happy if I don’t have this guy with you. Will I be hearing you guys’ knacking and nobody by my side to be doing the same to me? You don’t have to be selfish over this, abeg.’
‘Are you sure this one (referring to Maxwell) will be able to do anything worthy of a man? This one that appears half drunk?’ Susan asked.
‘You never can tell. Some men get fully charged up the moment they are a bit tipsy and knack dull moments out of you, assuming you are the dull type.’
‘We shall see how far he can go. Ask him to go and shower, or do we do it together?’
‘That will be better’ agreed Susan.
This time, Maxwell told Sunday Romp, their whole conversation now was in the English language.
In the bathroom, they both fiddled with Maxwell’s Waist-hammer, his major working tool. Susan, holding the tool in admiration, then drag it half into her mouth, while Maxwell’s two hands gave gentle squeezes to Medlyn’s boobs that were still firm, fresh and succulent despite years of subjection to men’s caresses.
Back from the bathroom, the real journey began. Susan was first to surrender herself to Maxwell’s intimidating weapon that swam deep- deep into her deep blue sea also called Orekwoh.
Since her 11 years of marriage to her husband before disengaging from him to join the Kiridi Club, she had never received any cane that whipped her close to her womb from her under-bridge. It was full, filled the space, ramming in with confidence and hitting the real knob. She felt it; it was aiming directly at the very point she had always craved, but hardly saw any man that got there. She held on tight to Maxwell, while Medlyn begged for a quick cum from both so that she would herself be mounted; for her thoughts were already going scattered, lewdly and craving badly for engagement.
When Susan heaved a sigh of relief, spoke in her native language ‘I have never seen this type of Orekwoh, and Maxwell collapsed on Susan after the prolonged swimming, Medlyn knew it was her turn to take on Maxwell. But she had to give him some time to relax to avoid any possible casualty.
Medlyn had watched both of them as they journeyed into love land, with uncontrollable emotions and had yearned and craved for immediate engagement by Maxwell. But Maxwell was at work with Susan and cannot answer two calls at a time.
Watching him closely as Susan lay sprawled on the settee, Medlyn got hold of his shaft which was trying to regain its strength after the encounter it had with Susan. Medlyn picked it up, admiring it, while the owner stared at the ceiling. It was the type of hackler she had always wanted to slide into her quim.
‘I need to have a monopolistic hold on Maxwell. I love his Kweke. Even as it is recovering from fatigue occasioned by its long swimming, it is still nodding with energy. I’ll take his phone number, snatch her from Susan, and spoil him with money; I’ll make him my main man. I swear. I don’t care if he is married. I’ll, by all means, make him my personal property; after all, I’m a member of Kiridi Social Club, and added to that was the naked fact that I had my husband snatched from me by a girl in this town.’
Medlyn’s experience with Maxwell made her relocate from Asaba to a neighbouring town within the Asaba Capital Territory, moving with Maxwell whom she bought a car to enable him to go to his work, while she blocked Susan’s two contacts. She had had furious banging that lasted for nearly 45 minutes that left her boulevard with squeaking sounds and endless cum from this non-slacker called Maxwell. Do we call it betrayal, or sexual madness? Let me know, please.
