Kisses from America

By Ikechukwu Wilson Agbor

Jasom; the narrator was a 20-year-old undergraduate when he went against the culture of their quiet provincial villages in Nigeria, to build a steadfast love with Nina, the pretty 16-year-old daughter of the senatorial candidate.

He takes you through the stern warnings of Nina's parents and how he managed to stay together with Nina.

And when the hardest test of all came; when Nina left for the United States where she was born to study, he went along with her, with high hopes. He would endure hardship after hardship in an attempt to make his way, suffering indignities and obstacles, until the joy was squeezed out of their adoration for each other, and their love careened on thin ice.

Could their love survive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Dec 20, 2005
• ISBN: 9781412235426

Ikechukwu Wilson Agbor

IKECHUKWU (IKE) WILSON AGBOR was born in Nigeria. He is a wireless telephony consulting engineer, and a member of the Institute of Electrical and Electronic Engineers. He resides in Frisco, Texas in the United States with his wife and four kids. He took time off after a successful rollout of a wireless phone network in Nigeria to write this novel and also contested for the Federal House of Representatives seat for Ohaji-Egbema/Oguta/Oru West Constituency in 2003. He figured that a lot needed to be changed in his native country. The election as usual was rigged from top down, with the connivance of the military and police who helped in abusing the power of incumbency. Election result sheets were rewritten in his presence while soldiers who were acting on instructions from "above" stood guard with guns drawn. With the elections over, he returned to the United States and continued his job and spent time in India on a wireless telephone rollout project, from where he put finishing touches on this, his first novel.

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Kisses from America

A novel by

Ikechukwu Wilson Agbor

© Copyright 2005 Ikechukwu Wilson Agbor.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents depicted in it are the product of the author’s luxuriant imagination. Any similarity to actual person living or dead, events or localities is totally coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

Note for Librarians: a cataloguing record for this book that includes Dewey Decimal Classification and US Library of Congress numbers is available from the Library and Archives of Canada. The complete cataloguing record can be obtained from their online database at: www.collectionscanada.ca/amicus/index-e.html

ISBN 1-4120-5649-7

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Contents

Acknowledgements

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2

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To Maureen for an evolving love story And to the memories of my parents, Mr. Christopher Agbor and Mrs. Paulina Agbor who gave me the gift of education

Acknowledgements

First I would like to thank my wife, Maureen and my children; Chisom, Chinaza, Chidalu and Chioma for their immense sacrifice, through the months, as this novel shaped up.

And thanks as well to my uncle Prof. Steve Oboegbulem for keeping faith with my grandfather’s wishes.

A round of thanks is also due to my uncle Cosy Agbor who has been doing a beautiful job in the home front.

An extra special nod is reserved for my brother Humphrey Agbor, for discovering the route to America.

I will also like to thank my sisters, Obiageli Onumajulu, Rose Okafor, Blessing Ogbodo, Caro, Juliet, Eukeria and brothers Darlington, Princewill and Franklin.

Thanks also to Eunice Agbor for keeping the dream alive for my nephews and nieces.

And to the entire Agbor family, I say thank you for all the support in 2003.

Finally kudos to Oha na Ndieze Ohaji, Egbema, Oguta and Oru West for the confidence they reposed in me, in the heat of April 2003.

1

Coming to reclaim my darling’s love

The phrase from the musical card Nina sent to me was ringing in my ears. I finally decided to call her after two weeks. I picked up the phone and began to press the numbers. At the first ring, I quickly changed my mind and hung up. What would she say to me? I didn’t even know how to begin a conversation without letting on how much I yearned for her.

The urge to call became intense. I desperately wanted to hear her call me Honey in her velvet-toned voice. I paced around the office, intermittently glancing at my desk to look at the project I was working on. My deadline was eight o’clock the following morning. My manager was a no-nonsense man; when he said deadline, he meant it. If I didn’t get cracking, I’d miss it.

I sat back down at my desk and pushed the phone away so that the urge to call her would recede. I resigned to seeing her on her next visit home to Nigeria. The elders had requested her to do so and she had confirmed that she would be home.

If I spoke to her now, I would give away my feelings-and that I didn’t want to do. I want to be with her… she was my whole life.

My thoughts returned to Nina’s musical card. She had said to me in the card that she would be coming home to Nigeria for my love. The thought of seeing her again ignited sparks all over my body. The weeks had turned into months without yielding a clue as to where the two of us were heading. Her card, which was dog-eared at the edges from my constant reading, hinted at a reunion.

But I was alarmed that her image was becoming hazy in my memory barely eight months after leaving her in the United States. I ignored the papers on my desk and looked up at the vacuous white ceiling, trying to conjure up her face. My thoughts shifted to the imprint of her red lips on her card. The thought of her lips, those succulent lips, stirred my passion. I looked at the report on my desk and sighed. I must work.

2

It was six years ago, when my life with Nina began. It was the rainy season but that day was different—the sun was shining and the breezes were balmy. I had gone to the home of Dr. Nkosolum, Nina’s father, in Umuhu to discuss the current political campaigns. The military was planning to relinquish power to an elected government. It was another one of those exercises Nigerians were accustomed to each time they prepared the groundwork to embrace democracy. Dr. Nkosolum was vying to become a senator representing Imo North Federal Constituency at the Senate. I needed a job for the duration of the summer holiday. Working as a campaign aide to him, like many other undergraduates who were from our constituency would be fantastic. Actually, just about any job would have been okay by me at that point. I needed money.

Dr. Nkosolum’s house served as his campaign headquarters. In Umuhu, wattle-and-daub houses thatched in raffia palm dotted the entire town, with a few zinc roof perched on high mounds of red earth. Dr. Nkosolum’s house stood alone. It was a two-story house and painted in white. Dr. Nkosolum was not at home when I arrived. A youngish boy, short with curly black hair, perhaps about eleven years old, answered the doorbell. I presumed he was Dr. Nkosolum’s son. I asked the boy if I could speak with someone to leave a message for his father. The boy hesitated a moment and then called out a name. I didn’t catch it but I heard a girl answer from afar. Then I heard her footsteps.

Standing in the doorway, I looked up and saw a young woman descending a flight of stairs. She sent a jolt down my spine. She was stunning. Jet-black hair framed her heart- shaped face, which had a palpable radiance. Her eyes were piercing brown color that gave the impression that, she could see through me. Her slender body glided as she moved, showing off the inviting curve of her breasts and the smooth outline of her rounded hips. As if she realized the effect she had on me, she flashed a smile but then her face inexplicably turned into a pout. She demanded to know whom I wanted to see. I hung onto that smile. She was just taking charge, I thought, and was good at it.

I wanted to say something, something that would express the lightning bolt I had just experienced. But how could I be so forward? I thought she looked expectant, as if she knew I had been electrified by her presence. But words would not form. Finally I mumbled something about her father without looking at her directly. Her face remained blank. I began a second time and looked straight into her eyes.

Where is your father? I asked.

I don’t know, she answered. She cut her eyes away from me toward the front door.

Do you know if he is on a campaign trail? I persisted.

I told you, I don’t know where he is.

Well, may I leave a message for him?

Without saying a word, she turned around and disappeared into another room. I waited, planning what I would say next. After what seemed like five minutes, she reappeared with a pen and paper. As she handed them over to me, she seemed anxious to leave.

Must you go so quickly? I dared to ask.

Her expression changed suddenly. Her hard look disappeared and she looked at me admiringly. I pretended to write a note for her father. Emboldened by her look, I became more confident. But I wasn’t sure what to do next. My hand squeezed around the pen. I finished scribbling. Actually, I’ll just leave this note as an introduction, I said. I’ll stop by again later this week. Maybe I can catch your father at home.

Whatever you want to do, she answered with a poker face. Her interest had vanished as quickly as it had risen. Stalling for time, I asked if I could use the guest bathroom. She pointed me down the hall. Like the rest of the house, it was decorated tastefully. Apricot-colored marble fixtures were set off by contrasting deep green towels and a rug. An enamel vase with flowers sat on the sink. I stayed in there for a few minutes, planning my next line of action and praying that she would still be in the foyer when I returned. I flushed the toilet so she would think I really used it.

As I walked back down the hall toward the front door, she was still standing there, her black hair shimmering in the sunlight that beamed in through the front hall windows. I approached her slowly. Without thinking, I reached out and gently put both my hands on her shoulders. What is your name? I asked softly. I really expected her to bolt from me but she didn’t. I slowly took my hands off her shoulders and let my arms hang down at my sides.

My name is Nineka, but everyone calls me Nina for short.

I am Jasom, Jasom Ihem, I replied, inwardly heaving a sigh of relief.

I didn’t know what else to say. Staring at her the way I was doing was of no use. Finding out her name so easily was enough progress for the day, I felt, and I had to be careful not to push my luck. I took a gulp of air and asked, If I return here again just to see you, will you talk with me? My heart was pounding.

Why would you want to come see me? And why do you think I would want to talk to you? While Nina’s face was as passive as stone, her dancing brown eyes sparkled.

I hesitated and then went for it. What did I have to lose? Well, I’ve enjoyed talking to you very much-and I would like to talk with you again.

Nina played coy. That would depend on what you want to talk about.

Just about anything, I said, grabbing at straws.

Nina flashed me a quick smile, then immediately assumed a disinterested expression. Well, let’s leave it at that until your next visit.

My instincts told me it was time to go. I said good-bye and watched as she turned around and walked away down the hallway. I quietly let myself out the front door.

On my way home I was ecstatic! My mind leapt forward. I could already feel that she would be my partner. I knew there was chemistry between us and it was instantaneous. It was a strange feeling, one that I never had before. As much as it excited me, it also scared me. After all, I didn’t know anything about her, other than that she was the daughter of the Senate candidate. What if she didn’t like me? What if she was another man’s girlfriend? I worried, yet couldn’t wait to see her again. I had an inexplicable faith that things would sort themselves out.

4

One week later, I went back to Nina’s house, under the ruse of politics and the upcoming campaign. When I arrived, the house was bubbling with campaign workers. I asked around for her, carefully selecting people younger than I, since I easily intimidated them. The older people may have questioned my motives. After all, I was supposed to be there to help on Dr. Nkosolum’s campaign, not to see a beautiful woman.

No one I asked seemed to know where she was. She could’ve been anywhere, the house was so huge. Finally I sat down and waited. It seemed like an eternity. More people trickled into the chaotic living room but I could tell from their bedraggled appearances that they were not the kind who she would be friends with. I continued waiting, praying that Nina would appear-but she did not.

About an hour after I arrived, Nina’s father entered the living room and greeted everyone. He walked energetically to the center of the room and addressed us, inspiring and charging us up. But his bodyguards created an intimidating aura; they were muscled men and watched our every move. I knew if I tried to wander around the house, they would make mincemeat out of me.

I watched closely as Dr. Nkosolum delegated people from different towns to work as his various campaign aides. When it looked like he was finished, I walked over to him and introduced myself, stressing that I was an undergraduate which was an added advantage. Surely he was aware of the campaigning potential and political clout imbued in a university student. I was right. He offered me a job within the half hour.

I left the living room where everyone was milling about like electrically charged jumping beans and walked outside. Maybe I would catch a glimpse of Nina in the gardens. I walked around the outside of the house twice. I never saw her, and in frustration, I left with only one consolation, the job I had just secured.

I returned home dejectedly. I knew I had a daunting job ahead of me with the campaign. But I was puffed up for that and fully prepared to put together campaign machinery in my town that I knew Dr. Nkosolum would be proud of. Admittedly, it would be an uphill task. As far as his candidacy was concerned, my town was likely to offer him the least support. Dr. Nkosolum’s problem with my town transcended politics, over something to do with a land dispute. But that didn’t bother me. My greatest mission was to see Nina again. I was ready to do anything that would leave a lasting impression on her. I decided to go back to her father’s house the next day.

That night, I put my arsenal together. I chose my best pair of black wool trousers and a navy blue-and-white striped dress shirt and ironed them as close as I could to a professional. Next I pulled out from the closet the one and only pair of good leather shoes I had, which I usually saved for special occasions. As a student, I could not boast of many clothes. I polished the shoes, black wingtips, giving them such a high gloss they practically looked like new. I hung the trousers and shirt in my small closet and laid the shoes on the floor underneath them, facing me. I took two steps backwards to admire my planned outfit, and then total darkness enveloped the room. The shrill sound of the neighborhood kids over the power outage was loudly heard. I lighted a candle and admired my outfit. Satisfied that everything looked perfect, I blew out the candle. The wick smoldered like a jewel in the darkness before it died, and I went to bed.

But I could not sleep. Nina’s face was planted securely on the map of my brain. The grandfather clock in my living room startled me when it chimed midnight. I started counting numbers, a technique I mastered at school to put me to sleep. It worked. I fell asleep but woke up with a start sometime later. The ceiling fan was at it again with the crack- ling sound that reminded me that electric power was back on. I groped for the clock radio beside the bed. It was only 3:00 in the morning. I lay my head back down on the pillow again, Nina’s gleaming brown eyes dancing on the inside of my eyelids. I slept fitfully and finally woke up for good at five-thirty. I could not wait to see her but it wasn’t even dawn yet. I sat on the edge of my bed, not doing anything until it was 7:30 a.m. and I could start the day.

I dashed in and out of the shower, dressed like a madman and jumped on my motorcycle, a Honda 50 model popularly known as love nwantiti; Igbo for little love. In half an hour, I was at the driveway outside Nina’s house. I had a perfectly good reason for being there so early-I could say I was meeting with her father about his campaign.

I made a right turn into the driveway and glanced at the abandoned building beside Nina’s father’s house. A little girl ran toward me, waving her arms. My love-nwantiti must have intrigued her. I knew immediately that she was Nina’s sister, the resemblance was so remarkable. She continued to wave at me frantically, gesturing for me to stop. I revved the engine down into first gear and slowly stopped my bike. Looking up again, I saw Nina coming toward me, about fifty feet behind the little girl. Nina was smiling, which caused my heart to soar.

Nina wants to see you! the little girl exclaimed, jumping up and down. She was unaware that Nina and I had already locked glances. I ransacked my brain, trying to remember what I had planned to say to her, but I felt frozen in time. I got off my love-nwantiti and started pushing it toward Nina, praying that I would think of something charming to say. I was so nervous I thought I might trip on the bike and so stopped on the driveway, right where I was. After I shut off the motor, I looked up and saw that Nina had turned and was walking away from me. I doubled my steps to catch up with her. I finally reached her side, somewhat breathlessly. She was looking straight ahead.

I spoke first. Good morning, Nina, how are you today?

I’m fine, thank you. And you?

I’m all right, I replied. I didn’t understand her coldness. Nina, you look troubled. Is something wrong?

She looked at me directly for the first time as we both walked up the winding driveway toward the big house. I asked a few people about you and was told that you do not respect people. She averted her eyes and picked up her pace. Her words were like a punch in the gut. Silence enveloped us. I was mortified. Who had she heard that from?

Finally I spoke. Are you kidding me?

No, I’m not; I wouldn’t kid about something like that. I asked some of your school mates, who went to high school with you.

Nina, whoever you spoke to, they are wrong. I do respect people and perfectly, too

Then why are you being defensive? she quipped.

I ignored that comment. If someone told you bad things about me, it’s very likely that person wants to keep you away from me.

How can you be sure of that? They might just be looking out for my best interest.

Nina, I swear that’s not true, I do respect people, honestly I do. I was so shocked by her comment that I was at a loss for words. I don’t know what else to say to you, Nina.

Well, if you can convince me that you are not the bad boy your so-called ‘friends’ say you are, maybe I will have a change of heart, she responded.

How can I do that, right now, right here? The only way for you to find out about me will be by getting to know me. Then you will find out what kind of person I am.

Nina broke out into a smile. Had she been teasing me? Her pink lips were so luscious and inviting that I couldn’t resist. I leaned over her and gave her a quick kiss on her soft cheek. I told her that the minute I met her I was struck by her beauty. She looked into my eyes.

No one has ever told me that, she said, blushing.

Nina, you are stunning. I haven’t been able to sleep since the day I met you.

Oh, come on, I don’t believe you.

You must! Your beauty could penetrate the most hardened heart.

Well, Jasom, you’re kind of cute yourself, you know. And since that day— She caught herself and abruptly stopped speaking.

What is it? I asked.

Nothing, she said, and began to move away from me.

I put my arm out and stopped her. I pulled her close to me.

Nina, you have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.

Thank you. She nudged me playfully in my stomach.

How old are you, if I may ask?

Sixteen, she replied.

My body literally went limp. I looked into her young eyes. I was four years older than she was. I went into a tail- spin. Going out with her at such a young age could open up a can of worms. She had her entire future ahead of her; falling in love now could jeopardize that. I would have to be very careful not to truly fall in love with her, not at her age. My future and hers suddenly stared me in the face.

But then I looked at her again. She was, after all, very mature for her age. It was obvious that she could take good care of herself.

Nina was staring at me, sensing that something was wrong.

I changed the subject from her age. Now about your informant, who is he? I may tell you at some point, but first tell me what dark- need your expression so suddenly, she asked.

Nina, honestly, nothing’s the matter. I pulled at her hand and started walking toward the garden, where we could sit on the wrought iron furniture by ourselves.

I pressed her for the name of the people who had spoken poorly of me to her in an attempt to mask my worrisome thoughts about her age but she refused to tell me who they were. I finally gave up. I told her about my meeting with her father and that he had signed me on as a campaigner. We ended up talking and laughing for two hours. I was giddy with fresh love.

I had to leave her at noon, to go inside and attend her father’s daily campaign briefing. We agreed to meet again the following morning. Before leaving, I took her hands and pulled her close to me, taking a quick look to my left and right to make sure no one was around. Then I kissed her, a long, passionate sultry kiss. I could feel her breasts press against me in desire. After what seemed like a long time, Nina pulled away from me.

Jasom, that was my very first kiss, she confessed. Her brow was slightly moist. I looked at her gently and smiled. My happiness over being the first man to ever kiss her was tinged with worry about her young age. But I had to leave her and go inside the house for the noon briefing.

At the meeting, I along with all the other campaign aides, mostly undergraduates like myself, presented situation reports from our various wards. With Dr. Nkosolum leading, the group then analyzed each report and brainstormed strategies to adopt for the campaign, slicing and dicing the party’s manifesto to enable us to drum up support for Dr. Nkosolum in our various wards. A riveting figure, Dr. Nkosolum led the discussions with ease, charging us up for the cause. But to be honest, I could barely pay attention. All I could think about was Nina. In fact, I ended up contributing little to the discussions. The campaign, as far as I was concerned, took a back seat to my desire.

Driving my love nwantiti home, I was full of emotion. Here I was, nineteen, going to twenty, and an undergraduate, about to fall in love with a sixteen-year-old high school student. Of course her parents would find out about us and would try their utmost to stop what they would consider a ridiculous involvement.

Weakening in my resolve, I decided never to see Nina again. It was a harsh decision but there was much at stake. I knew that if I set eyes on her again, I would change my mind. If I showed up the next day for our planned meeting, I would have to confront the age issue and the gap in our levels of education, which neither of us could do anything about. I knew she would tell me not to attach so much importance to numbers. To make things worse, she had already hung an albatross around my neck with the rumors she had heard about me. If I didn’t show up for our scheduled tête-à-tête, it would only reinforce those negative impressions. But my hands were tied. I knew her parents would not let a relationship develop and worse, it would cause Dr. Nkosolum to fire me as his campaign aide, money that I couldn’t afford to lose.

I had no choice. Whatever she thought about me, I could not see her again.

4

The next day I stayed home and watched the clock tick by in the stifling afternoon air; the ceiling fan was on, but of little use. Relief came later with an evening rain that began in wild gusts and afterwards in broad sheets. Not even the rain could stop me from thinking of Nina. It was painful to know that she was eagerly waiting for me to turn up. I couldn’t go, a decision I thought would be in the best interest of us both. Now to think of an excuse I could tell Dr. Nkosolum for missing his briefing.

The following morning I visited uncle Captain. He was so called because he was a captain in the Biafra Army. Legend also had it that he was the one that fired the shot that disabled