How to Decide when to Die

Nweke died on his first date.

According to her, he started to breathe hard on his final thrusts, close to his climax, and then he stopped altogether and fell in a lump on her chest.

At first, I thought it was his climax that made him react like that – but then he started to grow cold she said to the policemen who were immediately called in by the first person she called in – Jeremy, Nweke’s best friend.

Nweke has always been wary of sex. He’s been a virgin for 27 years now, staying away from women and liquor because he always believed they were the fastest way to go for any man Jeremy explained to the shaken girl. He often made a joke with an incident he read from an old newspaper – “a man thinks he’s coming, but he’s going” – he’d say.

The girl watched as the policemen moved from room to room, taking notes, moving sheets from the room where the death had occurred and trying to piece two and two into four. Am I in trouble? She asked no one in particular.

I don’t think so –

Not yet, miss –

Both the Jeremy and the Constable spoke simultaneously. At first, she was skeptical over whom to go with, then she decided the Constable was in a better position. But, would I be in trouble?

Well, miss, by the time our coroner determines the cause of death, we shall then know what to do with you. But for now, your statement has been noted and would be appropriately documented. We shall get back to you soon.

She breathed lightly and hoped for the best – her name was Chioma.

Nweke first talked about being tired of his life two weeks before he died. They were having a few bottles of beer – himself, Fred and Jeremy, all of them former buddies from the University and currently flat mates – and discussing issues of national interest; political squabbles and talk about the forthcoming elections.

It was Nweke’s second time drinking beer and today he was going all out. By the time he was on his fourth bottle, his tongue had loosened uncontrollably.

See ehn, let me tell you boys, Buhari will win in the next election and the one after that. The man has a winning complexion. Didn’t you guys see what he did to Jona?

O boy, leave that matter, Jona totally deserved that defeat. The man was a complete waste of semen with nobody to tell him. Fred still had his tongue under control – of the three, he was the one with the most tolerance for alcohol; he was the one who had been an alcoholic the longest.

Let me tell you something, guys, Buhari and APC can only win if they rig the elections.

Buhari is a man of integrity – he will never rig an election.

But, is his party also a party of integrity?

Well, now that you have mentioned it, I don’t think so –

The problem with this country isn’t political, it is spiritual.

Well, that one is not my concern – me, I’m tired of this life. I want to die and go to heaven

You think you can make heaven like this?

What do you mean? This is only my second time of taking beer and, remember, I am still a virgin.

Uproarious laughter.

You think they will give you a reward in heaven for not having sex?

Well, none of us has been there before, yes? So, who’s to say they won’t?

I’ll give it to you, Nweke, you’re a strong man.

Twenty-seven fucking years of no fucking. That’s the most austere thing to do as an African male – also considering the fact that young males in Massai tribes are made to hunt game naked as part of their rites of passage into adulthood.

Now you’re talking my man. I am the strongest man amongst us —

Says who?

Ah, what do you mean ‘says who’? Am I not the only one to have endured the pull of sexual desire the longest?

My friend shut up, you are impotent. Fred was getting physically irritated at his friend’s self-righteous piety and even though they were getting drunk, he wasn’t going to allow anyone guilt trip him.

Me? Impotent?

Sarcastic laughter.

Do you know how many children my father had? Do you know how many my siblings have had amongst themselves? Please, don’t insult me because I’m drunk ooo. And don’t push me to show myself.

Uproarious laughter.

I am daring you, Nweke. I dare you to prove you are not impotent. You are well to do and you can manage a child. I dare you, get a girl pregnant and I will believe you are potent.

My friend, I don’t have to prove anything. I am as potent as the man who made babies with Margaret Thatcher aka Iron Lady.

If you are potent, prove it. What’s there in getting a girl pregnant? Chioma in Accounting at my workplace is head over heels in love with you. Amaka in Human Resources has been pestering me to introduce her to you. Babes dig you – getting them in bed shouldn’t be a problem.

Awkward silence.

Silent gulps – hard swallows.

Okay, I will show you guys.

Jeremy picked up his phone from the table and pressed the volume down button to silent the blaring ringtone. On the screen, a number he had not saved or seen before danced before his eyes. He slid the green button up and placed the phone to his ears. Beside him on the bed, Chioma lay naked and snoring gently – women he thought, ever so cheap.

Hello Mr. Jeremy, this is Constable Andrews. I was in-charge of the investigation into your friend’s death.

Jeremy recollected the voice at once. It had a slight slur in it and sounded like the Constable struggled to put words together in good English against his own will.

Oh, officer, weldone sir. How is it going?

Well, the autopsy results came in this week and according to the coroner, your friend was not murdered. He died of natural causes. Absolutely no external influence or internal cause. Jeremy couldn’t believe his ears.

So the girl is innocent?

Yes, I’m afraid.

Ah, thank God.

Why do you say so?

Hah, officer, you know na – man brother die, man take him wife. I like that girl. She carry better waist and she dey sweet like fresh fish.

Ah, my brother! I totally understand – enjoy yourself jare. No be you kill who die.

Silence.

Hello –

Further silence.

Hello –

Mr. Jeremy, are you still there?

Long silence.

Ah, this oga don sleep for phone oh.

Line drop.

As the phone dropped from Jeremy’s cold hands, Chioma rose from the bed and began to put on her clothes.

Two down, four more. Pussy bring man, pussy take man.