"With Esiaba some laughter has left; a joy
for life and people has gone! I’ll miss your laughter, our
friend, colleague, and my academic nephew."
– Dr Osita Okagbue, Lecturer in Theatre Studies,
University of London, Goldsmiths College.
ESIABA IROBI
The Cry Of Orgasm
She was a Mauritius woman who sold spicy grocery at Leeds open market and spoke demotic English even on the phone that evening she told me to come over for a chat. I won’t tell you exactly where but just know it was somewhere in Headingly.
The lights were on to show me the window of her house and her door. On all fours, furs erect, like a Yorkshire cat starved of pudding for two years, I crept in. The door purred, closed quietly so as not to wake the neighbours.
She said her husband had a timetable for beating her, so they were now separated. We watched Ruby Wax on the coloured TV for three minutes then went upstairs, her blue sleeping gown spiralling behind her like my lust. Up there, in that grey bedroom,
It was sweet, it was swell, it was juicy; la crème de la crème, her olive thighs squeezing honey on my ever-green cucumber and, inch-by-inch, devouring it, enjoying it, relishing it. Dear Reader, I won’t tell you a lie, it was sweet, I lay there, on my back, furs erect, pawing the air, a lucky cat dissolving in ecstasy, crystals of sugar forming in my mouth, my brain,
my heart. But just as the tremors were coming, the tremors of our earthquake, memories of her husband rippled through her mind, and, suddenly, like an olive leaf, she wilted. Instead of a cry of orgasm, she swallowed and sighed; her eyes scanning the room and windows with fear. The fear got into me too as she climbed off like a disheartened jockey who had failed to win the prize at the races
While I lay there, an empty saddle, with no foot In the stirrup and no kick at the side to spur me on. Since that day, the condom of our love Has been broken. And now when I go to the market I avoid her stall of spices and go to another Laden with peaches and fresh strawberries All of which are red and also very sweet.
Esiaba
Irobi – a poet, playwright, actor and scholar was born in
the Republic of Biafra on October 1, 1960, and lived in in
exile in Nigeria, Britain, United States and Germany where
he passed away on May 3, 2010. He studied at the
Universities of Nigeria, Sheffield and Leeds, and held a
B.A. in English/Drama, M.A. Comparative Literature, M.A.
Film/Theatre, and PhD in Theatre Studies. In 1992 his play,
Cemetery Road won the prestigious World Drama Trust Award.
His books include Nwokedi, The Colour of Rusting Gold,
Cotyledons, Hangmen Also Die, and Why I don’t Like Philip
Larkin and Other Poems. He leaves behind a wife, Uloaku and
a son, Nnamdi.
Esiaba
Irobi – a poet, playwright, actor and scholar was born in
the Republic of Biafra on October 1, 1960, and lived in in
exile in Nigeria, Britain, United States and Germany where
he passed away on May 3, 2010. He studied at the
Universities of Nigeria, Sheffield and Leeds, and held a
B.A. in English/Drama, M.A. Comparative Literature, M.A.
Film/Theatre, and PhD in Theatre Studies. In 1992 his play,
Cemetery Road won the prestigious World Drama Trust Award.
His books include Nwokedi, The Colour of Rusting Gold,
Cotyledons, Hangmen Also Die, and Why I don’t Like Philip
Larkin and Other Poems. He leaves behind a wife, Uloaku and
a son, Nnamdi.