Chapter 3 - EKONG | When Love Is A Silent Song

The night sounds, the rustling palms, the steady chirp of crickets, blended with their raging breath and movements as Ekong entered her from behind. It felt primal, sacred.

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Sitting in the living room of his newly rented Edinburgh apartment, hands clasped under his chin, his right foot tapping rapidly on the floor as beads of sweat form on his forehead, even though the weather app says it is -15°C outside, all Ekong can think about is the past five years of his life. Meeting Eleanor, falling head over heels for her, despite never picturing himself dating a white lady; graduating from college, starting his job as a pharmacist, getting married, and moving to Edinburgh, the city of his dreams.

The years have flown by in the blink of an eye, barely giving him a second to catch his breath. Yet, Ekong wouldn’t change anything about these years, except for the part that has him losing his mind and sweating profusely in this blistering cold. He feels as though he has been on this journey longer than he should have been. He and Eleanor’s inability to conceive a child has put a dent in his almost-perfect life. He feels as if he has been robbed of an essential part of his happiness. What is happiness if it is not whole? If it doesn't leave you breathless?

Ekong and Eleanor have been married for almost three years and had dated for two years before Ekong’s proposal. When they met five years ago, Ekong was in his second year at University College London studying Pharmacy, while Eleanor was a final-year English Literature student.

It was a grey London afternoon. The kind that threatened rain but made you wait for it like a cruel game of hide and seek. Like a dog owner dangling a piece of meat in front of a dog, only to snatch it away the moment it leapt. UCL's main campus buzzed with students darting between lectures, most of them hoping not to get caught in the rain. Ekong, running late for a seminar in the Cruciform building, saw the drooping dark clouds as signs of a rain that could not be escaped. Even if the British weather was behaving as usual, the rain was fated. He loosened his backpack, rummaged through it and brought out a worn-out black umbrella. He was going to have it close by just in case the rain played any tricks.

Eleanor walked briskly from the library, clutching her borrowed copies of Mrs. Dalloway and Shakespeare’s Sonnets. She was heading towards the Cruciform building for her afternoon class, though lost in her thoughts. There had been a chain of events that had gotten her in mixed emotions, mostly fuming, partly wanting to drop to her knees and cry. She was not having a great day. It all started when she was felt up in the tube that morning. The feeling clung to her skin like damp mist. Eleanor had barely registered the man’s face; it had all happened so quickly, a brush too long, a hand too low, then the doors hissed open and he was gone, swallowed by the tide of rush hour. The train had kept moving, but something inside her had stilled. As if that wasn’t enough, her assessment results had dropped later in the day. The grades were lower than she’d hoped. With graduation looming, there was no room for second chances. And then, when the drizzle began to fall, Eleanor got caught in it. She stood in the threatening shower, wrestling with her stubborn umbrella that refused to open.

‘Bloody thing,’ Eleanor muttered in the chaos of flailing arms.

Ekong, walking past, paused.

‘Need help?’
‘Only if you have a better umb-’

Raising her head, she saw that Ekong had an umbrella.
‘Yeah, I suppose this counts as an umbrella,’ Ekong smiled.

Charming. Eleanor reckoned.

‘I suppose it does,’ she said, a penitent smile dangling on her lips.

‘Join me?’

They huddled under his umbrella, walked across the UCL quad toward Cruciform.

‘Poor umbrella took the heat,’ Ekong said, breaking the uneasy silence that settled between them. Eleanor laughed.

‘You won’t believe the day I have had. I am sure it had it coming.’

They kept each other company with small talk as they walked. Eleanor found Ekong’s accent lilting, his humour subtle and kind. His smiles were beautiful, and he laughed with candour. Ekong found her presence oddly comforting. He couldn’t decide if it was the jasmine perfume or her aura. It felt as if they had known themselves longer than this. By the time they reached her class, they were both laughing like childhood friends having a casual hangout.

‘You know what,’ Eleanor said, ‘you’ve just saved me from a soggy Shakespeare seminar. I owe you coffee.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘Come on. Clearly, a poor excuse to see you again and hang out. Unless…’

‘Yes, yes. Definitely. I am Ekong by the way,’ he stretched his hand to shake hers. Eleanor looked at the hand extended towards her, then back at Ekong. They both burst out laughing.

‘Eleanor. Please, take my contact.’

They met again a few days later at the campus café. Then, at the student pub on a Friday night. Then again, for a poetry reading at Waterstones—his idea.

‘I know you love poetry. I am sure this will be fun,’ Ekong had pleaded his case.

‘Ok. I will see you at 6 PM.’

There were many dates after that, each one bringing them closer. Each time, they learnt something new about each other—childhood memories. Favourite foods. Little quirks. They laughed over shared tastes, argued playfully over differences, and steadily built a rhythm. Every date gave both of them reasons to fall deeply in love.

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One crisp Saturday in autumn, they took a walk through Regent’s Park. The park was a quiet blaze of colour. Amber leaves drift lazily from branches, carpeting the winding paths in gold and rust. Benches were half-buried in foliage. A few people scattered about, taking in the beauty of autumn, either alone, in the company of others, or with their dogs.

Finding an Oak tree, they settled beneath it.. Squirrels darted between the branches of the tree, rustling the leaves in frantic bursts. Occasionally, a dead leaf fell from the tree, gracefully crashing-landing on the pile of leaves underneath the tree. Ekong looked at Eleanor like a man uncovering something rare—an excavated lost treasure. He found her softly rounded face fitting. The creator knew exactly what He was doing. He thought her lips, which were draped in a rosy lipstick with a glossy finish, were alluring.

Eleanor caught him staring and smiled, not uttering a word. She just gazed back, leaning in. They drew closer and closer until their lips touched. It was breathtaking. It was everything Ekong had imagined and more. It was intoxicating. It was just as Eleanor had pictured. And it went on for minutes, leaving both of them winded.

Later, while lying under the tree, huddled closer to each other in the silence of the afternoon, Eleanor got up and ran to the tree. Ekong jerked up, observing her with curiosity. Eleanor dished a key from her pocket and began scratching something into the bark of the tree. Ekong watched her work with the dedication of a sculptor carving the torso of their latest reinvention of a Greek god. When done, Eleanor called Ekong over. She had carved ‘E & E forever’ on the tree. Ekong thought it was silly and childlike. He laughed and teased. She kissed him to shut him up. That was when Ekong knew she was the one.

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A year later, Eleanor graduated. Ekong still had one more year of pharmacy school to go. And then came his graduation. It was every bit as exciting as Ekong had anticipated. The hard work had paid off. Walking up the stage to collect his certificate, his eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on Eleanor, standing, cheering, her face lit with pride. When the ceremony ended and caps filled the air, Ekong walked up to Eleanor, adjusted his gown, and got down on one knee. She said yes.

The wedding was a simple ceremony. Eleanor wanted that. Just a gathering for a few of their close relatives and friends. Ekong’s mother couldn’t join from Nigeria, but they set up a Zoom meeting for her to watch everything. The officiating minister kept everything concise. The vows moved both Ekong and Eleanor and their audience to tears. Everything said felt genuine and sincere. Love won. Everyone in the audience agreed.

When it came time for the bouquet toss, Eleanor’s best friend, the bridesmaid, caught the flowers in a very performative jump and ear-piercing screams, which left everyone reeling with laughter.

The reception was stripped of extravagance. A simple event centre with minimal decorations. A long table set in front for the bride, groom, groomsman and bridesmaid, and round tables with chairs set for the guests. The food was homemade—jollof rice, grilled chicken, roast beef, small chops, and warm puff-puffs served in paper cones. There were also raspberry cheesecake and chocolate, and vanilla ice cream for dessert. No caterers in suits, just aunties and uncles mirthful as they passed plates and refilled drinks. The playlist was a shared Spotify list, curated by friends who knew exactly what songs made Eleanor dance and which ones made Ekong smile. There was no MC, no spotlight choreography, no dramatic cake reveal. Just toasts—raw, humorous, and tender—from people who knew their journey. Eleanor’s older brother, James, spoke of childhood games, Eleanor's peculiar choice of boyfriends and late-night sneak-ins; Ekong’s best friend, Carlyle, told the story of when he first heard Ekong talk about Eleanor.

‘Like she was the eighth wonder, an answered prayer,’ Carlyle said.

And then, they danced. Not a rehearsed couple’s dance, but the kind of dance born from real joy and shyness.

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Right after their wedding, Ekong and Eleanor launched into the mission of becoming parents. It wasn’t just a nebulous hope. They both yearned for it deeply, almost reverently. While at their third honeymoon location at Praia Inhame in São Tomé and Príncipe, they had a lengthy, honest conversation about it.

That evening, they had returned from the day’s sightseeing, had a quiet dinner of grilled seafood and fresh fruit and were well-rested. They had moved outside to sit on the front porch of their bungalow, which was tucked between palm trees and sat not far away from the ocean. The evening sky was set ablaze by the luminous glow of the full moon, fenced by a scattering of twinkling stars. It was the kind of night that made everything feel possible, like the world had slowed. The sea breeze had settled for the night, yet could still be felt in tender sweeps.

‘We are really doing this?’ Ekong asked as he let out a naughty grin.

‘Yes, we are.’

They kissed. A slow, lingering kiss that deepened with intention. Then they made their way inside, hearts pounding in a quiet symphony. That night, they made babies at three different times, at three different locations. Once in bed. Traditional, stripped of opulent performance. Just two lovers sharing their desire for each other. Then another, in front of the open window, heads lifted towards the waning moon, like a pack of wolves howling. The night sounds, the rustling palms, the steady chirp of crickets, blended with their raging breath and movements as Ekong entered her from behind. It felt primal, sacred. The last one was in the shower. Warm water cascaded over them as the two bodies evolved into one.

Safe to say, no babies were made that night. Or the nights after. Nearly three years have passed, and still, no baby. Every month brought a glimmer of hope, and every time Eleanor stepped into the bathroom clutching a test, she held her breath. But the results were always the same. One line. Negative. Again.

They have been to one fertility specialist after another. The first few consultations and checks found nothing wrong with either of them. Yet the negatives continued. The fifth doctor found something wrong with Eleanor.

‘It is nothing of major concern, but I will put you on some Clomifene. That should help,’ the doctor said.

↭

Today is their first test after Eleanor started the Clomifene. They want this to be it. Ekong wants, more than anything else, to find the light that dimmed in Eleanor’s eyes two years ago reignited. He wants his wife to stop looking at him with guilt, with a face that is always apologetic, as if to say, ‘I am sorry, I am not able to give you a child.’

Ekong looks up when he hears a shuffle. He focuses on the bathroom door, sits still, holding his breath. Eleanor comes out wearing the usual face. The face he has gotten used to these past years, it's a dark spectre, menacing. Ekong jumps out of the sofa and meets her halfway. He hugs her.

‘I am so sorry, love,’ Eleanor says, her eyes welling up. She buries her face in his neck. Ekong wraps his arms around her, holding her close.

‘No, no. Nothing to be sorry about, Sweets. We will try again. Trust me. One of these days will be it,’ Ekong reassures her, caressing her hair. Then he hears a snicker. Ekong assumes he had heard wrong, but the snicker morphs into something else. A bellowing laughter.

For a second, Ekong worries that grief has driven his wife to insanity. Worry overtakes Ekong’s face.

‘Are you ok, Love?’ He pulls Eleanor out of his embrace.

‘Got ya!’ Eleanor says.

The laughter gets louder.

‘What do you mean?’

She dangles the pregnancy test in front of Ekong. He sees the double red lines and immediately shrieks. He falls to his knees, waving his hands in the sky.

‘Thank you, Jesus, thank you,’ he says, gets up and kisses an excited Eleanor, ‘Thank you too, Love,’ he adds.

‘We did it,’ she says, beaming.

‘I am going to call Mama. She will be screaming!’

Ekong picks up his phone and opens the lock with facial recognition. He opens WhatsApp without delay. As he scrolls up, searching for his mother’s contact, a new notification chime draws his attention. Ekong swipes the notification panel down to find a follow request from Facebook. He is about to ignore it when something draws his attention. It stares back at him, daring him.

Ekong takes a meticulous look at it.

Adeṣina Ọlọlade sent you a friend request.

Message request from Adeṣina Ọlọlade.

He immediately recognises the name. A cold wind attacks him, settling in his guts. Ekong taps on the message notification before he can stop himself.

Hey, Long time. This is Ade.

Ekong stares at it, wondering what to do with it. What do you do with a message like this?

Flashes of how things ended with Ade fifteen years ago ambush him, flooding his memory.

He remembers Ade’s lips close to his, eyes closed, leaning in. Ekong remembers the moment of hesitation before he did the unthinkable, pushing Ade with all his strength, his body stiffening.

‘What is wrong with you?’ Ekong shouted. His eyes, red hot, disgust sculpted on his face.

‘I thought…’ Ade had said, completely caught off guard. He looked scared, like a lone pedestrian blinking into an oncoming flood of headlights.

‘You thought what? Get out of here!’

‘Babe, are you calling already?’ Eleanor’s voice yanks Ekong out of his thoughts. He lets out a deep sigh, closes the Facebook app and opens whatsapp.

‘Mama, ubuhunim sitibe!’ Ekong says when the call connects, his Ibibio and acquired English accent fight for dominance. While his mother responds, her voice crackling through the speaker, Ekong’s mind drifts.

What do you do when a past you’ve buried claws its way out of the grave?

All these years, he had fought the urge to reach out, convinced himself that silence was a kind of closure. A goodbye was a goodbye.

So why now?

Why has Ade messaged him?

And more importantly, what does he want?

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