20/04/2025
Titled: MAYBE NOT.
SYNOPSIS:
My name is Martha. I was a maid and caregiver. He was Dara, a blind man in his mid-thirties. Blind from birth? I’m not sure. But he lived like a man who saw the world in ways others couldn’t. He had studied abroad and moved around his home with ease; you’d never guess he couldn’t see.
I was just a year older than Dara. I didn’t live in the house, but I came daily to cook, clean, and care for him and his parents.
One quiet afternoon, while serving his meal, Dara said he wanted to describe me, to guess how I looked. He only got my complexion right. He thought I was plump, but I’m slim. Thought I was medium height, but I’m slightly taller than him. We laughed. And talked. Often. When there was nothing else to do, I will read to him a poem or we’d just sit and talk.
Then he asked me something strange: “What would it take for a man like me to be your boyfriend?”
He said, “I can't see you, but your presence is more intense than you can ever imagine.”
I told him I had a boyfriend. I lied.
We were always alone in the house. He became desperate. He said he would pay me just to be his girlfriend. I asked him, “Do you want love, or just someone to sleep with?” He replied, “I’m a boy in love, hoping I can feel the warmth of the woman I love.”
He told me about the girl he dated abroad...how she was ashamed of him. How she used him, knowing he had no one else. How it ended when he moved back to Nigeria. He hadn’t been with anyone since. That was three years ago.
One afternoon, I let him touch me. Everything but sexz. But I saw the tears in his eyes as his hands explored my body. I said, “I’m ready. Let’s do it.”
At first, it was out of pity. Maybe curiosity. Maybe because no man had ever wanted me that deeply. But once it started, we couldn’t stop. He knew how to work my body in ways that surprised even me. I didn’t love him. Not then. I did it for selfish reasons, but he fell...hard.
He became possessive. Obsessive. Every time I missed a call or didn’t show up, he panicked. He’d cry. “You’re all I have,” he’d say. “When I don’t hear from you, it feels like I’m losing my breath.”
I didn’t take the money he offered. I didn’t want that kind of complication. He wanted us to move to the UK together. Start a life. But I couldn’t connect. I wasn’t ready. I had nothing figured out. So, I left. Without a word. I thought it was the kindest way. I didn’t want to drag him along when I knew I couldn’t stay.
Less than a week later, his mother called. “If you agree to marry my son, we’ll bless and support you in every way. He truly loves you.”
I cried. I never thought he’d tell them about us. I told her, “I’m not ready for marriage. I need to fix my future first.” She promised they’d support me in any way I wanted. I said I’d think about it. Then I changed my number and disappeared.
I thought I had escaped. But I hadn’t. Because I left with something. A part of him. A son.
Yes, Dara’s son. I didn’t tell anyone. Not even his parents. I was afraid. Afraid they would misinterpret everything. That they’d think I kept the child to trap them, or worse, to chase their wealth.
Some years later, his father, Chief Ekong, walked into the office where I worked. He recognized me immediately. His words pierced deep:
“I don’t want to say you’re the reason, but when you left, his health crises worsened. He died a year later.”
I haven’t been the same since. The guilt. The silence. The son. I still don’t know if I made the right choices. But even if I had stayed, could I have saved him? Or would I have simply drowned beside him?
And now, I live with a question I may never be able to answer:
Should I tell them he had a son, or keep it buried with the rest of the pain?
Directed by: Victor Akpan DGN.
