She cheated on her husband and I was curious to know how and why it happened.

It could not have been in her home. She and her husband hardly receive visitors. The neighbors would have found it suspicious that a man paid her a visit while her husband was away at work.

Being the gifted gossipers that they were, they would have sold her out a long time before she finished the act itself.

It could not have happened in our neighborhood. The strong network of whistle blowers would not have missed such a thing.

So where could it had have taken place? Town. She had to pretend she was going to town to buy something, away from the prying eyes of her neighbors and those who knew her. In town she was just like any other stranger and blended into the unfamiliarity that masked one passer-by from the other.

With whom could she have committed the act? Maybe someone she confides in, or an ex, or and old lover. What could have motivated her? Maybe her husband cheated on her. He doesn’t look it. So it could be frustration and boredom. Very likely. She must have found the routine of cooking, cleaning, always being at home…very boring.

She’s too pretty to be just a housewife and nothing more. No employment. Always at home, homemaking.

I once overheard her talk about how she’s always wanted to marry a white man. It implied she had plans of travelling, leaving Africa, exploring the world and having a taste of different cultures. She wanted to explore the virgin dimensions within her venturesome soul and experiment the wild concepts in her unruly mind.

But here she was. With a husband who had no intentions of travelling. Church, work, home, and his 80 days around the world resumes its cycle. Her husband wasn’t the abusive type but he was boring. Sometimes she yearns to spice things up in their bedroom but he wasn’t the experimental type. He engaged in romance and some foreplay but with some sort of reservation.

And she’s forced to lock up the wild moves and fantasies in her head and subject herself to mechanic moans and regular routines. If he had his way, they would have held hands and prayed like they did at dinner before having sex.

She says it is the Lord’s will the husband she’s ended up with. Though it’s not what she’s always dreamt of. But life has a way of revealing the folly in our choices that we often ascribe as the handiwork of God.

Maybe it finally dawned on her how she was directly responsible for her own predicament. Should she run away and abandon her three kids? To where? In this small world? Is it too late for her to start over?

Perhaps she was determined to bite back at whatever had pushed her into the unpleasant life she lived. Not knowing where to start, she scans her home and neighborhood.

Next door lived a young bachelor with whom she occasionally flirts- in the presence of the tenants in the house, to avoid any suspicion. Maybe she could take the flirtations a step further. He’s anglophone. She was French. She could start by telling him how much she adores the English Language and would like to learn it. And with each meeting they had, she would scan him while they talked –

watching closely his reactions to her jokes…especially jokes about how it felt being single…and if the opportunity presents itself, she would ask him what he did when the yearning for sex became unbearable. Will he be reserved to such conversations or open up about his personal struggles? She’s got to be careful not to arouse any suspicion in him.

She must feed him flirtations in little doses so that when he becomes ripe for consumption, he wouldn’t know how it all began.

She would start with her dressing – decently dressed but make her cleavage quite visible and employ sitting poses that would afford him an excellent view. But she must be careful.The neighbors mustn’t know what she’s up to. Her meetings with the young bachelor must be in the open and their conversations must center on the Word of God. She must keep a humble, straight face while talking about her experiences in the Lord and let her exposed breasts do their job.

Occasionally, she would touch him perfunctorily while talking and mistakenly let the cloth about her waist slid slightly to expose her thighs.

She must choose her timing well. Late afternoons. By then the unemployed bachelor will be sitting under the tree outside for fresh air while most of the tenant gossipers and her husband would be gone to work.

As I imagine what could transpire between her and the young bachelor, I realized all what I am imagining hadn’t taken place and I begin to wonder with whom she could have cheated on her husband and how it all happened.

She’s passing by. She smiles at me.

“Bonjour voisin,” she greets, with a smile that radiates the purity and innocence I have always thought embodied her life.

“Bonjour madame,” I respond, staring at her and wondering if she knew what I knew about her. I pondered over what could have motivated her to do it and how she felt about it afterwards.

My eyes follow her as she goes to look for firewood, strolling barefooted on a carpet of fallen leaves and flowers nibbling at the bare back of the cold, wet path leading into the woods.