Peel the Skin off is a good topic to write on.
Follow me here for your reading consumption.It all about Onyeche
and her friend Ochoala
Onyeche sat under the shade of the ancient baobab tree in the heart of Ichogolugwu Agatu, lost in thought. It was market day, and the village square bustled with life—vendors hawking fresh palm oil, ripe plantains, and handwoven baskets. Yet, Onyeche’s mind lingered elsewhere. Her friend, Ochoala, had just returned from the city after a long absence. The two had grown up together, sharing countless memories of fishing by the Ichogolugwu River and storytelling by the evening fire. But Ochoala’s return had brought more than joy—it had unearthed layers of silence and unspoken truths.
Ochoala was different now. Her once carefree laughter had turned measured, her wide, curious eyes now carried a heaviness that didn’t belong to the Ochoala Onyeche knew. It wasn’t just the city life that had changed her; it was something deeper, something Ochoala refused to talk about. But Onyeche was patient. She knew her friend better than anyone and believed that with time, she would unravel the layers.
Later that evening, as the sun dipped behind the hills, Onyeche knocked on Ochoala’s door. The little thatched hut sat at the edge of the village, framed by lush cassava fields. Ochoala opened the door, her face softening into a smile when she saw Onyeche.
“Onyeche, I knew you would come,” Ochoala said, her voice carrying the weariness of someone holding back too much for too long.
They sat on a raffia mat outside, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the lantern. For a while, they spoke of everything and nothing—of the village gossip, the changes in the seasons, and the memories of their childhood escapades. But Onyeche could sense Ochoala’s restraint, the way her words skated over deeper waters she was afraid to dive into.
“Ochoala,” Onyeche began gently, “why do you hide behind the skin of silence? Whatever it is, peel it off. All of it. Let me see what burdens you.”
Ochoala’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. She looked away, her fingers tracing patterns on the mat. After what felt like an eternity, she began to speak.
“It is not easy to peel off the skin of shame, Onyeche,” she said, her voice trembling. “The city is not like Ichogolugwu. It is beautiful, yes, but it is also cruel. I trusted someone there, someone who promised me the world, only to strip me of my dignity.”
Onyeche’s heart ached as Ochoala’s words spilled forth, each one heavier than the last. She spoke of betrayal, of being used and discarded, of struggling to find her way back to herself.
“I came back here because this is the only place where I feel whole,” Ochoala finished, her voice barely above a whisper.
Onyeche reached for her friend’s hand, holding it tightly. “Ochoala, the city may have scarred you, but it did not define you. Here, we peel the skin of hurt and shame together. You are not alone in this.”
The two women sat in silence,
the cool night air wrapping around them like a comforting blanket. Slowly but surely, Ochoala began to shed the layers of pain she had carried for so long. And in that moment, under the star-studded sky of Ichogolugwu Agatu, Onyeche and Ochoala found solace in their bond, a reminder that even the heaviest skins could be peeled away when shared with those who truly cared.
From that day on, the phrase “peel the skin all” became their shared mantra, a symbol of vulnerability and healing. It was a lesson not just for Ochoala, but for all of Ichogolugwu Agatu—that sometimes, to heal, one must strip away the layers and let the rawness breathe.
Thank you all for reading.
###The pictures mine
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