NaijaChiqa's Xanga

Xmas at home... first appeared on NE in December 2005

Mon, 19 Jun 2006 03:11:22 GMT

Christmas At Home

“Children, wake up!” Her mother’s voice permeated the sleep she hadn’t realized she’d drifted in. At last count, they’d been driving for 13 hours with an hour spent at Ore eating bushmeat with boiled yam and vegetable stew. It was probably the only highlight of the most boring Saturday she’d spent since she’d started SS1 a few months earlier. Something told her that it foreshadowed the rest of the trip. She’d tried her hardest to get out of the darned visit to her village, even conjuring up an exam in the first week of the following term, but her parents didn’t budge. Her spirits lifted when she spotted her grandmother approaching the car.

“Okpo zi no?” Her grandma asked enthusiastically. Ufuoma’s father dropped the case he was carrying and curtsied to his mother. “E Mama, we’re here” he responded, hugging her.

“Omote me,” she said, approaching Ufuoma, “you’ve grown so much!” she continued in Isoko. “You are looking so beautiful these days, may glory be to God. How are you, my daughter?”

“I am fine, Mama,” she replied. Ufuoma fell into her grandmother’s arms, taking in the strong scent of urie that lingered on her. She then smiled, knowing that she was going to end the night with a hot bowl of her granny’s peppersoup.

The family was still gathered around their grandma when they heard some people come through the gate.

“Di gwo” the two boys said in unison as they approached her parents. “Hello,” they said, slightly waving to Ufuoma and her siblings.

“You remember your cousins, Norode and Zino? You met them the last time you were here.”

“Of course we do!” Ekotome replied. Ufuoma rolled her eyes. Her older brother was one of those ITKs who knew everything about everything even though she strongly suspected that he did not, in fact, remember them seeing as it has been almost six years since they’d seen them.

Zino walked over to her, relieving her of the suitcase in her hand. Ufuoma might have been a little more grateful if he hadn’t used it as an opportunity to graze her hand in a way she was sure she was supposed to be uncomfortable with. Surely, incest was frowned upon in Isokoland!

“I got your slippers, your dinner, you dessert and so much more,” Ufuoma sang to the mirror. “Anything you want, just let me cater to you,” she continued, singing along to the radio and pointing at her reflection. When she woke up, she’d hoped to see what Delta State television had to offer on Saturday mornings but after watching her Dad watch news for ten minutes, she’d retreated to her room.

“… Inspire me from the heart, can’t nothing tear us apart.” She was doing a slow ‘wind’ when her little sister, Roke, walked into her room and jumped on her bed.

Ufuoma ignored her and continued singing.

“Ufuoma,” her sister called to her.

She turned around but kept dancing. “What?”

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

Ufuoma’s shoulders slumped. “What?” She turned the radio off then sat next to her sister. “Why?”

Roke was playing with the bedspread. Not looking up, she replied, “I’m scared.”

Shit. “Why now? There’s nothing to be scared of.”

It wasn’t that Ufuoma couldn’t understand why she would. They shared a room in Lagos so she understood that she was probably used to having someone with her, but Ufuoma was glad for the opportunity to have a room to herself. It’s a little weird, she thought, looking around the room. The house had over six bedrooms. And those did not include the annex, which was her grandma’s house or the boy’s quarters that her cousins resided in. She’d have been considered an ‘omo olowo’ if she’d lived in a house of that magnitude in Lagos and she sometimes wondered why her father spent so much money on a house they barely stayed in, especially five years earlier, when Oyede didn’t even have electricity and they had to rely on a generator.

Ufuoma held her sister. “Don’t worry, just pray and everything will be fine.”

Roke frowned. “Please, now. I am so scared. I couldn’t even sleep last night. I swear there was something in the wardrobe. I even tried to open the window to escape but I couldn’t.”

“Why didn’t you use the door?”

“Eh hen. When the wardrobe is right next to the door? You want it to catch me?”

“Do you want to go to another room?”

She shook her head. “It will follow me there.”

“So how do you know it won’t follow you here?”

“Because you will protect me.”

Ufuoma sighed. She put her hand over her sister’s. “Okay, but if you take the whole bed you’re going back to your room.”

She was sitting on the steps in front of her house chatting with Norode. To her greatest surprise, unlike in Lagos, NEPA had yet to strike in the two days they’d been there. However, her father kept complaining about how the air conditioner was going to hike up the electric bills so she was sitting out to enjoy the cool breeze… not that there was much. She’d noticed that even though it was already Harmattan season, the weather didn’t get as cool as it did in Lagos, even in the mornings and evenings.

A virtual parade of visitors had been streaming in and out of their house since they arrived that she was pretty much on auto pilot. Whenever someone knocked at the gate, Norode would open it, she’d get up, give a slight curtsey and a “di gwo,” then ignore them till they came out again when she’d stand up and wave them away.

She was having another pointless conversation with her cousin when she noticed his attention divert to something behind her. She turned around to see a boy around her age walking up to them.

“Hi, is it okay if I joined you? I love to talk about politics but I’ve already heard this conversation multiple times since we got here.”

She shrugged her shoulders but didn’t move. He walked over to the other side and sat next to her cousin. She hadn’t noticed him walk into the compound so she had no idea who he was. His skin was deep brown with just a few blemishes on his right cheek. His hair was cut in the near bald look that seemed to be the in thing these days. He was about 5’10 and lean but she decided to wait till she knew what his relationship to her was before deciding on his looks.

“I’m Nefe,” he told them, nodding in a way she was sure he thought was cool.

“I’m Norode and that’s my cousin, Ufuoma.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve seen you a few times. My family comes home every Christmas,” Nefe said to him, “but I don’t think I’ve seen your cousin before. Is this your first time here?” he asked, turning to her.

She shook her head. “We came here for Christmas in ’99 but I don’t remember that much from then.”

“Okay, cool. Has your cousin shown you around?”

She laughed. “Around where? What is there to see? Market, church, huts, what else is there?”

He shook his head. “Huts? Where did you see them?”

“Shey this is the village, abi? I am sure there are some somewhere.”

“Don’t mind her. She just likes to sit at home and watch television.”

She tapped her cousin’s arm. “Norode, what’s your own? And this one that you are talking, when have you even offered to take me anywhere? Gosh, this place is so dry sha. I can’t wait till I get back to Lagos. Nefe, do you live in Lagos, too?”

“No. Ekpoma.”

She nodded knowingly. “I see. No wonder.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that you are probably used to this kind of thing.”

“Which kind of thing?”

She ignored her cousin as he began to laugh and continued, “You know, village life.”

“You Lagos people are all the same. Ekpoma is a city – it’s not a village.”

She giggled. “If you say so.”

He hissed and just shook his head.

The three of them sat in silence for a few moments before her cousin turned to him and said, “Can you imagine that Angola is going to the World Cup?”

Nefe hissed. “Hmmm, let’s not even talk about that. Can you imagine Togo and Ghana are going but not Nigeria…?”

Ufuoma stood up.

Both boys looked up at her. “You’re leaving?” her cousin asked.

“Before, nko? I am sure politics is more interesting than football.” She hissed. “In fact--”

“Onanefe,” a voice from behind interrupted her. “We are leaving.”

Ufuoma turned around to look at the older man waving to his son. “Di gwo,” she said, slightly curtseying.

“Omote na,” he turned to her, “yanze bo ne.”

She went to him as instructed.

“How are you enjoying your visit, so far?” he continued in Isoko.

“It’s nice. Thank you, sir.”

“Good, good, we will be coming again on Christmas Day. See you then, okay?”

“Okay, bye.”

“Ufuoma, come here!” her mother called from outside. There was quite a bit of commotion out there so she knew that they’d come back from buying the ram. Her sister had already run ahead of her and she reluctantly followed.

She stepped out of the house and followed the noise. Right next to the car were two huge basins. One was filled with huge chunks of meat while the other had a good number of dead chickens. On seeing her, her mother said, “What are you wearing? Go and change into a t-shirt, we have to clean and cut this meat.”

She groaned. “All of us? Won’t that be too many?”

“Yes, that’s why it’s just you and me.”

She groaned. “How come I am always doing all the work here? Why isn’t Ekoto going to help us?”

“Because I helped to kill the ram, burn it and everything. Please, just leave me out of this.”

“Yeah, right. I’m sure you just watched.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Mummy this is not fair. He’s going to eat the meat too, why shouldn’t he help?”

“Didn’t you already hear him say that he helped kill the ram? Now stop wasting time and just go and change your clothes – we have a lot of work to do.”

As she turned around, her brother said, “Oh, Onanefe asked about you.”

“Who?”

“The Oroka boy,” her mother replied.

“Who?” She was thoroughly confused.

“What is all this ‘who’ ‘who’ nonsense, you obviously know who it is,” he said with a smirk.

She glared at him. “Whatever, let me go and change jo.”

Oh, she thought as she walked into her room. Nefe: the cute boy who isn’t my cousin asked about me? Hmmm.

“Do you kids want to go to the Disco?” Ufuoma’s father asked, stepping into the house from visiting his mother.

Ufuoma and her brother burst out laughing. “Daddy, ‘Disco’ ke? This isn’t 1975.”

Her mother shook her head. “Whatever you call it, you are not going.”

“But Norode and Zino are going. So if they want to go, let them go. They cannot spend everyday just sitting in the house… at least let them go out since it’s Christmas Eve.”

“Daddy, it’s okay, I can stay home,” Ufuoma piped in. A village club? She really wasn’t in the mood to dance to Isoko music all night. Who would they be playing, Evi Edna Ogholi?

Her father shrugged his shoulders in exasperation. “Do whatever you like. I was just trying to make your visit more enjoyable for you. You keep complaining that you are bored but now you don’t want to go out. Do what you like o, but don’t let me hear you complaining again,” he warned as he walked up the stairs.

The rest of them sat and kept watching the boring documentary for a few minutes before her mother tapped her lap. “Okay, go and get dressed.”

“For?”

“For the disco, where else?”

“Mummy, can I go too?” Roke asked.

Her mother smiled. She patted the cushion next to her. “No, stay with me – we will enjoy ourselves. Ufuoma, did you hear me?”

“But Mummy, I don’t mind staying home.”

“Your father wants you to go. Ekoto, go and get dressed, okay? You people should go out – just make sure you behave yourselves.”

From the outside, the club didn’t look like much. In fact, it just looked like a small house with a sign that read, “Club Vaughn,” but on stepping in, she understood why her father referred to it as a ‘disco.’ The place looked like a scene from a 70’s movie. There was even a disco ball and the roof had what looked like Christmas lights. It’s not like she had any other clubbing experiences to compare it with but she was sure the clubs in Lagos were far superior.

“Breathe, please, in case you didn’t hear me,” she sang and danced along with the music. She was shocked that they were playing the latest songs. She followed her brother and cousins to a table then watched the rest of the club goers dancing. It’s not that she expected them to be wearing ‘up and down’ or wrapper but they were dressed like they watched MTV.

Twenty minutes later, she and her brother were the only ones still at their table. She was enjoying herself, dancing in her seat when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked up hoping it wasn’t Zino. She breathed a sigh of relief to see Nefe.

“Would you like to dance?”

She looked at her brother.

“Go. Are you just going to sit down all night?”

She rolled her eyes. She knew he was probably glad to see her go with someone he recognized because even though it hadn’t been explicitly stated, he was saddled with the responsibility of taking care of her.

She looked up and nodded at Nefe. He watched as she got up then took her hand and led her to the dance floor.

“Would you wind for me, slow wind for me?” he sang along with the song.

She shook her head. “I don’t wind. Sorry.”

“You’re a Jamaican Queen, oh yeah, I’m an American King-a,” he mouthed to the music.

She laughed, dancing as far from him as possible. “You are dreaming- I am Nigerian.”

He moved closer to her. She was still dancing unenthusiastically, just moving from foot to foot till the song changed.

“You like Eldee?” he asked, noting the change in her demeanor.

She nodded and kept dancing for about two more minutes. “So you were asking about me?”

“When?”

She crinkled her forehead. “When they were killing the ram. Or was my brother lying?”

“Oh, yeah.” He reached out to take her hand but she moved it away.

“Why?”

“I was just wondering where you were. Have you gotten to see more of Oyede?”

She shook her head.

He hissed. “You are missing out.”

“You are lying.”

“I’m not lying – there are things to see.”

“Okay, but you have to be exaggerating.”

“You’ll have to be the judge of that, I guess.”

“Okay, whatever.” She turned to look at the other dancers.

“What would you like to drink?”

She smirked. “What are they serving? Palmwine?”

He frowned. “They have minerals like Fanta, Coke, 7up…”

“Okay, I’ll have Sprite.”

“Please, please, Ufuoma, sit with them,” her mother said, pointing to the children’s table.

“But I am not 6 years old, now.”

“I know, sorry, sorry, please just sit with them, they are little children and they would need help so please.” Her mother turned around and left, not giving her the opportunity to further protest.

She sighed. After spending hours watching visitor upon visitor descend on her house on the pretext of greeting her grandma, she’d wondered if she’d ever get to eat. She suspected that the news of the ram had spread far and wide so everyone was stopping by to get some. She’d initially thought that a ram and fifteen chickens was a bit excessive but after seeing all those people leave with bowls of meat, she was surprised that they even had enough to eat.

Fifteen minutes earlier, when her dad had asked that the gate be locked, she’d been excited to finally get her meal but now that she realized she was going to spend the next hour playing ‘aunty’ she wished she could just go to her room and sleep.

“Roke,” a voice from the teen table called. She turned around to see Nefe calling her sister. “Roke, do you want to exchange seats with me?”

Roke shook her head vehemently.

“Okay, Pepe, would you like to exchange with me?” he asked his little sister.

“Are you mad?” Ufuoma asked him.

“No.”

“Oh, so you are just trying to get me into trouble?”

“What are you talking about? I just want to help you. I had your job two years ago – these kids can be terrible.”

“Okay, thank you, but I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Sorry for trying.” He didn’t bother to hide his irritation.

“Okay, okay, thank you,” she said rushing him off and hoping her parents didn’t see them talking.

Her cousin came to the doorway, “Are you ready?”

Ufuoma and her brother got on their feet. “Mummy and Daddy, we are leaving now.”

“Okay. Wa yan, wa yanze,” her father told them.

“Thank you,” they replied in unison.

“Take care of yourselves,” their mother said.

“Okay.”

“Ufuoma, don’t be following boys, okay?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry, just go. But make sure you behave yourself, okay? Always think of your family name.”

Just as they were about to step out of the house, her mother called her.

“Yes Mummy.”

“Wait. Roke, go and wear your shoes.”
Her face fell. “Mummy, no one her age is going to be there.”

“And so? Does that mean she shouldn’t get to see these special places you people are going to see today? Take her with you, and I am putting her under your care, not your brother o, you. Okay?”

On seeing her step out of the gate with her little sister, Nefe had insisted that they go back for his sister. The gang of them, including two female cousins and a relative of Nefe’s, walked around the town looking at supposedly interesting landmarks like the primary school and ‘Mama Kome’s hair salon.’

Despite the lack of earth shattering discoveries, Ufuoma was having a good time. She enjoyed the serenity of their environment, the smell of the fresh grass, walking around and kicking pebbles without anyone bothering them. It felt nice to watch people ride on bikes, and even though the occasional car passed them, it still felt peaceful and quiet. Everyone they passed greeted them and many even asked after their parents.

“You know something? Why do I feel like those girls were talking about me?” she asked just after two girls overtook them.

“What do you mean?” Nefe asked. He’d pretty much been by her side the entire time.

“They kept going on and on talking about ‘The Oyibo girl.’ I think they thought I didn’t understand them. I swear they said something about my dress.”

“What?” Nefe asked.

“I don’t know, it was like conc. Isoko.”

They all laughed. “So I guess that means you really didn’t understand them.”

“Shut up. You think I know the translation of ‘onomatopoeia’ in Isoko? I understand the basic words needed to communicate, thank you very much.”

He gently took her hand. “I know you do.”

He was simply holding her hand; it wasn’t anything particularly sleazy or even monumental, but she was sure it weighed a ton because all she could think and feel at that moment was that he was holding her hand. She quickly disentangled her fingers from his.

She smiled, hoping that she was acting natural. “What are those?” she asked, pointing at some pipes and chains a few meters from the side of the road.

“Oh, didn’t you know? That’s a historical site,” Nefe responded with all seriousness.

“That?” she looked at the site again. It really was a bunch of rusty piped and chains haphazardly thrown on some unkempt grass. The place looked abandoned.

“Yes. That. It was very important during the Slave Trade.”

“Slave Trade? Okay now I know you are lying.”

“Me, lying?” He looked hurt. “There’s actually a very famous book about it, what’s it called again? Chains on your Land. You should ask your parents when you get home.”

Still disbelieving him, she looked at the rest of the group and noticed that all but her brother were trying their hardest to keep from laughing. She hissed and rolled her eyes. “Okay, it’s not by force to tell me what that is. Roke, are you ready to go home?”

“Ah ah, where are you going? Okay, okay, okay sorry, I was just playing,” Nefe said, smiling widely and not looking the least bit sorry.

She shook her head. Even though it had only been a few days, she’d spent enough time with him to know that he shouldn’t be taken seriously. And sometimes, when he smiled like that she couldn’t stay angry at him.

“Ufuoma, they’d planned to drill oil there but in the end they didn’t – that’s what all those things are,” her cousin Ema said.

“Oh, I see. Now, that makes sense.”

“Thank God they didn’t,” Ema continued, “imagine not being to walk past here because of all the oil spills. Na God do am, sha.”

“Roke, you’ve got a visitor,” Norode said as he let Pepe and her brother into the living room where everyone but Ekoto was seated and watching television.

Roke ran up to her friend. “Mummy can I go upstairs with her? I want to show her something.”

“Yes. You can stay there and play.”

“Di gwo,” she replied, thanking her. Pepe followed her friend up the stairs leaving her brother standing in the doorway.

“Onanefe, why don’t you come in and sit down? Would you like anything to drink?” Ufuoma’s father asked him.

He shook his head. “No thank you, sir.”

“Okay. Do you want to stay and wait for your sister? If not, Ekoto can drop her off, there’s no problem.”

“I prefer to wait. Thank you, sir.”

Throughout the conversation, Ufuoma tried her best to be nonchalant and act like it was just anyone sitting on the couch across hers.

“Ufuoma, go and get him something to drink,” her fathered ordered. “Is Maltina fine?” he asked Nefe.

“I don’t need anything, Sir.”

“It’s alright. Ufuoma, go and get the Maltina and bring one for me too.”

“Mummy do you want anything?”

Her mother didn’t.

Ufuoma went to the kitchen and brought the drinks. She served Nefe first, and when she reached to uncap his bottle, he lightly touched her hand and said, “Don’t worry, I can open it myself.”

“It’s okay,” she replied curtly, wishing he didn’t speak to her at all. There was no way her mother wasn’t watching her and she really didn’t need any lectures after he left.

“How are you?” he asked, under his breath.

“I am fine, thank you,” she replied then walked away to serve her Dad.

After she’d returned the trays, instead of returning to the living room, she went to her bedroom to play with the two little girls.

It was New Year’s Eve and once again they were allowed out. Unlike the previous time, Ufuoma had paid extra attention to her appearance and the minute she walked into the club she started looking for Nefe. It didn’t take her long to find him. He was next to the bar, talking to her cousin, Ema.

She told her brother she was going to get herself a drink then walked up to him.

“Hi Nefe.”

He glanced at her then pretended not to see her.

Ema laughed and shook her head.

“What’s your problem?” Ufuoma asked him.

“Nothing.”

“Okay, I was just wondering why you didn’t come in yesterday when you dropped your sister off.”

He shrugged. “I had things to do.”

“I see,” Ufuoma replied as she started to turn around. If he didn’t want to talk to her, it wasn’t by force. She’d never noticed it, but maybe he liked Ema and she was pouring sand in his garri.

“It’s not like you wouldn’t have ignored me.”

She spun back around. “Sorry?”

He leaned toward her. “I said, you would just have ignored me like last time. I mean, I came to visit you and you just left.”

“You came to visit me? Your sister came to play with my sister.”

“Whose idea do you think that was? But you barely spoke to me and before I knew it, you had disappeared.”

“You know what?” Ema interrupted, “Let me go and get another drink.”

“Do you have money?” he asked her.

She nodded.

He waited for her to leave then moved closer to Ufuoma so he was directly in front of her. “As I said, what was the point?”

“But what did you want me to do? My parents were there.”

“So?”

“So?” she asked incredulously. “Maybe it’s because you are a guy, or maybe it’s different in Ekpoma,” she ignored his groan, “but I could get in trouble for that. It’s not like I am allowed to have male friends.”

“Your parents told you that?”

“No. But it’s understood.”

“I see.” He reached for her hand. “But I am not going to apologize for coming to visit you.”

She didn’t pull his hand off. “Did I ask you to? But I am not going to apologize for not sitting and chatting with you.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“So do you want to dance? They are playing Usher.”

He shook his head. “No. Would you like to sit down? I can get you a glass of palmwine,” he teased.

She laughed. “Sprite would be fine.”

“Are you going to tell me where we are going?” Ufuoma asked Ema. She only had a few days left in Oyede and her cousin insisted there was something she wanted to show her.

“Stop bugging me, you will see it when we get there – and there it is,” she finished with flair, pointing at Nefe leaning against a wall.

He straightened up when he saw them. “I thought I was going to be waiting here forever.”

“Shut up. Don’t forget that I am doing you a favor, o. I am coming back in exactly three hours and if you are not here, I am leaving.”

“”Leaving?” “Two hours?” What’s going on here?” Ufuoma asked them.

“Why don’t you ask him?” Ema waved at them then walked off.

With her arms folded Ufuoma regarded him suspiciously. “What’s this about?”

He hid a smile. “You’ll see, just follow me.”

“How far is this place?” she asked apprehensively. “Because if someone sees us, I am dead.”

“Don’t worry, no one will see us,” he replied, turning onto a bush path. “Just follow me.”

Normally, wild horses wouldn’t drag her through a bush path enclosed by thick, tall grass that looked like it was the breeding ground for snakes and possibly crocodiles. In fact, she wasn’t that okay with it, but decided to put up a brave front and follow him. Besides, when next would she get a chance to do this?

After about ten minutes, he said, “Here we are.” He stepped aside for her to see.

She looked at the water gently flowing ahead. “We have a lagoon here?”

“Actually, it’s a stream.”

“Okay, we have a stream here?”

He nodded. “This is Delta state.”

She looked around. “Wow,” was all she could say. The stream itself was rather narrow, with slightly murky greenish water flowing through it. Right next to it were rocks of varying shapes, sizes and colors the seemed to change as she moved. The vegetation looked rather dense but it was obvious that it was a place that people came to often because there were bare areas that looked like a result of the constant trampling of feet. About five feet from where she stood were a few swings made of rope and old tires. She sat on one and started to swing.

“This is nice,” she commented.

He laughed. “Look at how you are smiling. I told you there were things around here.”

She nodded. “You did exaggerate though.”

“Well, that was for you to judge, right?” He sat on the swing next to hers. “So do you have a boyfriend?”

She stopped mid swing, except she was already half way in the air, so the tire swung back forcefully. She almost fell off but she managed to maintain her balance. “What did you say?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He was looking directly at her.

She averted her gaze. “How does that concern you?”

He shrugged. “Forget it.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds but it felt like hours. She really didn’t know what to say to that question, and what answering it would mean. Would he ask another question after that? What would she say to that? She wasn’t even sure she knew how to be a girlfriend. “So what university are you hoping to get into?”

“I don’t know; wherever I get in.”

She smiled. “You could always try Lag.”

“I really don’t know. My parents have been talking about The University of Ghana.”

She raised her right eyebrow. “Ghana, ke?”

“Yeah, you know how these universities are. By the time they mark the papers, a year has gone. Then when you enter the university you are not sure how long it will take you to finish a four year course.”

She could understand that. “So why Ghana?”

“My aunty –my mother’s sister— is married to a Ghanaian. So I could stay with them.”

“Na wa o.” She got off the swing and walked to the water.

“What are you doing?” he asked, slowly getting off the swing.

“I am thirsty, so what do you think?” she said, cupping her hands and putting them into the water.

He immediately ran to her and put his hands on hers. “The water is not clean, you can’t drink it!”

He looked so worried that she couldn’t help but burst into a fit of hysterics.

Frowning, he asked her what was funny.

“You.” By that point she was sitting on some gravel, her hands behind her, supporting her weight. With her head hung back, she kept on laughing.

He shook his head and sat next to her. “I still don’t know what’s funny.”

“You’re so gullible. You think I am stupid enough to drink this water?”

“You never know about these things.”

Still laughing, she took her slippers off and let the cool water roll over her feet. “This feels nice, try it.”

That led to a foot fight in the water and before long, they were splashing water at one another.

Suddenly, he stopped and just held on to her hand. Then he moved closer and closer and from reading a few Mills and Boon novels, she knew what was coming next. She tried her best not to panic but she didn’t think she was succeeding. A kiss! Her first real kiss! Not the rubbish she did with Ayo Adekunle in Primary 6. What was she to do with her lips? Should she throw her hands over his neck? Would her eyes automatically shut? Did she even want to be kissed in the first place? She liked him so that meant it was okay, right?

She braced herself and waited for it to happen.

“Are you okay?” He asked from less than six inches away.

She nodded. Please just kiss me and have this over with, she silently begged.

And he did. It was tender and short. It was simply lip on lip. He parted his lips and lightly kissed hers a few times. He didn’t open his mouth and stick his tongue in hers. She’d seen enough movies to know she’d have to deal with that at some point but from the looks of things, not on that day and for that, she was grateful.

When he stepped back, she smiled. It hadn’t been too bad, in fact, she kind of liked it. She smiled even wider. “So you are going to Ghana, huh?” she said as she walked back to her swing.

He laughed. “Nothing has been decided.” He sat in his swing.

She held on to the handles then used her legs to get the swing going. “So after we leave on Saturday I won’t hear from you again?”

He’d begun swinging too. “Would you like to hear from me?”

She shrugged and swung higher.

“I can always write you,” he said.

“Write me a letter? Not those ones you guys get from books, I hope.”

He looked a little confused. “Books?”

“Yes, little tiny pamphlet-like books, I’ve even seen one sef. It was as small as those Enid Blyton Books.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You see, I went to Lesson right before JSS2 and for one whole week, I got a letter everyday from a secret admirer and it was obvious that he didn’t come up with stuff like that on his own.”

“Like, what?”

“Like, “just as the morning dew feeds flowers, so does every look from you feed my soul.”

He burst out laughing. “Wow. So you like that sort of thing?”

“NO! “Hello?” “How are you?” is what I like. “Your blooming look lingers in the core of my heart,” is what I don’t like.

He was still laughing. “For someone who hates those lines, you sure know quite a few of them. I think you secretly like them.”

She bent down and stoned him with a pebble.

He ducked. Still laughing, he said, “Let’s start going before Ema leaves.”

She looked at her watch. She hadn’t realized so much time had passed. As they got back on the bush path, she said, “But I will tell you something, though.”

“What?”

“As much as I want to forget those letters, I just can’t.”

He laughed again. “I can imagine.”

Ufuoma was bringing her suitcase out when Nefe and his sister walked into the compound.

After greeting everyone, he said, “Pepe wanted to say goodbye to her friend.” He was looking at her.

Ufuoma looked away and saw her mother watching them.

“So early in the morning?” her grandma asked him.

“E Mama, she knew they were leaving early.”

Ufuoma picked up her suitcase and gave it to her father to stuff into the boot.

As she slipped into the backseat of the car, Pepe came to her. She pulled a letter from her pocket and whispered. “This is for you.”

Ufuoma practically snatched it from her. “Thank you.” She quickly sat on it but when she looked up, she could see that everyone had seen the exchange. Shortly after Nefe and his sister left, they said their goodbyes to her grandma and cousins then they were on their long journey to Lagos.

About four hours later, when Ufuoma was sure that everyone but her father was sleeping, she reached for the letter and pulled it out. It read:

Dear Ufuoma,

So I started off trying to come up with one of those letters you love, talking about your brown eyes and how they can cure cancer. I thought it would be funny and ‘unforgettable’ but I couldn’t write it. I even searched through my father’s library for any books that might inspire me or possibly the one your secret admirer stole all his letters from, but I couldn’t find anything.

But I shouldn’t have even wasted my time, abi? You said you like letters that just say, “How are you, I hope all is well,” abi? So, Ufuoma, how are you? I hope all is well. Today was the first time that I really hoped I could spend an extra week in Oyede till I remembered that I wasn’t the one leaving earlier so I guess it wouldn’t have made a difference.

I hope you get to Lagos safely. And you see, even if you are in Lagos and I am in Ekpoma we can still keep in touch. I’ll email you soon. By the way, Pepe is already missing Roke.

Yours,

Nefe.

Ufuoma folded the letter and smiled. She wasn’t sure what it all meant. Did it mean she now had a boyfriend? And how could she have a boyfriend she wasn’t sure she’d ever meet again? She put the letter in her handbag and laid back in the chair in preparation to sleep.

“So Ufuo, did you have a good holiday?” her father asked.

She smiled at his reflection in the rearview mirror. It certainly wasn’t a Christmas she would have had in Lagos. “Yes, Daddy. I definitely did.”

Monday, May 16, 2005

Mon, 16 May 2005 21:39:43 GMT

New story currently posted at Nigerian Entertainment

Just a little tap

“Tunde, your principal is on the phone,” my mother shouted.

My heart raced faster as I quickly got off my bed and slipped my feet into my slippers. It was weird; I was simultaneously dragging my feet and quickening my pace as I moved to the living room. On one level, I wanted to hear what he was going to say, to know what the next chapter in the saga was going to be, and on the other, I was scared to hear what he had to say. Maybe if I’d been a different type of person, I wouldn’t have been in such a mess.

Wednesday, March 10th began like every other day. The rest of the school had gone back to the dorms after afternoon prep but like always, I stayed behind to finish up my assignments. My Integrated Science homework was a little more difficult than I’d anticipated, so I needed some water to cool off. The walk to the tap had put a little strain on my wounded leg so I leaned against a wall for a quick rest. That was when I looked across and saw a group of senior boys laughing and kicking something in the sand.

*

“About this matter with Chike…” Principal Okorie continued.

Yes, Chike. It was the first day of Form One and as I was unpacking my trunk, a skinny dark-skinned boy bent over and picked something out of my bag.

“What’s this?” he asked, looking down at me.

“Garlic.”

He crinkled his nose. “For what?”

“My asthma. My doctor said I should take it.”

“As in, eat it raw?”

I nodded.

He threw it back into the bag and laughed. “Pele o.”

And thus began our friendship. Even though we weren’t in the same arm, the fact that his bunk was about ten feet from mine meant that I saw him everyday. As most boys normally did, we wrestled and played so it wasn’t particularly odd when about 2 months earlier, he brought out the two carving knives he had stolen from the school kitchen and asked me to fight “kung-fu” with him.

The events still remained sketchy but all that I remember was that one moment, I was listening to the sound of clanging metal, and at the next, his knife was deep in my thigh. It was one of those surreal moments where I didn’t even feel one ounce of pain till I looked at my thigh and could only see the handle.
As some of the other boys carried me out of my room -my leg leaving a red trail- I looked into Chike’s begging eyes and realized that I needed to be a true friend. So when I later got questioned by the school authorities, I maintained that I mistakenly stabbed myself with a knife I’d stolen. They were skeptical about my tale but I didn’t budge so they had no choice but to accept my story and punish me. I realized they were being very lenient by only sentencing me to spend every Saturday till the end of the term cutting grass or pounding clogged toilets, but I realized that it was much better than having Chike suspended, or worse, expelled so close to our JSSCEs.

*

He cleared his throat and continued, “As I told you, Tunde, we only wanted to get to the bottom of it. All we needed was confirmation.”

Because unfortunately, my word would never have been good enough -not that I’d believed otherwise on that afternoon on March 11th, when the assistant head boy interrupted my lunch of Pako flakes to inform me that I was being summoned by the principal.

He left me at the door of the building and I walked in to see that the principal’s secretary was away from her desk. I hesitantly knocked at the door and waited for his answer. After hearing his response, I walked in to see five boys kneeling by a wall.

“Tunde, why don’t you sit down?” he ordered before I could properly digest the scene in front of me. “Do you recognize these boys?”

I nodded.

“From where?”

“I have seen them around the school.”

“Anywhere else?”

I knew ratting out my seniors would be tantamount to suicide so I shook my head.
He slowly stood up and walked from behind the desk.

“So why did they identify you?”

My mouth fell open. “Me sir, as what?”

“As one of them - they say that you also attacked Chike.”

My tongue suddenly felt heavy. I swallowed hard. “It’s not true, sir. I don’t even know them. Why would I do that? I was the one that took him to the sickbay. Chike is my friend,” I said quickly, not bothering to take a moment to breathe.

“So are you saying these boys are lying?”

I looked at their hard faces and said, “Please sir, I didn’t do anything.”

He leaned against the desk.

“ I see. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

I took a deep breath and gave him the details.

*

“As you know, as one of our top students,” his voice crackled from the other side of the phone, “I only wish the best for you.”

I had to do everything in my power to keep from scoffing. Wish the best for me? Yeah, right.

If I were to describe myself, I’d say that I was someone who loved a good challenge. It’s not that I loved school, but I saw it for what it was and did my best to conquer it. The same went for sports. Some said the high came from participating but for me, the aim of the game was to win. And I loved every single minute of it. I found that I was athletic and made sure that by my JSS2, I was winning every short distance race in the junior category. If the rules could have been bent, I would have loved to beat the seniors too. It wasn’t even about getting the prizes -as they were always something pointless like a book on Calabar art- but about knowing that I was the best – and no drug-induced high could ever make me feel as good. And that was what made Linda Okorie so appealing.

Sure, I wasn’t the only one that noticed her walk in and out of her father’s house in her blue checkered blouse and solid blue skirt. And sure, I wasn’t the only person that saw that even though she was a little plump, she had a pretty mouth. But I knew I was definitely the only junior boy that had the guts to approach her.

It hadn’t been easy dodging the school prefects as I tried to hang around the staff quarters every evening. But my persistence paid off and eventually, she ran into me.

It had been a Thursday evening and even though it was still sunny, the air was a little cooler as Harmattan was around the corner. I was getting ready to go to the Dinning Hall for dinner when I heard the rustling of feet behind me. I turned around to see her staring at me.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her lips twisted in a smirk.

With the most poker face I could manage I said, “I am looking for Mrs. Ojo’s house.”

“Oh…” she lifted her brow. “I think it’s 2 houses behind that one.” She pointed to the third house on the left.

“Okay, thank you,” I replied, looking over then lowering my eyes. After another glance at her, I reluctantly turned around.

“Hey, are you alright?” she called.

I hid a smile and turned back around. “Yes. Mrs. Ojo is my family friend and I just wanted to know if there was any news about my mother.”

“Your mother? What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s…” I didn’t know what disease to pick as I was a little superstitious and didn’t actually want it to befall her. “… not feeling well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” her forehead creased in worry. “Do you want to come in and use the phone here? You can call your house.”

But before long, she wasn’t much of a challenge -all I needed to do was add two years to my age and tell her all the things she wanted to hear. Soon after, the thrill came from finding a way to always be at her place without getting caught. But as expected, the inevitable day arrived when her father walked in with some Christmas decorations and saw my hand up his daughter’s blouse. At that moment, I realized that a new challenge had arisen; one where he’d try to find a way of punishing me without exposing her. So I really wasn’t surprised when I was called back to the principal’s office later that afternoon.

I sat in the waiting room watching the principal’s secretary paint her nails with an artist’s precision. I sat still, trying my best to look confident and unaffected even though inside, all I could think about was what the principal had in store for me.

At around 4:30, the secretary gave me the go ahead.

I pushed open the door to find my frowning father sitting across from the principal. He stood up as I walked into the room.

“Tunde, as I told your father, you are on indefinite suspension starting from today. Go to your room, pack your bags and come back here.”

What? I wasn’t sure I could trust my ears.

My father nodded and said, “Son, go and get your things.”

I stared at him then turned to the principal. “But excuse me sir, I didn’t do anything – ask Chike.”

“As you know, Chike doesn’t remember you being there, but the other boys insist that you only kicked him when he was unconscious.”

“Why would I do such a thing, sir? He is my friend!”

“Well, till we get to the bottom of this, you have to go home.”

Not knowing what else to do, I got on my knees. “Please sir, I swear, I am innocent, I didn’t do it. Chike is my friend, why would I hit him? They are just lying on me!”

“Well, for now, you have to go home. We cannot tolerate this type of nonsense here. If you are telling the truth, it will come out sooner or later. But for now, my hands are tied.”

*

“Anyway, everything has been taken care of and you can come back to school.”

For the first time in a week, I breathed easily. “Thank you, thank you sir.”

“There’s no need to thank me. Several students came forward and confirmed your story. They all admitted to seeing all the other boys kicking him but no one remembered seeing you. The other boys have been expelled.”

“I see, sir.”

“As I told you, the truth will come out and now, we know you were not involved.” He sounded a little disappointed.

“I see sir. When should I return?”

“Since it’s already Thursday, why don’t you return on Saturday so that you can have time to catch up with your notes?”

“Thank you, sir.”

***
I’d barely waved my parents off when I turned around and ran to Chike’s room.

“Ol boy, how you dey now?” I asked, taping him on the arm. He was sitting on the lower bunk, looking into his locker.

He looked up at me. “How, now?”

“Shey everything is okay?” His face was still slightly bruised but otherwise, he looked fine.
He nodded then stood up to face me.

“Anyway, abeg I need to borrow your physics notes. Men, I have so much copying to do and Mocks are in two weeks. And you know I must pass. In fact, add biology to that too,” I said smiling.

Wordlessly, he turned around, pulled his bag from behind his locker, found the two notebooks and held them out to me.

“Tunde, everything is balanced now, abi?”

Still smiling, I grabbing on to the books. “Heh?”

He held on to the books and looked into my eyes. “I said it’s finished. You don’t owe me anything and I don’t owe you anything. Okay?”

I nodded slowly. I hadn’t realized that he’d known all along.

***

It really had begun like any other day. The walk to the tap had put a little strain on my healing leg so I leaned against a wall for a quick rest. I was looking around when I saw a group of boys kicking something in the sand. I immediately turned my face and started to leave when I heard someone call my name. I turned around to see a senior boy in his white crisp trousers gesturing for me to go to him.

“Do you know this boy?” The rest of his friends stopped kicking and backed away so that I could see his face.

I barely recognized Chike underneath the blood.

I shook my head vehemently.

“Why are you lying?”

“Senior Ahmed, I am not lying.” He was the only one in Yellow House with us.

“Really? Then how come I always see you together?”

My lower lip quivered. “I… I don’t know.”

“This isn’t your friend?”

I shook my head again.

“Then prove it,” said the yellow skinned Igbo-looking boy at the other end.

“How?”

“Like this.” He kicked him.

“But… but, he didn’t do anything to me.”

“And so? If you don’t know him, you will kick him.”

“But…”

“Are you deaf? Kick him or face punishment.”

From the looks on their faces, I knew that if I didn’t comply I’d face the same fate Chike had. Maybe it was a challenge I should have attempted to conquer but at that moment, all I could see was Chike’s swollen face. So I chose to give him a little tap. But the pain in my right leg made it difficult to lift it high. Then I looked down at his face and saw the source of that pain –the reason I’d missed a lot of classes, the reason I would not be competing in the Interhouse sports or even in the football match against our biggest rivals and as I thought of this, the soft tap transformed into a succession of hard kicks and I just kept kicking till their robust laughs permeated my anger.

My body went still.With an uneven mix of shame and relief, I looked from their animated faces to his lifeless body and slowly limped away.

Saturday, February 19, 2005

Sat, 19 Feb 2005 03:42:23 GMT

This is the first draft of the story but I've got ideas to expand it... I think right now, it's almost like a summary and what I plan to do with it will probably expand it 5-or-more-fold. I won't go into too much detail but for now, here is Red Leather Bag written in August or September...
----

“What’s your name?” the lady at the reception desk asked.

“Tinuke. Miss Tinuke Adebayo.”

“And what is this regarding?” The lady picked up the phone and dialed an extension.

“Oh, Mr. Wasiu is expecting me,” she replied, rubbing her shaking hands together.

“I see.” The lady gave her a knowing look then listened in to the receiver.

Tinu, as her friends called her, would have been a little confused by the look if she wasn’t sure that the lady was accustomed to meeting girls like her on a daily basis… if she didn't know that she wasn't the first whore to walk up to her.

Not that she was sure that whore was the right definition. After all, she didn’t stand on the street corner looking for tricks, nor did she work at a brothel waiting for customers to service. In fact, she had a legitimate job as a financial advisor at a renowned bank in the city. It just happened that selling mutual funds and creating retirement plans were not the only duties she was expected to provide to her clients.

It hadn’t been hard to find a job after graduation. Graduating at the top of her class had gotten her invited to interviews and her slim figure and delicate features had ensured that she received call-backs. A great location and a lucrative compensation package made the decision to sign a three-year contract with First Citizen’s Bank of Lagos quick and painless.

“You can go up now, Mr. Wasiu is in Room 1312,” she said, putting the phone receiver down. Tinu’s heart rate quickened as she dragged her feet to the elevators. She’d hoped that he wouldn’t be around, that he’d be busy, that there’d be an earthquake, that the ceiling would cave in, that something, anything would stop her from going into the twelfth room on the thirteenth floor but as the elevator steadily moved up, she knew that her prayers had gone unanswered.

Her skin had crawled a little on the day she signed that contract. Mention of her sex life did not belong in the same sentence as the explanation of the fine print. Apparently, for the duration of her stay, she wasn’t allowed to get married. And if she had a boyfriend, he was not allowed to visit the office. Why? They explained that they wanted their clients to feel that they were receiving 100% of their agent's time. She didn’t think she planned to get married before she turned twenty-five so it didn’t seem like a huge sacrifice to her. If hindsight was indeed perfect, she wouldn’t have hummed in celebration as she scribbled on the dotted line.

She’d only knocked once when the door opened. His white teeth shone as he stepped aside to let her in. The expensive-looking furniture was arranged in a very simple pattern and the plush carpet looked new. Papers were strewn across the desk, his coat flung across the couch in front of the television and it looked like the bed hadn't been touched since the cleaning woman had come in earlier in the day.

“You can put your bag over there,” he said, pointing under the desk.

He said it so matter-of-factly that she wondered how often he did this. He wasn’t exactly terrible for a first time, after all, he wasn't too fat, he didn’t have a pungent smell and according to his file, was only 32, unlike that old, toothless man her boss had tried to make her visit a few months earlier.

They’d always had a good working relationship so she didn’t think anything of it when he'd called her into his office that afternoon.

“Chief Olatunde is in town this week," he had informed her.

“Really?” she had said. Even though he had a huge account at the bank, he seemed to have a problem keeping advisors. She’d wondered why he kept changing them because from what she saw in the records that had been put on her desk two weeks earlier, everything seemed to be in order.

“He’d like to discuss something with you.”

“Great. I’ll look into my calendar and try to give him an appointment.”

“Tinu, there’ll be no need for that. He’s staying at the Meridien and he’d like to see you tomorrow evening.”

Her lungs had stopped inflating -she'd suspected that that day would come. She wasn’t blind – she saw the other girls carrying designer bags that matched the shoes they could not afford and even saw some getting picked up by clients in their BMWs. She paid no attention to it, in fact she didn't care -she just didn’t think she’d become one of them. Her salary paid for her apartment and enabled her to make steady payments to her parents for the used car they’d bought her, and her simple life suited her just fine.

She didn’t want Chief Olatunde or Barrister Okotie or Dr. Igbokwe or any of the other men her boss wanted her to have after-hours ‘discussions’ with but after a while, he got frustrated and gave her an ultimatum: do it or get fired. And according to the contract she signed, if she got fired, she'd receive no severance pay.

She’d sneaked away to interviews during her lunch breaks but from the way the men gawked at her long legs, she knew that her experiences wouldn’t be any different elsewhere. Her friends told her that she’d be stupid to quit, pointing out that after tasting freedom, returning to the confines of her parents’ home would be hell, that it wasn’t such a big deal, that there was nothing wrong in getting paid for something she didn’t mind doing for free. They pointed out that even though she'd get 'pocket money' it was not prostitution, that it was not like she'd be going around looking for clients but that it was something a young, single, Nigerian girl had to do to survive in the damaged economy former president Abacha and his cronies had created. They said that with the 25% unemployment rate in a country where some college graduates had resorted to selling roasted corn to drivers in cars at traffic lights, that it was only smart to do all it took to keep her job.

She refused, no, declared that it was beneath her, that it was against all her principles, that she was not that kind of girl, but as his long, dark, body lay on top of her and she felt him deep inside her, she thought of the wing her parents were able to add partly because she’d offered to take care of her little brother’s school fees, of the many nights she could spend with her boyfriend -without her parents’ disapproval, of how, unlike her mother, she didn’t have to keep an account of every single penny she spent. As he moaned in pleasure and his body heaved on top of hers, she decided that it really wasn’t so bad, that it was only natural, that God wouldn’t have created sex if it wasn’t to be enjoyed, that she was only being smart, that she wasn't doing anything new, that Utopia only existed in American movies.

On her way home, she drove by Bevista on Allen Avenue and saw a bright red leather bag in its window. If her calculations were correct, she now had about two designer bags and a pair of shoes in the bag her mother had gotten her for her 18th birthday. She felt the frays as she ran her fingers over its corners. It amazed her that she'd never noticed how old and beat up it looked. She figured that she could keep using the ugly thing, but couldn't come up with a reason why a young, single, Nigerian girl trying to survive in the damaged economy couldn’t enjoy a nice, new designer bag. Especially when she’d worked her butt off to get it.

Friday, February 11, 2005

Fri, 11 Feb 2005 19:04:13 GMT

Another 15 minute ficlet (basically, you are given a word and supposed to write something in 15 minutes using the word)

Word: Quest

----

She was on a mission of sorts; a quest, some might say. She rummaged through her purse looking for it. Her fingers moved through crumbs, pens, make-up and all her other 'essentials' till they brushed a small, round object. She smiled as she pulled it out.

"Fucking eraser," she said, throwing it on the floor. Frustrated, she grabbed her bag and turned it upside down, emptying it on the bed.

She searched through all the knickknacks that had resided in it for the past month but couldn't find it. Satisfied her search had been thorough, she pulled up her pillow and felt under it. Then she pushed the contents of her bag to the floor and pulled out all the sheets.

“Where the fuck is it?” she snarled to herself. “Why the fuck am I not organized?”

She kicked the bundle of sheets and blanket to the floor then pulled up her mattress. Still nothing. She let the mattress drop to the springs then got on all fours and searched under the bed. She pushed her shoes aside, pulled out the previous year’s yearbook and shoved the screw driver to the foot of the bed. After about a minute of pushing and feeling, she exhaled and let a smile replace the scowl that had practically been etched on her face for the past week. She picked it up with two fingers, pulled it out, then sat against her bed.

Without missing a beat, she unwrapped the candy and popped it into her mouth. “No one ever said dieting was easy,” she reminded herself, wiping the sweat off her brow.

Monday, January 31, 2005

Mon, 31 Jan 2005 18:50:00 GMT

Strings written for a 15minute ficlet exercise.

----

She pulled the little brush out of the tube and watched the red liquid drip on the sink. What the fuck was wrong with her? Why the hell was she doing this? Like always, he’d barely notice her and if he did, he wouldn’t care. So why was she thinking of going over there?

She was sick and tired of the sacrifices she had to make for him. She’d given up dreaming, just to be a good wife – devoting all her time to him; stroking his ego whenever he felt down; listening when he needed to talk; loving him when he needed affection. But what was it all for? Why did it matter if he was still going to go ahead and sleep with the neighbor’s daughter?

She threw the lipstick on the mirror, not caring that it spilt and stained his cherished man-cosmetics, then plopped herself on the toilet. Why did he have to do this do her? Why did he choose to say “I do,” when he knew he didn’t mean it? And why was she locked in her bathroom while he was probably next door, locked in her bedroom?

It probably wouldn’t have hurt so much if she didn’t do all the extra things – making his eggs exactly the way he liked it, massaging his back whenever he came home, ignoring her needs for his. And it probably wouldn’t have hurt so much if the girl was something special. But she was short and pimply with a shrill voice and teeth that made one wonder if she descended from vampires. And yet he’d picked that over her. Over her. She fucking went to the gym five times a day to make sure she stayed sleek and toned for him, but it didn’t matter, because it turned out he had a thing for pregnant-looking girls.

As she sat on the seat, stomping her feet and slapping her laps in frustration, her hair fell to her face and she noticed the cherry blonde highlights she’d put in especially for him. Shit, what hadn’t she done for him? she wondered. She stood up, opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed the black scissors. “Fuck him and fuck her,” she said, pushing it to the side of her head and snipping haphazardly – it was time she started doing things for herself

Monday, January 31, 2005

Mon, 31 Jan 2005 18:47:20 GMT

Since my most recent piece isn't yet ready for public consumption, I'll post some more old pieces. And Femi's Diary is always around.

Anyway, here's Her Last Minutes
------

The minute she got into the apartment she put on the heater and plopped on her well worn sofa. She was still in shock. It was a particularly harsh winter, but that was the least of her worries. She pulled out the ATM receipt and looked at it for the 17th time that evening. She shook her head in disbelief. How could this be? Was she dreaming? She pinched herself. The pain told her she wasn't.

“$5.15?” she read out loud. “I have $5.15? How in the world could this happen? I only have $5.15?” she continued to herself. Worst of all, her bills were piling up, bill collectors had her on speed dial and she didn’t know where her next penny was coming from. She put her hands on her head in despair. This isn’t happening to me, she thought. Judging from just two years earlier, she would never have predicted her life as this.

On June 17, 2001, Aicha Mohammed walked on stage to receive her Masters of Business Administration diploma in finance. As she looked to the audience, she saw her parents beaming with pride. Next to them were Kamal Johnston and his parents. Watching them share her joy so completely made Aicha feel confident enough to fly. Her life was complete. She had supportive parents (granted, they still wanted her to go for her PhD), Kamal, a man she’d loved for 5 years of her life, supportive future in-laws, a great education from a renowned university and a job offer from a fortune-500 company based in New York.

Aicha wasn’t starting the job till January so, she and Kamal took her $8,000 signing bonus and backpacked across Europe for three weeks, visiting important landmarks all day and making love all night. When they returned in August she was one shade darker, five pounds heavier and ten degrees happier. She excitedly packed up all her stuff, sold her car, after all, no one drove in New York, and started shipping stuff to her new apartment. It was quite swank at $1,800/ month on the outskirts of Brooklyn –she could afford it with her $70,000/year salary. She was looking forward to a great life in a great city.

Then, her nicely bound life began to unravel. On August 29th, 2001 (she would never forget that date), she received a letter from her future employers stating “We regret that as a result of the current economic situation, we have to rescind our previous offer. Please keep the signing bonus for your inconvenience.” A regular person would have gone to plan B and stayed home with the parents, but not Aicha. She prayed about it and knew that everything would work out for the best –it always did. Besides, Kamal had been working in New York for a year and she couldn’t wait to shorten their long-distance relationship.

So, September 3rd, Aicha boarded the plane and embarked on her new life. She moved into her swank apartment and knew that the combination of the graduation check her parents had presented to her and her savings would enable her to live quite well till the end of year. Besides, Kamal was there if she needed any help. She was sure he could spare some of the extra cash he earned as a Wall Street hot shot.

Then, the two towers were toppled on September 11th. Her mother called, begging her to move back home. She refused. She had her whole life ahead of her and wasn’t Allah protecting her? As needed, she sent her résumé to the top companies. There were literally hundreds in New York so she sent copies to all of them. One by one, the rejection letters arrived. The companies that hadn't sent letters also rejected her – they just couldn’t be bothered to inform her. Then, she sent letters to the less successful companies, they, she figured, would definitely want her, after all she had a top degree from a top university. Unfortunately, just as before, she received rejection letters. What was going on? She was a hot commodity, she should have her pick of the litter. Why was she being rejected? They weren’t even calling her for interviews -she was getting rejected off the bat. She was told at the employment agency that her name was off-putting. After September 11th, Arabs were experiencing a nationally accepted version of discrimination and as a result, so was she. The problem was, she wasn’t even an Arab. Her father had converted to Islam and changed his name from Lawson to Mohammed while he was involved with the civil rights movement in the sixties. She relayed as much to the agent and although he sympathized with her, he acknowledged that once the recruiter read her name, (s)he probably didn’t read much more.
However, she was relentless and with the love of God on her side, kept on sending those resumes and kept on receiving rejection letters.

By December, as she’d spent all her resources, she put all her possessions in storage and moved in with Kamal. She had to forgo her security deposit ($1,800 she desperately needed) but luckily could break out of her lease because there was a long waiting-list. By January, she got desperate and starting calling in all her favors. After a month, a college friend was able to find her a position at her company. $2,500/month was hardly her worth but was $2,500 more than what she’d been previously earning. So she took the position with intentions of excelling at it and advancing in the company. Unfortunately, in late April, the company had to make cut backs and since it was “last in, first out,” with two weeks severance pay, she was unemployed again and had been ever since.

Aicha felt thirsty and headed to her fridge for a drink of water. As she hit the switch, a rat ran across her kitchen. She sighed. She was sure she was cohabiting with a community of very fertile vermin –she has seen so many sizes and colors that she was convinced that new hybrids were being created in her very own apartment. She reached for a glass and filled it. As the water rolled off her tongue and down her throat she felt relief and satisfaction. Lately, it took very little to please her. She turned the light back off and went back to her couch. She looked around the studio which was masquerading as a one-bedroom apartment and laid her eyes on Kamal’s picture. Unfunny how things work out, she thought to herself.

Yes, Kamal. She’d loved him for six years of her life. She remembers the day she saw him at the neighborhood Muslim Community meeting and after hearing him speak for 5 minutes, she knew he was her destiny. And apparently he was. Their parents had attended college together and approved of the match so much, that if she wasn’t so in love with him, she would have dumped him just to spite them.

She’d never forget the day she told him she was pregnant – July 12th, 3 days after his birthday. Woman’s intuition exists because on the night she conceived, as they were making love on his sofa, she knew that a baby was being created. However, just to confirm, a month later, she got tested and wasn’t disappointed. In fact she was happy. She and Kamal were headed for the altar so she didn’t foresee any problems –they just had to move up the date.

Granted, they had never actually set one but it wasn’t too soon. They had been together for 6 years, he was 28 she was 26 and not getting younger. His salary could adequately support a family and she had great earning potential. She knew he was going to be ecstatic –he’d always loved kids. But by the way his face fell, she knew she’d been mistaken. Apparently, it was unexpected. Was she sure it was his? He wasn’t ready to be a father. He didn’t want a wife. He needed time to think. He spent that night at his friend’s. When he returned he was certain that it would be better if she moved out so that he could have some space to digest all the information. Upset, Aicha reminded him that there wasn’t much time. She had less than two months to decide if she was keeping it. Kamal was enraged at the thought of an abortion. "It’s against our religion and everything we stand for," he screamed. Aicha reminded him that fornication and having children out of wedlock were also against their religion. Kamal plainly stated that abortion was not an option and called her parents.

Her parents, Aicha thought as she looked at their picture. They had always been the most beautiful couple –everyone said so. They were lean, classy and intelligent. Her parents had met while they were both pursuing their doctorates at Northwestern. Mom was 34 and Dad, 31. They’d met and fallen so madly in love that in less than a year, they were married and planning a family. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to them, it was to be a terribly bumpy ride. After 6 miscarriages in 5 years, at 2:32pm, May 23rd 1975, her mother gave birth to her and Usman. Usman died 3 hours and 24 minutes later and ever since, in addition to being the apple of their eyes, she became the proposed vessel for fulfilling all their dreams. Her father became a professor of Engineering and Mom a homemaker for the first 14 years of her life. The day she started high school her mother started her job as a loan officer. She’d led a happy, middle-class existence and every two years, took a vacation to Africa – her father wanted them to stay close to their roots. In addition to being afro-centric, although not devout, they’d lived according to Islamic law. They couldn’t even eat at McDonalds because they weren’t sure there wasn’t any pork in the burgers. Hence, the phone call from Kamal was most unwelcome.

Her mother immediately flew to New York to convince her to change her mind. Her father announced that she would be disowned if she went through with it. All Aicha could think of was being a single mother and she couldn’t bare it. Her mother lent her some cash for an apartment and after she was convinced that Aicha was keeping the child, flew back home. The next day, Aicha walked into Planned Parenthood and made arrangements to end her pregnancy.

A week later, Kamal had called explaining that although he still wasn’t ready to be married, he would like to help raise the child. Aicha calmly told him about the abortion. After using every curse word Aicha knew, plus some she didn’t, he hung up. That was the last time he spoke to her. Sometimes their paths cross, maybe on the street or at a store, and when their eyes meet, Kamal always turns away and pretends she’s a stranger.
As for her parents, her Dad was very disappointed and as far as he knows, “he doesn’t have a daughter.” Which also meant that she was to receive no financial support from him. Her mother had been forbidden to communicate with her but from time to time, she’d get a letter in her handwriting with a money order. Financially strapped, Aicha sold all her furniture and bought a worn-out couch, a 13 inch television and single mattress.

Aicha took her eyes off her parent’s picture and picked up the remote control and turned on the television. She flicked through the six channels and turned it back off. Aicha couldn’t even remember what having cable felt like. She felt a hunger pang and as she got off the couch intending to get something to eat, the ATM receipt fell to the floor. She was immediately reminded of her destitution. She didn’t know how she was going to pay her utilities or more importantly, her rent. She couldn’t believe what her life had become. And the most painful thing was, there was no imminent resolution. She’d been unemployed for so long that she did not believe that her status would ever change. She’d stopped sending out resumes – she couldn’t afford the postage, damn, she couldn’t even afford the paper. She bent down to pick the receipt. The moment she felt it, she knew what to do. Suddenly elated, she grabbed her coat and ran to the grocery store. Twenty minutes later, she returned with $5.15 worth of supplies and laid them on her couch. Next, she went to the fridge and brought out all she could find – it wasn’t much but it was food nonetheless. She brought out the lone plate in her cupboard and sat on her couch. She twisted the cap off her 7-up, took a sip and had a gastronomical orgasm – soda had become a luxury. She took her time and savored every bite of her cookie and cream ice-cream as it too, hadn’t been on her grocery list for a while. Half an hour later, she took her brush and scrubbed out her bath tub. Then, she filled it with hot water, sat in it and enjoyed the rest of her ice-cream.

When she felt the water cooling, she reached for the knife she’d brought with her and looked at the blade –it was her carving knife. She looked at her wrist and laughed –it was so tiny, she’d lost over thirty pounds in the last year. There’s no diet like poverty, she said to herself. She took the knife and brought its blade to her right wrist and hesitated. I hope this doesn’t hurt, she thought. In the movies it doesn’t seem to hurt so I’m sure it wouldn’t, she assured herself. God, please don’t let this hurt, she prayed. Then she laughed. She kept on laughing for another five minutes. I can’t believe I just prayed, she thought. She was sure God didn’t exist, after all, she wouldn’t be living this hell, would she? She’d always been a good person and followed his teachings as best she could. The Allah she was taught about wouldn’t desert her like this, so obviously he couldn't possibly exist.

Then, she put the blade on her wrist again. Suicide for selfish reasons is against His teachings too. "I’d definitely go to hell for this," she said aloud. Then she laughed again. The abortion already cinched that, she chuckled sarcastically. She looked at her wrist once more. Why am I hesitating? She asked herself. She put the blade on her wrist one more time but this time, she pressed it hard and felt a sharp pain. "Ouch," she screamed. It hurt far more than she could ever have imagined. With new awareness, she thought about what she was about to do. Immediately, she felt ashamed, ashamed that an educated, able-bodied woman like herself was laying in her bathtub and felling sorry for herself. She knew she was better off than Simon the homeless guy who slept, rain or snow, in front of her building. She knew that although financially strapped, she was intelligent and enterprising enough to find a solution to her problems. Energized by her new ideas, she rose from the tub and stepped out of the water.

-----
I found Aicha three weeks later. A neighbor had reported a persistent foul odor emanating from her apartment and I was asked to investigate. As far as I could tell, Aicha Mohammed had slipped and hit her head on the bathroom tile while stepping out of her tub.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

Tue, 11 Jan 2005 19:26:12 GMT

Fufu

------

“Kemi, have you finished rinsing the mortar? Do you think we have all day? You had better hurry up!” Mama Tunde scolded from behind her.

The stupid wooden thing was so heavy that whenever Kemi poured in the water and swiveled it around to clean it, she could never lift the bowl quickly enough to throw out all the debris in one swoop. Why hadn't Toyin just washed it out properly the last time she used it? "Oh," Kemi snickered, "because she knew she wouldn’t get blamed for it."

How could she, being Chief Olatunde’s newest wife? Kemi remembered what it was like when she first moved into the mansion. Richly woven Aso Oke brought in from Lagos, brightly colored Lace straight from Denmark, and even the leather slippers specially made by the mallams in Sokoto were stacked and waiting in her room. And as for the portly Chief, all the other wives couldn’t help but be envious of all the affection he showered on her, including waking up with her three mornings a week and bestowing upon her, the honor of preparing his Sunday meals. There were no abstract definitions in this household – the last wife was the pet, the first wife the boss and the middle wives made fufu.

She dragged the mortar from the tap and onto the slab closest to the boiling pot.

“Not there, oshi! Are you stupid? You want to break it? Put it here!” Mama Tunde instructed, pointing to the grassy section of the outdoor kitchen.

God, what did I do to deserve this? Kemi wondered. She’d had the opportunity to become Teacher Tunji’s first wife but her parents had told her that she’d be better off as the fourth wife of a rich man. If she hadn’t listened to them, she’d have been the one barking orders at a junior wife.

Kemi waited as Mama Biodun tossed in the hot yam pieces without even bothering to drain them properly so as not to scald her co-wives with the piping hot liquid. Kemi immediately wiped off the splashes on her arms with her well-worn Adire wrapper and eyed her angrily. For ten months now, the witch had been taking her revenge for the two years she’d watched Kemi leaning against the sink, humming, while her senior wives pounded the stringy root vegetable in a carefully planned rhythm.

As Kemi lifted and released the pestle, her palms systematically pricked by the splintered wood, spending minute after exhausting minute mashing the yam into a starchy paste, while trying her best not to crash into Mama Tosin’s pestle, she watched the disinterested Toyin playing with her nails. “Don’t worry, Toyin,” she said under her breath, her sweat blurring her vision, “your time will soon come.”

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

Tue, 11 Jan 2005 19:20:10 GMT

Picnic (fanfiction for The O.C.) Written in July 2004

--------

"Eeeeeeeeew!"

The loud scream awakens Ryan from his mid-afternoon siesta. The gang has decided to go on a picnic and instead of the usual beach thing, they drive up to the secluded lake Seth usually fishes at. The fact that he's never actually caught a fish made everyone suspicious of its actual existence but thirty minutes out of Newport, they'd arrived at this seemingly fertile ground covered by a variety of sturdy trees and shrubs with colors of red, brown and green.

"What?" groans our hero. After a twenty minute hike to the actual lake, a lunch of tuna sandwiches and potato chips, and the incessant gabbing between Seth and Summer, he'd been quite ready for some shut-eye. He'd slept on his back with his well-built right arm covering his face. She'd better not be screaming about a squirrel, he says to himself.

Just as he's about to move, he feels a weird sensation on his bulging bicep. Before he can even look to see its cause, he notices that same feeling it on his thigh, then his stomach. He's barely opened his eyes when Marissa screams, "Ants!"

Yes, ants. Tons and tons of them. Could it be that they'd somehow picnicked on an ant colony? When they picked out the spot, they hadn't noticed any humps with holes in them like they showed on the Discovery Channel, but before Ryan has time to ponder this, the weird sensations begin to feel more like pinches. And bites. All over him. Poor boy! He looks down and sees big black soldier ants spread across him like little pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. The stupid insects are hiding those hard-worked pecs rippling beneath his smooth skin. And those arms, long and lean with muscles that seems to cry out every time he moves. And... well, you get the picture.

He looks up at the rest of the gang and sees that they are all in the same predicament but unlike him, are all jumping up and down, trying to rid themselves of the invaders.

"The, ouch, argh, water!" Marissa manages to scream.

"What?" someone says. Which of them said it? Who cares? We just want to see Naked!Ryan.

"Oh my God," Marissa shrieks, running her hands through her hair like someone intent on becoming bald. "The fucking water," she says, running in the direction of the lake. They all follow suit.

"COLD!" Marissa and Seth utter through chattering teeth.

Unperturbed by the temperature -because he's too sexy for that- Ryan completely immerses his body in the water and comes out soaking wet. We pause for a few seconds to just stare. Hello, look at him. His hair is plastered on his strong, angular face and his wife-beater is so wet it looks transparent. As if reading our minds, Ryan v...e...r...y slowly puts his hands at the bottom of his shirt and pulls it over his head. We said v...e...r...y slowly so we shall repeat: He pulls off the wet fabric and we watch as it slides, inch by inch, over the edges of his exquisite musculature. He looks down and notices that he only has a few ants left on him, so, he moves to another part of the lake and removes them one after the other. First he picks the one that's lying on his not too wide, but so well defined shoulder. We notice a scar that we imagine he'd obtained at a barroom brawl and an image of a jousting Ryan comes into mind. Yeah, Medieval!Ryan is hot. Then he pulls one off his nipple; hard as pebbles and flanked by one or two hairs. We... ah, forget it! Let's not go there. With his little finger, he flicks off the one that's attempting to hide in his belly button -a navel that's housed by that taut, flat abdomen that makes you want to run your finger down it to feel every hard contour of sinew. Then he puts his hand behind him and picks the last one off his back, a back that celebrates his strength and starts off broad then tapers to a narrow waist that lies above the gentle swell of his tight

"How many ways can I say this sucks?" Seth whines. "I'm going back to the car!"

"Me too," Marissa adds. Bye, we say. Seth's cute, but scrawny chests are not in. And as for Marissa... well, we are just not into that.

Ryan must know that we are watching because he decides to turn his back to us and walk over to a shallower side of the lake and in doing so, slowly exposes the lower part of his body. Did we say something about a gentle swell? Yeah, his pants cling to tight buttocks and we don't even care that he has a wedgie because it means we can practically see the firm sleekness of him. As we try to come up with reasons for him to take those pesky pants off, he stops and stares. A little surprised because we are The Powers That Be and that wasn't in the script, we follow his gaze.

Shit. Summer. We forgot all about her. Yeah, just what we need - an absolutely beautiful girl distracting our hero. Yes, she's wet and somehow the dirt on her face makes her look even more appealing, but we don't care. All we want is to get PartiallyClothed!Ryan back on track to becoming Naked!Ryan.

Maybe a water snake can bite her and she dies, one of the dumbest members of our group suggests. A patient person reminds him that instead of a Naked!Ryan, we'll get a Mourning!Ryan. And even though Crying!Ryan, is oh, so sexy, Romeo and Juliet, this is not.

How about we give Ryan food poisoning? "Shut up!" is the only response that moron gets. In what world is diarrhea cute? Then someone comes up with a plan.

Ryan is still mesmerized, his mouth slightly agape because for some reason, maybe she'd forgotten to do her laundry or something, she's not wearing a bra. Hence, her entire upper body is drenched in lake water and since she's only seventeen and unfortunately, gravity is not yet at work

A wave comes from nowhere and forces her, face first, into the lake. She's struggling, looking like a complete idiot, coughing up the vile water, throwing up, possibly farting, basically doing all the things we imagine our dear Ryan isn't attracted to, and we are pleased.

He runs over to her and helps her up. We'd expected this, after all, he is our own little Caring!Ryan, but instead of leaving her after he's sure she's alright, he pulls her into him and holds her tight. What the hell? Someone is getting fired! With some undesirable expression plastered across that face we love staring at, he slowly runs his hand up and down her back. She's crying or something because it was a particularly huge wave and she thought she was going to die, but who cares? She's keeping us from our Naked!Ryan! We are frustrated. This isn't going like we'd planned. What happened to the further descriptions of his muscular torso, or the hardness of his lithe legs, or the bulging muscles of his powerful thighs? Hello, we didn't look this up on the internet for nothing! Tempers are flaring but luckily, frustration brings a barrage of ideas. Hit them with a stray plank of wood. Target's been hit but they are still stuck like glue. Rain, mixed with hail sounds good too but that only makes him put his hand on her face to protect it from the hard pelts.

A bible, someone suggests. Why? To remind him he's holding on to best friend's girlfriend, but the book is so wet by the time it reaches them, it might as well have been a collector's edition of Hustler. Just when we think things can't get any worse, the protective hand on her face becomes a sensuous one, caressing the edges of her cheek and slowly inching to the side of her mouth.

The rustling of feet on grass startles them apart and Marissa re-emerges.

"What are you doing?" she yells. "We've been waiting for you! Come on," she gestures, then walks back.

And thus concludes our little exercise because, without as much as a glance at Summer, Ryan walks out of the lake and back to the car.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

Tue, 11 Jan 2005 19:16:54 GMT

It's time for me to add some of my pieces.

Moke and Me.

--------------------- First draft written in 2001
"You're making that up! There's no way that happened!" I was cackling like a hyena.

"It sure did," he said, his eyebrows moving excitedly.

I sipped wine as he shared the details of his latest anecdote.

Anyone watching us at the restaurant would never have guessed we were on a first date.

Last Saturday, I dragged my two best friends, Laura and Julia, to an African Students Association event. Thirty minutes into it, as we were devising a plan to discreetly leave, Julia spotted him. He was about 6’3, light skinned, toned like a male model and owned a smile that could melt the North Pole. After twenty minutes of intense staring, a few arguments, followed by a few rounds of 'rock, paper, scissors,' Julia won the opportunity to approach him.

So you can imagine my surprise when shortly after, a frowning Julia returned with him in tow and introduced us. Ten minutes later, Moke and I separated ourselves from the group and spent the rest of the evening as a twosome.

For a week, I’d wondered why he’d picked me over my friend, so I asked.

“You don’t like that I came to talk to you instead?”

“No. That’s not it. It’s just that she’s so beautiful. All the guys always go for her. I’m just wondering why you didn’t. ”

He was nodding his head. “Yes, she is beautiful, but so are you. In fact I find you more attractive.”

I blushed. “Really?”

He looked at me like I was crazy. “Of course, don’t you see that?”

“I guess so.” I really didn’t know how to respond. “So you came to talk to me because you thought I was more beautiful?” I figured I'd milk it because, well... why not?

“Yes... no... I don’t know. I just had a feeling about you. Like I knew you or something. Actually, more like you were someone I should know. So I went with that. And I’m glad I did. Aren’t you?”

“What do you think?”

We spent the rest of the evening talking and flirting shamelessly and if the restaurant didn’t have to close, we would have stayed there till daybreak because neither of us paid any attention to the time.

On the ride home I couldn’t help but be tickled by the entire situation. All my life I’d dealt with useless, unsupportive, uncaring, selfish leeches and like a dream, he'd stepped into my life.

As we walked to the entrance door of my dormitory, I looked at him and said, “So...”

“So, did you have a great time?” he said through smiling lips.

“Of course I did. Can’t you tell?” I giggled hoping he didn't recognize that it was a ruse to mask raging nerves.

“Would I be jumping into conclusions by assuming that means you’d like to do this again?”

“Well, that depends… did you have a good time? And would you like to do this again?” I teased looking into his eyes.

He looked back into mine and before I knew it, I was putting my hands on the back of his neck and pulling his face dangerously close to mine.

“What do you think?” He asked sexily as his hands slipped to the small of my back and he pulled my body to his. Before I could respond, I felt his soft lips imploring mine. Slowly and surely my brains turned into mush. He expertly and passionately kissed me in a playful and very romantic fashion that I found myself matching his every move. We spent about 5 minutes stuck like glue before we heard the church bells chime 12 times. I broke away from him as I was jolted back into reality. However, I noticed that my actions confused him.

“Remember, I have my church thing tomorrow?” I explained.

“I would suggest you ditch, but I don’t want to find myself mysteriously struck by lightning on the way home.”

“No, that wouldn’t be good.” We laughed.

“So,” he said, clapping his hands, “we’ve not actually solidified any plans. What should we do next? I would say a dinner and a movie but look what happened today.” We had planned to see a movie after our dinner.

I thought about it. “Well, there’s a movie I really wanna see so maybe we see the movie first next time?” We were both grinning like fools. “How about next Friday?”

He softly caressed my face. “ But Friday seems so far away.”

“That’s why telephones were invented. You can always call me.”

He groaned. “Yeah, but I want to see you before then.”

“How about after my meeting tomorrow? We are usually done by noon. So what about lunch at... at about… one?” I stammered because his alluring eyes were working wonders on my psyche.

He pulled my face close to his as he kissed my lips. “It’s a date.”

I turned to leave but changed my mind. A nagging question had been on my mind for the past week so I chose to satisfy my curiosity.

"Moke, can I ask you a question?” I asked sheepishly.

“Sure, what?”

“Well… it’s your name. It’s rather unique. Where did you get it from?”

“It’s Nigerian – it’s short for Emamoke.”

I groaned.

He looked concerned and touched my arm. “Are you okay?”

I smiled wearily. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just that that name brings back awful memories. I’m glad I don’t have to call you by it. ”

His interest was piqued. “Aww, but how could my full name bring back such awful memories? I don’t get that.”

I shrugged my shoulders dismissively. “Just this idiot I met summer of ’87 on holiday visiting my grandma in Nigeria. I mean --”

“I didn’t know you were from Africa,” he interjected.

“Well, my parents are.” He kept staring. “Anyway, this boy called Emamoke Umukoro –I shall never forget that name – tormented my life the whole stay. He called me names, chased after me, threw things and just made my stay rather memorable –and not in a good way.”

I couldn’t understand what happened but suddenly he could barely keep himself from laughing.

“Go on,” he implored.

I giggled nervously. “That’s pretty much it. I swore that if I every saw him again I would punch his lights out -stupid ninny.”

He leaned toward me then put his hands behind his back. “Alright then, take your best shot.”

Confused and suspicious I asked, “Excuse me?”

He laughed and stretched out his hand. “I think I need to re-introduce myself to you.” With an exaggerated bow he said, “I am your tormentor –Mr. Emamoke Umukoro.”

I was really confused. “No... no...” I couldn’t believe it. “It can’t be.”

He kept nodding his head. “I’m afraid it is.”

“But… but… but your name....”

“Yeah... my Father changed it in ’88, after we moved to the States,” he said with dancing eyes.

With a frown I stared at him for about a minute. As if on cue, we both burst into a fit of hysterics.

The End.

Monday, January 03, 2005

Mon, 03 Jan 2005 02:22:56 GMT

Femi's Diary (2005) can be found here.