“Egbon! How body na? How every and school package? Hope e dey gel and 1 + 1 na still 2. You nor even say make you call persin. Thank God for Whatsapp bundle, persin for no see you follow talk. No be soooo! Well, me just say make I say hail you sha plus this place dry gaaaan! E nor be like our former house. No better bae. Maale just dey para for me, na me be Jamb?Abeg when you dey come back? Gist dey!”
The message made me laugh, Dayo would never change. If not babe, it is money. After several unsuccessful attempts, he kind of lost interest for Higher National Diploma – HND. Well, I trust mumsy to seat on his neck concerning that. Funny enough, he just reminded me how long I have been away from home. Maybe five or six month sha, after I refused to go home for first semester break.
Apete looked like the fading smile of a dying mother. Slowly the sun lost its presence, and legs, raised dusts to the sky. The scene is sometimes uncomfortable, but a beauty to watch, reminding me of Lagos. I think it is an addiction to the roughness of a typical Lagos ghetto life. No wonder I decided to rent a house at the heart of the market.
Ruka, my indigene want-to-be girlfriend is out already, setting up their food stand. Their shop is across the road, opposite my house. Her mum owns the place – Yahoo Rice – every students’ favorite canteen. Aside addictions to the internet and women – Wait! Who doesn’t like women? – I’m a foodie. And that also depends on your definition of foodie; I love to eat and not cook. You see, Ruka is important to the ministry. She likes me, I like food, and she has food.
On my left is Iya Bunmi, wondering why I keep looking around, bowing my head into my phone screen at intervals and smiling. I don’t care how long she continues to stare, she won’t understand. Her amebo skills is too much gann na! Who her looking epp na? Brenda was now online, it was all that mattered. Surprising how close people can be, even when in cities apart. We became friends online, actually from a Whatsapp group. Is that not what Alhaji, our lecturer, called Accelerated Pluralism? Funny, how strangers click and become friends. She’s a writer also – a poet. We share views on almost everything; writing, life, food, photography etc.
She, when not writing, mastered the art of small talks. Not the casual annoying single word replies though, but short ones. And when she did at length, it was painting scenarios. “Sometimes I wonder what it would feel to be Ana in the warmth of a Christian on a Friday night”, she said. I smiled. We were talking movies, and that’s Fifty Shades of Grey – of making love. It wasn’t the first time our conversation would pan on to sex related issues. Sometimes it was writing poems on love – sex – lust, back and forth.
“Maybe with her hands tied, under a shower”, I replied.
“…that’s if I was Christian though”, I chipped in too.
“And who said you can’t be”, she replied.
I pretended not to see her response, and switched topic. “How was your day”, I asked. “When do you plan on coming to Lagos, to see me and maybe we see a movie” was her response. By now, I had this sinister smirk on me. Something is coming, and she’s definitely going to get it. “I don’t know. Exams are fast approaching“, I lied. I smiled gain. This time, I remembered her saying “we have been friends for eight months and you still don’t have plans of meeting me in person”, I laughed hard that day. She barely uploaded her pictures, just random quotes and memes. And I was sure she hadn’t seen mine. My phone was bad. “Erm! Let me call you” was her delayed response after my last message.
Today is one of many days I regret coming to campus; first it was the lecturer and now Iyanu. I kept wondering how people fix appointments, yet disappoint. The sun was shinning like it was no longer a monopoly business. My body was paying the price. She agreed to meet me at Coca-Cola Village, after her 10 o’clock class. It’s 45mins after already and there’s no sign of her. The thought of getting a consolation price after spending my last cash on transport fare, was beginning to look like Arsenal winning the Uefa Champions League. She played a fast one on me. “Guy kuku ma dey go house”, I said to myself. My konji mission did not go as planned.
“Hi! It’s been how many days now?” the message on my Whatsapp read. By now I was at home, tired, but hoping Iyanu calls to say she’s on her way. The message was Brenda’s, and it was a week and three days now. She needed me to say yes, the bills on how I get to her place were on her. Is this a sign? Today is Thursday, there is no lecture till Monday, after Mr Olatunji canceled tomorrow’s class. My konji mission was actually taking another turn. The thought of something happening filled my mind, or maybe not, we would just talk about writing and other things in between. I might actually have mistaken her yellow light for green. “Ok. Is it possible for this weekend?” “I don’t think I would be chanced till after exams”, I chipped in as I replied her chat. I was expecting a no but she said yes. For reasons I don’t know, I jumped up and had a big smile. One would think I just passed an auditioning. “Would see what happens tomorrow” she added.
A trip to Lagos was least of my plans, but funny how things turned out. I was on my way already. She sent the t-fare as promised, but without an address. She insisted I get to Oshodi first. Mysteries don’t actually get better than this. The journey to Lagos was tiring because of the slow traffic but fun. Faruk, the hausa guy beside me showed everyone pepper. The driver stopped three times because he wanted to ease himself. I wondered what he had eaten. He looks my age or older. He is fun to talk to, and also offered me some kulikuli after I had earlier helped him fill his name in the bus logbook. “Faruk Oni-kulikuli” was his response when I asked of his name. You get names in line with your trade, a typical Ibadan style. He looked like he was moving his Kulikuli enterprise to Lagos; he kept on receiving calls at intervals. Aside Faruk’s constant plea to ease himself, the network on Lagos-Ibadan express way is a pain in the butt. I couldn’t chat with Brenda.
After hours of sitting, we arrived at Oshodi. I was surprised to see that some structures had been razed to the ground. Ambode is working fa, I laughed. “When you get Oshodi, take bus to Cele. Crossover and tell a bike-man you are going to Jack ‘n’ Jones”, her message popped in. “Who knows, you might play Christian while I play Ana.” I didn’t reply. I could play the mystery game too. Jack ‘n’ Jones is a known place. Finally, something was going to happen. I decided to take the long bus, to save cost and delay time. She called several times as I calculated, Cele is not far from Oshodi but I was bent on taking my time.
“Please where are you, are you safe?”
“Read and reply your messages na”
“I’m at the place already, and there’s this guy disturbing me here o.”
“How long does it take to get to Cele again?”
She seemed to be running out of patience, but I know she can wait. She had to. It was 5.39 p.m., and the weather looked perfect.
“The guy has been eyeing me for long sha… lols”
“He stays on my street but never knew he worked here”
“Ehya! Sorry, I’m almost there”, I replied.
“And how do I know you are the one”, I added.
“On fringe, dressed in a black gown, seated at the right corner of the entrance”, she replied.
“Imagine! He even came to seat close to me”, she added.
I laughed. “I’m here already,” I replied as I entered the place. I am familiar with the place, it doubled as a bar and hotel. I walked straight to her table. I was stunned…
“Egbon! When you show na?” Dayo said.
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