I was determined not to go for the village-residing young females again but for city returners, as I have lived in the village all my life. This was necessary especially as my dignity among the female folks of the village was gradually receding. My immediate past girlfriend which I considered to be my only source of solace was in actuality the only source of solace to five other boys. Now as someone who heard more and talked less, I wasn't surprised about the numbers of boys she has admitted love to, and how she could in certainty love all six able-bodied males, but by the way she kept each of the lovers unknowing of the other.
To further put sand into the garri of a love that presumably to her never existed, she had sent Idara, the girl talkative of the village to inform me that she no longer love nor like me anymore, and wouldn't care to know of my existence in this life. Now Idara is never the harbinger of anything worthwhile, let alone being engaged as a messenger of a puppy-love errand.
As someone who had promised never to disappoint my parents in any way, my records were straight until the coming of Idara. There's always this saying that who a person is, the society knows of it, I was glad that who I was to the society was only known to them but not among my family. To my family I was still that best behaved boy who was up till now devoted to a Bible reading plan even as I had coursed it cover-to-cover triple times before. And what more? The concerned parents were already making plans to bred the boy into becoming a priest.
Respectably flanked by a brother, a sister, and a mother, as any responsible son would, no one would have been better blessed in life than that young man that was deeply involved in taking in an obstruction-sorrounded Afang soup. Licking my lips occasionally to make sure all possible leftovers entered my stomach, I thought life was all about flagging maximum disturbances outside, and to be rewarded afterwards with a sumptuous meal when I timidly arrive home.
Idara who was someone whose mother knew my mother arrived the compound with no raised eyebrows. Now unlike every other person, the village lady wasn't invited to meal because she would eventually and sadly definitely under any condition join in the meal without invitation. But surprisingly to my family but not to me, she refused meal and openly declared that she came to deliver a message to me: I knew the time was come.
Still devoted to my meal taking no care of what she thought she was saying, I reflected how making merriment to my stomach has been over the years in the village. I allowed a smile as I thought how these delicious belly-timbers have been serving my young stomach since 1999. Meanwhile, the young girl quietly narrated to the interested parents, brother, and sister of my entanglements outside. My father, a retired civil servant who happens to be handsomely blessed with the gift of using the cane, horse-whipped that devil off me before I could finish my meal. I was disgraced in front of the talkative girl, and I knew that was only the beginning to her, the end would be when everyone in the village hears of it.
I reconsidered my life after that. Whenever I meet a girl and remembers the strokes I received because of their sake, our discussions would always begin and end with a reminiscence of the birth, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Yes, I cannot come and kill myself.
Nevertheless, as someone who hasn't given up on life yet, I knew I shouldn't give up on love. I was prepared to go about it this time like those from a Korean screenplay. I wanted a flirtation escapade which would be unknown to many, full of surprises, and prominently devoid of any stroke of cane. To achieve this I knew not how, but as the saying always goes that in order to succeed, preparedness must meet opportunity, I made my little preparations.
In one of the numerous nocturnal gossips my neighbour's wife do have with my mother, she made a disclosure of her daughter's return from Enugu, the coal city. The night I heard of it, I was immensely thrilled that I prayed to God for the first time since the beginning of the year. The twenty five minutes power-packed prayer included the entreaty to the Almighty to at the least spare my life for the month, as well as an intercession for the safe journey of the girl whom the mother described as beautiful. To further add potency to the spiritual safety of the girl, I poured libation early morning to beckon the help of my ancestors with the heart-warming Ufofop drink I never lacked. To demonstrate how good my intentions were and how excellent a husband I would become, I bought for each of the four young children of my neighbour, four weighty laps of a perfectly roasted chicken. I informed the kids that this was just an icing on the cake, and that certainly more unimaginable things were coming.
In a warm afternoon of August, while engaged in viewing one of those movies that would send you unknowingly to Los Angeles, USA direct from Nigeria within seconds, I heard an uncommon clamour from the adjacent compound, but my new Life in LA wouldn't allow me into reality. Not until the exuberance increasingly drew nearer did I flew back to Nigeria. Among the small group that was entering the compound, a beauty of a girl was among them. She was elegantly dressed, appeared un-forcibly attractive, and was wholesomely comely. Although her fine feets and toned legs were a gripping sights in her catwalk, she looked like one with an ambitious future, and I feared much of it was at her back: she had quite a back end. It didn't take me any thirty more seconds to decide that the scene in Nigeria that I was presently was more beneficial than that of the United States I couldn't control.
Rushing off from the room and clinging to the sides of my mother, I went further to have a more defined view of the girl. Instead of following my brethrens and parents inside after the pleasantries, I escorted them to their compound. The new girl went with the name Ememobong, and I learnt she was in her fourth year studying Medicine & Surgery in the coveted Nnamdi Azikiwe University. Compared to the ‘101’,‘111’,‘110’ binary grotesque of a result I had in my last three JAMB trials, it would have been well to say that the goat's business was none of the sheep's concern but I cared not.
Getting to know more about Ememobong was easy, however unlike me, I couldn't crackdown her intimate past. In order to fulfil my lustful desires, I had to occasionally follow her to the Mountain of Fire and Miracle Ministries. As easy as it was to convince my mother that the MFM church was actually spirit-filled, convincing my father that I would be studying more with the new neighbour was much easier. Now, I and Ememobong were the talk of the village, and even as I was a wooden-head who couldn't earn entrance into a university to study a dream course of Fisheries & Wildlife Management, I was happy to be seen walking with a beautiful doctor in the making.
In the third week of my new relationship with princess charming, she became more and more courteous. On a beautiful Tuesday afternoon, I went with my hefty textbooks to fool myself yet again in the cover of reading at Ememobong's place. Now setting-up a sitting spot under a young Udara tree, we settled down to begin the usual conversation that never do lead to the opening of any textbook. She however began this time with: “do you know that my N3,000 worth lip gloss has finished, and am in need of another.”
Never had it dawned on me before now that dating a village girl was more considerate of the pocket. As a man who I thought I was, I confidently assured her of bringing the sum and retracted my steps towards my father's house. At my room, I placed my fingers on my device to authenticate my ownership of it, and engaged my earphones to my ears while locating VLC player in few taps. In a matter of few seconds I was comfortably entertaining myself with the best of a Hollywood movie. How was I to tell my princess charming that the last time I saw wads of a thousand naira note stocked together in three was when last I served as a steward in church? And that was exactly three years, eight months, and twenty-four days ago.
#fiction
I come and go in peace
In The City Just Make Money
And Pray Not To Die Young
