Just A Dream


So, my creative juices were flowing out of my vagina (yes, my vagina), and I was writing and writing (creative shit too), but I was tired as hell, so I dozed off. My computer, the idiot of a device, decided to update itself. And then restarted. And I lost all my work. But you don’t care, do you? Fine. Although, it would be nice if you showed a little care… what? Oh. You still don’t care. Fine. Forget me, then. 😦
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Her bare feet pounded against the ground and the leaves crackled underneath her feet. Her heart beat in sync with the drums, as her feet moved to that same rhythm. She had no idea how long she had been running. Probably hours. It definitely felt like it. But it was coming closer. She could feel it, smell it, almost taste it in the air around her. It. This… thing that was chasing her. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew it was not coming in peace. She had to get away, she was running for her life. The forest was pitch dark. Whether it was night or day, she had no idea. The tall trees shut out the littlest chance of light. But she kept running. The branches slapped at her face, her arms. The small twigs cut into the soles of her feet, each step more agonizing than the last. The thorns tore at her flesh, pulling her from all angles. Her dress, ripped everywhere, clung to her like second skin because of all the sweat. The forest was refusing her passage and she had to pay with blood and sweat. Her blood and sweat. Her hair was plastered to her scalp and she thought she would die from the dryness in her throat. Her pupils were dilated to accommodate every stray ray of light, but of course, there was nothing. The muscles in her thighs burned like the noon sun against a farmer’s back. But she kept running. Running.

And then it stopped. She stopped. There was silence. Nothing was chasing her, the drums had stopped. It was quiet, save for the stridulation of the nocturnal animals. And her breath. She could hear her breath over the cacophony that was the insects. And then the darkness seemed to become more tangible; she could reach out and touch it. It covered her like a cloak and press against her throat. She struggled to breathe. Her heart beat faster than the crazed drums of the Atilogwu dancers that had been possessed by the spirits. She caught a whiff of that scent. It was strong and overpowering the smell of sulfur mixed with the pungent putrid odor of death. Did she catch a whiff of rotten eggs too? All her senses were being assaulted, her eyes watered. ANd then something else. This was familiar. It was the smell in their house on Christmas morning when they were roasting the goat. The charcoal like smell of burning hair. And the sickly sweet smell of blood. And then she felt it. The heat. The sharp tingle followed by a sharp pain. She looked down… She was on fire!
Then IT came and she felt it before she saw IT. IT was upon her, over powering her, her sense of smell sharply picking up its horrid smell again. And then she saw the eyes. Yellow and sinister. Looking straight into her soul.

She screamed…

Agbomma woke up with a start, still screaming. She was sweating and her nightgown and sheets were drenched in the perspiration. She sighed. This was the fourth time she had had this dream in as many nights. Sleep was fast becoming a thing to fear. And it was always the same thing: running through a deep dark forest, before some strange… thing grabbed her. She had never seen its face. Just the eyes. Those eyes that had haunted her. Agbomma sighed again as she turned to look at the green luminous numbers by her bedside. 3:57 am. Well, sleep was not an option anymore. She stripped completely and feeling disgust that she couldn’t explain, she stripped her bed too.

She padded downstairs naked, turning on all the lights as she went. She wasn’t a superstitious person, but she couldn’t deny that she was scared beyond belief. She sighed again. She set up coffee maker. Might as well be useful now and take a shower. She went back up the stairs, her footsteps echoing through the empty house.
She had lived in this house since she was four and her dad had left it to her before he died. She was an only child. Her mum had passed away two years ago. Since then, she had lived alone here. It was a large, old house and Agbomma knew it well. Its squeaks, creaks and noises. It was all familiar and she loved every bit of it from the smell of the polish on the hardwood floors to the creaky third stair on the staircase.
Agbomma stepped into the shower and turned it on full blast. The cold water felt like little pin pricks on her skin. It was refreshing. She stood underneath the stream letting the water pound on her body as if it could perhaps, remove the memory of the nightmare too. Then she began to scrub, aiding the water remove every shard of the memory. Fifteen minutes later, Agbomma was satisfied enough with her body and hair. She turned off the water and threw back the shower curtain.
And there they were. The eyes. Just as yellow as she’d remembered from the dream.

For the second time that morning, Agbomma screamed…

Downstairs, the coffee went drip, drip into the coffee pot…

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The London Riots: Message to the youth.


Over the past few days, we have witnessed as what started as a peaceful vigil in London has turned into a senseless ruckus. It is quite shameful and disheartening. I saw this post, and it made a lot of sense, so I decided to share it. I did not write this. However, it portrays my feelings completely. You can find the original post http://youngthatiam.tumblr.com/post/8690695849/the-london-riots-message-to-the-youth. Enjoy.

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I just went down the road to the local ”high street” (if you could even call it that..it hasn’t got that many shops) and never in my life have i felt the way i did as i went there. I live in South London, and as ‘luck’ would have it my area is sandwiched between 5 of the worst hit places in the south. Everyone is suspicious of each other, particularly if you’re a ”youth.” Fast forward past me walking speedily past a group/gang of young men and them attempting to stop me, past the creepy man with his massive dog, past the empty side streets to finally, the high street.

What did i see? No damage…not yet. But the atmosphere was heavy with tension. Shops are closed/closing, crowds are gathering as people queue to get into supermarkets and stock up. Mothers clutch their babies to their chests, their faces straight and eyes glaring. Everybody, it seems, is looking over their shoulders. Whether you live in a ”nice” area or not, you aren’t safe. The attacks in Ealing, West London, are evidence of that enough. I’d just left the high street when I got a phone call that police have now ordered that all shops there be shut.

It’s a damn war zone. And what are we, the youth? The damned. And through our own means.

People are losing their businesses, their homes! And this afternoon it’s been confirmed that a 26 year old man shot in Croydon has died and an injured boy was helped up by rioters and then robbed as he bled profusely. I am fuming as i sit here writing! I have never felt as strongly about violence as I have this! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!?

I’m a youth, i don’t live a flashy life. So should I go and freaking torch an entire electrical store? We are what we make of our generation. We have the power to build, to destroy. Just remember that with every foolish act, there are consequences. With every foolish act, you lose any chance you EVER had to have your voices heard! So you’re unhappy, fine. NOBODY NOWADAYS IS HAPPY. Do they go loot your mother’s business? Do they break into your home and terrify you? WHAT IS IT with all this crowd following??! And if you have issues, BE THE CHANGE for heaven’s sake. There are people who’ve grown up in absolute dumps and dire consequences but made something of themselves! Remember that the world you destroy today will be the one you will have to live in, work in and raise your own kids in tomorrow.

What pissed me off the most was footage on Sky news showing looting in Croydon and there were girls laughing amidst all the chaos. LAUGHING. If our generation is the sort that can laugh at suffering then i’m sorry but we’re done for. And that isn’t me being pessimistic. It’s me being realistic.

There is pure injustice in society, and sure there are root issues that need to be addressed. Racism, unemployment, poverty, bullying, social inequality. My heart goes out to Mark Duggan’s family and friends, and i’m sure this was NOT at all the plan they had when they started their peaceful vigil after he was shot. The police should have responded to the family’s pleas and none of this would have happened. But they didn’t, and look where we are. There are lessons that will be learnt.

BUT. Youths! Get your acts together! All this terror is making you just as bad if not worse than the perpetrators of the human rights we all believe we have entitlement to, including getting help from police regardless of our backgrounds and status. (I noted that in David Cameron’s address he made no reference to the original issue and the wrongful way in which Duggan’s family was treated by police. Bloody typical!). Things have gone too damn far. And the effects of what you’ve done, the people you’re hurting…all are going to pass on and leave you behind with the mess you have created. The destruction from our own hands.

Father forgive us for we know not what we do.

Whoever you are, wherever you are. Stop what you are doing and pray. Pray for our generation. Pray for those that mislead us. And pray for the strength to keep on praying! If you’re doing this and think you deserve a pat on the back, you’re a fool. So go ahead and do that, but be prepared for the slap that will hit you after as your life goes downhill. Buck up and be mature! STOP THE VIOLENCE.

God help us all.

Mark 13:7-8 But when you hear of wars and rumours of wars, do not be troubled; for such things must happen, but the end is not yet. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. And there will be earthquakes in various places, and there will be famines and troubles. These are the beginnings of sorrows.

My heart goes out to everyone across the UK affected by these riots. I’m off to watch more of the news now, as police sirens continue to be heard in the distance.

“The worst violence in decades in England,” they all say. We should all be ashamed.

email: sanieakwetey@yahoo.co.uk

twitter: @youngthatiam

Essay Writing Competition.


Hi guys!!!!! It’s been a looong minute!!!! I know, I know, you all missed me (^_^)I missed all y’all… but it’s good to be back.

I have finally finished my exams and now, I can stay up all night and watch Fringe (which I do all the time, except now, I won’t feel guilty) Did I tell you that school sucks ass? Well, it does. Sucks ass. Not with a straw, but a huge fucking giant vacuum inhaler (if there is such a thing). Warreva mehn, I’m happy to be back, you’re happy I’m back; life is good. Lerrus get to the matter.

I live in a city called Brampton, and recently a competition was opened by one of our local pop artistes, Fire King, to children in 13th grade (like me) to write an essay on why anyone should visit our nice city. The winning essay would receive a prize of the new Blackberry Starcomms Irregular. So lots of contestants entered and everyone wrote wonderful essays but guess who won? Yours truly, of course! (Who else would?) Although, it turns out that Fire King was a fraud and he used all the papers from the essay to make a giant paper plane and then, flew back to St. Vincent and the Grenadines where he is originally from. 😦 But I decided to put up my essay anyway even though I’m not winning a prize. Enjoy!

Why You Should Visit My Locality

My name is Esse. I am a 13th grader living in Brampton, Ontario. Brampton is a wonderful city. It’s the 3rd largest in the GTA (Greater Toronto Area) and the 11th largest by population. I think you should visit Brampton for the following reasons:

It is beautiful and warm. The people are all nice and friendly…. And Indian. Or Black. But mostly Indian… or Black :/ So, if you like Indians (or blacks), you’ll love Brampton.

Indians are great cooks. They cook all the time. With spices. Spices that smell and never leave you for as long as you live. 🙂 I have personally never tried Indian food, but food that smells like that, better taste like it’s from heaven. My sister just bought a house. We spent two weeks airing out the cupboards and the entire house in fact. Then she had to buy like $50 worth of air fresheners, (I’m not even joking) before we could spend a night in the house.  Then, you still have to deal with this smell in the parks, on the bus. It. Just. Doesn’t. Go. Away. 😦

Brampton has very beautiful people. Especially the Indians. Oh, and the blacks too. Although, you want to be careful when sitting next to them on the bus. I noticed that the older Indian men don’t think it’s necessary to cover their mouths when sneezing, coughing or yawning. And they all have really long beards that they weave. Some of them tie the beards. It’s really cute! You’ll love it!  :/ Yeah, and they wipe their noses with their hands and then wipe their  hands on their kaftans after sneezing. Really cool fellas. 🙂 And the smell still follows.

The blacks are not less dangerous though. They talk. I happened to be on the bus beside a black lady a few days ago. She didn’t seem to think that there was anything wrong with having her phone conversation with the rest of the bus. Of course, we weren’t contributing. 🙂 Just listening. Apparently,they were discussing a third party who was unhappy in her relationship because her “man wouldn’t suck.” And the bus lady seemed to have plenny advice. (you will have to forgive me, my Patois/Creole is anything but existent) “Dahs why mi no follow no man wey cyant suck. Mi do eet feh ‘im too. Cept im a go around den i cyant cos d pussy stink. Buh mi no follow no man wey cyant suck. A lotta girls dem do eet feh deir man, so im a gats do eet fer ‘er too. Cept if ‘er pussy stink, cos u know d pussy cyan stink.” Rough translation: (well, I’m pretty sure you don’t need a rough translation, that was easy, wasn’t it?) These things only happen in the U.S. Or Brampton. 🙂

Another beautiful reason why you should come to Brampton is our transit system. Very well organized and planned to the letter T. If your bus is set to arrive at 6:39pm, be there at 6:49. You might still have to wait a bit though… 🙂 But if you get to your stop at say 6:35pm and a bus comes at 6:39pm (that is, the bus is “on time”) DON”T ENTER!!!!!!!!!!!! It is One Chance, I doubt their last bus stop is in this universe. Or the next one sef. So, early buses in Brampton? No. Don’t do it. It may be your last bus.

Downtown Brampton is wonderful. Lights, clubs, the works! It’s amazing. It’s also located on only one straight road. So, you can pretty much walk the length of “Downtown Brampton” which is more than you can say for many other cities.

Brampton is also very safe. I’ve lived here for 11 months, and I can remember clearly only 3 murder cases. Actually, 4. Nothing happens here. Safe and quiet. Any thief that comes here sef is dulling. Why waste your time on wealthy, careful Bramptonians when you can mug equally wealthy, less careful Torontonians? The choice is clear.

Did I tell you that Brampton is called the “Flower City”? Because of all the flowers. Obviously. -___-

Yeah, one more thing about Brampton. The malls. A wonderful match.com venue without the .com bit. Online dating has got nothing on Brampton malls. Absolute P is set here, I tell ya. I’m trying to think of a bad thing to say about the malls, but I can’t think of any. I guess that means… Oh, wait! Here’s one: they’re located in Brampton.

I hope I have been able to convince you and not confuse you *roll eyes here* as to why you should visit Brampton.

Thank you.

Increase the Peace.

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P.S. Fire King and his essay competition has no affiliation to a certain Nigerian artiste who will remain unnamed in this post, but whose name is Ice Prince. I know all you conspiracy theorists are already making up your theories. Have fun. |-(

P.P.S. This has been a public service announcement for the city of Brampton. Not.

P.P.P.S. What do they call people from St Vincent and the Grenadines? The winner gets a.. *dodges tomatoes*

 

 

 

 

Gratitude


This post will not be long or witty or even funny. However, the one thing it is is sincere. So, here goes:
I am SINCERELY grateful for all the birthday wishes that I received yesterday on my birthday. It was very hard not to feel loved when text message after FB message after Twitter mention kept pouring in. I feel very….. humbled by all your messages.
So, thank you to every one who took those precious 5 seconds to 5 minutes of their time just to say, or type “Happy Birthday.” Even to those of you that said “HBD”, I still appreciate you. Even though I haven’t the faintest idea what “HBD” means, nor am I remotely inclined to find out. Still, your 3 seconds were dedicated to typing out these 3 letters to me and if you have bad internet connection, let’s add another 3 seconds. I am very grateful for this kindness. God bless y’all.

Now, I have received some death threats because I haven’t posted anything in a while… Y’all know that was a joke, right? Although, while death threats are hardly my cup of tea, I can’t think how awesome it would be, if my blog was so widely read that the day I didn’t put a post on time, CNN would carry it. Highly unlikely, but well, I will not stop praying for that day. 🙂
I am writing exams, so, it is hard for me to blog on a regular. I will be done next week and then, y’all shall be tired of me. Once again, highly unlikely, seeing as I’m so interesting and shit. B-)

So, thank you, people!!! And I shall see you soon.

P.S. I totally dozed off typing this (it’s 3 am) so, if you come here and gbagaun me or something, I will rain curses on your generations. 🙂

Increase the Peace.

For Worse Or Worse Pt. 3


Before I continue, I would like to say a big thank you to everyone that has subscribed, left a comment or visited my blog. I appreciate the love. Now, to the concluding part of Tola and Sam’s story…

…And there was so much blood.
But he wasn’t dead. Although, the sight that greeted Samantha made her wish he was… cause he was holding a gun. And it was pointed straight at her heart. Sam started thinking really fast. She had to get that gun out of his hands! She saw the empty bottle of gin. Not a good sign.
“Tola, why don’t you put the gun down and let’s talk. You’ve been drinking and you’re not thinking properly right now,” Sam said with a calm she didn’t feel.
Tola’s short laugh made her cringe. This was not going to end well. Samantha started down the stairs.
“Stop.” Tola’s command was quiet but in his voice was a chill that could freeze hell. Samantha stopped cold. Then she continued down the stairs.
“Tola, please, don’t be sil-,” but the searing pain that shot through her left shoulder interrupted her. He shot her. He shot her!
And then she knew he wasn’t joking. Her husband was holding a gun and he had just shot her. The pain made her woozy. She fought through a haze of unconsciousness as she struggled to keep standing. Balance was hard.
She took another step down, this time she knew it wasn’t her doing; she was falling. She landed very hard on her wounded shoulder. Another wave of pain coursed all through her arm making her break out in sweat. She looked at the wound. My nice grey suit.
Haha! I’m about to die and my first concern is my suit. She wondered why her life didn’t flash before her eyes. Wasn’t that supposed to happen? Maybe it was a good sign; she wasn’t dying. Or perhaps, she was already dead?

Tola saw her as she fell down the stairs and knew he would kill this woman. Tonight. His alcohol-filled brain muddled all his thought processes. Well, almost all. Somewhere, within the deep shadows of reason, Tola could hear a tiny voice – conscience, perhaps?- telling him he was about to make the greatest mistake of his life. He walked towards her.

Sam opened her eyes. And there he was. Towering right over her. She reached out to him…

The shot rang out clearly in the silence of the night. But Adamu, the night watchman didn’t hear a thing. He swatted a fly on his cheek and continued sleeping even though tomorrow, he planned to ask for a salary raise for “keeping watch”. Mr. Asika next door woke up, but he quickly made a sign of the cross on his chest and went back to sleep hoping whoever’s house was being robbed this night, it wouldn’t be his.

Everything was bright. As she bled out freely, she realized she was probably going to die right here. On this floor. Beside the only man she had ever loved. And the one man she would forever hate. How ridiculous that she would die of a shoulder wound. And, then, it came. The slow welcoming bright lights. It was exactly how she had pictured it. Except for the life flashing before your eyes part. Too bad. She would have loved to see how that happened. Samantha took her last breath and smiled happily as her angels – and demons – welcomed her into the cold clutches of the afterlife.
There was so much blood. And it was his. As Samantha had reached out to him, she had taken the gun and shot him straight in the gut. As he lay down on the floor, beside his wife. he understood his mistake. The voice in his head hadn’t said he was making the greatest mistake. It said he was making the last mistake of his life. Anyway, it was a mistake to think he would live while Samantha was dead. They were soul mates. Partners. They survived, thrived of each other.
Plus, he was a man of his word. For better or worse. Or worse. Or worse. And then he was with her. In a place where the violence, or hate, or loathing would cease to exist.

For better.

Notes: this story was supposed to highlight how men are also victims of domestic violence. But somehow, it took on a life of its own. Not sure what the moral is now. However, I enjoyed writing it, so, I hope you enjoy reading it. Don’t forget to subscribe. 🙂

P.S. I found a signature that I think is really cool. It’s from one of the most culturally significant stories of all time: “Boyz N The Hood”:

Increase the peace.

For Worse Or Worse Pt. 2


They didn’t kiss. At the very last moment, she turned her head slightly so his lips connected with her cheek.
“Goodnight,” she called as she walked into her hostel, leaving him with a myriad of emotions, the likes of which he had never experienced. He watched her full hips sway away until the darkness welcomed them out of his sight.
He sighed. He needed a shower. A cold one. He sighed again as he turned and headed back to his hostel.

She knew he was looking. She felt his eyes boring into her back like lasers as she made her way into the hostel. Thank God she hadn’t kissed him. She didn’t want him thinking she was easy. Which, of course, she wasn’t. But, she had never felt so… drawn to another person before. But she could control her emotions. Oh, she was good at that. She smiled a small smile as she entered into her hostel…

They saw each other everyday after that. They became inseparable. Going everywhere together. How many times did they win “Couple of the year???”
Tola laughed bitterly. Yeah, if someone could see them now… They had gotten married, like everyone expected. It was a beautiful wedding, but the marriage… that was another story entirely. The transformation was immediate and absolute. Sam added weight, withdrew, stayed out late and then one night, when Tola had just about had enough, there came a shocker. Sam became violent. Tola would never have imagined in a million years. Sweet Sam, the gentle, but enigmatic Sam was violent. And Tola bore the brunt of all of Sam’s fury.

The first time, Tola had hit back immediately. But Sam was really strong. They fought like 2 wounded lions. Tola could pack a punch too, but was no match for Sam’s size and anger. After all the flying objects and fists, Tola had ended up with two cracked ribs and a split lip so bad, it looked as though there were three lips.
She drove to the hospital. He was in the passenger’s seat. They drove in silence.
“I’m sorry. I-”
“Save it.”
“Look, baby, I was having a rough time and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have. Just forgive me.”

Tola remembered that day like it was yesterday. It wasn’t just the pain. It was the humiliation. The entire absurdity of the situation. It was disgusting and repulsive.
How could he tell anyone that his wife, his sweet Samantha was beating him??? They would laugh. He would laugh, too, if it wasn’t his situation. But he had had enough. Tonight, the hurt, the humiliation, it all ended tonight. He emptied his glass of gin and slammed the glass hard on the table, shattering it to smithereens. One of the pieces sliced through his palm. But, he didn’t feel any pain. Then, with blood dripping steadily and heavily from the cut, he picked his pen…

Samantha was driving home, on her way back from work. She had a very bad feeling. Something was in the air tonight. She didn’t know what it was, but the uneasy feeling stayed with her even as she pulled her Toyota Camry into the garage. She was tired and irritable. She couldn’t shake this bad feeling off and it was beginning to get on her nerves. She hoped Tola didn’t have any stupid talks or ideas tonight, she couldn’t take any more nonsense. She would just shower and go to bed.
She stepped into the hallway and turned on the lights. She tossed her bag on the table and started to go upstairs when she saw something in the living room that caught her eye.
It was Tola, her husband…

to be continued…

Signed,

Ifunanya.

For Worse Or Worse?


“When had it gotten like this?”
Tola’s laugh was bitter. If someone had ever said… There was that laugh again. Bitter and shallow. The gin burned down Tola’s throat. It hadn’t always been like this. There was a time when things had been better…

They had met in college. Theirs was a match made in heaven. Two beautiful people; everyone said they would have such beautiful kids. If they got married. They smiled any time they heard these stories. They kept to themselves though. People were always trying to figure them out. There were no public displays of affection, except the occasional holding of hands; that knowing smile that they smiled to each other that no one could ever understand but them.

Tola was a second year Finance student. Sam was a “fresher”, had just entered to study Law. Definitely a smart cookie. They both had a wonderful future planned ahead for themselves. Tola – an MBA, maybe an MSc, who knew? The possibilities were endless. Sam wanted to work in Kramer & Kramer, the biggest law firm in town. Then perhaps, a private practice… again, who knew? They had so many options.
It was at the orientation program for new students. She was standing in a corner, surveying the crowd, and sipping on a glass of over-diluted fruit juice. She was a go-getter. Or is that what they called them? Anyway, she knew what she wanted and she went for it. Always. And when she saw him, she knew he was what she wanted. She walked up to him.
“Hi.”
He turned around. He was much more handsome up close. He had smooth hands, manicured fingernails. His face was chiseled, almost to perfection. He had a strong jaw, and his eyes.. “God!!! His eyes…” They were dark, unlike anything she had ever seen. They were swirling pools of darkness, one could easily get lost in them.
“Hi,” he replied.
His voice was a perfect combination of melodies. She felt like someone was pouring warm honey over her insides. It was deep, but gentle. Caressing her to the tips of her very toes. He made her hair stand on end.
She collected her thoughts. He was talking to her, but she had been lost somewhere between his dark eyes and his melodious baritone.
“- behind the science building.”
“I’m sorry, what??”
“Have you heard anything I said at all?”
“Umm.. no, sorry. I was… distracted.”
“Hmm…” He nodded. The girl standing beside him wasn’t pretty. You couldn’t exactly call her that. She wasn’t ugly either. Far from it. She was…. striking. She had…. what did they call it…. charisma? An aura? Whatever it was, she definitely had it in excess. He had seen her from across the room, when she was drinking that colored water thingy from the serving table. He shook his head; who drank that thing anyway? She was a bit round. With really fleshy cheeks. He had always liked his women slim and tall, but this girl…. Her hair was natural, no weaves, wigs or whatever it was that ladies wore nowadays. She had a fine bone structure that wasn’t hidden by her “baby fat”. She was slightly taller than him, which made her quite tall, seeing as he was 5’10. Her mouth was wide and surrounded by full, sensual lips. And her curves were like something out of a Victoria’s Secret catalog. Her nose was small and cute. He could already picture himself pecking it and calling her “Button.”
“Whoa, whoa whoa!!!! Pull the brakes, buddy! You don’t even know her name,” he thought to himself. “And you’re already kissing her lips and giving her pet names?”
They sized each other up. There was so much chemistry, you could practically see the molecules flying between them. They managed to have a decent conversation without anyone making a fool out of themselves. At least they had learned each other’s names now. They had even shared a few laughs together. The program ended and it was time to go.
“So, what hostel are you in?” he asked her.
“Enugu hostel. You?”
“Kano. Can I walk you to your hostel? It’s dark and you never know what lurks in the darkness..”
“Hahaha!!! I’m pretty sure I can hold my own. But I would love for you to walk with me.”
“OK.”
They walked in comfortable silence for a while. “I would love to see you again,” he said as they approached her hostel.
She stopped and he stopped and faced her. “Look, it’s been a wonderful night, but I don’t think we should see each other like that.”
“Oh, no! I didn’t.. I mean, not if you don’t.. that is…” he was babbling like a thirteen year old teenager that just met their crush for the first time. He regrouped.
“Listen, not like that. Just to hang out is what I meant.” He finished lamely.
She smiled. “OK, then. In that case, I would love to hang out with you.”
“OK, goodnight?” he said, lingering for perhaps a second too long.
“Goodnight.”
They stared at each other. Her lips seemed to be calling out to him. He inched closer to her. She leaned in and closed her eyes…

to be continued…

Signed,

Ifunanya.