Tuesday, December 28, 2010
HOME OF ROMANTIC SHORT STORIES: Adolescence and Those Randy Guys
HOME OF ROMANTIC SHORT STORIES: Adolescence and Those Randy Guys: "YOUNG BREATH By Rugba Erhurhu &nbs..."
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Masquerade Lovers
Masquerade Lovers
By Oghene Omonisa
The atmosphere in the church was that of celebration and happiness. Vivacity was written all over the faces of the guests as they expectedly looked forward to the consummating kiss when the officiating minister intoned: ‘Now, you may kiss the bride.’
Gently, the groom raised the veil off the face of his bride and his seeking lips reached for her expectant luscious lips as she slowly opened them in warm anticipation. Their lips touched and sucked and sweetly rubbed against one another. Then their exploratory tongues came into contact, producing the pleasure that come with it. They kissed for long, longer than usual. Even the officiating minister appeared to be growing impatient. But the guests cheered them on.
It was just like the first time they had kissed exactly one year ago. The memory was still fresh in their minds as their wedding date was fixed for this day to commemorate that day. The day they first kissed was Saturday, 22nd March 2008, the Saturday before Easter. And their wedding was Saturday, 21st March 2009.
On that Saturday, 22nd March 2008, the day they first kissed, the bank she worked with, Eyan-Obaro International Bank Ltd, was having its quarterly zonal party for its low and middle-ranking staff. It was a forum for informal get-together for them to facilitate good working performance. She had been with a branch in Ikeja, Lagos Zone, before she manoeuvred a transfer to another branch in Surulere, within the same zone, two months ago. The transfer became necessary because she had broken up with her boyfriend a month before the transfer and as they worked in the same bank and were in the same branch, she could not cope with the emotional pains that followed. His reason for breaking the relationship was simply that they had dated for ‘too long’, going to a year, and he had no intention of marrying her and wanted them to call it quit to avoid emotional pains on both sides if the break-up came much later. What he did not admit was that he was aware she had honestly and desperately wanted him to marry her and that if he had proposed to her, she would have agreed to marry him any time, even a day after the proposal, and even without any elaborate ceremony. She was 26 then, and he was 28, and she did not see why they could not get married when they were both financially comfortable, he having worked for nearly three years and she for about a year.
With a master’s degree, he still saw years ahead of him, she had suspected, and he clearly wanted more fun. But she wanted to settle down and start a family. She wept and wept the night of the day they broke up, seeing her dream husband slipping away from her fingers. The transfer took only a month after the break-up because she could not stand working with him in the same building everyday.
Her love for him made her keep up with his romance and she learnt he soon after started dating one of the new dolls among the two that were posted to her former branch among the new set of staff that were newly recruited. She and her ex- had not seen since her transfer two months before the zonal party, which she knew he was sure to attend.
She arrived early for the party because she was the punctual and dedicated type. Though she was not part of the planning team, she helped put the venue, a rented hall of the Lagos Eseoghene Hotel, in order and ensured she rendered any form of assistance she could. As more colleagues turned in, she kept an eye for her ex- and his new heartthrob, as her heart kept beating fast each time a new colleague appeared at the entrance.
Most of her colleagues had arrived but her ex- was yet to show up. She began to relax, with the assumption that he might not come after all, assuring herself that even if he came, she would only need to act normal – as if she had taken the break-up in her stride. She greeted and chatted with colleagues from her former branch and felt comfortable.
Feeling her face had begun to grow smeared from the assistance she had rendered to help put the venue in order, she wanted to make her face up and realised she had left her bag in her car. She left for the car park. As she stepped through the pedestrian entrance of the sheltered car park, which was an extension of the hotel building, she saw a male shape outlined against the inner light of a car among the line of cars, with his back to her. The person seemed to be talking to an occupant in the passenger seat. And she suddenly froze! The person backing her was her ex-boyfriend! She could not mistake that outline among a million men. Then her heart seemed to have flown out of her chest, leaving her choking in her breath. She could not move, with her face going white from tension. It was when she saw his partner that she came to life. It was his new doll!
There were movements in the dimly-lit park as people walked in, to get their cars and drive out though the vehicular entrance, or drive in, to walk out of the park through the entrance she had come in, which her former guy and his new doll would need to walk through to the venue.
Quickly, she stepped out, out of sight. Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ! What was she to do? She was trembling. She surely could not face them! She could not! Certainly, she could not! What was she to do? She dashed back to the venue, her make-up totally forgotten. She suddenly felt pressed and felt a pee in her pants.
As she entered the hall, a flash of idea came to her. She needed company, somebody to sit with and talk with to relax her muscles. The tables were round, with four seats to a table, and arranged backward from the platform, which had the high table. There was a wide space from the high table to the other tables. Nearly half of the tables, mostly at the back, were yet to be occupied. She had not even selected a table before. The closest empty table had a guy sitting alone – a strange guy!
She walked to the table, appearing as calm and normal as she could. Before she came to stop at the table, a brilliant idea came to her, much better than just needing a company.
‘Hi, could I join you, please?’ she asked the young man, giving him her best smile.
‘Of course, you could.’ The guy’s smile was most inviting.
She sat down beside him, facing the entrance. It was all she could do not to sound or appear desperate. ‘I’m Damilola. I’m with Bode Thomas II Branch, Surulere.’ Then she suddenly realised he might not be one of her colleagues but only a guest. ‘Em ... em …’, she hesitated. ‘Are you one of us or a guest?’
‘I’m one of you.’ He smiled again, a broad smile this time, perhaps at how he had stressed the one of you. ‘Broad Street I’, he added. ‘The name is Lade.’
‘Lade. I love that name. It reminds me of lady.’ She forced a smile. ‘Will you by chance know Sina, one of us in Oregun Branch in Ikeja?’ She was silently calling on heaven for him to say ‘no’.
‘I don’t think I do. No, I don’t know him.’ He paused briefly before asking innocently. ‘Who’s he?’
‘He’s ….’ Even as she spoke, Sina, her former heartthrob, and his new doll appeared at the entrance and her eyes immediately caught them. Then the colour instantly left her face and she went white with tension. Her lips began to quiver as she attempted to speak, with her fingers trembling in a way Lade could not fail to notice.
She had to force the words out in a stammer: ‘He-he-he’s my boy-boy … ex-boy friend.’ Tears began to gather in her eyes as she avoided Lade’s eyes.
Lade understood and remained calm.
From the corners of her eyes, Damilola saw them hesitate briefly at the entrance and seemed to have decided to join her and Lade at their table as it appeared the closest table with vacant seats.
No! No! Christ! Christ! No! They were coming to her. Ho, no! She could no longer breathe. She looked at Lade, her eyes pleading as she said, ‘Please pretend you’re my boyfriend. Please.’
Lade nodded slowly as his left hand reached for her trembling right fingers under the table. He squeezed very hard. She began to feel pain instead of tension and slowly her fingers began to relax.
‘Is that his new flame?’ Lade asked under his breath, giving her a soft smile.
Damilola nodded, the colour returning to her face.
‘Let me handle them,’ Lade volunteered.
‘No, let me try’, Damilola insisted, the sudden conspiracy causing her to completely regain her composure. By the time Sina and his new heartthrob arrived at their table, Damilola was ready.
‘Ho, ho, ho’, Damilola feigned humorous surprise as she stood up to welcome them. ‘Colour me dumb if it’s not my old flame come back to me. Ho, Sina, how pleased I am to see you again.’ She hugged him warmly and tapped him on the back lightly.
Lade stood up.
‘This is Lade, my friend,’ she gestured towards Lade. ‘Lade is one of us and is with Broad Street I Branch.’ Then she gestured towards Sina. ‘And, darling, meet Sina, my ex-.’ She gestured towards Sina’s partner. ‘And this is your new flame, I’m sure.’
Sina nodded, unusually losing control of things.
‘And her name–’ Damilola dramatically suspended her sentence and as Sina seemed to hesitate, she added jokingly: ‘Ho, come on, Sina, don’t forget your manners. Tell us her name.’
‘Nike,’ Sina muttered. ‘Her name is Nike!
‘Nike,’ Damilola feigned ignorance and slow recollection. ‘Yes, Nike. Yes, I can recall her now.’
Damilola was never an artist but if given a sheet of paper and a pen to draw Nike as a condition for Sina to come back to her, she could have drawn a perfect picture from memory because every night, she had thought of the doll that had stolen her man. As for the name, Nike, Damilola knew the name as much as the face. But feigning ignorance was a satisfying response that came to her subconsciously.
They all shook hands.
‘Do have your seat,’ Damilola offered Sina the seat by her side, while Lade gestured Nike to his side.
If Damilola knew Sina very well, then she should understand that he was not comfortable, as he looked like fish out of water. She was sure he had looked forward to showing off his new doll to her, knowing how emotional Damilola was. But Damilola having a new lover and full of so much happiness and liveliness took him off his feet, perhaps even causing envy in him. The thought made Damilola happier and livelier.
Damilola could imagine her colleagues from her former branch straining their eyes and ears to catch how she was handling the situation. She had never felt so good since their break-up. Her bladder that had been threatening to flood her pants with urine suddenly had space to contain her liquid waste. And she had totally forgotten that her smudged face needed a retouch of make-up. She was comfortable inside and naturally felt cool outside.
As in her nature, she entertained her table with lively stories before, during and after the party. When it was dancing time, she danced with Lade. Everybody who noticed her that night could tell she was in love. And when her colleagues from her former branch came to exchange more greetings, an opportunity to meet her new guy, she introduced her ‘darling’ to them all with open excitement.
At the end of the party, Lade waited while Damilola helped with dismantling the decorations and tidying up the venue. Most guests were gone and the dimly-lit park almost deserted when she accompanied Lade to his car at the end of the park. When they got to his car, they paused nervously by the side, with him resting against it, and she facing him.
‘Thank you very much, Lade’, Damilola said in a croak voice. For the first time, she noticed his height, his handsomeness and his designer suit. Then the car – a black Toyota Camry 2006. And she could no longer conceal her nervous excitement from him.
‘Don’t mention’, Lade smiled at her, that same inviting smile he had first given her when she had walked up to him.
She brought both her palms up in a clasp and he gently held them together in his palms and pulled her towards himself. They stared at each other briefly before his hands then reached for her face and he gently rubbed his fingers across her cheeks while she stared at his eyes intently. She could smell the faint aroma of his perfume and she began to grow weak as his lips reached for her lips, with his lips slowly parting hers. And they began to kiss. He was gentle and skillful and she responded accordingly.
A little while later, his hands slipped to her mounds of buttocks and he gently squeezed them and she responded, with her kiss going fierce. It was when the squeezing became slower and rhythmical, with his fingers feeling her skin through her light dress, that she began to roll her hips in time with the rhythm and she began to feel moistness between her thighs. The bones of her legs seemed to go limp and could no longer carry her weight. She was going down with soft moans when he held her up and skillfully manoeuvred her, having her with her back against the car. His hands had moved to her head and held her close as they continued kissing ….
Back in the church on their wedding day, exactly a year after the first kiss, their wedding kiss was long, just like the first one. When finally they let go of each other’s lips, the guests cheered and cheered.
And the newly-wedded couple smiled, staring at each other’s eyes. Not far from their minds were the thoughts of how they had parted on the night of their first meeting, of how a relationship was born and of how they dated for less than six months before he eventually proposed.
They smiled happily to each other as the enthusiastic guests continued cheering.
By Oghene Omonisa
The atmosphere in the church was that of celebration and happiness. Vivacity was written all over the faces of the guests as they expectedly looked forward to the consummating kiss when the officiating minister intoned: ‘Now, you may kiss the bride.’
Gently, the groom raised the veil off the face of his bride and his seeking lips reached for her expectant luscious lips as she slowly opened them in warm anticipation. Their lips touched and sucked and sweetly rubbed against one another. Then their exploratory tongues came into contact, producing the pleasure that come with it. They kissed for long, longer than usual. Even the officiating minister appeared to be growing impatient. But the guests cheered them on.
It was just like the first time they had kissed exactly one year ago. The memory was still fresh in their minds as their wedding date was fixed for this day to commemorate that day. The day they first kissed was Saturday, 22nd March 2008, the Saturday before Easter. And their wedding was Saturday, 21st March 2009.
On that Saturday, 22nd March 2008, the day they first kissed, the bank she worked with, Eyan-Obaro International Bank Ltd, was having its quarterly zonal party for its low and middle-ranking staff. It was a forum for informal get-together for them to facilitate good working performance. She had been with a branch in Ikeja, Lagos Zone, before she manoeuvred a transfer to another branch in Surulere, within the same zone, two months ago. The transfer became necessary because she had broken up with her boyfriend a month before the transfer and as they worked in the same bank and were in the same branch, she could not cope with the emotional pains that followed. His reason for breaking the relationship was simply that they had dated for ‘too long’, going to a year, and he had no intention of marrying her and wanted them to call it quit to avoid emotional pains on both sides if the break-up came much later. What he did not admit was that he was aware she had honestly and desperately wanted him to marry her and that if he had proposed to her, she would have agreed to marry him any time, even a day after the proposal, and even without any elaborate ceremony. She was 26 then, and he was 28, and she did not see why they could not get married when they were both financially comfortable, he having worked for nearly three years and she for about a year.
With a master’s degree, he still saw years ahead of him, she had suspected, and he clearly wanted more fun. But she wanted to settle down and start a family. She wept and wept the night of the day they broke up, seeing her dream husband slipping away from her fingers. The transfer took only a month after the break-up because she could not stand working with him in the same building everyday.
Her love for him made her keep up with his romance and she learnt he soon after started dating one of the new dolls among the two that were posted to her former branch among the new set of staff that were newly recruited. She and her ex- had not seen since her transfer two months before the zonal party, which she knew he was sure to attend.
She arrived early for the party because she was the punctual and dedicated type. Though she was not part of the planning team, she helped put the venue, a rented hall of the Lagos Eseoghene Hotel, in order and ensured she rendered any form of assistance she could. As more colleagues turned in, she kept an eye for her ex- and his new heartthrob, as her heart kept beating fast each time a new colleague appeared at the entrance.
Most of her colleagues had arrived but her ex- was yet to show up. She began to relax, with the assumption that he might not come after all, assuring herself that even if he came, she would only need to act normal – as if she had taken the break-up in her stride. She greeted and chatted with colleagues from her former branch and felt comfortable.
Feeling her face had begun to grow smeared from the assistance she had rendered to help put the venue in order, she wanted to make her face up and realised she had left her bag in her car. She left for the car park. As she stepped through the pedestrian entrance of the sheltered car park, which was an extension of the hotel building, she saw a male shape outlined against the inner light of a car among the line of cars, with his back to her. The person seemed to be talking to an occupant in the passenger seat. And she suddenly froze! The person backing her was her ex-boyfriend! She could not mistake that outline among a million men. Then her heart seemed to have flown out of her chest, leaving her choking in her breath. She could not move, with her face going white from tension. It was when she saw his partner that she came to life. It was his new doll!
There were movements in the dimly-lit park as people walked in, to get their cars and drive out though the vehicular entrance, or drive in, to walk out of the park through the entrance she had come in, which her former guy and his new doll would need to walk through to the venue.
Quickly, she stepped out, out of sight. Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ! What was she to do? She was trembling. She surely could not face them! She could not! Certainly, she could not! What was she to do? She dashed back to the venue, her make-up totally forgotten. She suddenly felt pressed and felt a pee in her pants.
As she entered the hall, a flash of idea came to her. She needed company, somebody to sit with and talk with to relax her muscles. The tables were round, with four seats to a table, and arranged backward from the platform, which had the high table. There was a wide space from the high table to the other tables. Nearly half of the tables, mostly at the back, were yet to be occupied. She had not even selected a table before. The closest empty table had a guy sitting alone – a strange guy!
She walked to the table, appearing as calm and normal as she could. Before she came to stop at the table, a brilliant idea came to her, much better than just needing a company.
‘Hi, could I join you, please?’ she asked the young man, giving him her best smile.
‘Of course, you could.’ The guy’s smile was most inviting.
She sat down beside him, facing the entrance. It was all she could do not to sound or appear desperate. ‘I’m Damilola. I’m with Bode Thomas II Branch, Surulere.’ Then she suddenly realised he might not be one of her colleagues but only a guest. ‘Em ... em …’, she hesitated. ‘Are you one of us or a guest?’
‘I’m one of you.’ He smiled again, a broad smile this time, perhaps at how he had stressed the one of you. ‘Broad Street I’, he added. ‘The name is Lade.’
‘Lade. I love that name. It reminds me of lady.’ She forced a smile. ‘Will you by chance know Sina, one of us in Oregun Branch in Ikeja?’ She was silently calling on heaven for him to say ‘no’.
‘I don’t think I do. No, I don’t know him.’ He paused briefly before asking innocently. ‘Who’s he?’
‘He’s ….’ Even as she spoke, Sina, her former heartthrob, and his new doll appeared at the entrance and her eyes immediately caught them. Then the colour instantly left her face and she went white with tension. Her lips began to quiver as she attempted to speak, with her fingers trembling in a way Lade could not fail to notice.
She had to force the words out in a stammer: ‘He-he-he’s my boy-boy … ex-boy friend.’ Tears began to gather in her eyes as she avoided Lade’s eyes.
Lade understood and remained calm.
From the corners of her eyes, Damilola saw them hesitate briefly at the entrance and seemed to have decided to join her and Lade at their table as it appeared the closest table with vacant seats.
No! No! Christ! Christ! No! They were coming to her. Ho, no! She could no longer breathe. She looked at Lade, her eyes pleading as she said, ‘Please pretend you’re my boyfriend. Please.’
Lade nodded slowly as his left hand reached for her trembling right fingers under the table. He squeezed very hard. She began to feel pain instead of tension and slowly her fingers began to relax.
‘Is that his new flame?’ Lade asked under his breath, giving her a soft smile.
Damilola nodded, the colour returning to her face.
‘Let me handle them,’ Lade volunteered.
‘No, let me try’, Damilola insisted, the sudden conspiracy causing her to completely regain her composure. By the time Sina and his new heartthrob arrived at their table, Damilola was ready.
‘Ho, ho, ho’, Damilola feigned humorous surprise as she stood up to welcome them. ‘Colour me dumb if it’s not my old flame come back to me. Ho, Sina, how pleased I am to see you again.’ She hugged him warmly and tapped him on the back lightly.
Lade stood up.
‘This is Lade, my friend,’ she gestured towards Lade. ‘Lade is one of us and is with Broad Street I Branch.’ Then she gestured towards Sina. ‘And, darling, meet Sina, my ex-.’ She gestured towards Sina’s partner. ‘And this is your new flame, I’m sure.’
Sina nodded, unusually losing control of things.
‘And her name–’ Damilola dramatically suspended her sentence and as Sina seemed to hesitate, she added jokingly: ‘Ho, come on, Sina, don’t forget your manners. Tell us her name.’
‘Nike,’ Sina muttered. ‘Her name is Nike!
‘Nike,’ Damilola feigned ignorance and slow recollection. ‘Yes, Nike. Yes, I can recall her now.’
Damilola was never an artist but if given a sheet of paper and a pen to draw Nike as a condition for Sina to come back to her, she could have drawn a perfect picture from memory because every night, she had thought of the doll that had stolen her man. As for the name, Nike, Damilola knew the name as much as the face. But feigning ignorance was a satisfying response that came to her subconsciously.
They all shook hands.
‘Do have your seat,’ Damilola offered Sina the seat by her side, while Lade gestured Nike to his side.
If Damilola knew Sina very well, then she should understand that he was not comfortable, as he looked like fish out of water. She was sure he had looked forward to showing off his new doll to her, knowing how emotional Damilola was. But Damilola having a new lover and full of so much happiness and liveliness took him off his feet, perhaps even causing envy in him. The thought made Damilola happier and livelier.
Damilola could imagine her colleagues from her former branch straining their eyes and ears to catch how she was handling the situation. She had never felt so good since their break-up. Her bladder that had been threatening to flood her pants with urine suddenly had space to contain her liquid waste. And she had totally forgotten that her smudged face needed a retouch of make-up. She was comfortable inside and naturally felt cool outside.
As in her nature, she entertained her table with lively stories before, during and after the party. When it was dancing time, she danced with Lade. Everybody who noticed her that night could tell she was in love. And when her colleagues from her former branch came to exchange more greetings, an opportunity to meet her new guy, she introduced her ‘darling’ to them all with open excitement.
At the end of the party, Lade waited while Damilola helped with dismantling the decorations and tidying up the venue. Most guests were gone and the dimly-lit park almost deserted when she accompanied Lade to his car at the end of the park. When they got to his car, they paused nervously by the side, with him resting against it, and she facing him.
‘Thank you very much, Lade’, Damilola said in a croak voice. For the first time, she noticed his height, his handsomeness and his designer suit. Then the car – a black Toyota Camry 2006. And she could no longer conceal her nervous excitement from him.
‘Don’t mention’, Lade smiled at her, that same inviting smile he had first given her when she had walked up to him.
She brought both her palms up in a clasp and he gently held them together in his palms and pulled her towards himself. They stared at each other briefly before his hands then reached for her face and he gently rubbed his fingers across her cheeks while she stared at his eyes intently. She could smell the faint aroma of his perfume and she began to grow weak as his lips reached for her lips, with his lips slowly parting hers. And they began to kiss. He was gentle and skillful and she responded accordingly.
A little while later, his hands slipped to her mounds of buttocks and he gently squeezed them and she responded, with her kiss going fierce. It was when the squeezing became slower and rhythmical, with his fingers feeling her skin through her light dress, that she began to roll her hips in time with the rhythm and she began to feel moistness between her thighs. The bones of her legs seemed to go limp and could no longer carry her weight. She was going down with soft moans when he held her up and skillfully manoeuvred her, having her with her back against the car. His hands had moved to her head and held her close as they continued kissing ….
Back in the church on their wedding day, exactly a year after the first kiss, their wedding kiss was long, just like the first one. When finally they let go of each other’s lips, the guests cheered and cheered.
And the newly-wedded couple smiled, staring at each other’s eyes. Not far from their minds were the thoughts of how they had parted on the night of their first meeting, of how a relationship was born and of how they dated for less than six months before he eventually proposed.
They smiled happily to each other as the enthusiastic guests continued cheering.
Monday, December 20, 2010
First Kiss - Dealing with the Anxiety
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| First Kiss - Dealing with the Anxiety |
Getting close to landing your first kiss? Are you overwhelmed with stress? If the answer is yes, then you must read this article. It will slash your anxiety in half.
1) Eliminate Expectations
Don't expect to set the world on fire with your first kiss. Instead, decide that you just want to give a normal 10 second kiss. Shooting for a realistic goal will lower your stress considerably.
2) Remember that you'll get a 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th + chance. Once that initial kiss is made, you guys will do it a hundred more times. You'll be so relieved and thrilled to be kissing, that you'll want to do it all the time. So, if you screw up a little on your first kiss, don't sweat it. You'll get another chance to do it better...probably within the hour.
3) It's probably their first kiss, too
Don't expect to be judged on your performance. If they haven't kissed anyone before, either, you can be damn sure that they're also stressing about it. In fact, after you guys pull apart from your first kiss, it's likely they'll be so busy wondering "Am I doing this right", that they won't stop to consider whether you did it right.
4) They want you to kiss them
Go ahead and assume that the person you're dating wants to kiss you. Obviously, they're physically attracted to you. Otherwise, they wouldn't be dating you. It's only natural for them to want you in a more physical way. Of course, they want to kiss you. <
5) Think positive thoughts
Psyche yourself up. Think how happy you'll be once you land that first kiss. Think of all the hours of making out that will be going on after you get the first kiss over with. Think how great it's going to feel. Don't delay this ecstasy any longer.
6) Billions of people kiss every day
A kiss is a normal everyday thing for several billion people. Your mom and dad, neighbors, and other people all over the world kiss all the time, so what's the big deal? If they can do it, why can't you? If it's no big deal to dinosaurs like your parents and grandparents, why should you have a problem with it?
7) Visualize it
Try to picture how it's going to go down. When you go to bed at night, close your eyes and try to imagine how you're going to make your approach, how you're going to hold them, etc. The more you visualize this moment, the more comfortable and stress free you'll be when the time comes to do it for real.
8) Practice it in your room...seriously
Physically go through the motions that you visualized in the previous step. Practice walking up to your sweetie, practice what you're going to say (and in what tone of voice), and practice leaning in. You can even practice kissing your hand. Believe it or not, but these techniques actually work. Going through the motions will prepare you for the real thing.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Adolescence and Those Randy Guys
YOUNG BREATH
By Rugba Erhurhu
Adolescence and Those Randy Guys
By Rugba Erhurhu
Adolescence and Those Randy Guys
Recall the first year at secondary school when your integrated science teacher rapped off about puberty and human reproductive system? Like they always do, mine told us that as we grew up, physical changes would occur in both females and males, and that these changes should be expected. Forgotten the changes? Of course, you haven’t. Don’t play stuffy! Teachers often start off with the female. Those almost-bare chests would begin to develop a pair of mounds around the nipples we were already used to: they are a pair of breasts. Then the hips would begin to broaden and, more than any other part of the body, the flat bum-bum we were used to, would suddenly grow rotund, with more flesh from no one knows where.
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Integrated science teachers never fail to mention menstruation and its burden and necessity. And when it would come to the growing of hair in the armpits and, especially, on the pubic section, the girls would become shy while the boys would chuckle and make faces at us, wishing the teacher would go on and on about female changes.
Then it would come to the turn of the male. They would begin to grow beard on their faces, develop muscles and strong features, and then also grow pubic hair. And when it would come to wet dreams, which some of them experience due to sexual fantasies and which could also serve to offload excess unused sperms, we too would boo at the boys. And, you know, female boos are often the longest and loudest. But our teacher would snap us to silence. Teachers always do, whether male or female. It is lesson and its purpose must be adhered to: to teach and make us learn.
Teachers sometimes add that at adolescence, males tend to go out in search of female partners to explore those changes they have noticed in themselves. And some females are anxious for exploratory partners. Therefore, the need to educate and guide us. But what teachers seldom tell female students is that there are much older randy guys out there ogling at us. And these guys are even keener than the teenage guys. They observe every single change in us as much as we do.
Then it would come to the turn of the male. They would begin to grow beard on their faces, develop muscles and strong features, and then also grow pubic hair. And when it would come to wet dreams, which some of them experience due to sexual fantasies and which could also serve to offload excess unused sperms, we too would boo at the boys. And, you know, female boos are often the longest and loudest. But our teacher would snap us to silence. Teachers always do, whether male or female. It is lesson and its purpose must be adhered to: to teach and make us learn.
Teachers sometimes add that at adolescence, males tend to go out in search of female partners to explore those changes they have noticed in themselves. And some females are anxious for exploratory partners. Therefore, the need to educate and guide us. But what teachers seldom tell female students is that there are much older randy guys out there ogling at us. And these guys are even keener than the teenage guys. They observe every single change in us as much as we do.
My first and only encounter with one of such older randy guys was, to say the least, most frightening. To me, the guy was really a bros, say about 26 and in his final year at the university, while I was only 16, though looking much older than my age, but my brain still full of my studies, extra-mural classes, WAEC, credit passes and JAMB. He was living with his parents and two younger siblings in our neighbourhood.
Returning home from school late one Friday afternoon, I saw him come out through the gates to their house and we walked into each other. He paused and we greeted. Then he asked about school and casually asked if I could come help him out at home with a minor chore the next day, Saturday. I agreed and didn’t give it a second thought, as there seemed to be nothing to it. Those days, I really cherished being around guys, especially undergraduates, and I craved to learn about campus life.
I innocently and excitedly went to see him the next day at 2p.m. sharp, as promised. Finding him alone at home in the three bedroom flat didn’t raise any alarm in me. He had actually wanted me to help him iron, he explained, as he wasn’t feeling too fine and his younger siblings were out of town. But he had managed to iron the clothes himself. He asked if I wanted drink and I requested soft. We had been sitting far apart. When he returned and offered the drink, he then came to sit close to me and we started talking as I drank.
He talked and dazzled me with campus stories and I asked countless questions and he gave exciting explanations. Later, we talked about movies and music and novels, my other favourite subjects. Then casually, his hand reached for my palm and he started commenting on my nails, stretching out my fingers. I was shocked beyond reaction. My rigid body seemed to encourage him. And he started caressing my arm and commenting on my skin. Returning home from school late one Friday afternoon, I saw him come out through the gates to their house and we walked into each other. He paused and we greeted. Then he asked about school and casually asked if I could come help him out at home with a minor chore the next day, Saturday. I agreed and didn’t give it a second thought, as there seemed to be nothing to it. Those days, I really cherished being around guys, especially undergraduates, and I craved to learn about campus life.
I innocently and excitedly went to see him the next day at 2p.m. sharp, as promised. Finding him alone at home in the three bedroom flat didn’t raise any alarm in me. He had actually wanted me to help him iron, he explained, as he wasn’t feeling too fine and his younger siblings were out of town. But he had managed to iron the clothes himself. He asked if I wanted drink and I requested soft. We had been sitting far apart. When he returned and offered the drink, he then came to sit close to me and we started talking as I drank.
My immediate reaction was more due to fear than anger. I screamed: ‘What? What’s it? He instantly withdrew his hands. He was scared himself. The fear in his eyes seemed to encourage me and I stood up in a rage and glared at him, pointing at his shocked face: ‘You’re mad!’ I screamed. ‘You’re insane!’ Sincerely, I couldn’t find the right words. And I stormed out of the sitting room, banging the door behind me. From that day till they moved from the neighbourhood, I never greeted him again. And he became so shy he avoided me like hell. That one experience was enough for me. I don’t give older randy guys such opportunities any longer, not even now that I am in my early 20s. I have come to understand their psychology. These guys don’t scare me. Don’t let them scare you, too, no matter how older. Believe me, these randy older guys are characteristically timid. Some have this habit of talking to teenagers and young women disparagingly, as if they are not interested or keen. Others will
just act bigheaded and speak to innocent girls with fatherly calmness, whereas all they are after is an easy catch. Many of us know their tricks. When they act smug like that to me, I often tell them to ‘go make a hole in the river’ or to ‘fly off and go perch in the sky’. And, know what? They get off my back most often than not.
Truthfully, I’m not really a tough woman. And every teenage or young woman doesn’t have to be one to shoo off those guys who want to take advantage of our innocence, thinking we are pushover, instead of going in search of their age. Besides, guys are not really tough either, age group or older. A friend who is equally shy like me, has this habit of scowling whenever such older guys come around. Her only response to ‘Hello,fine girl? or ‘Hi, beauty’ is just to scowl and walk pass, and the guys would become discouraged and just back off.
But this isn’t to say that teenage girls or young women can’t start genuine and serious relationship with much older guys, or one that can possibly lead to marriage, after all, we were all living witnesses to the recent marriage between 21-year-old Nafisat, daughter of our President, and much older Isa Yuguda, Governor of Bauchi State as his wife number four. Of course, their relationship didn’t start yesterday. The gist here is that many older guys, especially those who talk about ‘sweet sixteen’, are only in hunt for sexual escapades. And because men can be very mischievous and unpredictable, it’s difficult to tell a serious guy from a randy and adventurous one. But the first step for a young woman who is interested in an older guy, in determining a serious one from the other, is to maintain a long platonic relationship.
But for the teeny or young woman like me who believes in close age partners, don’t let those much older randy guys scare you. It’s not easy but they can be stopped. There is never any man taller than a woman, except perhaps the man who will never get married, because when they come asking our hand in marriage, they go down on their knees, making us taller and superior.
Truthfully, I’m not really a tough woman. And every teenage or young woman doesn’t have to be one to shoo off those guys who want to take advantage of our innocence, thinking we are pushover, instead of going in search of their age. Besides, guys are not really tough either, age group or older. A friend who is equally shy like me, has this habit of scowling whenever such older guys come around. Her only response to ‘Hello,fine girl? or ‘Hi, beauty’ is just to scowl and walk pass, and the guys would become discouraged and just back off.
But this isn’t to say that teenage girls or young women can’t start genuine and serious relationship with much older guys, or one that can possibly lead to marriage, after all, we were all living witnesses to the recent marriage between 21-year-old Nafisat, daughter of our President, and much older Isa Yuguda, Governor of Bauchi State as his wife number four. Of course, their relationship didn’t start yesterday. The gist here is that many older guys, especially those who talk about ‘sweet sixteen’, are only in hunt for sexual escapades. And because men can be very mischievous and unpredictable, it’s difficult to tell a serious guy from a randy and adventurous one. But the first step for a young woman who is interested in an older guy, in determining a serious one from the other, is to maintain a long platonic relationship.
But for the teeny or young woman like me who believes in close age partners, don’t let those much older randy guys scare you. It’s not easy but they can be stopped. There is never any man taller than a woman, except perhaps the man who will never get married, because when they come asking our hand in marriage, they go down on their knees, making us taller and superior.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
The Nouveau Riche and Their Poor Pals
The Nouveau Riche and Their Poor Pals
By Oghene Omonisa
By Oghene Omonisa
Some people are damn lucky – they are born into riches and have never known poverty. If not into the Aliko Dangote or Mike Adenuga kind of wealth, but at least, by internationally accepted standard, they grew up in wealth. They attended the best private schools here in Nigeria, or the elitist federal government colleges. Or even did their secondary schooling in Europe or America. They had their holidays in the best vacation resorts all over the world. Then, after secondary school, they had their university education overseas or some elite private university here. They were and still are privileged.
Most, if not all of their childhood pals were all of the privileged class. They socialised together, dated one another and ended up marrying themselves. They had and still have little contact with members of the lower class, most of who are only members of their domestic staff or employees of the lower cadre of their companies. They ride high and seldom stoop low. They deserve it because they are privileged. Indeed, they are lucky!
Most, if not all of their childhood pals were all of the privileged class. They socialised together, dated one another and ended up marrying themselves. They had and still have little contact with members of the lower class, most of who are only members of their domestic staff or employees of the lower cadre of their companies. They ride high and seldom stoop low. They deserve it because they are privileged. Indeed, they are lucky!
But what they do not realise is that they are twice lucky. They are lucky to be rich and luckier to be born into it. Not like their counterparts who are equally well off but who rode through the roughshod of poverty to arrive where they are. Not like the poor guys who had known poverty
from birth; guys whose parents were poor, guys whose childhood pals were poor and whose neighbours were poor. But now, they have arrived. They have recently made it big. They are the nouveau riche!
A nouveau riche guy just cannot help living life to its fullest. He sure had dreamt and worked hard for his new good life. He jets off to the best vacation spots worldwide, possesses large bank accounts, super home, luxury cars, made many equally rich people for pals and has many fast-fading old poor pals. That is where the nouveau riche guy is unlucky: how to relate with his old poor pals without appearing snooty, and its implications.
The nouveau riche guy and complaining pals is a common feature in our society, especially among young married guys or young single male adults, who still have pals trying to find their feet or those just getting along with the average life. It is often heard of an old poor buddy of a nouveau riche guy grumbling about his now-wealthy pal who does not spare him a ‘Hi’ call any longer and invites him over for a visit or a get-together no more. He complains that his pal is now arrogant.
A nouveau riche guy just cannot help living life to its fullest. He sure had dreamt and worked hard for his new good life. He jets off to the best vacation spots worldwide, possesses large bank accounts, super home, luxury cars, made many equally rich people for pals and has many fast-fading old poor pals. That is where the nouveau riche guy is unlucky: how to relate with his old poor pals without appearing snooty, and its implications.
The nouveau riche guy and complaining pals is a common feature in our society, especially among young married guys or young single male adults, who still have pals trying to find their feet or those just getting along with the average life. It is often heard of an old poor buddy of a nouveau riche guy grumbling about his now-wealthy pal who does not spare him a ‘Hi’ call any longer and invites him over for a visit or a get-together no more. He complains that his pal is now arrogant.
But, most often than not, the nouveau riche guy is not arrogant. He has risen in social class. He has made rich pals. His new status has to reflect in whom he socialises with. Often times, he is not comfortable with his poor old pals because now, his ways of reasoning have changed. And unfortunately, most poor blokes are in the habit of either pestering their nouveau riche pals for alms or pouring every of their personal problem on them. Having such pals around turns out to be irritating to the nouveau riche guy because whenever he spends money, the poor pal sees him as extravagant, and considers the pressing problems he could solve with such money, as if the nouveau riche guy should no longer live the kind of life he deserves.So, the newly-made guy just draws a wide margin between him and such pals. Of course, there are a few poor old pals the nouveau riche guy can tolerate because of the poor pals’ exposure or carriage or educational status, seeing very high possibility that those ones could join him soon. But there are some others he does not wish to run into, as it will be embarrassing to receive a wave from them.
When it comes to this stage, a nouveau riche guy realises some old pals are complaining. Only few nouveau riche guys are capable of managing such a situation by keeping in touch and making contact when necessary, perhaps calling or dropping by to felicitate over a happy situation or to sympathise over a sad one; and any old poor pal who expects him to continue to hang out with him like before, is only having pipedream. Class distinction is a social reality. And material success and/or education define class. Only the ignorant will assume otherwise. The knowledgeable will understand.
But some nouveau riche guys who cannot manage the situation will begin to experience what could be termed ‘sad wish’: a desire by such nouveau riche guys not to see a poor old pal who they realise sees them as arrogant, to climb up to their level. This is because if the poor old pal climbs to their level, especially if they are in related fields, where they might get to relate often, there could be a cold war: wordless rivalry. Even some nouveau riche folks will outrightly avoid a new nouveau riche pal to save themselves from a revenge shining.
There is the story of a young bright engineering graduate who secured a well-paying job immediately after graduation. And his status suddenly changed, especially his class of friends. When he got married, he deliberately sidelined all his old friends, including his closest schoolmate, who was also an engineering graduate but who made second-class lower. When the poor pal got married and invited him, the nouveau riche guy deliberately turned it down. But the poor pal would later secure a lucrative job with an American oil firm, from a state civil service job he was patching up with. He was first sent to the home company for training.
When the snobbish nouveau riche guy heard his old pal had travelled overseas, he sneered that he would not be surprised if the guy was jailed for dealing in illicit drugs, for fraud or other related crimes desperate immigrants are known for over there, thinking the newly-employed pal had gone there to ‘hustle’. When he was informed that the guy had just secured a good job and was sent abroad for training, the snob was agitated, saying it was impossible, wondering what contact the guy had to secure such job with his class of degree.
With close observation, it is easy to realise that a rich guy who was born rich easily accepts a nouveau riche guy into his social circle than a nouveau riche guy accepting a new nouveau riche guy.
Hello! Are you a nouveau riche guy? Com’on, give that old but average or struggling pal a once-once call, if only to let him know you are aware he is out there getting along or coming behind. Or are you some poor guy who is working for the top? Well, just try to understand that your nouveau riche buddy is now of a higher class. Level don change. It is acceptable if he could keep in touch once in a while. That is one of the best forms of friendship that pals from such varied classes could maintain.
And when a poor pal eventually gets to the top, it sure will be decent of him to save cheering and encouraging smiles for other old pals who are yet to make it. Or what do you think?
But some nouveau riche guys who cannot manage the situation will begin to experience what could be termed ‘sad wish’: a desire by such nouveau riche guys not to see a poor old pal who they realise sees them as arrogant, to climb up to their level. This is because if the poor old pal climbs to their level, especially if they are in related fields, where they might get to relate often, there could be a cold war: wordless rivalry. Even some nouveau riche folks will outrightly avoid a new nouveau riche pal to save themselves from a revenge shining.
There is the story of a young bright engineering graduate who secured a well-paying job immediately after graduation. And his status suddenly changed, especially his class of friends. When he got married, he deliberately sidelined all his old friends, including his closest schoolmate, who was also an engineering graduate but who made second-class lower. When the poor pal got married and invited him, the nouveau riche guy deliberately turned it down. But the poor pal would later secure a lucrative job with an American oil firm, from a state civil service job he was patching up with. He was first sent to the home company for training.
When the snobbish nouveau riche guy heard his old pal had travelled overseas, he sneered that he would not be surprised if the guy was jailed for dealing in illicit drugs, for fraud or other related crimes desperate immigrants are known for over there, thinking the newly-employed pal had gone there to ‘hustle’. When he was informed that the guy had just secured a good job and was sent abroad for training, the snob was agitated, saying it was impossible, wondering what contact the guy had to secure such job with his class of degree.
With close observation, it is easy to realise that a rich guy who was born rich easily accepts a nouveau riche guy into his social circle than a nouveau riche guy accepting a new nouveau riche guy.
Hello! Are you a nouveau riche guy? Com’on, give that old but average or struggling pal a once-once call, if only to let him know you are aware he is out there getting along or coming behind. Or are you some poor guy who is working for the top? Well, just try to understand that your nouveau riche buddy is now of a higher class. Level don change. It is acceptable if he could keep in touch once in a while. That is one of the best forms of friendship that pals from such varied classes could maintain.
And when a poor pal eventually gets to the top, it sure will be decent of him to save cheering and encouraging smiles for other old pals who are yet to make it. Or what do you think?
Monday, December 13, 2010
Matron of the Game
Matron of the Game
By Oghene Omonisa
Alhaja Simbiat Daudu Female Hostel in Yaba, Lagos State, had a reputation of attracting a few men of means and some low and medium-earning men but who had bright future and who were in their late 20s and early to late 30s. The hostel had a policy of not giving accommodation to every undergraduate except when they were of advanced age or were recommended by an old boarder, to avoid a situation of having boarders who would quarrel over petty issues and who would attract visitors of similar traits. That made many of the residents to be working-class women, many of whom were pursuing one professional course or the other, and a number of them doing their master’s degree.
Some of them were non-students but workers who were not yet married; and most of them were singles, while a few were young mothers and wives who were still pursuing one professional course or the other in the higher institutions and other professional and training institutions in and around Yaba. Thus, most weekends, the hostel would be almost empty, with the married ones home to spend time with their families and the spinsters off to their guys or fiancés.
The hostel was a building of twenty rooms with toilet facilities and a kitchen attached to each room, and with a broad corridor separating them into ten rooms to each side. Down the corridor was the sitting room, which served as a meeting point because it was very big and had a big television set and two big deep freezers. To reduce power bills, residents were not allowed to own their own television set and refrigerator or to have electric cooker except gas cooker or kerosene stove.
A resident could take and pay for a room alone, but it was, as was its policy and which was the common occurrence, two residents to a room. And they could plan and seek for the accommodation together or could come separately and then be given a room as a pair.
Alhaja had very strict rules to discourage misunderstanding and quarrels, one of which was that male visitors were not allowed to pass the night and must leave by 9p.m. and her permission must be sought before any female visitor could pass the night. Thus, there was an average of thirty-eight boarders when the rooms were fully occupied. And there were hardly quarrels among boarders of Alhaja Simbiat Daudu Female Hostel.
Alhaja, who lived with her family in a single bungalow at the back of the hostel, hardly had matters being brought to her attention because there happened to be one of the boarders who had been able to gain the respect of the others and who, over time, became known as the Matron of the House or Matron or simply Matron Chichi, because this particular boarder treated with much compassion, intelligence and fair judgments every matter brought to her.
Chidinma, for that was her name, was a nursing student at the famous Lagos State College of Health Technology, No. 8, Harvey Road, Yaba. It was difficult to believe she was only twenty-six and unmarried because she had the wisdom and carriage of a forty-year-old woman. Cool and calculated, she had every other boarder under her control. And such unauthorised power and eventual honour did not come easy among a group of nearly forty women of different backgrounds, age ranges and professions.
One area where nearly every other woman in the hostel sought Matron Chichi’s counsel was marital and romantic issue. She would be calm as a fellow boarder, who could be thirty-five or more and who could be married with kids, pour out her heart on problems with her husband or with her in-laws. And Matron Chichi, who was still a young unmarried woman, would listen to the end with uncommon patience, and then calmly, very calmly, she would provide suggestions or advice, which more often than not, brought solution. Or it could be an unmarried boarder having problems with her boyfriend or finance, seeking for Matron Chichi’s counsel. She never appeared arrogant or superior. She would kindly give her advice, which was most times not only logical, but also realistic and acceptable.
These qualities in her were rare gifts and not from too much academic reading, for she did not even have a university degree, nor from personal reading, nor from watching movies, for she only took such things as hobbies like similar women of her age and status, even less than most women in the hostel. These were innate qualities. And nobody else benefited from these qualities than Toritseju, Matron Chichi’s room-mate, who was a student of a major catering institute in Yaba.
Toritseju had had a string of boyfriends who never took her seriously, until she came to the hostel and joined Matron Chichi in her room. After a couple of close observations, Matron Chichi realised the cause of Toritseju’s problem and pointed it out before providing her advice, which worked effectively. Since then, Matron Chichi became Toritseju’s unofficial counsellor. Now, Toritseju had a stable relationship, but that did not make her gain the total respect of other boarders who still considered her naturally immature, her being twenty-six, like Matron Chichi, not withstanding.
Every boarder knew Emem, Matron Chichi’s boyfriend, a young man whom she had dated since his HND days at the Yaba College of Technology (Yabatech), Yaba, where he studied computer engineering. After his NYSC year, Emem worked with a small construction company for about a year and lived with his elder brother in Ebute Metta until he secured a better job with a major oil-marketing firm, Nisastine Oil and Gas Ltd, where his status changed and he eventually moved to his own apartment in highbrow Lekki.
Matron Chichi spent most weekends with him and every of her co-boarder looked forward to her joining him later in the year, at the end of her three-year OND programme in community health, and also expected their wedding in no distant future.
Emem, a very gentle and nice guy whom all the boarders loved, often came to pick up Matron Chichi in his black Mercedes Benz G-Class jeep most Friday evenings. They would make a good couple, they all agreed. Then something happened. About a year after moving to his own, Emem stopped visiting and Matron Chichi started spending every weekend in the hostel. When her mates asked of Emem from her, she often said he was fine and that his job often took him out of Lagos lately.
Suddenly, Matron Chichi started losing weight and kept to herself most times. One night, Toritseju, her room-mate, was surprised to hear her sobbing softly. Toritseju was instantly awake and out of her bed to switch on the light. And she was at Matron Chichi’s bedside.
‘What’s the matter, Matron Chichi?’ Toritseju asked with anxiety.
‘Nothing. Nothing. I’m fine,’ Matron Chichi said and wiped her tears.
‘You’re fine? Then why are you crying?’
‘I said I’m fine.’ She tried in vain to control herself but the tears continued to stream down her cheeks.
‘Ho, you’re not being fair to me, Matron Chichi.’ Toritseju was almost to tears. ‘What’s the problem? You’re making me sad.’
‘I said I’m fine,’ Matron Chichi insisted boldly.
‘So, why are you crying?’ Toritseju asked as a thought flashed through her mind. ‘Or is it Emem?’
‘No ….” But even as Matron Chichi said it, more tears streamed down her cheeks and she broke into more sobs.
Then Toritseju instantly understood. ‘Did he dump you?’ she asked.
Matron Chichi could not respond instantly, but after a brief silence that seemed to last for ever, she nodded her head slowly.
‘Why? Why? Why should he do that?’ Toritseju lamented.
From the sadness in her voice, Matron Chichi knew how genuinely touched Toritseju was.
Gently, Toritseju was able to get the details from Matron Chichi. Emem no longer wanted her because he wanted a woman with a more reputable profession, perhaps a banker, a doctor, even a fellow engineer, but not a nurse.
To Toritseju, Matron Chichi was a superhuman, with her intelligence. And Matron Chichi’s natural domination of her fellow human had made Toritseju assumed she was above such emotions. She could not also believe Matron Chichi could not handle any man, let alone she not being able to convince Emem on the irresponsibility of claiming he was dumping her on such a lame excuse. To think the almighty Matron Chichi would cry over losing a man. Matron Chichi that had solution to every problem. It was unbelievable!
Toritseju did not know how to go about it and suggested she enlist the assistance of others in the morning. Matron Chichi was initially against the idea until Toritseju talked her into accepting, as this was their own form of showing how grateful they were for her matronly role.
Early the next morning, a Friday, Toritseju quickly called a brief meeting in the sitting room and gave highlights of what had happened to Matron Chichi. Because it was a working day, they all resolved to have a meeting later in the evening.
In the evening, with Matron Chichi present this time, they held a meeting of those who did not travel for the weekend. It certainly was rare for a general meeting of that kind to be held in the hostel. It simply was because there was never a resident like Matron Chichi in the history of the hostel – a fellow boarder who everybody went for counselling. Now, she was in a similar situation and needed help.
What none of the residents would admit to Matron Chichi was that they had never thought a day would come when she would not know how to handle her own affairs, especially a love affair, and would turn to them for help. They all had thought she was a superwoman on love relationship – the Matron of the Game!
In her own words, Matron Chichi gave account of how she and Emem had broken up. Distraught but trying to put up a brave front, she expectedly looked at their eyes for solution.
The first speaker was Mrs. Eniola Aselebe, a full-time post-graduate degree student of education at the University of Lagos (Unilag), Akoka, a district of Yaba. A mother of two, she had her family in Badagry, on the outskirts of Lagos, and was supposed to visit her family that weekend but like a few of the other boarders, she had decided to postpone her visit for the meeting because Matron Chichi had been of great help to her a number of times.
‘Emem could have other reasons for breaking up the relationship,’ suggested Mrs. Aseleba. ‘What is not special about a nurse? Matron Chichi could find out more about his reasons before we decide on the best line of action.’
‘He is no longer talking to me,’ Matron Chichi said sadly.
‘Perhaps I could call him and invite him over for a meeting between the two of us,’ Mrs. Aseleba added.
‘He has changed his phone number.’ The tears were returning to Matron Chichi eyes as she spoke.
‘Then I can go and see him at home,’ Mrs. Aseleba added. ‘What is his address?’
‘He won’t see you.’ Matron Chichi intoned.
‘Just let me try. Or does anyone else have a better option?’ Mrs. Aselebe asked the others.
They all agreed that Mrs. Aselebe, a woman in her late 30s, should go and see Emem at home the next day, and Matron Chichi gave her his home address.
In the evening of the next day, they had another meeting where Mrs. Aselebe reported to them the outcome of her visit. It turned out that Emem had strongly resolved not to change his decision on Matron Chichi, not only because he did not like her profession, but mainly because he considered her too possessive and domineering for his life partner.
‘Too brilliant perhaps,’ one of the boarders added.
‘Or too brilliant for him,’ another tried to put it correctly.
Mrs. Aselebe continued: ‘I tried to reason with him but it appears he has totally made up his mind.’
Matron Chichi sighed heavily and everybody could feel her frustration.
‘I think I’ve a better idea.’ It was Toritseju, Matron Chichi’s room-mate.
‘What is it, Toritseju?’ one of the others asked, followed by muffled sneers in the air.
‘We should all go to see him in his office and force him to talk to us all in the presence of his colleagues on why he’s dumping a woman he’s supposed to marry.’
‘Hmmm, Toritseju,’ somebody laughed. The sneers were loud now.
‘No, no, no. Let’s confront him to really open up. He’s only human. If we all go to his office, he will be intimated and tell us everything. Then we will put up our defense of Matron Chichi to counter him.’
The sneers were about to begin again when Matron Chichi stopped them. ‘No, Toritseju has a point. Let us see how that one works out first. There’s no harm in trying.’
And everybody paused and paid attention as Toritseju continued: ‘We should set a day during the week and all go and see him, except Matron Chichi.’ Toritseju’s confidence was growing now. ‘It’s a sacrifice we will have to make for Matron Chichi. We will need to hire a bus and go to his office in VI. Then he will know Matron Chichi has friends.’
Eventually, Thursday was chosen. And on the morning of that day, a Toyota Coaster bus, filled with thirty-four women, showed up at the gates of Nisastine Oil and Gas. Every boarder was dressed in his professional clothing, but the ones that really stood out were the other four nursing students with their complete uniforms, and the three catering students, including Toritseju, with their chef’s jackets and hats on.
The security men asked them whom they wanted to visit and purpose of visit. Their reply was that they wanted to see Eng. Emem Eduok and their mission was official. They were asked whose name to be given to Emem. It was Toritseju that spoke: ‘Please kindly inform him that we are residents of Alhaja Simbiat Daudu Female Hostel, Yaba.’
A call was made to Emem who, obviously thinking there was only one or two women in to see him over Matron Chichi, asked that they be allowed in. And the gates were opened for them and a direction to the car park given to their driver. Then thirty-four women alighted, with the nurses and caterers very outstanding in their complete apparels. And they were all led by a security man to Emem’s office. It was a sight to behold as they walked to the entrance of the reception hall.
At the reception hall, they were all asked to wait and they all remained standing as there were not enough seats and they almost filled up the whole hall. They were asked to remain in the hall, as Emem’s office would certainly not take them all.
When Emem came down to the reception hall, he could hardly believe his eyes. ‘Wha–wha–what’s the matter?’ he stammered.
Toritseju was at the front and she spoke very formally: ‘Dear Engineer Emem Eduok of Nisastine Oil and Gas Limited, Victoria Island, Lagos State, we, the residents of Alhaja Simbiat Daudu Female Hostel, Yaba, Lagos State, are here to kindly request that you should come to our hostel today at 7p.m. to unbreak the heart of our Matron, Miss Chidinma Njoku, whose heart you have broken.’
The two female receptionists, other visitors and some staff members who had come down to the reception were all watching the drama. All their eyes then turned and were riveted on Emem.
Then Emem surprisingly responded: ‘I, Engineer Emem Eduok of Nisastine Oil and Gas Limited, do hereby promise to come to Alhaja Simbiat Daudu Female Hostel this evening to carry out your request to the best of my ability. Thank you.’
‘Thank you too for your understanding and we look forward to your co-operation,’ said Toritseju.
And the women filed out of the reception hall, down the concrete grounds to the car park to their bus and were then driven away.
When they got to their hostel, they could see the restrained excitement on Matron Chichi’s face as she sat alone waiting for them in the sitting room.
‘He called!’ she screamed but slowly stood up in her controlled excitement. ‘Ho! He is scared to his pants! Ho, it worked! He called me! He said he would come here directly after the close of work!’
And they all waited till a few minutes after 7p.m. when they heard the sound of Emem’s car driving in. They remained waiting in the sitting room, not knowing how he would react.
‘Good evening all,’ he greeted, pausing at the door of the sitting room.
‘Good evening, Emem,’ they all responded in chorus.
‘Hmmm.’ He was short of words and his expression was that of indecision. ‘Chichi, may I see you in your room a moment?’
And Matron Chichi gently stood up and followed him as he briskly walked ahead to her room. The other residents exchanged glances and waited.
It took about thirty minutes before Emem and Matron Chichi came to the entrance of the sitting room, holding hands. The sitting room was heavy with silence as the others looked at them apprehensively.
Then Matron Chichi smiled at them and said slowly: ‘Ladies in the house, I’m happy to inform you that Emem has just proposed to marry me and I’ve accepted.’
It was Toritseju that first reacted, suddenly springing up. ‘Praise the Lord!’ she screamed with her voice full of happiness and ecstasy.
‘Hallelujah!’ was the loud chorus she got in response from her fellow boarders.
‘Praise Master Jesus!’
‘Hallelujah!’
Instantly Toritseju broke into a popular chorus:
‘Winner ho ho ho!
Winner!
Winner ho ho ho!
Winner!
Matron Chichi, you don win ho!
Winner!
Kpata kpata you go win for ever!
Winner!’
And the others stood up and joined the chorus and followed the lead of Toritseju, who had broken into a dance.
‘Winner ho ho ho!
Winner!
Winner ho ho ho!
Winner!
Matron Chichi, you don win no!
Winner!
Kpata kpata you go win for ever!
Winner!’
And they sang and danced round the sitting room with some shaking Emem’s hands and congratulating Matron Chichi.
As more choruses were raised and new dance steps taken, Matron Chichi put her right hand across Emem’s waist and rested her head on his left shoulder, smiling, while Emem put his left hand across her left shoulder in a warm embrace.
And the singing and dancing continued.
By Oghene Omonisa
Alhaja Simbiat Daudu Female Hostel in Yaba, Lagos State, had a reputation of attracting a few men of means and some low and medium-earning men but who had bright future and who were in their late 20s and early to late 30s. The hostel had a policy of not giving accommodation to every undergraduate except when they were of advanced age or were recommended by an old boarder, to avoid a situation of having boarders who would quarrel over petty issues and who would attract visitors of similar traits. That made many of the residents to be working-class women, many of whom were pursuing one professional course or the other, and a number of them doing their master’s degree.
Some of them were non-students but workers who were not yet married; and most of them were singles, while a few were young mothers and wives who were still pursuing one professional course or the other in the higher institutions and other professional and training institutions in and around Yaba. Thus, most weekends, the hostel would be almost empty, with the married ones home to spend time with their families and the spinsters off to their guys or fiancés.
The hostel was a building of twenty rooms with toilet facilities and a kitchen attached to each room, and with a broad corridor separating them into ten rooms to each side. Down the corridor was the sitting room, which served as a meeting point because it was very big and had a big television set and two big deep freezers. To reduce power bills, residents were not allowed to own their own television set and refrigerator or to have electric cooker except gas cooker or kerosene stove.
A resident could take and pay for a room alone, but it was, as was its policy and which was the common occurrence, two residents to a room. And they could plan and seek for the accommodation together or could come separately and then be given a room as a pair.
Alhaja had very strict rules to discourage misunderstanding and quarrels, one of which was that male visitors were not allowed to pass the night and must leave by 9p.m. and her permission must be sought before any female visitor could pass the night. Thus, there was an average of thirty-eight boarders when the rooms were fully occupied. And there were hardly quarrels among boarders of Alhaja Simbiat Daudu Female Hostel.
Alhaja, who lived with her family in a single bungalow at the back of the hostel, hardly had matters being brought to her attention because there happened to be one of the boarders who had been able to gain the respect of the others and who, over time, became known as the Matron of the House or Matron or simply Matron Chichi, because this particular boarder treated with much compassion, intelligence and fair judgments every matter brought to her.
Chidinma, for that was her name, was a nursing student at the famous Lagos State College of Health Technology, No. 8, Harvey Road, Yaba. It was difficult to believe she was only twenty-six and unmarried because she had the wisdom and carriage of a forty-year-old woman. Cool and calculated, she had every other boarder under her control. And such unauthorised power and eventual honour did not come easy among a group of nearly forty women of different backgrounds, age ranges and professions.
One area where nearly every other woman in the hostel sought Matron Chichi’s counsel was marital and romantic issue. She would be calm as a fellow boarder, who could be thirty-five or more and who could be married with kids, pour out her heart on problems with her husband or with her in-laws. And Matron Chichi, who was still a young unmarried woman, would listen to the end with uncommon patience, and then calmly, very calmly, she would provide suggestions or advice, which more often than not, brought solution. Or it could be an unmarried boarder having problems with her boyfriend or finance, seeking for Matron Chichi’s counsel. She never appeared arrogant or superior. She would kindly give her advice, which was most times not only logical, but also realistic and acceptable.
These qualities in her were rare gifts and not from too much academic reading, for she did not even have a university degree, nor from personal reading, nor from watching movies, for she only took such things as hobbies like similar women of her age and status, even less than most women in the hostel. These were innate qualities. And nobody else benefited from these qualities than Toritseju, Matron Chichi’s room-mate, who was a student of a major catering institute in Yaba.
Toritseju had had a string of boyfriends who never took her seriously, until she came to the hostel and joined Matron Chichi in her room. After a couple of close observations, Matron Chichi realised the cause of Toritseju’s problem and pointed it out before providing her advice, which worked effectively. Since then, Matron Chichi became Toritseju’s unofficial counsellor. Now, Toritseju had a stable relationship, but that did not make her gain the total respect of other boarders who still considered her naturally immature, her being twenty-six, like Matron Chichi, not withstanding.
Every boarder knew Emem, Matron Chichi’s boyfriend, a young man whom she had dated since his HND days at the Yaba College of Technology (Yabatech), Yaba, where he studied computer engineering. After his NYSC year, Emem worked with a small construction company for about a year and lived with his elder brother in Ebute Metta until he secured a better job with a major oil-marketing firm, Nisastine Oil and Gas Ltd, where his status changed and he eventually moved to his own apartment in highbrow Lekki.
Matron Chichi spent most weekends with him and every of her co-boarder looked forward to her joining him later in the year, at the end of her three-year OND programme in community health, and also expected their wedding in no distant future.
Emem, a very gentle and nice guy whom all the boarders loved, often came to pick up Matron Chichi in his black Mercedes Benz G-Class jeep most Friday evenings. They would make a good couple, they all agreed. Then something happened. About a year after moving to his own, Emem stopped visiting and Matron Chichi started spending every weekend in the hostel. When her mates asked of Emem from her, she often said he was fine and that his job often took him out of Lagos lately.
Suddenly, Matron Chichi started losing weight and kept to herself most times. One night, Toritseju, her room-mate, was surprised to hear her sobbing softly. Toritseju was instantly awake and out of her bed to switch on the light. And she was at Matron Chichi’s bedside.
‘What’s the matter, Matron Chichi?’ Toritseju asked with anxiety.
‘Nothing. Nothing. I’m fine,’ Matron Chichi said and wiped her tears.
‘You’re fine? Then why are you crying?’
‘I said I’m fine.’ She tried in vain to control herself but the tears continued to stream down her cheeks.
‘Ho, you’re not being fair to me, Matron Chichi.’ Toritseju was almost to tears. ‘What’s the problem? You’re making me sad.’
‘I said I’m fine,’ Matron Chichi insisted boldly.
‘So, why are you crying?’ Toritseju asked as a thought flashed through her mind. ‘Or is it Emem?’
‘No ….” But even as Matron Chichi said it, more tears streamed down her cheeks and she broke into more sobs.
Then Toritseju instantly understood. ‘Did he dump you?’ she asked.
Matron Chichi could not respond instantly, but after a brief silence that seemed to last for ever, she nodded her head slowly.
‘Why? Why? Why should he do that?’ Toritseju lamented.
From the sadness in her voice, Matron Chichi knew how genuinely touched Toritseju was.
Gently, Toritseju was able to get the details from Matron Chichi. Emem no longer wanted her because he wanted a woman with a more reputable profession, perhaps a banker, a doctor, even a fellow engineer, but not a nurse.
To Toritseju, Matron Chichi was a superhuman, with her intelligence. And Matron Chichi’s natural domination of her fellow human had made Toritseju assumed she was above such emotions. She could not also believe Matron Chichi could not handle any man, let alone she not being able to convince Emem on the irresponsibility of claiming he was dumping her on such a lame excuse. To think the almighty Matron Chichi would cry over losing a man. Matron Chichi that had solution to every problem. It was unbelievable!
Toritseju did not know how to go about it and suggested she enlist the assistance of others in the morning. Matron Chichi was initially against the idea until Toritseju talked her into accepting, as this was their own form of showing how grateful they were for her matronly role.
Early the next morning, a Friday, Toritseju quickly called a brief meeting in the sitting room and gave highlights of what had happened to Matron Chichi. Because it was a working day, they all resolved to have a meeting later in the evening.
In the evening, with Matron Chichi present this time, they held a meeting of those who did not travel for the weekend. It certainly was rare for a general meeting of that kind to be held in the hostel. It simply was because there was never a resident like Matron Chichi in the history of the hostel – a fellow boarder who everybody went for counselling. Now, she was in a similar situation and needed help.
What none of the residents would admit to Matron Chichi was that they had never thought a day would come when she would not know how to handle her own affairs, especially a love affair, and would turn to them for help. They all had thought she was a superwoman on love relationship – the Matron of the Game!
In her own words, Matron Chichi gave account of how she and Emem had broken up. Distraught but trying to put up a brave front, she expectedly looked at their eyes for solution.
The first speaker was Mrs. Eniola Aselebe, a full-time post-graduate degree student of education at the University of Lagos (Unilag), Akoka, a district of Yaba. A mother of two, she had her family in Badagry, on the outskirts of Lagos, and was supposed to visit her family that weekend but like a few of the other boarders, she had decided to postpone her visit for the meeting because Matron Chichi had been of great help to her a number of times.
‘Emem could have other reasons for breaking up the relationship,’ suggested Mrs. Aseleba. ‘What is not special about a nurse? Matron Chichi could find out more about his reasons before we decide on the best line of action.’
‘He is no longer talking to me,’ Matron Chichi said sadly.
‘Perhaps I could call him and invite him over for a meeting between the two of us,’ Mrs. Aseleba added.
‘He has changed his phone number.’ The tears were returning to Matron Chichi eyes as she spoke.
‘Then I can go and see him at home,’ Mrs. Aseleba added. ‘What is his address?’
‘He won’t see you.’ Matron Chichi intoned.
‘Just let me try. Or does anyone else have a better option?’ Mrs. Aselebe asked the others.
They all agreed that Mrs. Aselebe, a woman in her late 30s, should go and see Emem at home the next day, and Matron Chichi gave her his home address.
In the evening of the next day, they had another meeting where Mrs. Aselebe reported to them the outcome of her visit. It turned out that Emem had strongly resolved not to change his decision on Matron Chichi, not only because he did not like her profession, but mainly because he considered her too possessive and domineering for his life partner.
‘Too brilliant perhaps,’ one of the boarders added.
‘Or too brilliant for him,’ another tried to put it correctly.
Mrs. Aselebe continued: ‘I tried to reason with him but it appears he has totally made up his mind.’
Matron Chichi sighed heavily and everybody could feel her frustration.
‘I think I’ve a better idea.’ It was Toritseju, Matron Chichi’s room-mate.
‘What is it, Toritseju?’ one of the others asked, followed by muffled sneers in the air.
‘We should all go to see him in his office and force him to talk to us all in the presence of his colleagues on why he’s dumping a woman he’s supposed to marry.’
‘Hmmm, Toritseju,’ somebody laughed. The sneers were loud now.
‘No, no, no. Let’s confront him to really open up. He’s only human. If we all go to his office, he will be intimated and tell us everything. Then we will put up our defense of Matron Chichi to counter him.’
The sneers were about to begin again when Matron Chichi stopped them. ‘No, Toritseju has a point. Let us see how that one works out first. There’s no harm in trying.’
And everybody paused and paid attention as Toritseju continued: ‘We should set a day during the week and all go and see him, except Matron Chichi.’ Toritseju’s confidence was growing now. ‘It’s a sacrifice we will have to make for Matron Chichi. We will need to hire a bus and go to his office in VI. Then he will know Matron Chichi has friends.’
Eventually, Thursday was chosen. And on the morning of that day, a Toyota Coaster bus, filled with thirty-four women, showed up at the gates of Nisastine Oil and Gas. Every boarder was dressed in his professional clothing, but the ones that really stood out were the other four nursing students with their complete uniforms, and the three catering students, including Toritseju, with their chef’s jackets and hats on.
The security men asked them whom they wanted to visit and purpose of visit. Their reply was that they wanted to see Eng. Emem Eduok and their mission was official. They were asked whose name to be given to Emem. It was Toritseju that spoke: ‘Please kindly inform him that we are residents of Alhaja Simbiat Daudu Female Hostel, Yaba.’
A call was made to Emem who, obviously thinking there was only one or two women in to see him over Matron Chichi, asked that they be allowed in. And the gates were opened for them and a direction to the car park given to their driver. Then thirty-four women alighted, with the nurses and caterers very outstanding in their complete apparels. And they were all led by a security man to Emem’s office. It was a sight to behold as they walked to the entrance of the reception hall.
At the reception hall, they were all asked to wait and they all remained standing as there were not enough seats and they almost filled up the whole hall. They were asked to remain in the hall, as Emem’s office would certainly not take them all.
When Emem came down to the reception hall, he could hardly believe his eyes. ‘Wha–wha–what’s the matter?’ he stammered.
Toritseju was at the front and she spoke very formally: ‘Dear Engineer Emem Eduok of Nisastine Oil and Gas Limited, Victoria Island, Lagos State, we, the residents of Alhaja Simbiat Daudu Female Hostel, Yaba, Lagos State, are here to kindly request that you should come to our hostel today at 7p.m. to unbreak the heart of our Matron, Miss Chidinma Njoku, whose heart you have broken.’
The two female receptionists, other visitors and some staff members who had come down to the reception were all watching the drama. All their eyes then turned and were riveted on Emem.
Then Emem surprisingly responded: ‘I, Engineer Emem Eduok of Nisastine Oil and Gas Limited, do hereby promise to come to Alhaja Simbiat Daudu Female Hostel this evening to carry out your request to the best of my ability. Thank you.’
‘Thank you too for your understanding and we look forward to your co-operation,’ said Toritseju.
And the women filed out of the reception hall, down the concrete grounds to the car park to their bus and were then driven away.
When they got to their hostel, they could see the restrained excitement on Matron Chichi’s face as she sat alone waiting for them in the sitting room.
‘He called!’ she screamed but slowly stood up in her controlled excitement. ‘Ho! He is scared to his pants! Ho, it worked! He called me! He said he would come here directly after the close of work!’
And they all waited till a few minutes after 7p.m. when they heard the sound of Emem’s car driving in. They remained waiting in the sitting room, not knowing how he would react.
‘Good evening all,’ he greeted, pausing at the door of the sitting room.
‘Good evening, Emem,’ they all responded in chorus.
‘Hmmm.’ He was short of words and his expression was that of indecision. ‘Chichi, may I see you in your room a moment?’
And Matron Chichi gently stood up and followed him as he briskly walked ahead to her room. The other residents exchanged glances and waited.
It took about thirty minutes before Emem and Matron Chichi came to the entrance of the sitting room, holding hands. The sitting room was heavy with silence as the others looked at them apprehensively.
Then Matron Chichi smiled at them and said slowly: ‘Ladies in the house, I’m happy to inform you that Emem has just proposed to marry me and I’ve accepted.’
It was Toritseju that first reacted, suddenly springing up. ‘Praise the Lord!’ she screamed with her voice full of happiness and ecstasy.
‘Hallelujah!’ was the loud chorus she got in response from her fellow boarders.
‘Praise Master Jesus!’
‘Hallelujah!’
Instantly Toritseju broke into a popular chorus:
‘Winner ho ho ho!
Winner!
Winner ho ho ho!
Winner!
Matron Chichi, you don win ho!
Winner!
Kpata kpata you go win for ever!
Winner!’
And the others stood up and joined the chorus and followed the lead of Toritseju, who had broken into a dance.
‘Winner ho ho ho!
Winner!
Winner ho ho ho!
Winner!
Matron Chichi, you don win no!
Winner!
Kpata kpata you go win for ever!
Winner!’
And they sang and danced round the sitting room with some shaking Emem’s hands and congratulating Matron Chichi.
As more choruses were raised and new dance steps taken, Matron Chichi put her right hand across Emem’s waist and rested her head on his left shoulder, smiling, while Emem put his left hand across her left shoulder in a warm embrace.
And the singing and dancing continued.
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