Labyrinth of Love I

By Christiana Obeng-Koranteng and Charlotte Derby

Felix was unusually quiet throughout our dinner date.

“You must have really had a bad day at work”, I said, hoping to get him to open up.

He only gave me a wry smile and then continued nibbling on the very little salad left on his plate. When the waiter handed over the bill, Felix looked intently at it, looked at me, and slightly bowed his head. He stretched his arm as if to reach his wallet, but as far as I was concerned, he remained too long in that position to have been taking out money. Sigh! Aside from having a bad day at work, which I wasn’t even sure of, ma nigga was broke! I just gave my credit card to the waiter and that was it! I was by no means ready to be falsely imprisoned at a restaurant because of my inability to afford a meal. The Mother Theresa in me was at work; I offered to drive back home, while Felix sat in the backseat.

“I think you need rest. After all the weekend has just begun”, I said, in my bid to cajole him to allow me to drive. Without hesitating, he jumped to the back, and I made myself comfortable in the driver’s seat. Baby girl to the rescue! I had been driving for over 10 minutes, yet the car was dead silent. I looked into the rear-view mirror and BAAMI! Felix was scratching the hell out of his balls, with his eyes closed and his mouth slightly opened. Kai! No be small scratch and win promotion wey he dey do for the road top! Ebei! The least said about the disgust I felt, the better.

So this was the problem all along, and I paid for the entire dinner when he was the one who insisted on taking me out on my birthday.

I woke up the next morning not even wanting to remember how the date on my birthday went. Jare.

“Funmi, hurry up and let’s go!”, I yelled at my sister who had seemingly connived with unknown forces to make me miss the morning bus.

At the market, I ended up buying fruits and vegetables instead of the clothes I initially intended to buy, since all the jeans stalls had closed. I began boiling within me. My sister would also not stop asking if she could buy bags she obviously couldn’t afford. The more I explained why she couldn’t live beyond her means, the more she tried to convince me otherwise. How irritating!

“Oh Yemi, but I want the bag. Maybe…”

“Maybe what? Ogini?!” “My friend shut up before I slap you back into last year. What is wrong with you!?”

And then she started crying. Her cry grew louder by the second. Oh, Lord! I had to tell her to take the lead home since I couldn’t stand the disgrace. After buying a little bit of this and that for I don’t know how long, I decided to call it a day. Many-a-market folk had closed anyway, hence the bus stops were overcrowded. I tried getting on the trotros but was pushed by others equally trying to get on the bus. The struggle became tighter with each trotro that came by. I resolved that come what may, I was going to get on the next bus. Kampke-mode activated!

“Lapaa, Lapaa, Lapaa, Lapaaz!”, the clash of the Titans began when the mate called out for passengers.

I also joined in the struggle. We pushed and pulled, knocked, and pinched others, with the hope of getting on the trotro. I remember seeing a woman’s wig being pulled off her supernaturally bald head! Sere3 be what? And then I was in for the biggest shock of my life. While still struggling to get aboard the trotro, one of my fellow ‘wild’ passengers stepped on the back of my slippers, and so I tripped and fell face flat. My wrap skirt totally gave way. I hated wearing underwear, as they irritated my skin, so I obviously didn’t have one on. Today of all days, my pantie had decided to lay itself to rest in my buttocks. Na me dros ak)hy3 me to, 180 degrees straight! Ei!

Onlookers feasted their hungry eyes on my naked BOTORLS as I lay flat on the ground. The humiliation I suffered that day was beyond my wildest imagination.  P-E- double T-E pains…

The whole place was dead silent with everyone’s eyes fixated on me: drivers and their mates, school children, kayayes… in fact the entire world.

“Sister, kafra wai, kafra”, a sympathetic mother tried to console me.

But what happened next?

B)damfo bi de ne nsa b3b)) me to ‘PAAA’, and then he run away. All this was after he had used my sexy 3to for piano rehearsals for a few seconds. Few people let out stupid giggles mmom. Hmmmm…Animguase3 pro-max!

 

I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down my cheeks even if I wanted to. I was so embarrassed; I lay on the ground not knowing how on earth I was going to get up, or if I actually could. Me na meho akyere me yi! The only thing I remember was that two arms too firm to be feminine carried me off the ground. I was obviously too pained to lift up my head. Next, I arrived home in an uber.

It took two days for my sister to get me out of my zombie-like mode. It was all her fault. If she hadn’t nagged me to death, I would have left the market earlier on that fateful day. That RAT!

“Opeyemi, snap out of it. You’ve not gone out in two whole weeks, if…”

“Shut up!!” I yelled at my sister.

“If it wasn’t for your incredible idiocy would I have been in this situation?!!” nyaala!

The embarrassment was too much for me to handle. I had to take time off from work with the excuse that I had twisted my knee. I bolted away from the sprightliness of social media all through that time.

I finally came back online after my social media hiatus to 3,000 unread messages.

“Hey beautiful”, a text came through from one Boss Baker. I wondered who it was since I hardly gave my contact out. I was initially sceptical about replying. I wanted to block the user at once but for some strange reason, I hesitated.

“Sorry for what happened the other day. Things happen. I hope you are fine though.”

Jesus is Lord! The effrontery of this Boss Baker or Baker Boss or whatever he called himself.

“I’m Gregory, Greg for short. The guy who brought you home.”

“OK”, I quickly replied and went offline.

Apparently, my purse containing my contact details fell in the car and that was how he reached me. Tswww…ebufus3m.

He invited me over to a plush restaurant in the heart of the city for dinner, claiming that was the only way he could return my purse. It took him a whole 3 weeks to convince me. Unbeknown to me he was a senior chef in that restaurant. I was treated to Mushroom Risotto which I washed down with a bottle of Jagermeister. And guess what? Greg prepared the meal himself. Husband material, papa paa. I had a thing for men who could cook. I found them absolutely attractive. For some strange reason, I always imagined they would transfer their creativity in the kitchen to the bedroom. Hallelujah! The thought alone excited me like crazy. I started making calculations in my head. So when we get married, Greg will do the cooking while I pick up the kids from school and come home to enjoy a great meal. Al3g3g3…

As time went on, I began enjoying spending time with Greg and longing for more. Our vibe was vibing. He even sent me home and introduced me to his parents on one occasion. After church service one fine Sunday morning, I found myself in Greg’s neighbourhood and so decided to say ‘Hi’. Suddenly, huge cumulus clouds hung in the sky. Within seconds the pitter-patter of rain droplets touched roofs. With gradual but steady steps I arrived at Greg’s. His car was parked in the compound. Yes! Guess who’s getting a free ride home?

After opening the main gate, I made an entrance into his porch. I gently tapped on the front door, but no response. Glancing through the window, I could see a bottle of water on a tray, together with a glass of Belaire Rosé. Was he expecting me? G33g3…  I knocked on the door again and still no answer.

I was about to leave when I heard some palpitation-like sounds. I remembered when Greg first sent me to his place, I met Annabeth his cousin, whom he said was asthmatic.

“Annabeth!”, I exclaimed as I forced the front door open and grabbed an inhaler lying on the centre table. I rushed from one bedroom to another with the hope of finding her but nothing. I searched the bathrooms, library, guestrooms, and still no sign of her. I even searched the garage, but to no avail. With each unsuccessful attempt, the palpitations grew louder and louder. By this time, my eyes started tearing up. My mind run wild with all sorts of thoughts. “Was Annabeth going to be dead by the time I found her?’’ Rushing back to the hall where I initially begun my search, I realized I could hear a feminine voice loud and clear. The owner of that voice, whoever it was definitely out of breath. Totally confused, I turned around and that was it! I never went to the kitchen. With my heart almost falling out of my chest, I reached out for the kitchen door…

Was Annabeth really behind the door? Find out for episode II

By Christiana Obeng-Koranteng and Charlotte Derby