Gone Bad (Nigerian Novel) -Editing

Chapter 21: Tropical Haven

I rest my head against the cool glass of the tinted window, letting it penetrate further into my skin than the a.c.

This movement allows me to get sucked into the refreshingly slow-paced scene before me.

Travelers and locals mingled along the walkways half made of sand, the former stopping to patronize little stalls each a considerable distance away from the other.

Behind them, the distinct outline of the sapphire sea meets the bright blue skies clearer than any I had seen in the polluted Lagos atmosphere.

An itch tingles along with my fingertips but I stop myself from pressing the button as I remember the unforgiving wind when we had stepped out of the airport.

It wasn't anything extreme but the cold nip at my skin was a stark contrast to the tropical caress I had been expecting.

Isren shifts his fingers and I remember my left hand is still intertwined with his.

For some embarrassing reason I was producing a lot of sweat from my palms and the a.c only made it slightly bearable.

He had yet again adjusted his fingertips so cool air could get in through the cracks of our handlock.

Fortunately, the ego-depleting experience comes to an end as we pull in front of a hotel I had only seen in the magazines.

"Drop us off here, don't worry about parking," Isren says and our car rounds the entrance.

An olive-skinned woman with mixed local and foreign accents checks us in.

"Welcome to Dugong Beach Lodge, and we trust you'll have a wonderful stay," she says with a plastic smile.

Since we stepped in she had been eyeing me with the familiar look I had seen many times in church from people whose upturned noses deserved to be in the mud.

Isren ushers us to our rooms and I cast one last glance over my shoulder to see her chewing on a wad of gum as she watched our retreating figures.

I forget all about the nasty woman when we reach a pier. It overlooked a crystal body of water and trees I had never seen before ran from the ground up, some bearing flowers in splashes of pink, cream, and marigold.

The sound of waves crashing against each other makes me feel like I'm ten again and listening to the enchanting songs of seashells I had dug out from the sand.

Even Isren who always had a look of boredom at the mundane luxuries that were his everyday life seemed spellbound by the beauty of it all.

My mouth hangs in a little o when we pass the inner lounge where a thin bark curved in multiple swirls up to the ceiling in the far right corner.

The jet lag was beginning to set in and I longed to sit on the raffia armchairs but I kept moving with Isren in hopes that we'd reach our room soon enough.

Finally, we stop at door E57 and Isren steps forward to unlock it.

Our suite looks like a hut but with extra oomph like the pumpkin after Cinderella's fairy godmother did some magic on it.

The woven ceiling is supported by thick bamboo sticks all around it with a little stub hanging in the center of the room.

It was used to support the bright linen canopy draped above the bed.

Bed. There was only one bed.

"Uh, there's only-" I say but an equally astonished Isren interrupts me.

"There must have been a mix-up, this wasn't the chalet I booked," he says embarrassed at the entire situation.

I suck in my lip slowly glancing at the bed again.