Diary of the Crazy Shaniqua Bello

Log Fifty-eight: PHOTOGRAPH

FIFTY-EIGHT
PHOTOGRAPH

Wednesday

7:32 am

Dear, Diary

I was trying to read as a medium of blocking out the constant noise of laughter that came from Elvis and his fans when I suddenly heard a knock on my door.

"Shantel please, not now."

"It's Elvis," he said and started to clear his throat right after.

What the hell was he doing in my room?

He actually climb the stairs?

They let him climb the stairs when they knew Shantel and her nasty attitude of drying her wet panties on the stair railings?

Ah, Bebi! These people should just kukuma finish meal already.

"Shaniqua? Are you there?"

"Just a minute," I responded as I quickly recovered my underwear like a superhero recovered victims.

"I just wanted to—,"

I pushed the door open and there was a brief moment of silence between us as my face was almost touching his.

Hmm...let me not even talk.

"May I?"

May you what? I thought as I caught him gesturing at me to make way. "No, you may not."

"Of course," I heard my voice betray me.

"You have a nice room." He lied. My room was like every other room in the world. Painted pastel blue, a couple of laundered clothes piled on a plastic chair, a broken wardrobe, and a table full of cheap cosmetics...and of course, the nice dress I got from RMD which stood out like the center of attraction in the room at the spot where I carefully hung it like an art exhibition.

"Sure," I responded and he scoffed in return before pointing to a picture of a girl I could barely recognize anymore, she was holding up a plastic trophy with a winning smile on her face that revealed a missing tooth.

"You?"

"No, it's Esosa: your ex." I was dying to say but I just smiled and looked away in embarrassment.

"Nice picture—I wish I had memories of my childhood—that weren't arranged." He said more like he was speaking to himself and I thought back at the perfect photoshoots display in his office.

"I'm sure they mean a lot more to you than you like to admit—plus, the picture is picture." I shrugged and he kept quiet like he was weighing my words for a minute before he eventually nodded in agreement.

"Who's that man?" He asked all of a sudden at the photograph of my father on my reading table.

"My dad?"

"He looks very familiar..." he faltered and I told him that daddy was a popular religious radio presenter and there was no way anyone could've thought him popular and he just shrugged.

"So...we're leaving?" I said when he wouldn't stop looking at my father's photograph.

"Yeah, yeah. The director called—you can stay back if you—,"

"It's a Wednesday sir, I'll rather work." I didn't realize until I'd completed my words that I'd cut him off but he looked like he was more impressed than offended.

"Interesting... shall we leave then?"

"Of course," I responded and he glanced at the photo on my reading table one last time before stepping out of my room.

It felt a little weird.

Bye for now.

Shaniqua

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