NIGERIAN MEN WILL STAIN YOUR WHITE

2

Two

Working in a club came with amazing opportunities to meet new people, make
connections, secure the bag and most of all have fun while doing it. None of these mattered
today as Rita sat in a corner of the club feeling miserable. Being a PRO entailed her spending
her nights here most of the time. To be honest she was getting tired of this job but the pay
was good. She was not in her usual party mood today. Not only was the Dj crappy, she was
unfortunately a perverted old man's target for the night, hence her hiding in a corner.
Thankfully the club was dark and the crowd was serving as the perfect cover for her.
She owed her lack of enthusiasm tonight to her tiredness and desperate need for sleep.
Sunday nights were usually like this. She would be too tired from hanging out with the girls
and would still drag herself to work. All she wanted was to crawl under some clean warm
sheets and put the day behind her. In her sleep-deprived state her face and demeanor sent out
a red flashing warning that screamed 'stay away'. Some were wise enough to heed the
warning while the unfortunate ones were met with her hard glare.
She glanced at her watch. The time read two am. "Fuck," she swore a bit loudly
drawing attention to herself. She stayed for another ten minutes before deciding she was
done. She went outside and placed a call to her usual cab driver. She was not comfortable
using different people and since this was almost an everyday job, she decided to stick to oneperson. She ended the call and was waiting outside against her better judgment. She was
trying to avoid the loud horrible music but at the same time being out in the open did not give
her much space to hide.
"Hello dear. I have been looking everywhere for you," a voice called out from behind
her.
Rita was already regretting her decision. She recognized the voice and in her head
swore in a number of creative ways that would put the devil to shame. She pretended not to
hear him and prayed for her ride to get here as fast as possible.
Not giving up, the man who looked like he was in his sixties walked up to her and
grabbed her hand. The action immediately sickened her. Despite coming out from the cold
club, his palms were sweaty and all that sweat was currently being transferred to her own
palm. She struggled to free herself but the man held on tightly. For a man his age he sure had
a tight grip. After a few more unsuccessful attempts she finally got back her hand and
discreetly wiped her palm on a handkerchief she took from her bag. She could not afford to
offend the man standing before her. She did not know him personally but he looked
important.
Keeping her hands at a safe distance to discourage him from reaching out again, she
answered him, "I was not feeling too well so I stepped out for some air."
"Sorry. If you are better now why don't you join me inside," the man offered.
Knowing fully well what his offer entailed, she politely declined, "I am actually on
my way home so I could get some rest."
"If that is the case I wouldn't mind dropping you," he said and covered the distance
she had put between them earlier.
Why won't this man give up? She asked herself and once more put some distance
between them. "It's alright. I can. get home by myself," she told him.I insist," he persuaded. His eyes perused her body this time not bothering to hide his
lust and he reached out to grab her again.
Fortunately, her phone rang before he could succeed. Saved by her ride. "My ride is
already here," she said flashing her phone screen at him to see. "Good night. I will be going
now."
She released the breath she did not know she was holding, thankful for having
survived that ordeal. She walked around the car park till she located where her ride was
parked. Confirming he was the one, she got in and the driver drove off but not before she
flung the handkerchief damp with sweat outside the window.
***
Bola was at home catching up on episodes of her favourite shows she had missed
during the week. It was Saturday and a perfect day to be lazy. She had been sitting in the
same spot for several hours binge watching shows only budging from her spot to grab some
snacks, water or to use the toilet. Her hair was a mess and she still had on her pjs. She had
given up on chores that day in favor of her shows so her place was a matching mess. The
curtains were drawn up and the room dark except for faint lights from the television. In her
current state, no one would see the resemblance between the person sitting in front of the
television and the fine girl Bola who worked downstairs in customer service.
Her peaceful recreation was interrupted as Davido's risky floated through the room
from under the couch. Someone was calling her phone. Too tired to reach for it she ignored it
praying the person would not call again. Her prayer went unanswered as the phone continued
to ring. Frustrated after it started to ring for the fourth time, she reached for her phone under
the couch and grabbed it. She glanced at the screen and could not recognize the numberNormally she ignored unknown numbers but this person was very determined. Since whoever
was calling had already disrupted her show she might as well pick up. She slid her finger
across the answer button and brought the phone to her ears.
"Hello good evening. Am I on to Bola Iyanda?" the caller asked.
"Yes this is she," she replied, "who am I speaking with?"
"I am calling from a logistics service company. I have a package for you ma," the
caller answered.
"Sorry, but I didn't order anything," she said. She had splurged the previous month
and salary day was still ten days off. She was broke at the moment and could not afford to
purchase anything.
"Someone asked us to deliver the package to you. Can we have your address ma so
we can send a rider your way?" the caller responded.
"Okay," Bola said and then rattled off her address to the person. She wondered who
had sent her the package and her mind came up blank.
"Okay ma. A rider will be with you shortly," the caller said, then dropped the call.
Bola dropped her phone and went back to watching her shows.
The doorbell did not ring shortly after but an hour and thirty minutes later. Sometime
during the wait she had somehow managed to shower and get changed into a pair of light
sweatpants and a tank top. Her hair unfortunately did not make the cut.
She opened the door and a guy that looked to be around twenty greeted her, "good
evening ma. Your package has arrived." He handed her a food tray and some flowers then
turned around and left.
She took them and went inside. She dropped the food tray on the centerpiece while
she threw the flowers on a random chair. She was not a fan of flowers. The damn things will
just wilt anyway. Unwrapping the tray, she marveled at the sight. The platter contained anarrangement of fruits and an array of different chocolate. It also had jollof rice, juicy looking
drumsticks and small chops with a bottle of red wine. A card was tucked into a corner of the
tray. She picked it up and opened it. No name was signed on the inside. It just had a single
phone number written on it. She copied the number on her phone and dialled it.
The call connected on the first ring. This person definitely had been waiting for her
call. "I see you got my gift," said the voice on the phone. It had a rich baritone to it. Her
mystery person was now a mystery man. That was one piece of the puzzle solved. The voice
exuded strong confidence which could easily be mistaken for arrogance.
"Yes I did but it is a pity I don't know who to thank for it," she replied playing along.
She grabbed an apple and bit into it and its juice filled her mouth in a split second. It was
delicious.
Mr. mystery man let out a low chuckle almost like a mild rumble and said, "my name
is David. David Okeke."
Bola went through a list in her head but she did not recognize the name. She didn't
even know a lot of Igbo men. "Doesn't ring a bell," she replied.
"It's fine. I was not expecting you to remember me. You attended to me at the bank
on Wednesday and I must say that you left quite an impression on me," David said trying to
flatter her.
She saw many people come and go about their various business in her line of work.
Hence it was hard for her to keep up with names and faces. "Okay, David. It's nice to hear
from you. I am Abimbola," she said introducing herself.
"I know," he answered her.
How did he know? A light bulb went off in her mind. Of course he knew. Her name
tag boldly advertised her name at work to all who cared to know. "I am sure you also know
what comes next," she said.David laughed again. "You are going to ask me how I got your number, aren't you?"
he asked.
"Yes. You really do know everything," She answered sarcastically.
"I asked your co-worker for it generously," he said answering the question.
She tried to think of which of her colleagues could have done it and came up blank.
Most people would be angry at people for giving out their private information, but she was
not most people. She had him or her to thank for this free meal.
"Well, thank you David for the flowers, the food tray, and of course your generosity,"
she said and reached out for another apple.
"You are welcome," he replied. He told her he had some things to take care of and
would contact her later, then he hung up the phone.
Bola stood up, did a little happy dance and sat back down. She took a picture of the
flowers and the tray and sent it to her girls knowing fully well they would grill her with
questions the next day during their meet up, but her lips would remain sealed.
***
Never have I ever been a fan of Monday mornings. Sundays were by far my busiest
day of the week leaving me totally drained. My alarm rang at five in the morning waking me
up. I closed my eyes willing myself to go back to sleep and failed miserably. It was long
gone. Defeated, I started getting out of bed only to be held back by a weight on my body. I
looked down. Femi's arm was stretched across my waist effectively pinning me in place. I
tried setting myself free but he only tightened his grip.
"Don't go," he said with his eyes closed.
"Stop being a baby," I replied, "I have to get the kids ready for school."
He opened his eyes lazily and looked at me. Then he leaned over and planted a kiss on
my forehead before letting me go. He then went back to sleep. My husband loved his sleep. Itwas doctors like him that kept patients waiting for a long period of time before they got to
work. Sometimes I envied him but he had his role as the provider while I had mine.
I got up and walked to the bathroom to wash my face. The cold water helped to erase
the remaining traces of sleep. I walked down to the kitchen. Mary our live-in help was
already up getting ready the items I needed to prepare breakfast. My day had officially
started.
***
Most Nigerians were not open to the idea of therapy but I still had my fair share of
clients. Here, anything in regard to mental health was equated to madness. You were either
mad or not. Also, therapy was regarded as a waste of money, thus people usually dealt with
their emotions by bottling them up and attempting to suffocate it and the build-up of these
emotions slowly lead to self-destruction. Mental health awareness has been on an increase
among young people these days but there is yet to be any visible significant impact made.
I ran a small private practice. I could not envision a picture of me working under
someone. I proved to be stubborn at times. Being my own boss was perfect for me as I was
able to set up my work hours and schedule as I deemed fit. My office interior was warm,
setting an inviting and cozy tone to help my clients relax. Sun rays danced all over the room.
The window they showcased their dance from had been a major deciding factor when I
picked this place. My desk was turned towards the door and in between them an armchair and
a sofa were placed strategically. The armchair backed my desk while the sofa was opposite it
with a centerpiece in between them. On one corner of the room was a bookshelf with books
of varying genres neatly lined on its shelves. I had come across the design in a magazine and
replicated the concept. It was simple but the cost was a bit on the high side. It paid to have a
rich husband. Femi had been my greatest support when I was setting up the place.The intercom buzzed. "Ma, your eleven am appointment is here," my receptionist
informed me.
"Alright, send the person in," I answered speaking into the speaker. I moved to the
arm chair so as not to look intimidating.
Someone knocked and then pushed open the door. It was a young lady. "Good
morning," she greeted as she walked in.
"Morning. Have a seat," I answered and pointed to the sofa.
She sat down and dropped her bag next to her. Her gaze wandered around the office.
It was a normal sight for me. Most people often distracted themselves with things in their
environment.
"My name is Zainab," she said introducing herself.
"Hello Zainab, I am Efua," I replied. I preferred being on a first name basis with my
clients. It made everything less formal. "Why are you here today Zainab?" I asked her.
"Lately I have been feeling a lot of negative emotions," she replied.
"Do you mind elaborating on these emotions?" I asked. I grabbed my notebook and a
pen ready to take notes.
"Anger, jealousy, envy," she listed counting them off on her fingers.
"Who are these emotions targeted at?" I asked her.
"My friends. I hate myself. I feel like I am such a horrible person for having these
emotions towards them," she answered.
"Do you know why you feel these emotions?" I asked.
"Well, things have been going pretty well for everyone in my friend group apart from
me," she said, "they all have nice partners and have been getting promotions at work while I
have been stuck in a slump. I feel so frustrated. It's like I drew the short end of the straw."Zainab I need you to understand that these emotions are completely natural and are
parts of what makes us human," I said, "there's no need to beat yourself up over how you
feel. What matters is how you handle those emotions. You can either overcome them or let
them bring you down and to overcome them you need to address those issues that trigger
them. In your case, that would be feelings of inadequacy. You need to stop comparing your
life and what goes on in it to that of friends and focus on yourself. You mentioned being in a
slump. Let's talk about that."
"So slump might not have been the right word to use. My life is not that bad. It is just
that itis not great either,"shesaid, "also Ifeel likemylifeisn't comingtogether as Iexpected."
"Everyone is on a different time. Don't feel pressured. That way you don't make
mistakes along the way." I said to her, "so during our sessions I am going to walk you
through reinventing yourself. That way we can bring you one step closer to being the better
version of yourself, one that feels content and is without insecurities. I am going to help you
practice contentment and self-love."
I looked at the clock on the wall. Her session was over and my schedule was occupied
with other plans. "Zainab are you willing to try?" I asked her.
She shrugged her shoulders and said, "I guess anything is worth a try."
"Alright. Our time's up but I am going to leave you with a little assignment. I want
you to write about things you wish to change about yourself and we will pick it up from there
in our next session," I said as I closed my notebook.
"I guess I will book a longer one next time," she said, "and thanks. I feel a little
better."
"It's fine. That's what I am here for," I replied. I was happy that she was willing to
take this step. I watched as she got up and left through the door.***
Business was slow today at the bank. Bola wished every day could be like this. With
no one to attend to, she picked up her phone and checked for messages, her eyes open for one
in particular. They lit up when she saw it. It was David's message. He had gotten back to her
later that day and they had been talking frequently. They talked for long on the phone before
deciding to move things to WhatsApp. She opened the message and was relieved to see he
was still online.
(David) Good morning sunshine.
(Finegirlbola) Morning.
(David) Texting during work. Is that how much you want to talk to me?
(Finegirlbola) You wish. I am not attending to anyone at the moment so I have a bit
of free time on my hands.
(David) How are you?
(Finegirlbola) Tired.
(David) You are always tired.
(Finegirlbola) Lol. Just a few days and you know me this well. I am also hungry.
(David) You didn't have breakfast?
(Finegirlbola) I slept in. Didn't hear my alarm ring.
(Finegirlbola) I left home in a rush.
(Finegirlbola) I had to choose between arriving on time and breakfast. I chose the
former.
(David) Should I send you something?
(Finegirlbola) Really?
(David) Yes. What do you wanna have?
(Finegirlbola) Fried rice with lots of salad.(David) Do you have a particular place you get it from?
(Finegirlbola) Anywhere is fine by me. I am not picky.
(David) Okay. Do you want anything to go with the rice?
(Finegirlbola) 5alive pulpy orange.
(David) Okay, I will get someone to get it to you.
(Finegirlbola) Thanks. You are a lifesaver.
(David) It's no biggie.
The sound of the chair in front of her being pulled out made Bola look up from her
phone.
(Finegirlbola) Sorry. Gotta go. A customer just came in. Ttyl.
(David) Alright. Lemme know when the food gets to you.
(Finegirlbola) Okay. I will.
Bola dropped her phone on the table. Time to get back to work. "Good morning ma.
How can I help you?" she said addressing the lady sitting in front of her.