24th August
Aristotle,
I hate that no one really knows me, the real Adebanke Folwaiyo. I hate that people expect certain things of me. I hate that I seem to have unconsciously set a standard, a standard that the 'lowly' aspire to. I hate it. Sometimes I just want to do something wrong, like fail a test on purpose or go out with messy hair or wear the wrong thing out. Just so people will know my life is nothing near perfect. Lisa, on the other hand, basks in her glory.
I pray that one day I will have the courage to show them all that there is more to me than falsies and ruby woo. I can still remember the day I showed Ahmed the essay I had written on the Preferential Treatment of the White Man on Nigerian Soil. The blank uninterested look on his face crushed the pride I had felt in my work. My boo asked me how much I had pain Fahran (a brainy Asian in our year) to write it up for me. I did not have the guts to tell him that it was an article for an extra writing class I was taking.
Forgive me, Ari. I tend to do this when I get worked up, go off on a tangent like this. There was a party tonight, one of Ahmed's friends Shuaib somebody. I did not know about it till this morning when a text from Lisa came through 'Party @ Banana. Pick u up at 7' it read. I really did not want to go. I knew how these things usually went and this one would not be any different, but it was Friday night and I needed a distraction, something to take my mind off Captain. My talk with mama yesterday did not help a bit. She was very vague, more concerned with how my bras were getting too small than with her missing husband. It was a nice talk anyhow; we ate noodles right out of the box ordered by Nanny from the Thai place down the road.
I am doing it again, aren't I? Anyway we went to this Shuaib's party. I sat and watched Ahmed get drunk from the concoction in the kegs. I watched boys go over to girls, watched the girls giggle and play with their hair a bit but then go over to the walls with these boys and shake their bums on them. Others did not even bother with this pretentious preamble; they headed straight upstairs to the rooms. I am glad I do not have to do that anymore. I just nod, bat my eyelashes and then point to Ahmed and mouth the word 'boyfriend' in a seemingly apologetic tone, and then they leave me alone. I do not even dress up for these things anymore. I wore a white silk shirt and a white asymmetric kilt. The thing is the party did not distract me, well not really. I sat and watched Ahmed consume an unhealthy amount of alcohol with his boys while I sipped something out of one of those red party cups. At some time when I got up to find the bathroom, a guy (who turned out to be the Shuaib) pushed me to a wall and proceeded to stick his long tongue down my throat. He smelt of Hennessy, a lot of it. Before I could push him away in protest, Ahmed came over. He turned Shuaib around and punched him right up his nose. Shuaib stumbled backwards muttering that he had not known who I was. It was quite comical really, my skinny tall boyfriend and big, bad buff Shuaib. We left soon after that. I found Lisa in the laundry room with a boy that had graduated from our school two years ago. They looked very busy so I told her Ahm and I were leaving and shut the door behind me. Ahmed's driver dropped me off at home with him hung over and completely out of it in the backseat of his car. I said hi to a sleepy-eyed mum on my way to my room, got into bed and slept. Eventful day.
