Facade (Romola 1)

17: Sequin Festival

  I don't do drugs. I am drugs.

~Salvador Dali

Romola sighed. It had been a long day. She wanted noting better than to go to bed. She would have loved to ignore Olumide's plea but she remembered the way Yetunde had behaved towards her last night. If Yetunde was indeed living a drug free life then she didn't have a right to be angry about being caught with drugs in her blood. In fact, Yetunde was supposed to marvel and elaborate on the experience while shedding a few tears and cursing whosoever had made her a victim of drug abuse. That was what the Yetunde she knew would have done. Romola shook her head, musing. If someone had told her mother about her other life, the one that involved drinking and clubbing, she would also be furious at such individual.

She picked her purse from her bag and dropped her bag on the floor beside the sofa. She slipped her key holder around her middle finger and she raced down the staircase making her footstep as light as possible. She emerged from the hostel gate in time to see Yetunde board a black Toyata Camry. It was probably a uber ride and not one of the ubiquitous yellow taxi that boasted of two black stripes across their metal frame work.

Before Yetunde closed the taxi, she looked towards the gate. Romola made herself scarce, hiding in the shadow of the gate. She wasn't sure that Yetunde didn't saw her and she only drew a breath when she saw the car drive down the street. She didn't waste a second. She hurried to the Okada park a few feets away and sat astride the nearest one, pointing towards the path Yetunde's taxi had taken.

"Oga, follow that car?"

"How much you go pay?" The driver asked, planting his foot on the floor while standing astride bike.

"Just go. I go pay you when we reach."

The bike followed the cab at a steady pace, keeping enough distance to avoid suspicion, as though the driver knew her motive, but moving fast enough to never lose sight of the cab. Through the night traffic of Lagos state, it tagged the car until it got to Red Glasses.

The driver slowed down the motorcycle but she urged him on, slapping her palms against his back. "Dey go. No stop for here. Na front i wan drop."

Keep going. I'm stopping I front.

The driver did her bidding, stopping the okada at the narrow close where the club lights failed to reach.

"How much?" Her thighs ached from the ride. The bumpy roads had been unforgiving and the distance was not a walk in the park. She had never ridden a motorcycle to red Glasses before. It was supposed to be beneath her status. And hopefully, she would never have to do it again.

"2000."

"Ehn." Her jaw dropped as she stared at the bike man. "Which kind? Na 500 jhoor."

It's 500 for sure

"Abeg, madam, no make me vex oh. Shebi, I been dey ask you. You talk say you fit pay. No use me play this night." The bike driver got off his bike, raising his voice. She eyed him even though he could not see her. What gave him the effrontery to speak go her in that manner.

Please, madam, don't make me angry. I asked you right? You said you could pay. Don't joke with me tonight

"I no fit pay that one oh."

I can't pay that amount

"You for talk before you climb. We don reach now, you no get money. All these Lagos girls. They go just dey behave like say they no get sense." The reproach in the man's voice resonated in the grimace on his face. "If you want touch them now, they go come dey shout like chicken wey dey hot water."