Whistling Pine: Episode1: It started on a windy afternoon, when I had gone to purchase Airtime from the airtime dealer on the adjoining street. I ran into Sade – a slender, fair and pretty lady with a fitting pair of glasses, whose frame hung gingerly on her pointed nose. The pattern which the hair extension were made on her oblong shaped hair were like that of mermaid. Still smarting from the hurt from my Ex, the lady I thought was going to end up as my legally wedded wife, Tolani, did put through a whole lot of emotional mess. I was first hesitant when I saw Sade, but the more the distance between us on that dusty road on our street shortens, the more my confidence grew. I eventually stopped her close to the culvert of Baba’s soldier house; a veteran of the Nigerian civil War, he fought on the Nigerian divide and never failed to tell anyone who cares to listen how much sacrifice he and his colleague made to make Nigeria a united nation today. I stopped her under the whistling pine tree outside the old soldier’s compound; the one that serves as canopy on those sunny days for every one that comes into the street, from; shoulder-tailor, artisans, wheel cart-pushing folks scavenging for old metals from the dumpsite. “Hello” I am Femi”. I said… “hi! Sade is the name!” She retorted sharply but with a look that did little to hide her dislike for the effrontery I had exhibited in stopping her on the quite busy street. “Do you live around here?” I asked and she pointed across the street to a familiar compound; I had been to the compound on a few occasion, I wondered why I never ran into her before now, so you are chief’s daughter? I asked again… she nodded in affirmative accompanied by a look of pride and sense of fulfillment since her father pride himself as the richest man on the street….Few minutes later into our conversation she appeared no longer interested in the chit-chat, and it was not difficult to discern from the way her upper lip slanted, coupled with the frequent adjustment of the frame of her glasses – all those subtle message that makes it easier for the least sensitive of human being get the obvious message. “Can I have your digits?” I asked while simultaneously handing over my mobile, a trick my old pal, Segun thought me with the assurance that it will be very hard for any lady not to give up her digits; he had said so in his usually boastful voice …True to what Segun had told me, Sade obliged and gave me her number and we said our goodbyes and I still remember humming home that day, it was feeling that rivalled other best feelings. Later that night, around 9pm after an heavy bowl of Eba and Egusi soup laced with Pomo and Catfish, I went back into my room to relax. I unplugged my Curve 3 from the charger in the electric socket; the same phone my friends in school few weeks before graduation had all said to have seen better days. Few months later, the phone still works perfectly. I dialled her number, my heart rumbled and I mumbled few inaudible words to myself as if one was reciting answers to possible questions during preparation for an embassy visit for VISA processing. Grin! Grin! Grin! Sound on the earpiece was punctuated by the mobile network company advertising ridiculous promo offers for the yuletide season – the type of gifts my folks at home call “Greek gifts” …Abruptly I heard “hello” at the other end of the phone. “Good Evening! It is Oluwafemi!, the guy you met on the street today. I felt tensed, that was the only reason I could give for introducing myself that way, because I had unintentionally chosen to ignore the reality that pretty girls like Sade get advances from numerous guys on the street daily. “Oh Femi!, the son of Mr. Ajayi. I felt a pin pricked my tender skin, I could sense the arrogance from the way she chose to address me; the way those deluded folks address the ones they felt were not up to their standard. “I just thought I should call you”, this is my personal number and you can save it if you wish . “Goodnight! to which she replied “have a wonderful night rest”. I felt stupid for not saying much that night. I rolled over my pillows on my 7feet bed, clutching hard to the pillow wishing it was Sade, until I eventually slept off. The events of that night sharpened my consciousness for the next couple of days . I deliberately didn’t call her; it was easier said than done, because I struggled to uphold the decision. It was crazy how I embarked on daily Israelite journey to avoid running into Sade along the street.
Posted on: Fri, 12 Sep 2014 20:29:32 +0000