“John, that girl make sense, abi?” I said, nudging
my head towards the beauty with afro, simple make-up and tinny-tiny dot gold
earrings (there should be a name for that). John turned and looked at me
pointedly as if we were the only ones in the large lecture theatre and I was
seeing double. Then he nodded once, twice while looking at her saying, “of
course, you gbadun am, shey?” “No. yes, I just dey…” “She make sense. Go yan
am”. It was my turn to look at him as if he was crazy to which he responded
with the why not look. “See,” he started, “just wait still this boring
lecture is over and go bust her brains”. I responded in relief, “okay. You be
sure guy. Na why I love you”. “Hey guy, calm down”, he said and we started
joking again. I needed that little chat of bromatic boy-speak to encourage and
recharge my creative faculty of playing out, in my head, a thousand ways to woo
a girl. Then it loomed: what about the thousand girls that were not wooed? What
about the ones that got away?
My
first amorous sight came when I was in primary one, when my best friend was
named Sikiru, when my class teacher was called uncle Alhaji. She, lets call her
A for Angel, was a heavenly being on earth. My innocent mind couldn’t
comprehend how she could be more intriguing to me than the other girls in my
class. She got away not because she didn’t notice me as I was uncle Alhaji’s favorite
but because I let her – coupled with the fact that in the next school year, I
was in primary three (a thing called double promotion, mine for being both too
brilliant and too old for my previous class. I take the former) and the joy of
using biros instead of pencils made me forget Sikiru and A for Angel.
My
remaining three primary school years were laced with affection for G for
Gentle, S for Smart and Q for Quiet. G was disinclined to activities although
her clique brought out the talkative or, in the word used by one of my past
principals, the garrulous, in her. Her gentle spirit amazed my playful and
troublesome mind. S for smart was my desk mate for the whole of primary four (throughout
primary school, my less than tall frame always landed me a seat in the front of
the class, inevitably with the girls). She is the cleverest human being I know.
She got my love the day I had a migraine and I placed my head on the desk to
cry it off. She noticed I was crying, called the teacher’s attention to it, and
personally took me to the sickbay. Although my rationale for crying off a
headache still baffles me (yes, I shock myself sometimes), I was glad I did. Q
for quiet was just that… quiet. If I were to use three words to describe her,
they would be quiet, quiet, quiet. She rarely talked in class. She rarely cried
if and when beaten. She rarely stood up from her seat all day. It always ran me
crazy until I realized I was angry with her behaviour maybe because I liked
her. Although I had a good friendship with S and, to a lesser extent, G, I lost
contact with them (including Q) as I entered secondary school. Don’t I cherish
past relationships?
My
secondary school life was exciting and confusing. I liked E for exciting
because of her electrifying attitude as I had loved those primary school ones.
Then it went downhill from there. Attitude flew out the window and my eyes were
my judges for liking a girl. I tried to bring mannerisms back into play, but it
had already turned physical. I concluded I preferred some body parts to others
but still endeavored to use stance and other fascinating details to befriend a
girl. There were I for Iron lady, W for Wow, and B for Blissful. Later, there
came T for Thin. I (Iron lady, not myself) had a boyfriend for four years; W
left our school before we became seniors, and B! Oh my sweet B. I couldn’t let
her go or she wouldn’t let me (whichever is less embarrassing for me) and she
was nothing short of a dear friend. My love for T almost scattered everything.
And incidentally enough, she was a close friend of B. You might want to know, T
also got away.
In
my young adult life, there were just a lot of hit and misses, a lot of getting
away. There were D for Dark, H for Hospitable, V for Vivacious, M for Motherly
and C for Cute. They all got away because of me. No, I did not have a mouth or
body odour. I just didn’t lift a finger let alone make a move. I guess I was
either shy and stupid or wise and bidding my time (I take the latter). The good
news is that they are still in my sights, even now as I’m writing this down.
The bad news is that I’ve found another person.
This afro-carrying, simple-makeuping bolt from the
blue is my next project (I hate to call her a project but that’s what it feels
like) and she must not get away. I say this for almost every other person, but
there is something about this being, this entity, this organism, this creature
that is mesmerizing. John has encouraged me and I’m ready to bust her brains.
Oh! The lecture is over. Everybody is standing up. I’m looking around for her.
Target identified. Moving in on the target. Wish me luck.
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