Weapons Formed Against Me 3

Ifenkili

 

Should I, should I not?

The fried rice I ordered tasted like cost accounting, but I savored it with joy and gladness because finally, it was happening—I was on a date in one of the costliest restaurants in Port Harcourt, with a very handsome man. Even though his multi-colored jacket reminded me of Egusi soup, it fit him perfectly, and I adored his shoes, his wristwatch, and the way he smiled and laughed in New Time Roman.

A week later, he insisted on gifting me a new iPhone and took my phone number. However, he ghosted me afterward—no calls, no messages, not even to ask if the phone was working perfectly, the kind of excuses men give just to hear the voice of the woman they're attracted to. Mhm-mhm. Nothing.

I had his number too, but pride and some shame prevented me from dialing it.

"If the mountain cannot come to Mohamed, let Uncle Moha go to the mountain nau," Aleruchi suggested when I confided in him about the situation. "Do you like him or not?"

"He's really cute. My kind of guy," I admitted.

"Then shoot your shot."

But what if he was married? Or had a serious girlfriend? Or had gone home and realized I wasn’t what he wanted? Maybe my beauty had faded in his eyes. Or someone was casting bad luck upon me. The last thought scared me because some days after Preye got me the phone and ghosted, my mother called to say she dreamt of me marrying someone from my church—a dedicated church’s worker.

The way I shouted the blood of Jesus ehn, my mother thought I had been stung by a scorpion. You see, I was a Sunday-Sunday medicine kind of church member who didn’t love stress. Aside from paying my tithes, offering, and class fees, I didn’t see the reason why I would turn the church into another home when I was not the pastor’s second wife. I would never see myself getting married to a pastor or a dedicated church worker. Big no. I would not be responsible for quenching a bro in the Lord’s fire, and I didn’t think I had the capacity to operate on the same level with those spirikoko brothers who ate and breathed church programs for a living. I knew I was capable of anything I set my mind to, aside from growing tall sha—maybe I had not tried enough to achieve that. But leveling up with serious Christian brothers?

Mba nu.

The mere mention of "a dedicated worker" made me think of Bro Oghene. No, God wouldn't subject me, a rebellious daughter of Zion, to end up with someone like him—pious, overly nice to the point of annoyance, and with a thick Warri accent.

If only he were a bit more refined, perhaps then...

Abegi. My mother's supposed dream and Bro Oghene were the least of my worries during those weeks of Preye's disappearance. Besides the overwhelming workload at the office, returning to an empty house and reminiscing about the man who seemed perfect—my kind of man—yet slipped away for reasons unknown to me, was pushing me into a state of depression. God. Am I a potato? Even potatoes do potate.

The most perplexing aspect of the whole encounter with Preye was that he had been so attentive that day we met. After purchasing the phone, he assisted me in blocking my bank apps and SIM card. He even provided me with the contact of his friend working at my service provider, who could aid in retrieving my line when I was ready.

It was three weeks later, when I had resigned myself to despair, that an unknown number lit up my phone. I answered after the second ring—it was him, Preye.

Why did the mind never follow the script when it mattered most? Instead of acting indifferent or expressing anger and disappointment, my brain buzzed with excitement, neglecting to recall whether he had apologized for his sudden disappearance. All it registered was his invitation to a date, his request for my address, and the time he would pick me up.

So, here we were, finally. In a fancy place where I was busy shoveling scoops of tasteless rice inside my mouth while he told me about how he wanted to know if I’d miss him enough to call first.

That was the reason he ghosted me.

He was a man who wanted his woman to fall head over heels in love with him, to come after him so hard. He knew how lukewarm and manipulative most women could be towards men, so he was making sure he got himself a woman who, apart from a fine face and a big nyansh, could do anything to have and keep him.

Apparently, I failed the test. But that was okay. He liked me regardless.

“Normally, I don’t spend time with a woman I’m not sure would love me the way I want. But I guess you captivated me,” he said. With his fork, he picked a piece of steak he just cut out from the chunk on his plate, put it in his mouth.

As he began to chew, my insides growled in disgust. Not because of him, but the steak. I’ve never eaten a rare steak before. In fact, I didn’t even know what the rare was doing in the name until now. Nobody told me rare meant alive! I was sure that if I put my ear close to the meat I would hear its heartbeat.

“You took my breath away,” he said, cutting out another piece. “I think this can work.”

Yes, it can. It will! Why was I being negative? “I think so too.”

His phone was becoming a bit of a distraction. But I could manage that when he wasn’t pressing his phone, we had quite a conversation until his phone beeped again.

He was quite a charmer. With the way he looked at me and laughed when I said something that tickled him, I guess I could forgive him for his trespasses, both past, present, and future.

“So, where to from here?” he asked after we’d spent almost an hour.

“Home... I guess.”

“Home—Mm. Yours or mine?” He read the confusion on my face and gave me a grin. “Look, I’m not suggesting anything, alright? I live alone in a big house. I just want you to keep me company. Besides, you don’t even know where I live. I swear I’m not going to do anything to you...that you wouldn’t want to do, of course.”

When I raised my brows at him, he threw his head backward and laughed. “Don’t be a baby. I don't bite.”

My phone chose that moment to beep repeatedly. When I checked, I got a WhatsApp message and your guess was as good as mine; from Bro Oghene.

With a double-tap on my screen, I opened the message and read fast. He just thought of me and felt like checking up since I’d refused to return his call like I promised I would two weeks ago.

He heard about my phone that was lost at the wedding from the groom who was his friend and had dialed to know if the person with it would pick up so he could negotiate. But thank God I was able to get it back.

I didn’t tell him I got a new one, but I appreciated him and promised to return the call because I was quite busy at the office.

I didn’t call back. My bad. Really, it wasn’t deliberate.

“Who’s that?” Preye asked.

“Who? Oh, a friend just checking up on me,” I said, quickly typing a reply to Bro Oghene and sending.

“A friend. Male?”

I gave him a suspicious stare then. “A church member,” I said.

“Okay... I don’t mean to—”

“It’s okay. I understand,” I said. “He’s not my boyfriend. Talking about boyfriends, I don’t have one for now.”

This made him laugh. “That’s what you all say.”

“I’m serious,” I said, laughing with him.

My phone beeped again. I looked at it was Oghene. All the while, before my screen darkened, I noticed he’d been typing. I tapped on the notification and the message opened.

The first few lines of the message got me confused and shocked;

Ife, I know you’ll be wondering why I’m always checking on you. It’s because there is something I have been wanting to tell you since but I don't know how to start. Please, don't be angry o, can we see?

 

****

Oghene

 

The day way your papa go mud, on the day of his wake, uncles and aunties would travel from far and wide with promises to gallant for your side as per say na them be your guidance in the absence of your father. They would instruct you, some of them would even tell you say them go para if you no report your tough life mata to them.

All na wash.

Listen to them at your own risk.

Two years after my father died, I understood what it meant when our people say person dey yan okpata. I called the first uncle and he told me that his daughter just swallowed a generator; the second uncle was about to collect a very expensive chieftaincy title; the third one no even send me at all! He didn’t pick my call.

I scrolled through my contact list and realized that I had no one. No relative send me or my family. Everybody dey mind him business. Na so I remember Shukudi o. That yeye Ibo friend way I get for secondary school way two of us bin dey jump principal fence dey go steal him mangos from the tree. Shukudi bin tell me make I follow am come Port Harcourt, so I go fit hustle.

“Nwanne, nothing dey for you here,” he’d say to me after papa’s burial. He offered to teach me how to repair cars so I go fit see walensh chop and small-small shedas sent to my mama.

That was how I called Shukudi again and he gave me his address. The yeye friend bin dey crash with five other boys for an uncompleted bungalow and him no tell me. But na man I be, and hard life no dey fear me. It was easy to blend with the boys and the city. Learning the work was the hard part. But Shukudi was my manest man. He was patient and kind.

The first few years after learning the job, he was the one directing customers to me. Even when he rented a one-bedroom apartment, he insisted I moved in with him.

Now Shukudi was a big man, inviting me to a house opening party this Sunday.  

“Shukudi! Ibo boy,” I said over the phone. “I’m so happy for you o.”

“The God that did it for me will do it for you, my brother.”

“Yes nau. Before? I must build my own house,” I said with laughter. Me too, I dey do well. I just transferred 100k to my mother make she take hold her side. In return, the woman spent closed to thirty minutes of my airtime showering blessings on me. I know that very soon, I’ll be done with paying for the land I acquired for my workshop. I hadn’t told Shinedu yet, I wanted to surprise him.

“Seriously, my man. I don’t want you absent o.”

“I dey mad? I must show, my guy?”

I had a smile on my lips several minutes after the call ended, while I reminisced about the past. Me and that guy...we’ve come a long way o. I was his best man at his wedding, and his first son’s godfather.

I sighed as I got up from the sofa to get to the kitchen where the plate of banga soup and starch I made a while ago sat on kitchen slap getting cold. I washed my hands, placed the dish on a tray, added a bottle of water and returned to the sitting room to eat.

I had swallowed five balls when I got a Facebook notification.

I checked it out and smiled. Dafe’s pre-wedding picture. The fool tagged me. The last time we met on our village youth meeting in Port Harcourt, he came hard on me with this ‘you no go marry...your mates them don marry finish,’ tease.

Hm, the pressure is really getting wesser.

I checked other notifications. Read a few posts. Scrolled. Read. I came upon one that made my heart stop for a midget of second and for that moment, I forgot everything; the ball of starch in my hand, the taste of the soup, Shukudi’s invitation, Dafe’s pre-wedding picture. My eyes were glued to the graceful image on the screen of my phone.

It was the image of Ife my Ibo geh in front of a backdrop that was celebrating womanhood. There was nothing special about it, but my heart raced at the way her smile fills the space between my heartbeats. I didn’t know what it was about her, but she lured me in so effortlessly and wrapped my heart in a net.

Did she know the way she makes me feel, the way she dey burst my brain?

Hesitantly, I glanced at the ball of starch in my hand, bit my lip, knowing that it might take a while before my appetite returned because gazing at that picture had become food to my belly.

Dipping the ball in the soup, I cut a piece of fish and put it inside my mouth with the starch while thinking; God, Abeg o. how a geh go make me wan run mad like this? Not that the attraction was instant. Na after that dream na im this craze start.

I should come out with my feelings for her. But that was what I’ve been doing for a while now, yet she’d refused to notice.

Maybe I wasn’t doing it right. A lady like her needed to be approached in a different, unique way.

That was where the problem was. How I fit run am nau? I wasn’t totally a dunce when it came to wooing women. I knew words, enticing lines that could get an average woman hooked. But the problem was that each time I came face to face with Ife I couldn’t think of anything to say. Or maybe I had way too much to say and didn’t know where to start. When I opened my mouth to speak, and she looked at me, I’d imagined a lot of possibilities in a millisecond and would become numb for a long time.

Some weeks ago, when I heard about her phone. I’d wanted to reach out to her. To help if she would allow me. But I didn’t know if she’d like it. Getting her on the phone was a stroke of luck. And when she called my name from the other end, I became frozen stiff, as if I'd been pushed onstage in a play where I didn't know the lines.

She was polite to me, friendly even. But she didn’t return the call like she said she would.

Now that I thought of it, should I call her?

Should I not?

As I balled another starch and dipped it inside the soup, it occurred to me that I could actually send my thoughts to her via WhatsApp and then waited for her reply. Without allowing my mind to dissuade me, I picked up my phone, opened the message app and began to type.

Me: Hello...

I typed more words, changed my mind and deleted them and started again.

Me: I just want to know how you are doing.

I had my right hand deep inside the soup with the ball of starch, but my eyes were on the phone. She’d read my message. But she hadn’t replied. Then I noticed that she was typing. My heartbeat picked.

Ife: Bro Oghene, hi. Thank you so much for checking on me, I am fine. How are you doing?

Leaving the starch inside the soup, I licked my fingers and got up from the floor with my phone and a bit of a smile to go wash my hands and relax on the sofa.

She wanted to know how I was. Should I tell her now? Maybe I should. My mind struggled with the right decision. My fingers fought to express what I really wanted to write. Finally, I decided; throwing my feelings to her face without notice might not be good.

But we could go on a date, then I’d be able to let her know.

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