Kill two birds with one stone? I’d never seen that
happen. Literally. But the sense... Yes, the sense. An opportunity came for me
to, like a skilled archer, shoot down three birds with one arrow... Run away,
see the World Cup, and meet my... girlfriend? Everything a girlfriend should
be... to the ears and the imagination, that was. Not to the eyes... I’d never
set eyes on her. Ever!
‘I enjoy your company a lot, and your words.
They help me get through difficult times. I’m sorry when I don’t reply
promptly, I get to be busy at work, but
never too busy for you.’ Abbey.
‘I’m glad to hear that, and, honestly, the
feeling is very mutual. You’re the only reason I get on this network these
days... Almost the reason why I get online at all... if not that I have to work
with it at times.’
‘Me too, whenever I get on, it’s
with the hope of meeting you here and spending time with you. There’s something
I’ve always wanted to say, but always think I shouldn’t, that it must be
crazy... But then, what the heck! Even if it’s crazy you can’t reach me to
spank me...’ Abbey.
‘Oh, c’mon! Even if I could
reach across, why would I ever wanna spank you?’
‘...Because I love you... and
it’s crazy!’ Abbey.
I was a bit stunned, but I
liked the development. Or perhaps I wasn’t stunned at all. Love shouldn’t be
believed to exist because it is said to, but because it is actually felt. All
what we had been doing together – online... how far we’d come... how long...
the things I knew about her; I’d definitely felt love, so that, what difference
did her saying it really make? But the girl was obviously lonely... to be lavishing
all her love on one miles away... I thought there was a problem; either she
wasn’t pretty enough, or she was naive and got heartbroken often. If the former
was the case I’d run too... like dudes before me; but if the latter... well...
But I liked it that she said it... meant I had to
reply.
‘I
love you too, baby’.
It was improbable, especially for a realistic person
like me, but... where ignorance is bliss...
I wasn’t a con man, so I
wasn’t building up a pattern or steps with which to proceed. The best I could
do was set things in motion and allow them play out naturally. Whatever results
I got in the end I’d take. I hoped I was doing the right thing. The fact was
that, I had arrived South Africa, had seen the World Cup... had idled away with
Valeria – yet the urge to seek out Abbey remained strong in spite of Valeria.
So I was still on course to meet my internet friend. The urge had been delayed
but not extinguished. And, what was more, I had run out of money thanks to
Valeria. Now meeting Abbey held more than one promise, the other one being, she
had to help me get back home. I had to return to Johannesburg after the Games
to seek her out.
I’d played out various scenes in my imagination about
how I’d meet her. Something always stood out – the cocky mien with which I
sauntered into her life. If that failed there was surely going to be a second
chance – reveal my true identity. But first, I’d decided: I was proceeding as a
shrink.
Walking
to the office complex every morning you’d think I worked there. Or that maybe I
was searching for a job there. None of the above! But it was job-hunting in a
way. I was broke, and stuck. Now I was tailing a prospective client. I had to
orient my meeting with her on a business level, and be certain I’d get my fare
home. Proceeding as her online lover mightn’t have yielded the result I’d
rather had. As I couldn’t meet her for the first time and openly go begging her
for money. That would ruin the good impression she had of me. She had told me
once that other people she had met online didn’t lose any time in making
demands of financial natures from her. She liked me because I was different.
How could I now... betray that... confidence? I wasn’t going to risk it. I was
proceeding as a stranger. A doctor. A shrink.
Having gathered sufficient information about
her, I’d done the desk part since the World Cup, in the sparse minutes that
Valeria wasn’t with me. Even before the World Cup. Looked at critically, of the
three reasons why I was here, this could easily be the first. I actually came
to South Africa for this, and not the mondial. As the days passed I was getting
more and more convinced that it was a patient Abbey should be: beautiful, rich,
successful, aging, a woman and, of course, lonely. It’s not only in Nigeria
that this happens: a rich, beautiful, successful, single woman is almost always
lonely. Her achievements, though commendable, leave her marooned in a world
devoid of genuine male company. Most men are wary of the silent competition
posed by such women; so she has no relationships. Her female friends not as
successful as her get married and their husbands instruct them to refrain from
keeping her company. Others, finding it hard to cope with the obvious class
difference, sever their connecton with her. Over the course of time, small,
cheap boys would drop by in her life, full of love and full of lies. They bite
a chunk off her cake and beat it. So she’s wary of them now: when a woman
shares love with a younger man seldom does it last. Seldom does it lead to any
positive end. She’d much rather have a deal in the open now, than be deceived
and robbed under covers in the name of love. And fooled.
I
could easily have been an ‘Honors Student’ in this turf, so my presumptions
were right... so, I was proceeding as a shrink, period. I had to get into
character. The name Iroko Cedan to always be on my lips. Never fumble. Be
careful. Aye, aye Sir!
After
about two weeks of tailing and studying her – physically this time – I finally
made my move. In these weeks I hadn’t shaved, so my mane gave me an older look.
On a Monday evening, after work, just as she was about to ease out of her
‘Reserved’ space in the parking lot, I tapped on the passenger window of her
S-Class. Fear must have been the furthest stimulus... the place was peopled so
I couldn’t possibly carryout any mischief there. She wound down the glass. In
my most courtly accent I asked her for a lift. Ladies so circumstanced are,
more often than not, nice. How could she refuse to help a brother out!
While in the car, well on
on the road, she asked where I was going.
“Bokroom,” I said, making
sure to pronounce it with the accent of a foreigner.
I got her there! She smiled, and gently corrected:
“Bukrum.” My pronunciation
was longer. “You’re not South African?” she said rather than asked.
I affirmed.
“So where you
from?”
I liked her
English... her accent.
“Nigeria.”
That might have sent
ripples down her spine. Nigerians didn’t exactly have a good reputation amongst
foreigners. Not even at home! Especially Nigerian young men. They were too
desperate to be courteous, or nice. They were dangerous. Capable of anything
for money’s sake. Not meaning, however, that you couldn’t find exceptions like
me... After all, she was in love with one... only she didn’t know this was
him... But I knew she’d talk less now. I was right. It was almost five minutes
before she said another word.
“So what are you doing in
Bukrum?”
“Looking for work.”
“All the way from
Nigeria?”
“Yes.”
“...hmm... so what kinda
work?”
“A professional kind”, I
said, “...read accounting in the university, and read psychoanalysis after
that. I’m a psychiatrist . . . more like a shrink... And I thought you might be
interested.” That was a lie; I’d never even heard if psychoanalysis was a field
of study or not.
“Me?” she asked, a bit
surprised.
“Yes, you!”
“Why me? Why should I be
interested? Do I look mad?”
“Certainly not, ma’am!” I
chuckled confidently, “But my services would benefit you anyways.”
“You don’t even know me,
mister. . .”
“Well, hope you won’t be
offended if I say I do . . . a little!”
She looked at me with
bewildered eyes. She must have wondered what she was doing with a Nigerian boy
. . . inside her car . . . such a big risk . . . like a cat close to a pot of
fish. I was sure she’d never been conned by a Nigerian; so why was she acting
all up?!
“I can help you re-focus
your life ma’am. I can help you get past all the hurts you’ve suffered at the
hands of men. I can help you learn to forgive and forget them, and open up your
heart for new possibilities. And, most importantly, I can help you forgive
yourself for the ways in which you think you’ve let you down. I can help you
learn how to maintain a healthy disposition for love, ‘cuz you ought never to
give up on it...”
She was gazing at the road
ahead, but listening intently. I was just saying these for effect, but I’d
actually drafted a detailed proposal. I knew there might be no time to say all
that I intended to do. And, actually, there wasn’t. She interrupted me
politely, with impatience in her tone, and demanded that I utter no more word
until she dropped me off at Bukrum. But I wasn’t going to Bukrum. I’d planned
and timed events.
“I’m sorry ma’am but, I
couldn’t be mute... especially knowing
that I’m genuinely interested in helping – or rather, working with you. But if
you must have no more of it, then please lemme get down here already.”
She tried to hesitate, but I pressed. She slowed to a
stop at the next junction – Parakou junction – and I alighted.
“I’m really thankful for your help ma’am,” I
said, then brought out the envelope from my duffle bag. “Beyond the proposal
that this is, you may find it an interesting piece of reading too. So do not
hesitate to peruse it and, should you find yourself even vaguely interested,
then, please do as you must. Good bye ma’am!” I left the envelope on the seat
and shut the door.
I
walked off into Parakou Street, not looking back. This was the actual place I
was coming to, but I’d said Bukrum to enable the drama of the car play out just
this way. I sensed she paused awhile before driving off. And I knew my speech
sank in.
