LABYRINTHS - NINE

 I found a phone booth from which to call Isabelle.

Technically, there was nothing stopping me from calling her. But it wasn’t that simple, for I knew now how fragile Abbey was. She probably took me as her last chance at happiness. I couldn’t let her down. I knew, though, that it would be healthy for my course if a little dose of jealousy issued forth from Abbey on account of Isabelle. The problem was, with Isabelle there was no little jealousy. Just a few hours of knowing me and see what animosity had brewed in her heart towards her long time friend. If I gave her a platform from which to throw her punches at Abbey by kindling her hopes, I’d be Casanova of the century. I needed to find out if I could have a discreet affair with her. I needed to know if she’d keep it between us. These weren’t to be express questions, of course, I meant to size her up and determine the volatility of her intentions.

                Was this lady South African? Why wasn’t she as pretty as the women I’d been frolicking with? Well, a beautiful woman wouldn’t be a phone-call vendor... nature doesn’t mock itself that way. Beauty is an asset – capital – upon which a flow of income can be built.

                I clearly came here to call Isabelle... but I was still undecided as to whether I should. I acted in denial by calling home instead.

                “...Mom I’m fine. I ran out of money with which to return home. Right now I’m doing a menial job that will fetch me the money I need so I could come home by next week.”

                . . . .

                “...But it’s not too far now... I have to work this job for this entire week or I won’t earn enough.”

                . . . .

                “Oh, no need to bother mom, I’m a man... can take care of myself.”

Moms didn’t really like to hear boys say they could take care of themselves. It unhinged and defeated them. Even dad had to be taken care of by mom. Dad went out of line sometimes and it was mom who brought him back to the track. Like when dad got drunk...

                “Mom the call’s expensive... Gotta go... Regards to everyone. You still don’t have to tell dad I’m out of the country o!” I cut the call

                I was still not sure if I should call Isabelle, so I stalled some more. I called Tonia.

                “Hi! It’s me, Jude.”

                “Jude!” I sensed the surprise. “Where are you calling from?”

                “I’m in Jo’burg.”

                “Where’s that?”

                “It’s ... South Africa.”

                “Jude... you’re in South Africa? Doing what?”

“Visiting.”

“And you didn’t care to tell me?”

Tonia, the way she talked always arrested me. Especially the soft way she called my name. No one ever called my name so frequently in a conversation. She could start a sentence with Jude and end it with Jude; and there could still be several Judes running in the body of the sentence.

                “But... I’m telling you now, am I not?” My usual impatience with her mounting.

                “So what are you doing there, Jude... when did you go?”

                “Came for the World Cup.”

                “Jude... but the World Cup ended a long time ago!”

                “I happen to know that, you know!”

                “Wait a minute, Jude... means you’ve been there since June?”

                “Yeah.”

                “But... Jude...” she sighs,“you drifting away, Jude. You’re drifting away. Can’t believe I’ve not heard from you in all this time. It never occurred to you that I’d be trying to call you?”

                “Have you been trying to call me?”

                “Of course Jude, am I not your girlfriend!”

                “Well, sorry ‘bout that. I just called to let you know I’m not around.”

                “You mean you gotta go now?”

                “Of course, Tonia! This is an international call... it’s not exactly cheap.”

                “You won’t even ask how I’m doing?”

                “Sorry. How are you doing?”

She relaxes and starts to tell me her usual tales...

                “I’m fine. Went to classes yesterday...”

                 “Classes? What classes?”

                “My ICAN classes now... Jude!”

                “Oh, sorry... I forgot. How was it?”

                “’Twas fine. Remember that guy I told you has been asking me out?”

                “Yeah?”

                “Well, I went to have a drink with him as you advised.”

                “Hmm that’s nice... Tonia I really gotta go now, aight!”

                “Okay. Please take care of yourself dear. And when are you coming back?”

                “Next week.”

                “Mom’s been asking after you... do I greet her for you?”

                “Yes, do.”

                “Ok Jude, I will. I love you Jude. Please take care of yourself. And come back soon, okay.”

                “OK. Bye.”

                “I love you very much Jude.”

                “Alright, alright, I love you too. Byee!”

I cut the call.

It was how it always went... my conversations with Tonia. She referred to her mom when speaking with me as mom... as if she was both our moms. Her dad too had heard about me. Her siblings too. I had only met her mom, but I was already a household name. She already took me as her fiancé, and when our conversations began to border on marriage I started to feel uneasy. It was with her that I realized I didn’t know what love was. I didn’t know if I loved her. But I told her I did. There was no big deal in saying that, was there! But it just wasn’t time for me to call my girlfriend a fiancée. But Tonia was already ripe for marriage; after all, my own younger sister, that she knew, was getting married. Most girls that were our classmates in the university had gotten married. Back then in school, she and I weren’t more than friends. But our friendship grew steadily after school, thriving mainly on phone and e-mail conversations. Months after graduation we’d met back in our university town of Enugu when we came for our final clearance before National Service. Her dad had retired from the civil service, and returned to his country home in Enugu... our state of origin.

After school, friends had dispersed, and she felt quite lonely in Enugu, having left Benin where she grew up. So when I came down, it was inevitable that we spent time together. We kissed for the first time. Our call-up letters came, and we were flung to different ends of the country... she down West, me in the middle – Abuja – where my family was. We talked a lot on phone while in orientation camps... free mid-night calls. She wasn’t having any fun. I’d suggested that she got a doctor’s report to exempt her from strenuous exercises in camp but she refused, saying she could cope. She didn’t know it wasn’t quite her call, she had her heart condition and that was that. Her mom was to learn that I knew of her medical condition and still hung around her... that made her like me. Perhaps she felt that while her other daughters could marry whomever they chose, Tonia had to be delivered into the hands of a man who didn’t just love her but who also understood her medical condition and was ready to cope with it and take care of her. Not that it was anything really serious, though! Going through camp stress took its toll on her and she broke down. She was confined to the infirmary, and she called me virtually every minute from there. For the night calls, I didn’t have an MTN line, so she often called on my buddy’s phone. Bertrand. Before he woke me and gave me the phone, he always chatted with the girl with his thin voice... so thin it made no noise in the hostel in the silent night. When I took the phone, however, my baritone embarrassed me to the point that I began to whisper, and Tonia at the other end found it hard to decipher what I be saying. So when she called on subsequent nights, she enjoyed the tranquil chat with Bertrand, before resigning herself to the task of my throaty talks again. For the reason of my unsuitable voice, I hated the night calls; but I had to be in touch with her. And we couldn’t afford such long conversations on paid minutes during the day. Though, Bertrand and I were in the same faculty at school, he and Tonia never had any occasion upon which to become friends... but they knew each other. Now, they became friends on my account. Bertrand became my adviser on Tonia matters. He told me the girl loved me... that I shouldn’t ever think of hurting her. When she and I fought Bertrand mediated. But Tonia and I had nothing official going on.

                Camp over, we went into the fields of life to till and chase our destinies... still under the patronage of the federal government though. It was called primary assignment. Bertrand and I worked in different branches of the same bank. We lived far apart and only saw on community development service days. Hence, I didn’t need his phone anymore to communicate with Tonia. I had bought me an MTN line for the purpose of night calling with her, and then for ease in marketing the bank’s products. It still wasn’t comfortable to be clear on the phone at nights with Tonia, because I hated to disturb my snoring siblings in our little room, but we managed.

I noticed a tad discomfortingly, that Bertrand and Tonia still spoke. She trusted me, and always told me everything. From her, I began to learn that Bertrand was closing in. Not that it was a crime; but shouldn’t one steer clear of his friend’s girl! I monitored him closely.

                Service was over now, and I learned of his intention to travel down to Enugu. It was his state too, but this was neither Christmas... nor was he going to initiate moves for any further academic pursuits. And Tonia had returned home from National Service in the west.

Bertrand travelled and returned, but never told me what he went down to do.

                I got a job up North and left Abuja for Bertrand to roam alone. Lonely in the north, I thought a lot about Tonia. At the end of what I’ll call my probation period, I travelled down to Enugu. I visited her... and that was when I met her mom. A dynamo of motherhood – my impression of her! She had no scruples allowing me to take her daughter out.

                Out, drinking, I introduced quantities of alcohol into her beverage drink... she guzzled it up; giving me the impression that, as long as it was from me, she’d drink even pee! We talked about school, service... and stuff. We talked about Bertrand and his ‘secret’ mission. He’d come down, lodged in a hotel, and summoned my Tonia. I can’t remember if she went or not. Bertrand’s mission wasn’t successful, but I knew he’d be back, so I was pressed to secure Tonia before then. Like she was there for the taking! She resisted me. All through our shared drinks and meat she resisted me. I employed all sorts of tactics in the books to no avail. She said she wasn’t one to play hanky-panky with, or run around with a boy behind her parents’ back. That anything she was to have had to be genuine, and the guy had to be ready to flow with her family. School and service over, marriage was the next thing on a girl’s plate... any guy who came along had to be looking in the same direction. Okay, I thought, this was clearly not me; perhaps Bertrand, if he’s ready, should call again. I quit chasing. I was cool with her rebuffs; our friendship was fantastic, I thought we should keep it that way.

I drained my glass, and told her that I was ready to leave if she was.

I took her back home... to the side of her gate actually. It was quite late already, and I had no time to say goodbye to her mom. So long, girl!

                “Aren’t you gonna give me a hug, Jude?!” she said.

I returned to give the hug... and take same. Her mouth in my right ear said “I love you Jude.” I swallowed hard, and wondered what that meant now... We dealing?!

                I must have said thank you... or something. As in, thank you for loving me. I’d never been told by a girl that I was loved before... this was my first. Only a boy had told me that... a little boy – Chris. Thank you for loving me, Kate? Thank you very much!

I went back to my brother’s hostel in the medical school where I stayed with him on my visits, wondering what now.

In the evening Tonia texted:

                Hope you got home safe. Guess what, mom likes you.

I reply:

                Yeah, I got home in one piece. Wow! I like her too.”

Then she says:

                Really? Daz gud cuz mom has been asking me questions abt u. Had to tell her to calm down.

                Wow! I’m flattered. I replied.

                We talked on about both our moms’ fiftieth birthdays falling in September of succeeding years. Hers first, and then mine the next year.

She:

How’re we gonna work this Jude? Are you gonna take care of me?

Me:

                Yes baby. We’re gonna work it one day at a time. I’ll take care of u.

She decried my northern job... though not as much as I did. She restored my faith in our pact by saying that she’d be the first to get bored if I was always at her beck and call. That distance would lend some enchantment to our new-found love. What did she know about distance and love! I knew a little I’d read from a French soldier, Bussy-Rabutin... and I believed it to be true:

Absence is to love what wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small, it inflames the great.

But she assuaged my fears... and, who was I to be bothered by long absence when the girl wasn’t perturbed by the dullness of the prospect! Just that I knew what I was talking about: Kebbi State to Enugu wasn’t a trip you’d like to make twice a year... once was hard enough. But I hushed all this, hoping that God would make a way... wishing that He would.

Tonia and I had gotten off to a flying start... shut the door against Bertrand in case he didn’t know it.

I travelled back home to Abuja, slept one night... and was on the road to Kebbi by dawn. My first leave gone by, I was keeping this job. From then on, ‘twas phone lines held us together. This was in January 2010.

                We exchanged text messaged during the day, and talked all night. That was when my frustration began. I had no idea what I’d gotten myself into. I’d gone and gotten myself a new mom, it seemed.

‘Jude have you prayed? Jude have you eaten? Have you washed your clothes? Did you wash your hands? Honey have you had your bath? Baby, you didn’t reply my text! Darling, I’m not feeling well. Jude, I told you I’m not feeling well and you said nothing?! Honey, my dad pissed me off today... Jude, I need you to hold me...’ Enough already! I was tired.

Tonia didn’t have a job, I was her job. It sucked. Moreso because, just about a month ago, before I got ‘engaged’, I was a free man... with nobody to answer to. Free as a bird! Loneliness had sucked then, but commitment now sucked more.

                Now on some nights when she called I didn’t pick up. In the mornings she’d rant, and I’d apologise profusely: ‘I was too tired. I slept off and didn’t hear the phone ring.’ I dared not switch off! Sometimes I put my phone on silent, so that I didn’t know when it rang, and so the noise didn’t disturb the peace of the night. There were nights of longing for her, certainly, but the hunger always died away unfed. What sexual intimacy could we really achieve over the phone? Talk sex? It seemed she liked to... being a scared virgin and all, but I found no emotions from such ‘bullshit’... oops! I’m sorry. My manhood only rose and fell, and was mad at me for disturbing its peace for nothing. She tried to make me know the feeling was mutual, and sympathized with me, a man, who had to stay faithful under such circumstance. In her naive reckoning, it was harder for men to live without sex. But did she know? Did she know that promiscuity is a female word? How would she? She was an uncut gem... at twenty-two... not quite a big deal in my books if that woman I saw was her mother. And in my family too, a virgin at twenty-five wasn’t strange... though I wasn’t. I almost was.

When she said she loved me it upset me. I didn’t want her to... because her love was so precious and sincere. I didn’t want her to waste it. Whenever she mentioned it, her comments often alluded to our ever-after – matrimony. She thanked God for giving me to her... and stuff. I wasn’t sure what that meant; or what it should mean. I’d thought I’d have someone to, first, play love games with, before the serious commitment days arrived. And how long did I have, anyway! I was twenty-five. Tonia was too serious... sounded like a wife; I didn’t need this now.

                Something happens: once all’s not well between couples, a mysterious beam of light begins to illuminate wanton love. Like... this girl in your neighbourhood... you’ve never seen her in that dress! This girl in your church... you’ve never seen her in that hat... never heard her voice so sonorous and sweet! And you buy her a bulletin, or give her a lift, or just say hi... or, ‘sister, the Lord is good’! As time passes, you find that both of you are now in talking terms... are friends in fact... And because you met her in church doesn’t mean she’s an angel. She’s not a devil either! Men are wont to think women they cheat with bad – deceivers – but they’re wrong. When the home front is uncomfortable, the men unconsciously give off green light... like they buy a sister a bulletin; like they give her a lift; or simply say hi – bottom line, they’re nice! And what lady’s averse to a nice man!

                With Tonia far away and always saying things I didn’t like to hear, I fell into such a trance. It was Holy Week – run-up to Easter. A lot of church activities this period.

Here’s a piece I wrote of the girl that be in my view then.... Like, my diary entry – April 2010. Her name was Claret.

                ON THE VERGE OF SOMETHING

What was I supposed to call this one? What would medical doctors call it? Internal Tsunami? I guess so. I didn’t know the cause. I couldn’t recall eating or drinking anything that could have triggered it. I didn’t think it was caused by food, anyway. I didn’t even think it was in my stomach. Wherever the chaos, it was either below or above the stomach. I hoped I could do this. I steadied myself, took two deep breaths, and then the procession began. It was the Easter Vigil Mass. Normally, only two lay readers read at Mass, but today more than that was required. We were only four, for lack of members. We needed to have been up to five at least. There were only three robes so I went in my own clothes. The robes were like matriculation gowns; they concealed everything. There are no sexy robes, or, at least I’ve never seen one. A brother read first; he was to read last again since we had five passages to read. The only sister in our midst read second, the other brother third, and then me. The Mass ended at about 1am, and I was wondering how I was going to get home. No bikes at this time, and I didn’t own any means of transport. The sister that read with us offered that I came to the Corpers’ Lodge with her. She was a corper, but she came from a distant local government where she was doing her primary assignment teaching English in a secondary school. She was squatting with a friend. She said she’d speak with a guy that would room with me. I was appreciative of this sublime gesture. She offered me her hand and we set to leave – to walk the distance. Together. It wasn’t that far; at least not like going to my own house. Fortunately for us, a good man gave us a ride, taking us right to the doorstep of the lodge.

The rumblings inside me had started again. Somehow, I survived any embarrassment in church. We were in the lodge now; the real tenants hadn’t come back from church yet, so we just sat within the compound and chatted. It was dark – no light. No baggy robes on now but what could I see! I kept my distance; we were brother and sister in the Lord. We were to stand like concrete pillars in the church – neither too far apart nor too close. I banished crazy ideas from my head. In short, I flashed my girlfriend and she called. We fought for a little while about the sex of my Good Samaritan. I sought to disengage. It was rude to be talking with someone far away on the phone while there was someone beside me whom I owed gratitude. I chatted her up. We talked about stuff. She seemed to be busy anyway, distributing Easter messages on her phone. Soon the real tenants came in, and where everyone would sleep became clear. My girlfriend called back and we talked at some length. Now I had to retire. I’d been sitting on a bench outside all along. And she had dozed off on a spring bed just across from me. I went to wake her up so we could go to bed; held out the torch on my phone for her so she could find her shoes. The rumblings again! Oh my heart, my mind, or was it my stomach, or my crotch? I wasn’t pressed, though. We went in to sleep. The mattress on which I lay was so flat and there was no pillow. On it sleep was uncomfortable but still inevitable.

In the morning she came to check on me, but I was still asleep. How did I know? I saw her with my eye that stays awake while the other two sleep. I slept on till about 7:30am, woke up and said a brief prayer . . . thanked God for another day, for the gift of His Son, for the nice people that offered me shelter . . . I asked Him to bless them. The guy in whose room I slept had gone out to fetch water. I didn’t know where. I got ready to leave and knocked on the girls’ door. She came out sleepily, and my chest, my stomach, or my crotch! Not in robes, and not in what she’d worn to church. Have you ever seen the figure 8? An animate one? Now I needed to see a doctor or something. There was turmoil inside me. The parting shots were hurried and, luckily, I got a bike before we even finished. She asked me if I was still coming to church later that morning. Yes.

Back home now I seemed to be fine. Mass was at ten and ‘twas only seven or so now. I lay down and rested for a while. After that, I got cleaning. I cleaned the whole room till it sparkled. Someone was going to spend the Easter here with me. I freshened up, got dressed, and then off to the church – everyday these days – until Easter was over. I hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before, so I bought yoghurt on my way. In church, before the Mass, I drank it, and it upset my stomach. I was feeling terrible. I didn’t know if this was just the result of the yoghurt or if those confusing feelings had resurged again. She came a couple of minutes after me and went straight to pour that baggy robe over herself again. She was reading that morning. After the Mass, as was now becoming the norm, I waited for her so we could leave together. I overheard the Lay Readers’ President asking her if she was leaving today and she said yes. I was shocked. When she came to me, I asked her and she said not really. She wasn’t going back to her place of primary assignment yet, but she was going to somewhere even further away to visit friends. I was silently disconcerted now.

Now we were trying to leave the church premises and she was looking all over for a lift again. That same angel of last night was on hand, and she stretched out her arm, beckoning on me to come. I hesitated. What for, I thought. I had no reason to be going back to that lodge with her. It was day now and I could find my way. I told her I wasn’t coming. After all, of what use would it be to go watch her leave? She shut the door and then called out that I hadn’t given her my number. I said I’d send it through Val, my roomie for last night. The car engine revved, and took her away. I found Val and thanked him profusely for his hospitality. I wrote down my number on a piece of paper he was holding and begged him to help me pass it on to her when he got to the lodge. But I had nowhere to go. Home was lonely, dry, and there was no food. And there were no food vendors within miles’ perimeter. And there was no light . . . even if there was sef nko?!

Val offered to give me lunch, and we chatted as we walked to the lodge. He even enthralled me with the prospect of his PS2 if there was light. Then I thought, Liverpool up against Birmingham at St. Andrews, in real life and in the virtual world. If I could win it in the virtual, Torres would ensure it in the real.

      When we got to the lodge I called out to her and told her I came after all. Then she came out from the room. She’d already changed into different clothes. Wow! Her ass behind was impressive, but the ears on the sides were even more terrific. Her waist was slender, and then the bloom of her bosom. I was trying so hard not to look, and even harder not to be caught looking. I didn’t wanna look. I didn’t want any ideas. The turmoil in me had begun again, and by now I knew the cause: ‘twas her. I gave her money to go buy drinks for me, Val, and herself, and she dutifully obeyed. She turned to leave, and look at that! Daaaaaaaaaaamn!

I went into Val’s room for my lunch and the PS. I understood the discomfort I felt, so I ignored it. Val insisted on using Chelsea, I used Liverpool, and he was scoring me as if Liverpool wasn’t comprised of Stevie and Nando anymore. Or as if they could be injured in a computer game again fa!

She came in with the money and knelt by my side to say she couldn’t find drinks. I told her she could have taken a bike and gone to BLB Super Mart which wasn’t far from the lodge. She said she knew so but that she was running late. She had no idea how much I hated to hear about that trip of hers. She left the room, with a promise to check on me before leaving. She did. When she did, she had worn a shawl around her head, leaving me with the view of only the best details: the pretty face – decorated by her standing lips; her bosom – those two standing as if they were in a parade; and those ears, pointing to opposite directions as if they were going to pull her apart and rip her into two symmetrical halves. I was enamored by her. But now she was leaving. The whole tsunami inside me seemed to be subsiding now. She was the cause. She said “See you in two Sundays, Jude!” She couldn’t make it from where she worked every weekend. She was going back there on Tuesday after visiting her friends.

We will meet again, surely. Sundays were the fastest days to come here. I wondered what I might do. I’m so unpredictable sometimes, even to myself. I love my girlfriend, but this was where I was . . . something had to hold magic for me here. Something had to be going on, so the place could be a bit more bearable I worked here, so I lived here. I had to live here indeed.

                Time passed, and Claret and I became close. And closer still. A fling was all that was available to us. Since all she was doing here was service, we both knew she’d be gone soon. With any luck, I thought, we could indulge ourselves and get away with it.

Claret latched onto me for pecuniary reasons… she had no home support, and NYSC paid peanuts. Being with me served her purpose – feeding well became more likely for her. This gullied my wallet. On her part, she was ready to let me into her treasure chest… but her dependence on me inhibited me from burrowing in. It would look like I was trading – screwing her for the help I rendered. This wasn’t what I had in mind. I liked to deal on a level playing field – no upper-hands. No blackmail! No taking advantage and all that…. But she was too close, too pretty, and too alluring. Something had to give. We spent long hours and hours just talking; then, progressively, kissing. Really kissing. Then, one day, with the ethereal beauty displayed on my mattress as usual, I had to test my manhood if it still worked. Something I really wouldn’t regret later. In fact, I was glad I did.

                Sex often defines relationships. When a man’s wooing a woman, sex be a crucial junction to arrive at. If people had sex sooner they could decide or know earlier where they’re headed. Sex could ruin a budding relationship and prevent it from taking off. It stops hearts from eventually breaking. It forestalls avoidable embarrassments in the future. Or people could learn that all they’re really interested in were to be bedmates… if both parties agree. And then, sometimes, after sex, the parties know that they be in this for the long road. For Claret and I, our vehicle turned off at this junction… to advance no further. It was our first intercourse. It was our last. I’d sought another opportunity, and got one… but I’d used the condom I’d had in my wallet for five months the first time, and so had none to use now... Had none to use even subsequently. She thanked her stars… because she’d been saying she wanted to quit all the casual sex. She’d been giving moral justifications for her sexual indulgences. It’d never been to satisfy her own hunger for it, but to repay men who helped her in one way or another. Wasn’t that prostitution! When times had gotten really hard before I met her, she’d moved in with a guy. Way before then, there’d been one she visited far away for little financial assistances. And before service, there’d been one – a quasi boyfriend. Then there’d been one that got her pregnant and readied to marry her against her wish, until providence bequeathed on her a miscarriage – according to her! She said she needed a break. But it was clear still that if I had something to ‘sell’ she’d still be willing to pay for it – her way.

                Just as over time we progressed from talking to kissing and then to having sex, we now retrogressed along the same channel – the sex, then kissing – just kissing, then just talking – and not even often, until service ended and she left. Back to square one! It was May… the World Cup fever was now heightening.

And by now, my relationship with Tonia had suffered a serious neglect. She had cried for me. Had pleaded with me to treat her better. I’d been adamant. Love is not forced. But it wasn’t that I didn’t love her, per se. I didn’t just know!

Her mom had begun to learn that I was drifting away. Her siblings too. Because she was always gloomy around the house… a ghost of her usual self. The woman, I was sure, understood men’s nature better. They easily got pressured; and then scared. Then they run. Sometimes… they come back. Home.

                Now, with no one else to call or recall in pretense, I gave the phone booth lady Isabelle’s number. I stood gazing into the sky, thinking of what to say… how to bring on the conversation. She handed me the phone when the call connected.

                “Hello!” a pretty voice said.

                “Hi Isabelle, It’s doctor Iroko.”

                “Ooh, Doc! You called!”

                “Apparently!”

                “You wanna come to my place?”

                “Wasn’t it a risk giving your number to Zuma for me?”

                “Oh… I knew Zuma wouldn’t squeal. He’s no fool… So! Why don’t you come over to my place?”

                “Where’s it at?”

                “I live off Parakou District. You know the place?”

                “Yeah… I um… kinda know the District… but certainly not your house.”

She chuckled.

                “Where are you now… at Abbey’s?”

                “Nah I’m not at her place… I’m actually… nearby.”

                “Nearby where?”

                “Nearby Parakou District.”

                “I could pick you up from the junction if you’re… there?”

                “I could be there in less than ten.”

                “Aight… Is this your number?”

                “Oh no, it’s a pay phone.”

                “What about your number… so I could ring you when I arrive at the junction?”

                “Ain’t got one. See… I’ll make the junction in nine minutes. Be there, alright!”

                “OK. I will.”

                “Aight then! On ma way!”

                “Alright, see you soon!” she said, and I cut the call.

I paid for the calls, and then faced the direction of my adventure.