Memoirs of A Repentant Slut – Episode 12

“Hi. Good evening Officer.”

“Evening madam.”

“Please, I am looking for a friend of mine. . .”‘

“Her name?”

“Amaka Coker.”

“Amaka?” he said disdainfully

“Wetin happen oga?”

“Who she be to you?”

“Na my friend.” I fired back.

“You be friend with that kind girl? That girl wey no get respect ehn! She don dey frustrate everybody for here since morning. That girl na murderer! If no be say she get powerful people behind her, I go don torture her so tey, you no go even recognize am; especially that her heavy backside! Chai, the girl carry!”

“Gbam! Gaps are on their way to being filled” I murmured to myself and I shook my head for the officer.

“Why you dey shake your head? Wetin happen?”

“Nothing officer. Can I still see her?”

“Sure why not! As per say you sef carry. I can see why una be friends”

The officer looked like Mr. Ibu in Police Uniform; crazy people are in the police force these days.
Amaka was lying down on a flat slab in a room not necessarily locked up. But seriously this girl is a fool. Who lies down to sleep in a police station?

“Hey! You, you get visitor o!” the Police Officer screamed.

Amaka rose to sit and face the Police Officer who refused to leave.

“Can you leave us alone now at least I’m not charged yet. I don’t know why una never lock me up sef cos you’re already treating me like one.”

“No worry opeke, we go lock you up soon!” he said hissing and leaving.

“Sola told me you were here and I don’t seem to understand, Sola, you! What’s up?”

“Wo o, forget! How was your date na? And don’t tell me you left your date to come here o!”

“You don craze shey you know? Which is more important? A date or you? My date was over almost 2 hours ago. . . Even though the date sucks; I swear, you don’t wanna know what happened.”

“Hey, look at me. It’s gonna be fine. Whatever happened, I’m gonna hear it at home.” She said holding my hand like a fairy godmother.

“Awwww! Hey look at me too! You gonna rot here if you don’t start talking and leave my date alone.”

“You are a fool!” she said looking for something to throw.

“Eh ya! You see what I am saying. There is no pillow here to throw and I wish I’m sorry about that. . . You wanna start telling me what happened?” I said with so much fun bullying her.

“Okay. . . ”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The taxi I boarded home was exactly the kind I needed. The driver had dropped off all other passengers and I was the only one left at the back seat of the car. My knees were too weak to walk that I had no option but to opt for a taxi. I would have ‘flied’ a motorbike but I wasn’t ready for the jagging movements due to potholes. . . You know, there is really a difference between the potholes effect of a car and that of a motorbike. Amaka would always say “it’s a lie. It depends on the rider and the driver.” I quite agree with her; at times though.

Amaka couldn’t tell me what really went wrong before a Police Officer bumped in to tell me my time with her was over. I never even spent 15 minutes. Police Station is a ridiculous place to go. The thought of her spending another night in that cell turns my stomach and she doesn’t even care. Even the response I got from the Police Officer about Amaka’s bail wasn’t even encouraging. Hmmmm. It is well.

The driver increased the volume of the music player and somehow somewhere, my mind found solace and strength in the Jim Reeves “This World is not my Home” blasting from the stereo. It felt so warm and enchanting that all I wanted to do was spend the whole night in that car with the song on a repeat but unfortunately, I’m soon to drop off from the car.

The walk down my house felt so short and sweet, all thanks to the breeze and the silence of the street and the chattering of the moi-moi, eko and akara sellers. I wasn’t sure whether to buy some as I really can’t figure out what to have for dinner. Maybe it was me, my appetite or both at work. What if I buy and it go to waste? “I’ll pass” I said.

Unfortunately for me, the compound was silent but a shinning image of someone a little plump, sitting on a wooden stool and reflecting so much oil even in darkness was staring at me from afar. That definitely could be no one other than Mama Seun. She’s white in the morning and like a shining light for the children of Israelites in the evening; all thanks to ‘ori’ and ‘adi-agbon’. She’s a sorry case. How would someone leave her home in the morning without moisturizing her body only to return in the evening to a moisturizing effect of shea butter and coconut oil without even taking a shower. I wonder how her husband has managed to stay with her for that long; 15 years or something. Maybe it’s because she’s the breadwinner and the husband is the bread-eater.

Their marriage is like ‘one’s demise is the end of the other’. If Mama Seun dies today, Papa Seun is doomed and if Papa Seun suddenly woke up one day to a non-coordinating brain waves of his telling him Mama Seun isn’t really good for him again or he wants to try something else; pauper like him, Mama Seun go just collapse. . . because in her case, there are two things involved in Basketmouth’s voice. It’s either she bully him to stay because she’s never gonna find a man who is gonna ‘just the way you are’ like Bruno Mars or who’s gonna give her great sex considering her lassitude towards her body.

Sitting in darkness at odd hours when almost everybody is in their room chasing away mosquitoes, watching a movie, patiently waiting for sleep, gisting, gossiping, ‘straffing’ or strategizing for the next day has become a sort of daily rituals for her. Her boys quarters couldn’t contain her anymore. God knows say I no get time for her wahala this night not even a pinch of ‘gbeborun.’

“Hey, welcome o! You look so tired, se ko si? (hope no problem)”

“I’m fine Mama Seun. Just a little bit worn out from today’s stress.”

“Eh ya. Pele o. Try take a bath before you sleep o and take paracetamol if you have headache.”
You go fear adviser. She can’t even remember the last day she had a morning bath not to talk of a night bath. If only people can take the advice they give others. . .

“I will Mama Seun. Thanks.”

“O o ti e bere awon aburo e? (you no even ask of your siblings)”

“No vex. How dem dey o?” *like say na my mama born dem, she sha no wan sound like say na aproko she wan do.*

“Ehn ehn. Dem dey fine. Thank you.”

“Alright na.”

I made for my door; that’s the only thing I wanna do now. Open it and crash wherever I found fit.

“Abeg, e don tey o wey I see Amaka for house. Hope say she dey alright? Abi she travel ni or she dey sick?”
Bad belle human being. No be only sick, na die she die. Some people no get good thoughts for mind. Even some wey get, na one good thought, two terrible thoughts. I think Mama Seun fits that category.

“She dey alright o.”

“Okay. As I no see her na why I talk say make I just ask as per Jesus talk say, love your neighbours as yourself na. . . But you never tell me where she dey.”

“Mama Seun, you know say I don tire. All that matters is that Amaka is fine. That info sef suppose do you now. I’d see you in that morning. Good night.”

“Okay o.”

I didn’t even bother looking at her face while I talked. It is said that ‘he who looks at the bride’s face will know she’s crying.’ I knew what I said would have hurt her aproko body small but who cares. I have bigger problems right now than considering who is hurting over ‘gbeborun.’

I knew I was never gonna enjoy the night’s sleep. It was not because I would have to sleep all alone in the house but because I would have to sleep in the house with Amaka passing the night elsewhere in an uncomfortable environment and situation. I threw my bag to the nearest place it could find, I didn’t even bother removing my makeup, offing my clothes not to talk of taking a shower. I made for the couch, laid face down waiting for sleep to come shut my eyes but I was determined to find out what really happened the next day even if I had to make an appearance at the last place I couldnt imagine myself.



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