However, Bidemi’s anger died down almost immediately, when he saw the guy bringing out a Techno M3. Bidemi’s phone was a Symbian phone.
Bidemi quickly changed the form of his face from that of anger to anxiety so that the guy would not know what had just happened within him.
‘Hello’, the guy said. He made gesture at Bidemi that he needed to leave the place he was standing to talk to the person that was calling him. Bidemi was surprised that the guy was a Christian. His phone was still ringing.
‘How far?’ The guy said, when he returned, ‘ have you seen the phone?’
Bidemi wanted to ask him the reason he was tarnishing the name of God by stealing, but he decided against it. He knew nothing would ever make him sin against God and he was sure about that.
‘I’ve not found it’, he said, now searching his bag, to assure himself that he did not put it in the bag the other time.
‘Oh!’ Bidemi suddenly realized something, ‘I left it where I was charging it in the Library’.
The library is a source of power supply for people’s gadget, especially, during times when the school’s power supply becomes faulty. And a good source to those who reside off-campus – Agboola, Ajibola etc. because they have little or no power supply.
Bidemi was dejected because he would be going to the top floor of the library to get his phone, as the Library is a four-storey building.
Although, there is an elevator in the library, the elevator does not work. Technicians have tried to bring it (the elevator) back to life but it only jerk out of its slumber, and then return to sleep i.e. it might work for hours then stop working for months and nobody seems concerned about it. Even, students do not see joy in trying it out.
Bidemi wanted to plead with the guy to help him hold his backpack so that he would run to the library quickly, besides taking the bag with him would delay him and that would be stressful since he would still have to go through the procedure of putting his bag in the bag room, go up to take the phone, and showing the content of his bag to the porters or the ‘Abefele’.
Then, he thought otherwise, he would take the bag with him, so he left the guy and started rushing towards the library.
‘Erm…Bros, my phone’, the guy called him back, making Bidemi skid to a halt.
‘Oh!’ Bidemi exclaimed as he hurriedly turn to the guy and gave the phone to the guy. Doing that, he ran off.
‘Bros…’, the guy called again.
Bidemi stopped, held his teeth together, opened his lips, and sipped in air angrily. He gritted his teeth and sucked in some air, exhaling to help him changed his countenance, then he turned to face the guy.
‘Let me help you hold your bag’, the guy said, eyeing Bidemi’s bulky bag. Bidemi’s course mates had always complained about the number of books he brings to school each day, but he had learnt to ignore them and now that he was supposed to suffer the consequence, someone he just met is going to save the day.
‘ Ah! Thank you very much’, Bidemi said, the relief showing in his voice. Normally, he would have refused to give the guy the bag because of what the guy had done in his presence and he believed that anybody that have done something bad would have the capability of doing it again but he just could not go up there with load he was carrying.
He removed the bag from his back and handed it to the guy, and then ran to the library for many reasons.
Firstly, to get his phone before someone gets it since he was not financially bouyant to get a new phone.
Secondly, to collect his bag from the guy, since he did not fully trust him.
Thirdly, so as not to delay the guy, who was kind enough to help him hold his bag.
Bidemi was almost at the door of the library when he remembered he did not pick his black leather wallet, where he used to keep his library card, and without this card, he would not be allowed to enter the library. He felt his pockets to be sure that he was not with his wallet and hissed angrily as jugged down the stairs, his hands folded to warm himself as the wind of the harmattan rushed to hug him.
‘Rubbish’, he muttered on the last stairs. And ran back, not minding the cold air that ran past him, not minding the noise of generator coming from the the back of one of the faculty office.
‘ Abidemi Adeoti’.
A well-known voice called as he got to the roundabout that is between the faculty of arts and its annex, making Bidemi screech to a halt, hissing silently. Closing his eyes, Bidemi slightly shook his head. He would have dared to continue running in pretence that he did not hear the voice but he knew better.
This voice has sent many ladies away from his side, from staring at him, from talking to him: The fear of the owner of this voice was the beginning of wisdom. He was not sure of what she wanted around him at that time, but he hates being around the owner of this voice because she was always the cause his everyday fasting and prayer. The owner so much love him, as she claimed which he called obsession,and the owner of this voice was always erotically dress and would not mind flaunting her semi-nakedness in front of him. In addition, because of the owner’s love for him, all girls had to flee. She love to seat beside him in classes, and no other girl dared try that because of they fear her. The only girl that wanted to do otherwise, because she herself loves him, was raped outside the university the same day.
He would have felt nothing bad about her sitting beside him until two days ago. While they were in class, she brought her hand to his male organ and started rubbing it. He jerked it away angrily, and then he felt a tug at his collar. He looked back to see one of her friends holding a biro-like knife to the back of his neck- indicating he must allow the owner do as she wished. Even, when he looked at owner of the voice’s face, he was dumbfounded to see that her eyes were as black as though smokes from a burning tire were coming out of it.
Her name is Grace. Grace Demola
What does she want?