By Lechi Eke
Lonesomeness stripped Ulari naked. She didn’t know when it crept in on her having been livid and mortified all week. Without her friends she felt unclothed. Each of them had held out after that terrible Sunday that the catechist’s nine year old daughter repeated what Bro. Francis told her father. Guilt raised a hasty wall separating them. That Sunday, courage failed Ulari to query Bisi over what the little girl said. She kept quiet, and Bisi kept quiet; only Bukky tried to make small talks. They trudged in silence almost all the way from The Chapel to their hostel which for bodily exercise, they routinely did. Nevertheless, it was undeniable that something was broken: it hung limp in the air as they trudged on.
A whole week passed without them communicating. Ulari suffered most being unskilled in the art of socialising. Bisi had a large following; she was the sisters’ leader in ACCF so they swam around her. Bukky was the campus sweetheart; her father was the Anglican Communion archbishop of Lagos Diocese. Everyone seemed to know her, and chatting came easily to her. Ulari began to leave very early to class and stayed at the lecture block almost all day making out that she was busy, which she should, after all, it was final year and she had excess workload. Yet they all had each other’s Time Table and could adjust to hang out together as they used to do, but no one did.
After a couple of days, Ulari gave up trying, and all the anger dissipated. She began to look for a way to make up with her friends. An opportunity presented itself when they had the ACCF Sisters’ Meeting. There was no way to walk away at the end of such a meeting without raising eyebrows. Bukky made the first move while Bisi stood afar off pretending to be busy counselling sisters. Of the three, Bukky was of the purest heart; blessed with childish simplicity. Not that any of them had an evil heart, but Bisi being leader was always spiritually correct and firm, and Ulari often considered herself a little nincompoop for she was socially green, and from the east! She believed that she was less sharp-witted and sophisticated than the western girls.
They made up that day as Ulari offered to buy suya and Coke for everyone at the Quick Service Shop (QSS). There was no mention of J that day, or in the days following. Nonetheless, J had come to stay. They now spoke often on the phone. He gifted her with a handset insisting against Ulari’s refusal that it was more private than going to the Porter’s Lodge to receive his calls since her handset was bad. He explained that not only would it enable them to talk regularly, but it would reduce the need to see each other, and therefore the risk of coition (Ulari added privately). She had put down her feet firmly against having his valet, or his major domo as he designated him, bring her food all the time. So he gifted her with a big brown envelop filled with food vouchers making her heart a hodgepodge of happiness and anxiety being fully aware of what gifts from guys to babes portend.
She felt alone in her academic woes, but would not share them with her friends even as a prayer point mainly because of their broken fellowship. Bisi seemed to have forgiven her with that kind of forgiveness that ripples with negative vibes. Her feelers dictated Bisi’s hesitancy, a slight cold disinclination to chat freely with her. Long seconds after Ulari spoke to her she would come to and exclaim, “Enhe, you were saying something, nne?” It rang so false: Bisi trying to relate to her in an Igbo manner?
Ulari felt uncomfortable. By the process of deduction, she’d found out that Bukky had no wind of the kiss for she had faulted Bisi’s frostiness on the fact that Ulari rode with J pointing out to Ulari how difficult their friend who she referred to as ‘madam’ when she was displeased with her, was, and that was often. She told Ulari how J was a perfect gentleman and never made passes at her. “So be sure it’s because you rode with him back to Lag, that’s how you’ve broken the 10 Commandments for madam.”
“But it was Mrs Marfi who asked me to ride with him, J didn’t ask.” Ulari tried to save her face. Usually she wouldn’t say anything about such unspoken accusation. She would have shrugged, but she needed her friends while she wondered how the issue would resolve itself.
“Don’t look so worried,” Bukky consoled her patting her shoulders. “You know Bisi, if that girl doesn’t die of frostiness, eh? She would live forever.” She spurted with laughter. That’s Bukky, she found humour in the most awkward things. Ulari couldn’t smile. A sense of foreboding had seized her. She believed she had failed in life: academically, in the unwritten law of friendship, even in obeying family admonitions – she willingly kissed a guy, a friend’s friend! Now, she was in a situation with the guy.
She and J had not labelled it, and they had not discussed destination, boundaries and modalities. At the moment, they exchanged phone calls and caring questions like, ‘How was your day? Are you okay? What did you do today? Did you miss me? Have you eaten? Is there anything you want? When am I going to see you?’ Ulari often wondered what they would do when they see each other, talk some more? Hold hands? Exchange more kisses? Shudders would run down her spine with these thoughts, yet she craved to see him, actually craved to see him like pica!
It was the 21st century, and things were flexible. 21st century young adults understand that not all relationships end in marriage. There is open-mindedness about relationships in the 21st century, a far cry from the primal naivety of Ulari’s parents’ and grandparents’ era. But then, would the guy eventually marry someone? If yes, who? And, what’s the fate of the former partner – move on to a new partner, and to a new partner, until you cease to be desirable? (Ulari’s heart shook with fright). Who do people settle down with? But if they had to wait a little bit, what would they, especially the guy do about sex? Sex is a major issue with guys, Ulari heard. Her mind tried to process that.
Her father was born out of wedlock. In their time, it was such a shameful thing. Even in today’s Africa, it is still scandalous. So sex out of wedlock mustn’t happen again in the family. This had been drummed into them. So they hurried them off to get married. As she sat at QSS with her friends, her mind began to X-ray how relevant 20th century admonitions were in the 21st century with all the solutions available. Her rumination narrowed the options to choice – what does she want in life? Prestige? Honour? Fulfilment? Heartache? Ignominy?
QSS had become a favourite hangout for them since no one wanted to be in anyone’s room. Sitting at QSS another evening after lectures, sharing their orders of suya and Coke under the almond trees with the interlocking branches like thick umbrellas providing shade for the iron benches and tables for customers, Ulari watched the weak sun engage the pale purple sky in its last battle for supremacy for the day. Conversations swirl around them as customers mainly in turtlenecks and jackets fortified against the meteorological harshness of the late harmattan in Lagos, sat at different tables chatting excitedly. Big bodied ants scavenged for food crumbs on the ground causing them to stamp their feet every now and then. Curiously, she and her friends had nothing to talk about! They, looking picture perfect and flaunting enviable youthfulness glowing with moisturizers and lip gloss, fortified also against the dry dusty and chilly breezes had all eyes trained on them as glamour-pusses. But forlorn Ulari searched the firmament for life’s meaning: she had burdens.
Bukky tried to dismantle the strain of broken fellowship weighing heavily on them by raising the issue of their project topics. Bisi jumped at it. She began to share her decision to battle the issue of love as depicted in D.H. Lawrence’s Sons and Lovers using Paul, Miriam and Clara as case study. Ulari raised her guard. She thought she knew what Bisi was up to. She often used allusions to ‘speak in love’.
It baffled Ulari how they got to where they were at the moment: splayed out in opinions, and how it suddenly turned out that she was the bad person, the one whom her friends had to use innuendos and allusions to correct! Early years in school, all three of them were of the same opinion on many things, often discussing how marriage was reprehensible to women’s lofty ambitions, how it retarded women’s ambitions. When her friends discarded that stand, she knew not. Actually, Bukky used to say that married life was boring, and that no 21st century girl should be boxed into its mode. So, kissing a guy was it not in line with the catechist’s wife’s admonition to play along with guys since they were nuptial ripe?
Not being a great talker, Ulari seldom started conversations or made much contribution for she knew very little of many things. All she knew much about was music: she loved music. She took after her mum. Her mother loved music; she danced to music and spent hours listening to music. When she was younger, she sang in the choir. Ulari had been singing in the choir since she was in her mother’s womb! Her family knew she loved music and wanted a career in it, but what they knew not was that she had placed that career above marriage. They had no idea that making music is not in tandem with marriage. Music career goes with long hours at studios, and wives are supposed to be home cooking and cleaning!
What had changed with her friends, and when it did, Ulari knew not. She wondered why love fascinated Bisi so much when she rarely expressed it. She was the most rigid person she knew and couldn’t help nursing the terrible thought that that could be why her father left her mother!
Ulari covered her mouth at the thought, afraid it might escape because the girl was making her quite angry with her overt righteous behaviour. Soon after, her heart softened towards her friend when she remembered that before Benjamin, she had never fancied a guy in her life. Bisi might mellow down when she found love. Love is the leveler, Ulari mused. But as Bisi continued to expatiate on her potential topic, Ulari confirmed her suspicion that her friend targeted her with the aim to expose the wrong intents of sensuous love. She wondered when Bisi arrived at the choice of that topic, was it after or before she caught her kissing J? ‘Judging Love,’ Ulari decided, would be an apt title for Bisi’s project.
“What they call great Literature is a query of the natural things, a query of the normal way of doing things. Crazy men question good things, refusing to conform, choosing to be radical, and the world adjudged them great. But such men ruin themselves – note Nietzsche! Note also Paul Morel – D.H Lawrence limns him as gradually losing it. What’s the gain of a woman saying I’d not be married because I’ll not conform to societal standard?” Bisi fired a shot that went straight to Ulari’s heart.
Ulari filled her mouth with suya and concentrated on chewing the roast. She could not see the connection in Bisi’s tirade. Her guard went up higher. She never said she would not get married but she despised what that institution turns women into. Nonetheless she let it slide. But Bisi would not let go. She continued saying that people who would not get married would fall into sexual sin and destroy homes.
“When they grow older, without a steady partner, they would engage other women’s husbands and distract them from their families. It would be a most wicked thing, distracting married men from their families, and it starts from when people are young.” With melancholic eyes Bisi fired darts at Ulari. Red flags sprouted everywhere – it starts from when people are young?
Ulari discounted a hideous thought with herculean strength and steered the discussion back to Literature. She said she preferred Nigerian authors: she loved Ola Rotimi, used a dictionary to read Soyinka; had read Mabel Segun’s My Father’s Daughter to tatters – she refused to buy Bisi’s market, she was courting trouble. Bukky lightened the air further.
“D.H. Lawrence is heavy stuff for me. I’d rather read The Boy Slave or The Return of Shettima for love stories.”
“Junior stuff!” Bisi snorted.
Bukky did not take offence although she and Bisi shared a cat and dog relationship. Ulari watched her impale a piece of suya with a wooden toothpick and dragged it to her mouth. She chewed in a thoughtful way that told Ulari that she had more to say.
“I’ve been gathering materials on the evolution of things in the 21st century with special emphasis on the internet,” said Bukky the Economics major.
“The internet? Isn’t it a late 20th century invention?” asked Bisi. Bukky ignored her and busied herself flipping through one of her notebooks to read out some words she had written down. She began to read.
“Netizen: coined from two words net and citizen meaning one that spends too much time on the internet; net-phone means a phone that uses the internet to make connections and carry voice messages; netsurfing; net-speak; net-head etc. If you want to know their meanings, buy me more suya,” she finished laughing. “I have approval from my supervisor to write on them.”
“You should have chosen a topic that deals with social situations like food scarcity.” Ulari’s voice was hesitant because she sought a particular word.
“Food insecurity, you mean? (Ulari nodded) It’s been over analysed. The Department said we should look for something fresh,” Bukky said.
Ulari had not chosen a topic. She had been minded to do a research on the songs and dances of selected Nigerian tribes during special festivals like the Argungun Fish Festival in Kebbi state and the New Yam Festival in Igbo land, and others. In a chat with her HOD the week before on a tentative project topic, she had discussed African Music: Role and Influence. She shared with the music don how music could be used to boost the economy by attracting tourists and bringing investors who are interested in economic investments and not politics. High skill Diaspora collaborations with local African talents could yield FOREX profits, she pointed out quoting Price Waterhouse Coopers’ prediction that in the fiscal year they were in, that Music alone could bring into the economy 13% profit of the total GDP translating into over $73 million in that fiscal year. She saw worship in her HOD’s eyes. Or should she title it Profitability of Music in Black Africa?
The state of her GPA tied her tongue. She doubted if she would pass out at all. When her friends waited and she shared not her plans, they left her alone. Then, Bisi, looking her way reverted to her trouble-shooting topic.
“I will examine the consequences of sensuous love in my project because sisters are getting weak in the knees as brothers on heat are running around dishing out proposals to weaken sisters’ resolve not to date. And silly little girls with dreamy looks in their eyes are falling into sin already… these are the evils besetting sisters today, and I’m in a position to tell you. You know Paul Morel says to this girl, um um, what’s her name that always wants Paul to kiss her…?
Ulari had read the novel and knew who she meant, but refused to help her. She had not heard of any proposals. It was obvious that Bisi was sounding her out. She began to consider what to do about their friendship for her mental well-being before Bisi would hound her to death. But what about Bukky when she would eventually find out about J? She heaved a sigh, and her eyes returned to the firmament flitting to the distant past to unearth life’s meaning: her paternal grandmother’s mistake; her father’s hard childhood; her mother’s stranded state as a stay-at-home wife, which Chioma, her sister, was reliving at the moment, and a whole lot of women held captive by love!
“You see relationships, eh?” Ulari said suddenly, “they put women in trouble, and marriage enslaves them. Every woman needs to find her personality before she delves into them.”
“Hypocrite!” Bisi’s eyes flashed her. “No wonder you don’t want anything to do with boys,” Bisi said spitefully. Ulari gulped down her Coke and stood up. “I thought it was for Jesus, to be chaste for Him.” Her words were the bitterest words Ulari had ever heard. Bukky got up too, but bent and gathered leftover suya before slinging her bag over her shoulders. It took Bisi a moment to get up; but her two friends were already on their way!
Culled from The Girls Are Not To Blame by Lechi Eke