By Lechi Eke
In an indeterminate state, in the visions of the night with deep yoking unto deep, a horror of darkness enveloped Ulari and she lost knowledge of her surroundings. In that place of limbo and listlessness, an intimacy took place and she knew Benjamin Nguuma, in an unearthly hallowed way. Like water, she took shape in the container of his being, and didn’t feel trapped at all. Although the container changed and took different forms, the liquid continued to adapt. Ulari woke up without hearing the peal of the imam’s early Morning Prayer cry. She was drenched in unfathomable peace.
As she lay supine and still trying to process the visions of the night, she became conscious of someone sitting on her chair by her reading table. Bukky’s mouth said, “Are you seeing J behind me?” And Bisi’s eyes stared reproachfully at her. As she struggled to get up, she awoke and realised that she was having a dream inside a dream, and she heaved a distraught sigh. Her personal space had degenerated to an indeterminate state. A strange hunger seized her. She knew the hunger, it was getting familiar now not being the first time; it was for something carnal, a gnawing craving need for non corporeal chow. One could go without food for a long time, but once hunger pangs hit, they proceed to starvation if unattended, and from there to malnutrition, and finally to kwashiorkor.
She’d not had one conversation with the soldier, yet they’d spoken a thousand words, wordlessly. He was a gentleman with a psychological brute force, and he used it on her ruthlessly. Ulari’s eyes darted rat-like in her head searching for a counsellor, someone with imperfection, not someone clothed with uprightness like Bisi; someone who’d not yell at her, but someone who might laugh her fears away and tell her the way. The VC wasn’t that person, neither was Bro. Francis. The catechist’s wife would have been the one, but how could she explain the complicity of one soldier two friends? Naa!
The neon table clock told her the time was several minutes before 5am. Out of the blue, Ulari remembered her mum’s aversion to people of other tongues. She whispered to herself. “He probably isn’t coming for anything serious than to quench his physical thirst.” Instantly, that filled her with gloom. Her unhappiness metamorphosed to anger. She swung her legs off her bed and sat up. They would be seeing him that night. He had ordered a yellow cab, something nondescript to ferry them to Sheraton. Ulari decided that at the tiniest opportunity she would get, she would look into his eyes and tell him off because she was no novice to the games men play. At home, because of the family tragedy, they’d been well drilled about the games men play.
But what if he came for till death do us part? Is she ready? Ulari demurred. She was far from being ready to play Chioma, her sister, sitting at home writing housekeeping rosters and doing house chores from dawn to dusk. She shuddered. Whenever marriage would be, they would sit down and draw up prenuptials. Nonetheless a thought pricked her heart – prenuptials are possible when people marry in their right senses. The problem is that many marry under the influence of … She was afraid to name it.
Ulari’s sleeping gown was white and not very transparent. Gradually, she’d begun to take solid steps to wean herself off girly behaviours – no more pink for her. She came to the university to acquire an education with good grades which would get her a good job. Although she sang like an angel, her ultimate goal was to build a school of music and give opportunity to naturally gifted people with needs to hone their skills without the trappings of GCE and JAMB. Marriage? Oh, she intended to get married, maybe in her late 30s or 40s, when she’d gotten the school going. Her sisters who married after university education were sitting at home thoroughly domesticated and non-achieving, except for her eldest. She would break the jinx!
For now, Ulari sought to face her studies starting from that moment. She had thought about it all day the previous day, and part of the night until she slipped into Sleepville. Her studies and mending her friendship with Bukky and Bisi would take priority. Already her GPA stood precariously where her present semester grades would determine if she would pass out with a second class upper or lower! Her mother and her eldest sister’s countenances had soured at her educational standing, but her father, because of what he had suffered as a racially mixed child growing up in the eastern part of Nigeria at an era when there were no such children because there were no such marriages producing such people, always understood struggles. Her father was a marginalised child: he had no father, and his colour was against him. This perhaps made her father a very understanding man. He was never hard on anyone despite the fact that her mum heaped lots of promises of punishments on his name to make them behave well.
Unfortunately, despite her definite decision to deal with Benjamin, things went awry. That was the night Pastor Marfi and his wife joined them for dinner at Sheraton and Towers’ Italian Restaurant, and they drank lots of pomegranate juice and the pregnant Mrs Marfi pleaded to go and pee in J’s flat at the Ikeja Cantonment as it was on their way back to school. J was glad saying that they would use the opportunity to see his pad. Ulari listened to the one-sided conversation from Mrs Marfi’s phone as she rode with the Marfis and Bisi and Bukky with J.
Ulari needed to take a leak too, and J showed her the place and waited by the door without her knowing it. Opening the door and seeing him standing there was all she could remember. She couldn’t recollect what happened next. Did she walk into his arms, or did he move forward to take her in his arms? All she knew was that she was in his arms with her full consent. She didn’t feel ravished when he covered her mouth with his as she raised her face to his. And that was her first kiss ever, and it broke the dam! She actually returned to the bathroom to weep, but it wasn’t out of distress. It felt like heaven on earth. However, she remained in the bathroom weeping until there was a soft knock on the door, and Mrs Marfi’s voice said they were ready to leave.
Ulari had no idea who saw them kissing, or if they were seen at all. Hitherto, ignorant of what a little kiss could do, Ulari floated on a cloud. It felt like she’d known Benjamin all her life, as if he were family! All her problems metamorphosed into their problems. It was on a Friday they went out for dinner, on Sunday, after church service, the catechist’s nine year old daughter ran to her and hugged her waist so tightly and refused to let go. When Ulari extricated her long thin arms from her body, she said, “Auntie, I thought you’ll not be coming to church. I didn’t see you on Saturday.”
“Yes, I had a tutorial.”
“No, not that.”
“Why?” Ulari asked laughing. They sang together in the choir and Ulari allowed her to sing her parts with her to encourage her.
“I heard Uncle Francis telling Daddy that Auntie Bisi said you’ve gone to a place of no return.”
The three friends stood speechless in shock. When Bisi couldn’t meet Ulari’s eye, Ulari realised what happened. She felt cold. But even if Bisi saw them, how could she tell Bro. Francis, and how could he tell the catechist?
“Auntie, where is a place of no return?”
“It’s a place of death,” Bukky said with a laugh.
“Go, your mum is looking for you!” Bisi said sternly to the little girl and turned and started walking towards the hostel.
That was the day the three tall girls lost their friendship. But the loss of friendship did not happen until the loss of senses. Ulari was the one who lost her senses. That Friday night things that were not honourable happened. First Mrs Marfi called her and then, she announced that Bisi and Bukky would ride with them to see a wonderful movie they had been discussing in J’s pad. The movie was in their car, and said Ulari could ride with J because it wouldn’t be nice for J to drive alone. No one could meet anyone’s eye. Mrs Marfi’s explanation was so ignoble, yet no one had power to counter it. They marched mechanically to the different cars and Ulari knew how people die of heart attack: their hearts pound hard, fast and loud, and then stop!
J, triumphantly drove like a super hero, all the way from Ikeja Cantonment to the University of Lagos, with one hand! With the other hand he held her hand and for a long time, there was no need for words.
Culled from The Girls Are not to Blame by Lechi Eke
