It was the campaign season. It was the wooing season. It was the season of formless promises.
By Napoleon Esemudje
“I will buy you the biggest car.” He said with both hands gesturing at the formless shape of the object of his promise.
She turned her face away and then back towards him. She was weary but also a little curious, and tempted. The latter she didn’t want to admit to herself. But she remembered she had heard promises like this from his type before. They’ve mostly come to naught. Could his be different?
“What colour do you like? Red? Orange, Yellow? Blue? Purple? Just tell me and it’s yours.” His eyes shone and he licked his lips in anticipation of her response. He could tell she was anxious. He wished she was desperate. He liked them more when they were desperate.
“I don’t know”. She replied half-heartedly. “That’s what all you men say. I’m just getting out of a long relationship. That man was just like you. He walked like you and talked like you. He also promised to do much more than you but all he gave me after all these years, were excuses and a broken heart.”
READ ALSO: To love a country
“No…No… No! Don’t compare me to that man. We’re different persons. Me, I’m just like your brother. We are even from the same place. You’re my special person. Let me assure you, I will do more than all the men you met before and even those you’ve not met. Don’t you know who I am? Ask around this town, they will tell you that I am the man that made rain fall. I am the rainmaker!”
She rolled her eyes and smiled. He was so sure of himself. She would give him that. But she said nothing. Her gaze was fixed on a muddle of graffiti behind him. She could just make out the words “NEVER AGAIN” in large red font. He was watching her expressions intently, like a predator stalking his prey. Her smile was a good sign. A crack in her defence perhaps. He pressed on.
“In addition to the car, I will build a mansion for you too. I will also rebuild your father’s house. I’ll make sure that you never have to worry about anything ever again. Just say yes.”
“I can’t.” She replied. “I don’t want to make the mistake I made the last time.”
“Just forget what happened that time. You can’t live in the past. You have to move on. See, my SUV is packed over there. Come with me and I’ll tell you more of all the things I can do for you. Trust me!”
She cast him a suspicious, sidelong glance and wondered if she could really trust him.
“I just want a man who is caring and loyal to me. One who won’t abuse me with his strength and power.”
“I can do that. Yes. I can do all that and more!”
“Are you sure you can?
“Yes! I will not abuse my power for you. I promise! Don’t worry about anything!” He was getting edgy, surprised at her resistance.
She sighed and shook her head. Her shoes screeched against the cracked pavement as she turned quickly away from him and ran towards the stopping bus. She glanced back through the window as she sat down. For a moment, she couldn’t see him amidst the gathering crowd. Then just before the bus pulled away, she saw him. He was talking to another lady, his arms moving animatedly as he described, perhaps, another promise. She opened her bag and took out her phone. The election date popped up on her screen. She smiled. It was the campaign season. It was the wooing season. It was the season of formless promises.
- Napoleon Esemudje, a Chevening Scholar, is a versatile poet, storyteller, playwright, essayist, banker, management and human resources aficionado