I was a church boy because I sought answers in the church but, I didn’t get all of it. At least, the ones I wanted. Like why I wasn't the best in spite of my efforts. Like why God didn't seem to be with me anymore. Like why I felt so much sadness each time I tried to study. A lot of questions remained. A lot, unanswered.
There was only a little relief when I joined nwokike literary club and met Gold, Uzo, Mezie, Jennifer, Kenneth, Ebube, Ifeanyi and the others. Kindred spirits.
I felt at home with them, sharing poems and stories, spending some evenings with Gold Odenigbo, talking about life, drinking coke at Jọpa with her, trying to find out why Gold’s eyes always twinkled, like stars.
But, a lot questions remained. We don't get all the answers we seek.
I left the hostel and went to join my guy in town. A new Lodge had been built on a hill, and 'it is cool for study,' my guy had said.
I got a room, close to my friend's, and we started having some good time, playing Playstation, watching the premier League, talking about girls. And, I took my first bottle of beer . It made me feel woozy, not thinking clearly. Still, I kept asking questions.
My guy saw the questions in my eyes, one day at the bar, while we watched a champions League game between Inter Milan and Barcelona, and he tried to help.
He advised me to go against fathers Diego’s teaching, and find a girlfriend because, “that is the only way to find meaning and development as a man,” and I obliged.
He was my good friend from primary school and he always told me the truth. But, that was not really why I had obliged. I'd obliged because, I was really falling for someone.
And being an idealist, I could only go for that someone whom I loved. You already know her name.
So, I approached her and asked her out.
Under the moonlight, along a very cool spot, as we took a walk, close to the stadium. I held her hands and said to her "I want you to let me give you all the love you need, I want you to be my girlfriend. Let me be your guy."
My eyes were fixed on hers. That was what my guy had said I should do.
"Do it like a real man," he had advised, the night before. "Look into her eyes, hold her hands and if possible, kiss her."
And I did exactly those. Except kiss her because of the way she'd reacted to those 'passionate' words of mine. A weird sort of way.
She'd quietly pulled her hands away, suddenly looking sad, her fair skin turning red in patches, immediately I finished speaking those emotional words.
"I don't know," she'd said. "I don't know," she'd looked away. And in her cheeks, I couldn’t see the dimples no more.
I tried to get her to explain more, days later but, she wouldn't explain. She kept saying “I don’t know, Emeka.”
She, shaa, didn’t finally give me a definite answer, as our friendship continued, nonetheless, and we still spent time together, still walked down the road in the evenings, still discussed her studies and talked about our families and I still felt giddy whenever she called until, months later, when she finally turned me down.
Same spot, same evening time, same full moon-lit night, full of brilliant stars.
She held my hands and said, "find someone else, Emeka. I do not feel what you feel." She wasn't looking into my eyes; she was rather staring into the empty distance. An empty, empty distance.
Those words were a thousand swords, through my heart. I tried to hold her but, she moved away.
Something like an eternity passed without any words between us.
Suddenly, I knew, I would always hate moonlight and that spot in UNEC. I knew I would always hate holding hands.
My walk home; I had to walk because I didn’t know what I was doing anymore, was exactly like that of Peter, when he realised he had denied Jesus. Lonely. Long. Heavy. A sad walk home.
Then, I cried. So much. Although, inside my dimly lit damp room on the hill, facing Imoke hostel. My cold and stuffy room whose floor was always covered with old TIME, ECONOMIST and NEWSWEEK journals, which I read more than I read my Medical texts.
Enrique Iglesias 'maybe,' always played in the background as I cried, for several days. Days that passed so slowly, giving birth to nights that were too long. I suddenly found myself Googling 'insomnia,' in my Nokia express music.
Days ran into weeks. Weeks ran into months, and I began to change.
I didn't know it but, I began to change, goaded on by my guy, who started blaming me for my loss. "You lost her because you are a juuu man," he barked, angrily. Always.
"Girls like it when a guy is a bad boy, a ‘De Angelo,’ ‘A Tank Turner,’" he said, always stopping my Enrique Iglesias and Enya sad songs, replacing them with Culture and Peter Tosh.
"You have to man up and listen to reggae, guy. Find a better girl and forget about that your so called, Ogoo. Start having sex, relate with women, understand them or you'll forever be a juuu man, a loser."
I always listened, like a child, envying my guy’s authority and confidence. He had a girlfriend and was always emotionally stable. He was everything I aspired to be. He gave me some websites to visit and read about ‘how to get any girl you want.’
I read and read and read.
Yet, I couldn't just forget Ogoo, in spite of every indications pointing that I quit. I couldn't just forget her face, her smile, her laugher, which made her throw her head backward, her dimples. I couldn't just forget her voice, her eyes and everything about her because that love was just too overwhelming.
To make matters worse, I always saw her, each time I went to the teaching hospital. Her white gown fitted her so much and I always noticed her fine figure. Pink lips. Hair which always overflowed. Skin, smooth and, the colour of milk. Laughter that sounded like birdsong.
Food began to nauseate me. The days became dark. School became irritating. Liverpool was always losing, since the sale of Alonso. No light in the horizon.
I began to rebel against my morals. Against God. I began to lose my religion.
I started talking to other girls, gradually becoming polygamous.
I met the dark black Beauty whom I'd come to also love so much; whom, after that rainy day, I’d ask to visit and I’d kiss- my first kiss, a long and desperate sucking of lips and teeth and, licking of tongues, starting from a standing posture and ending on the matrass- an event which would leave me feeling so guilty because I felt I was corrupting her; she was so innocent, so open and lovable.
Then one day, Ogoo called me. She called and called but, I couldn’t pick. I'd been too shocked to pick up the phone. Then, she sent a text “please, come and see me, I need you, Emeka. I need you. I'm not feeling too happy."
I was dumbfounded. As much as I was thrilled. But, I was so glad that she needed me.
So, off I went. Dressed in my favorite stripped shirt and jeans. I ran to Ogbete and took a bus from old Park to Obiagu. Then another one from Obiagu to UNEC gate. Not minding the brutally dark clouds and imminent rain. And a violent storm that plucked branches of trees and smashed them on the tarmac.
Then, I took a cab to Ibiam hostel, hustling to go save her, to be to her, the hero. I was so keen to be her night in shinny armour. She was the great love of my soul.
But, I ended up in front of Ibiam, only to wait. I waited and waited; called and called but, she kept ‘cutting my calls.’ Until it began to rain.
I thought of going somewhere for shelter but, the kiosks were closed and Ibiamites wouldn't let me in because they were having some official elections.
So, the rain beat me, fell on me. And somehow I let it beat me because, something in me wanted her to see me drenched, all because of her, all because of my love for her. That something wanted her to see it- the love, in its palpable form. Smh! My naivety was stinking.
The water droplets fell in slants and the lightning was fierce, just like the roaring thunder and wind, that threw fast water droplets on my face. But, I stood my ground, forlorn, under the mango tree. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Watching the little bits of wood and leaves fall under the weight of rain.
Then, they came.
They looked dapper in their blue 'end of discussion' and perfectly cut suits. Three handsome men, in a wealthy sort of way. The rain couldn’t stop the fragrance from them, filling my nostrils. Soft fragrance that one knew must have come from expensive perfumes.
They pulled over, just close to the mango tree, under which I took a flimsy shelter. They waited and in five minutes, Ogochukwu came walking close to us.
Heck! I even smiled for a few minutes, thinking she was coming to me, until she walked past me and straight into the arms of the tallest one, with healthy looking beards, who took the umbrella from her, and opened the car door for her.
I wiped the rain from my face and my shirt suddenly, felt too tight. I felt like going to pull her back and punch that guy and burn his car. But, I was raised to be wise enough to know when to let go.
And so, I stood and watched as they drove off.
Their tires spurn in the mud and splashed some muddy rain water all over the place and, on me. I tasted some grains of sand.
***
The rain had reduced to a flimsy drizzle but, I could still feel the pounding on my skin. Soon my teeth would begin to clatter against one another and my tears would mix with the rain.
I watched them drive away, until the lights of the car became tiny red dots in the rain and haze. I watched until, a branch fell from the tree, almost hitting me. Then, I had to go. I knew I had to go if I were to survive the rain.
***
By Nnaemeka Ugwu.
To be continued.
