“So 2013 has come and gone, thank God!“, I said to myself as I sat on my bed, staring at the pen and the diary lying in front of me, thinking about my resolutions for the new year.
I’m trying to ignore the chants of ‘sare wagba‘!
‘Sare wagba‘ – that resonate at the back of my head.
I pick up the pen,and write!
1. Lose 10KG
I conveniently forget the fact that I’ve been writing ‘lose 10kg’ for over five years and the only losing I did was losing my 45kg body and gaining about a 20 kg bigger one.
Oh well, I console myself – I’ll get it right this year, I will, and I pick up a handful of malteasers and start munching.
2. Save More Money This Year
Ugh! Ok ok. So, bye-bye comfort shopping and retail shopping therapy.
I like to think I’m quite thrifty.
I mean,a thrifty woman = economical wife = happy man (all in my head). But really, there’s nothing like just plugging on your laptop and doing some serious retail shopping for the occasional blues.
Buying stuff makes me happy; shoes, clothes, books (that I’d probably never open). Or maybe its actually spending money that makes me happy, which is exactly why I cannot, can absolutely not marry a guy who can’t make ten times whatever I spend.
Which brings me to my third new year resolution…
3. I refuse to be a SARE WAGBA this year
Now, this one ehn, its complicated.
Its not like I was a sarewagba before o. Well, it’s actually more of being a sarewagba without actually knowing it.
But you can’t blame a sister…
I thought I was in love,and I probably was.
The problem was just my love was in a ‘one way lane’. That kain tin!
You see, it all started on the bus to Oshodi-Isale, Lagos, where I entered one chance, literally.
I frowned, adjusting the strap of my purse.
“This sun can dry breast milk ke“, I thought tiredly, as I mopped my brows with the already soaked handkerchief squeezed in my hand.
Sweat trickled down my thighs, and I groaned inwardly, itching to take my handkerchief to that offending stream of sweat. But then, I thought of the image I’d make,standing bent over my knees, skirt bunched around my waist and patting my thighs dry in the middle of Lagos.
I cringed and surreptitiously pulled my skirt between my thighs and rubbed them dry.
“This bus should come fast, joor“, I cursed within my breath. I glanced at the other people standing at the side of the road with me, waiting for a bus. This was the fastest way to get a bus in Lagos without having to walk to the car park first and waiting for the bus to get filled with passengers before moving. Standing by the road upped the chances of getting an already filled bus with just one or two seats empty. The trick is to outrun and out struggle other potential passengers and hop onto the bus…while it’s still moving!
As I scanned around sizing up my potential competitors, I felt another stream of sweat down my chest, right between my cleavage. Exasperated, I put my hand down the front of my collared shirt and patted, all the while muttering and annoyed.
My hand froze inside my shirt as I heard a low chuckle, “Fine geh, shey make I come help you ni?”
I calmly removed my hand and sent a look with daggers to the dirty old man grinning his blackened teeth at me with a leer. I was still thinking about a suitable reply or no reply at all when…
“Oshodi-isale!! Oshodi-isale!! One chance! Enter with your seventy naira shengi o!..I don teh una!No shengi o“, I barely heard the conductor’s hoarse voice as I bounded towards the slightly slowed moving vehicle.
There were six of us trying to get into the bus, and through all the scratching and shoving, I miraculously got in. No one paid particular attention,it was a familiar scene,already. I mentally patted myself on the back for a job well done.
After minutes of sitting in silence, squeezed against bodies whose faces I didn’t care to note in particular I felt a vibration on the seat. I glanced from the lady sitting at my left – with bags piled up high her knees and a hardened look on her face to the fellow at the right of me, seated at the coveted window seat.
I say fellow because dude had his face turned away from me, he was probably dozing.
I scoffed, “this one doesn’t know Lagos at all, his head will be good for ritual”.
I felt the vibration again, and realized it had to be someone’s phone. Instantly, I pulled at my purse strap to reach my purse…
Only strap, no purse!
Realizing that my purse had to be somewhere among the cluster of bodies, I tugged at the strap and noticed it led to under Mr ‘Head for sale’s’ thigh…err …way upper thigh.
The man was asleep, with my phone vibrating under him. I had an option of tapping him up and taking my purse or just yanking the purse from under him.
The second option sounded more alluring till I remembered that I spent some almost 16k for this little Vera Wang…yank ke, lai lai!
I tapped him softly, trying to be civil and not be a total lagos babe.
“Err..Mister,You are on my purse.”
I hissed under my breath. Lagos bitch mode on –
“Oga,abeg shift na. My purse dey under your yansh na!”
The lady on the left glanced at me and shifted away slightly. I snorted and tapped him harder.
And I forgot to breathe…
See, I’m not going to start talking about butterflies, rainbows, thunder and all that shit – but at that point, the only thing that crossed my mind was “This dude is the shit!”
He wasn’t fair or dark, he just had one of those really clean light chocolate skins, with tiny eyes that were squinted from sleep – very black eyes, topped with eyebrows that arched on and on.
His lips were slightly parted in confusion, those lips, they reinforced my believe in God – those lips looked like heaven.
I didn’t have time to check the rest of the goods.
I frowned and quickly arranged myself,switching into my posh mode.
“Errm…” clears throat “I’m sorry I’ve goh to bother you.”
Tries to cross legs like a lady,but I miscalculate, kicking a bag off ‘Madam Hardened’ knees. I quickly apologized and continued talking to the Adonis beside me.
“Errm… Buh, you’ve got my purse kinda trapped right under you.”
I tried to ignore the fact that I was still sweating like thawed turkey and would have probably looked like a wild woman, if not for these snug office shirt and skirt with my black ‘maryjane’ work shoes.
Mr ‘Head for sale’ ,ermm, sorry, Mr ‘Hot and Sellable’ blinked a few times in confusion, those long eyelashes ehn, chai, and then he muttered softly, a little embarrassed smile playing on his lips as he shifted a little and pulled out my purse.
“I’m sorry, I must have dozed. Long day!”
I just swallowed, nodded and collected my purse and hoped to God he’d collect my number, somehow!
To be continued…
…writing is beyond mere ideas, proudly instincts!