Chinedu Ogoke - Under Fire

Finally, Mickey fell in with two flighty students. The trio slid into the path of two female students at the south eastern division of the hall, then hand shakes followed.

Imoni himself got involved in the usual fresh season re-acquaintance. A wave here, fascinating remarks there, and all smiles. Buki and her friend waved. He sent a wave. Innocent linked hands, and hugged a tall girl with straight, peacock tail. “Imo,” he said, “meet Anita.”

“Hello, Anita. Anita Baker?” Imoni stretched a hand.

Anita shook it. “Simply Anita.”

“Aren’t we matched properly?” Innocent still held the girl.

“By eve,” Imoni was smiling. “I was wondering if you were twins. This is the perfect match. You both share the same star?”

“It’s flattery,” Anita said. “Come, Cent, you’ve set me up against one of these your friends with sugar-coated lips.”

“You don’t know this guy?” Innocent asked.

“Do I?”

“Why not? This is Imoni Waltz.”

Anita drew back her springy head “Ouh. He is a gem.” Anita was even being taken away by another girl. She freed herself from the girl and came back. “You know what?” She looked at Imoni. “What ever they call you. Tell your friend he’s wasting his time around me. I’m a no-go area to casanovas.” She pulled away.

Both Imoni and Innocent were laughing. They started for the south western door. Students’ affairs meanwhile slowed Dr. Maxwell’s departure. Outside, Salaudeen was seated smoothly in his Mercedes Benz 560. Filling the passenger’s seat was the still-disturbed Medinatu. Two other girls politely kept the background. Saminu, the son of Major General Dambiyu Anka, spoke with the horn of his Honda Acura Legend. Salaudeen replied. Soon, Dr. Maxwell’s old car was turning away, with Medinatu’s angry hands moving quickly in his direction, he who inflicted her so much hurt. The other girls probably tried some cajolery. The Mercedes Benz car later got away. “These children are really spoilt,” Innocent observed.

“So you know?” Imoni asked.

“Of course. But one can’t help relating with them.”

They went to a tree-lined inconspicuous place and sat down. “That was some pasting,” Imoni said. “You know these campus magazines won’t spare Salaudeen for this.”

“Salaudeen isn’t a kid. He’ll go ask them to name their price.”

“The corrupt press we have here. Well you’re right.”

They sat quietly under a tree, appreciating the activities around. What appealed to Imoni here was girl-watching. It was one spot in the world, the claim went, without contention, with a splendid window of the most amazing colony of beautiful girls. Most of them with screaming attires, and in some cases, with beauty so superfluous to a disadvantage. Among them were parti-coloured punks, and the unsophisticated Islamic sisters and the S.U. sisters, with costume codes not permitting indecent definitions. Both Imoni and Innocent waved back to Naomi, a course mate and born-again sister. Imoni shook Innocent’s concentration to a girl clothed in an outrageous body-advertising jeans trousers and polo sweater. “Wao,” Innocent scratched his head. “Isn’t that the sexual harassment people talk about? And she’s carrying books. To a lecture like this?”

“This is no good,” Imoni said. “Let’s get out of this place before these girls harm us.”

“So they’re succeeding after all.”

“You’ve seen it.”

“Hey, Cent,” somebody called from behind.

Innocent turned. “Azu. Azu, momen man.”

They stood up to meet him. “I’ve been searching for you,” Azu said. “It’s like I spotted you from as far as the library, but you disappeared.” They started towards the car park behind the El-kanemi hall. Azu and Innocent were involved in discussion, while Imoni followed calmly. The tone of their walk explained their destination was Chinese Restaurant, an exclusive patisserie kiosk, one of many others taking up both sides of a tarred road. Similar they were only in the wooden and architectural style.

In attitudes and utterances, talk of outrage here. Part of the bourgeoisie so early reproduced was Cynthia, a notorious girl with whom Imoni had an unspoken resentment.

Innocent and Azu shook the girl’s hand, while Imoni waved. They sat down. Malt drinks and fried meat were set before them at Azu’s instance. A hand jammed against a bottle’s top, snatching its cover. Innocent and Azu resumed their discussion. Imoni picked up meat and drink. He took one sharp look at Cynthia’s eyes and felt disgusted. They were eyes drenched in alcohol and marijuana. Cigarette burned in her hand, as she sat, scatter-legged, revealing her under-feathers. For her, feeding campus gossip columns with jungle stories was only a shared pleasure. In an episode the previous semester, she stormed into the room of a girl under her thumb, and tried to choke the girl to death in sleep. The girl’s offence was pencilled to ambition. Talk also passed around about her and her colleagues’ strange, communal attitude with indecent underclothes. Then the ironical physical expression: the girl remained one of the most striking impressions Imoni’s eyes had yet beheld. Considering the calm, pretty face behind the smoke now, he almost refused to accept those stories. But not when indications randomly picked up agreed?

Lara, one of Cynthia’s friends soon burst in. “Darling, Cynthia!” Lara exclaimed.

“’Lara!” Cynthia shot off from her sober mood. With the cigarette jumping to her lips, she offered her palms for a Lara spanking, which was reversingly replayed. She got up, driving, with the currents of a song, her buttocks, and collided it with Lara’s, already in wait.

“Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year.”

“Waltz, Cent, morning and happy New Year,” Lara greeted quickly, then, re-erupted, “Wao, darling Azu. So, you’re here. Come on, don’t tell me you’ve not seen your babe.”

Azu was smiling. “It’s like two people shouldn’t fuss over a babe at the same time,” he said. “Else there would be conflict. Since you felt Cynthia had to come first, I decided to wait for my turn.”

“Oh, no, Azu. Now come and embrace your darl.”

They were already in each other’s arms, and even kissed. They released each other. “Azu, Nina must hear this,” Cynthia threatened jokingly.

“Your headache,” Lara told her. “It’s like Nina wouldn’t bother, as long as she knows she takes the whole chicken.”

They laughed. Imoni felt he would never do what Azu just did, even for a fantastic prize; with Lara’s rainbow skin and inglorious social history. She, like Cynthia, and campus gossip magazines continually invented and basked in very delightful stories. In one of her stage acts, she and a banker on official assignment in Maiduguri, and with an eye on catching on the other side of the city, had checked into the Maiduguri Airport Hotel. The ‚mugwu’ was so free with amusements and transport, mixed with a daily fifty naira bonus in the seven days spent together. In conclusion, he had patted with two hundred and fifty naira, which Lara threw in his face. “Whom do you think I am? A cheap girl?” she had barked. “What? You mean you aren’t grateful for all I’ve done for, and given you?” the man asked unbelievingly. “Shit,” Lara had replied. “I’m not leaving here unless you give me one thousand naira.” Without hesitation, his dignity ordered the hotel’s security obligation. But, to his rage, the arbiters counselled on the wisdom of settling the girl, against the value he placed on his official and marital honour which the girl would willingly trade on. He had no chance. The girl’s academic status was only a cover. Shocked, the man paid her one thousand naira, and promptly disappeared. The incident didn’t escape the hammer of a campus magazine in a gossip entitled ‘Rara, the rough Rider.’ Imoni was stunned a few days after when he heard Lara telling Cynthia, “Yes, I’m a rough rider. Do I care?” And she rode dramatically, cheered on by her friends. And, again, could you take this away from Lara? She was the greatest female dancer Imoni had seen. Only excluding Imoni’s late sister. “It’s like I have a welcome party,” Lara was telling Azu. “It’s slated for this weekend. A boyfriend of mine is financing.”