Chinedu Ogoke - Under Fire

Modesty’s presence was further clarified. “We want to take a stroll around,” Modesty said, when Imoni had finished talking.

“Right. I’m around.” He peered into his new time-table.

“Let’s go, Modesty.”

They left.

Imoni noticed more kiosks, in a commercial drive, still moved into the secretariat’s and a hostel’s partition. He wouldn’t be surprised if it witnessed more entries. The place could still receive more. The latest was a kiosk screwed right into the nose of the hostel. Focus shifted to a certain direction, and the activity continued.

The school was lively after all, Modesty pointed out, as they hit the trade fair complex. He was seeing many beautiful girls already. Were they all so free? he asked. Well, not all of them, Imoni replied. A female voice called just then, “Imoni!” Imoni returned the call with a wave and excitement. It was Fostina. She left her friends, and started coming.

Modesty remarked about how girls deliberately put things in men’s heads, referring to the uncovered part of Fostina’s thighs. The girl hitched up her skirt even with Modesty’s unfinished speech. The speech interval couldn’t anymore exclude the girl’s participation, so Imoni held his response. Smiling, she spread out her hands, and she and Imoni embraced. But they released each other quickly. Modesty relocated.

“Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year.”

“Fosty, what have I done to you?” Imoni asked her.

“Tell me,” she was looking at him and Modesty, “what have I done?”

Imoni feigned seriousness. “Look, If you don’t want a guy, you tell him. You want to wreck me?”

“It’s like, you’ve started again, Imo. I do love you, and you know it.”

Smiled to him now, but ran to some other fellow later. That was what he meant. And the last time she stepped into his room, she came with conditions. “Oh, Imo,” the girl said. Binta, one of the girl’s friends shouted her name impatiently, but the girl ignored her. “You mustn’t doubt me. Rufus is my cousin. Okay, I shall come to your nest. Still in room fifteen?” The address hadn’t changed, Imoni told her. “I’m not giving the time,” she said. “It’s like I want to catch you with that Gladys.” Her expression shifted dramatically. “I see you’re still going out with that girl.”

The girl’s friends wouldn’t relent. They put together an effective and funny call. Fostina shouted back for time. He and Gladys were parting, Imoni replied, and wondered who was telling her that. Well, the girl said she hoped he was telling the truth. They said farewell to each other and the girl left him to join her friends.

The girl was in part two and her father a professor in the university, Imoni said to Modesty’s question, as soon as they got together again. She was seventeen, but looked thirteen. Modesty assumed he noticed true love for Imoni revealed in the girl’s eyes and utterance.

“She keeps telling me how much she loves me. But I discover she has another boy in this school.” That wasn’t what Modesty hoped to hear. “I have another girl whom I cherish a lot,” Imoni continued. “But can you risk sticking to one girl in a place like this? What if she unexpectedly dumps you? The other girl likes politics a lot, which gets on my nerves. Earlier today, saw her coming from a male hostel, and she had a ready excuse when I confronted her. Since we came back, she’s only visited me once.”

If she was full of trouble, Modesty advised him, he should go for this Fostina. He should make efforts to keep her to himself. He counted him lucky.

“But, I don’t know what to do about the girl’s other guy. I don’t want to really confront her, so I don’t lose her.”

Modesty was pessimistic about his chances with the girls, in spite of Imoni’s assurances. He passed judgement on himself. It was inconceivable to him that a girl would eventually take his hand and smile to him. “I must have to confess to you. At my age, I’m a stranger about women. I think it’s the way we were brought up. I shake all over when I’m before a girl.”

“No. You should overcome it. There’s no big deal in yarning a girl. Just bear in mind they’re easily influenced.”

That was everybody’s position on the issue, Modesty said, but it was at variance with his impression. He couldn’t just get over it. The fright alone. But he had touched his first woman, Imoni wanted to know. Not at all, he replied. Imoni was surprised. He wasn’t kidding?. The truth, Modesty swore. And it was the truth.

“Don’t worry,” Imoni told him, “you will, as long as this school is concerned. You shouldn’t doubt me. I see it’s because of the way you were brought up, and the environment, too. The girls here will come for you, they’ll teach you. They will open your floor.” Open his floor? What did he mean? Modesty asked. “Just one of the slangs you’ll learn eventually. Like yarn.” He knew yarn, he said. “You know yawa?” Imoni tested him. “You don’t know? When yawa gaz?” He still shook his head. “Men, when yawa gaz, guy man will fold his legs.” He laughed and said he now understood. “And, then, you know lecturer?”

“How can I know? What does it mean?”

“A lecturer is a student who pretends to be perfect in his conducts.”

He laughed. Then, what of a true senior lecturer of similar characteristics? he asked. He meant a dean, Imoni told him. Great, he said. Sometimes a student could turn dean, Imoni informed him further.

“Really?”

“Can’t try. We had one last session. Everybody rose and declared him a dean because of how far he pushed it.”

“Wonderful!”

They soon got to the mount Sinai suya spot. It reminded him of a moon-lit African environment with a blazing barbecue spot, Modesty said of his impression of the place. It was the right circumstances to associate it with, Imoni agreed. It had a good complexion that appealed to the senses. Like a bridge between ages.

They sat down. In a subdued tone, Modesty said, “Whoever owns this place must have some brain.”

“Maybe, or not. May have been some coincidence.”

“It should be swarming with people.”

“A lot of people do come here usually. The night is still young. And the session is just at it’s infancy. Then, again, the weather.”

Imoni got up and walked over to the circular suya mound. “Mai suya,” he said, “give me ten naira suya. Two plate.” He surrendered a twenty naira note, and withdrew to his seat. Soon, the suya came in two portions. Imoni removed one of two out-stretched five naira notes, “Give us two can coke.” The man complied, then re-united with his office and other patronage. A girl in a fitting white scarf carried some suya and soft drink, and established herself nearby.

“How much is the suya?” Modesty asked Imoni, picking some of it.

“Ten naira.”

“You should have let me pay for it.”

“Forget it. It’s nothing.”

Suddenly, a sharp sound roused them. Imoni noticed four young men planted beside the suya mound. He discovered one of them, a can of soft drink in hand, was Mickey Eto, whom he had earlier encountered at the tap. Mickey suddenly sprang out, pursued by one of his colleagues, then the pursuer gave up, giggling. He pulled out a steak of suya from the mound, drank a little from the can in his hand, then violently disposed the can which hit the ground heavily. Imoni and Modesty’s attention returned to their drinks and suya. But only briefly. They were upset by sharp reports from the fire place. The quartet raised their cans, swallowed some of the contents, then launched them off. And, simultaneously, too, they pulled out steaks of suya, chewed a little, and transferred the remnant to the garbage. They reached for fresh drinks. “This isn’t normal,” Modesty observed. “What do these guys think they’re doing?”