Love, Lust And Lost

8 years ago

Love, Lust And Lost

It was a beautiful morning, the morning everyone in their final day at the Junior secondary school would have anticipated. Though a Wednesday morning, the Wednesday in the week of the passion, the holy week. The sun came out very early perhaps it was on a mission that day. If people had needed it, it would have been those that had been experiencing heavy rainfall, but no sun at all.

The Launderers’ that had washed their customers clothes without the sun to dry it would have gone kneeling in front of their big bowls or washing machine (mostly used by advanced wash-men) and prayed the sun should come wherever it might be hiding.

To those at the farm, peasants that their crops are starting to die; the fertilizers or manures added to improve the growth of their crops washed away by the continuous rain too, – would have gone to their various deities in their tattered dresses; hoes hung on their shoulder, and walking barefooted. So the rain could go on a vacation, asking the sun to watch the earth for him (it) till it got back to take its office another year/season.

To Fatimah, Zainab Y. and Mariam, they seemed not to be disturbed by the sun. Tomorrow was a free day at school, the day the Literary and Debating society would be sending them off. The sun no matter how it tried to play its tricks so they won’t go out to purchase things they would need to improve their beauty tomorrow, would not sway them. They won’t give in even it would be some heat walking around the Balogun market. They were prepared for this day and the `Old fool’ another name for the sun – would not ruin it.

Her eyes were bulging out of their sockets like the eyes of a crayfish. It made her look beautiful nonetheless as she got a narrowed-jaw head. Her skin was complete ebony, evident of the cocoa-butter cream she used. Her teeth very white they could be used to advertise toothpaste and it would promote sales as people would think it was the paste that made hers white whereas hers were natural. Her height was 4ft, her body slim and perfect for her type.

She had woken up from sleep early that morning, performed her chores, took her bath and was ready to head out for Mariams’ house from whence they would both go to Fatimah’s house. She stayed with her mum in their rented apartment and helped her to sell beans and bread in her shop whenever she got back from school. It was in the year 2004 her father died, leaving her and her junior sister in their mothers’ care.

The lady being talked about is Zainab Y. – A girl of 14 years of age.

It had not been easy ever since but they continued persevering, hoping one day everything would turn out nice for them. She had attended a private school in her primary school days until her father died. That was well close to the time she was done with primary school education and had been enrolled by her mother at a government school in Ikoyi. It was a muslim school and her mother preferred it against no other choice to choose from.

She had made friends with Mariam and Fatimah in JSS1 and their friendship had been widely known to all students in the school complex, her teachers’ and classmates.

People would have thought their religion to be the main reason they were friends because they were all muslims but it was more than that, more than anybody could think of. They had brains for studies and were exhibiting it in their classes. Though not among the first 10 out of about 89 students but they still stood between the ranks of 10-20.

Many had thought them to be from same parents but they didn’t look a tinge alike. Mariam was chubby while Fatimah, just medium in size, the shortest amongst them and probably the most beautiful.

“Hey maruwa (Keke Napep), TomJones!.” She called out as she got to the bus-stop of her street, Glover.

As the maruwa drove off, she rested on the seat thinking what she would buy, at least to make her hair and her face to look okay. The bangles she would put on her hands probably.

Though it would have been nice if they would put on mufti but it seemed all they had wished for, not falling into reality. `well, whatever Fatimah and Mariam decide we should buy, would be okay by me’ she resolved and brought out the little purse in her bag. A purse she bought for 50naira, close to her house. It was small, made typically for children of her age but it had been helpful anyway.

The purse contained the 1,500 she had on her; the 1000naira she had been able to save since the start of her 3rd term in JSS3 and the 500naira her mum gave her saying
“please let my other children I’m pregnant of, come to earth before you spend all the money I have.”
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Her mum had never said that when her father was alive and she understood the way things had changed. She couldn’t be angry at her mum, at least she still gave her 300naira to school everyday which was though, not up to what Fatimah and Mariam were given by their parents but it was more than the money given to other classes of people in her age-grade.

The money had always been enough, since she could still save 100naira each day from it, if she weren’t buying all the sweet things (chocolate, ice-cream, sweet, chewing-gum, etc) girls in her age were buying. So she had been able to garner 1000naira out of her savings. She stared at the money and saw it was still in the purse, opened the only compartment on its side and brought 20naira out of the 40naira she took along for transport, paid the driver and headed towards Mariams’ house.

Bang! Bang!! Bang!!! She knocked on the gate and there appeared Mariam, her face wore make-up that made her look beautiful; her pointed nose was another feature of her beauty. She was 13 but her body size gave the impression she was 16. Her hair was half-plait and half-loosed. She wore a silk underwear that showed her Tips which was just starting to develop points, they were still not ripe.

“You haven’t finished loosing your hair.” She said coming inside the gate.

“Oh! So friends don’t say good morning again, just because they saw each other in school yesterday?” Mariam complained in her Fulani accented english. Her voice was thin as though it were a note struck on a sharp key on a violin, – she spoke with her nose a bit.

“I’m sorry dear,”she giggled and gave her a side hug “good morning.”

“I will sure make you have more manners.” She joked, they laughed out loud and she led the way to their room.