Chronicles Of A Runs Girl - S01 E10

2 years ago

Chronicles Of A Runs Girl - S01 E10

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 10

My fearful heart reached out to hers.

“Let us go,” I said.

We agreed to go but we both stood there, a few meters from our other white and black girls, the other people to our other side, a huge wall behind us, and the silent pool in front of us.

First lady was on the other side of the pool, still discussing with the boys she was discussing with. At that moment, I prayed to God that should he let me leave this place alive, I would never go to where they are doing bad things again.

The generator spluttered. I don’t know who took the first step, but we were soon walking towards the other people at the party – the ones not dressed in white and black. We had almost gotten to them when I felt something nudge my spirit to look back.

I looked over my shoulder, and behind us, walking in a long silent line, were the other black and white girls. Who told them to follow us!

“Babes!”

That was First lady’s voice. Everybody stopped; even I and my fellow would-be escapee.

She, First lady, left the boys she was with and marched in quick steps to where we were.

“Where are you people going?” she asked no one in particular. “Who told you to go anywhere? I said wait by the gazebo; don’t you know what gazebo is?”

In fairness to her, even I didn’t know till that night that the hut/bar by the pool was called a gazebo. But in that darkens, and with the fear of God that had been planted in my heart, its pitch black hallow belly shrouded under an overhanging thatch roof looked like a sacrificial slaughter house prepared for us, the girls in white and black.

“Who told you to move?” she asked again when nobody answered her the first time.

As subsequent girls looked at each other seeking out the one to blame, the girl who had approached me with the same fear I had, broke out into a run.

The way First Lady spoke, and the spectacle of girls all dressed in white and black outfits walking towards the normally dressed people had attracted everyone’s attention.

The girl ran through the crowd and they parted for her. First Lady stood looking stunned, the entire party with her.

I was watching her escape – watching her save her life – when I heard the generator make a distinctly different sound than it had been making all night. That was my cue to follow the girl. I ran!

The next day, in the safety of my uncle’s house in Surulere, I learnt that First Lady’s girls had been taken from the house in Ikeja to the Sheraton Hotel, also in Ikeja.

It was a secret party hosted by theegbonsof the London boy whose bachelor eve it was.

At the Sheraton party, each girl was given $500 dollars on arrival: Thanks for coming, even on arrival!

And the lucky ones who caught the eyes of some of the big boys in attendance were rumoured to have returned to campus with thousands of dollars – in crisp hundred dollar bills.

I have since then been avoiding First Lady, and the girl who sold me the white jeans and black silk shirt on credit.