The Irony of Life(12)😔😔

THE IRONY OF LIFE (12)😔😔

Duration: 4mins

The feel of a Sony Ericsson k750i was as though Ore had never held a phone, not to talk of own one. It was to cost him $115 according to Fatima. He ended up paying $25 more. If it required his entire savings, he would have given it without a budge. All that mattered was owning a phone, and subsequently, Cecilia. 

The first contact he saved was that of Fatima. It felt good to be able to reach her from anywhere at any time. She would play a key role in orchestrating his plan. 

Considering their phones were taken as soon as they landed on the white man's soil, it would be foolish to allow himself to be seen with one. In the house, he switched off and hid the phone, used it only when he was outdoors. 

When they arrived the factory the night after the purchase, he dashed to a hidden corner to use the phone, he couldn’t wait till break. He was over the moon when he placed a call through to Nigeria and his neighbor; Mr. Fatai's husky voice came on the line. After they exchanged greetings, the man told him to call back in ten minutes. Judging by the 5 hours time difference, it was 4 p.m. His mother may not be back from the market, but his father would most likely be home, more so that he no longer own a farmland.

Not a minute late, Ore was again calling. His phone had almost not rang when a voice came on at the other end. 

“Maami”

He had screamed before he held a hand over his mouth.

“Omo mi, ìlàré òkín, òkàn èdùmàré bùnmí bii igba omo, àkàn rànmù…”

His mother was still in the middle of the eulogy when his father’s voice came on.

“What sort of child are you?”

“Sir?”

Ore didn’t see that coming.

“This is the second time you are calling since you arrived America. Do you know how worried you have gotten your mother and I?”

“Baami, I'm sorry. That will change henceforth. The phone I am calling with is mine. I bought it so I can call home regularly.”

He thought that would pacify his father.

“Keep quiet, I didn’t ask for your contribution,” Mr. Ogunfiditimi paused and continued. “The last time, you said the work you do pays bimonthly. The third month is almost over, you are yet to send in a kobo. Do you even care how your mother and I manage to survive? You are such a disappointment.”

Ore’s mind went into overdrive, thinking of what to cook up. He spoke when he was sure his father was done talking.

“Baami, I didn’t know things would turn out this way. The cost of living over here is high. We pay tax for everything-- electricity, gas, whatever purchase made; groceries, gadgets and so on, even for this call .The only thing we don’t pay tax for is the air we breathe. At the end of it all, just little is left for upkeep.”

“But how come Folusho has been able to send money home? In fact, they have started laying the foundation for the house Baale's building for him.”

Ore wondered how true that is, if the other group which  Folusho belonged were having it better than his group.           

He was stuck. He couldn’t disclose what was happening at his end. He needed to come up with something believable. Just then, a way out struck him.

“Baami, Folusho and I don’t work in the same place. Being the Baale's son, I guess he is being given preferential treatment.”

“Oh, I see.”

Ore was glad his father swallowed that hook, line and sinker.

“Anyway, regardless of status, things will turn out fine for you as well. Just stay focused and never forget the son of whom you are.”

“Thank you, Baami.”

“Let me hand over the phone to your mother before she pulls it.”

“Oko mi, I can’t quantify how much I have missed you.”

“Same here Maami. You are always on my mind. How have you and Baami been coping?”

“Enitan, I must confess things haven’t been easy.”

At times, his mother favored his middle name in addressing him, especially when taken over by sentiments.

“But for Awawu, your Father and I would have crumbled under the weight of these hard times.”

“Who is Awawu?”

“Awawu omo bàba elému. Don’t tell me you don’t remember her?”

That moment, the girl who lived six houses away popped up in his head.

“Oh, Awawu. What about her?”

“That girl is God-sent. Since you left, she frequents the house to help with chores. Even if it’s a tuber of yam or a kongo of garri, she never fail to bring along. At times, she helps me with weaving and selling mat at the market. You missed her by stroke of a minute. When next you call, hopefully she will be around. I will like you to thank her.”

“Alright Maami.”

 “Enitan, Omo yen se omolúàbí.”

As the call ended, the past came flooding Ore like an avalanche.

How could he forget his first love.

A-wa-wu

He grinned as he went down memory lane. Days when they met and played under igi orombo at the glare of the moonlight. 

Oreoluwa and awawu attended the community’s basic school. Though he was a class ahead of her, they were playmates. They did catcher, ran around the village doing hide & seek, bath in the stream together. The dark, skinny, flat-chested girl on low cut was no different from the boys with whom he played. Whatever mother nature did about that, right before his eyes, Awawu began sprouting feminine features which made him look twice as much as he  did before. As fate would have it, they went to the same secondary school. As they climbed onto the pinnacle of their studies, so attraction grew between them. Even though they didn’t plainly express ‘I love you' to one another, they both knew things had gone from what it used to be as actions spoke louder than words. under the tree at twilight became a daily routine. Awawu was fond of placing her hand like a patch over his eyes  awaiting him to guess who it was. She liked it when he tickled her suddenly from behind, sending her jumping like a revved car engine.   

In his secondary school final year, Oreoluwa had his first kiss, even though he stole it. That evening, after playing and they were about going to their different homes, he drew closer, pecked Awawu on the lips and ran off. It was obviously the first for Awawu as well. The poor village girl did not recover from it till they were together again and both decided to experiment with it. The one-time tryout turned sour as she ended up biting his upper lips. 

Awawu’s parents later sent her to live with her aunt in the next village where she would learn to make àdìre. And so, the two were pulled apart.

Gone are the days, when men were boys.

Ore thought as he left Awawu in the past where she belong and was back to the present.

During the day when the opportunity presented itself, he phoned Fatima to know of Cecilia's movement.

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To be continued same time, next week. Hope you enjoyed the read? Please leave a comment. Thank you.🙏🏻