The silence this time was as heavy as a typical Lagos morning rush hour traffic; Zibby’s face was a Kodak- worthy moment. ‘But …but both of you…’ She spluttered, when she finally found her voice but not the right words. Like a complicated bank vault lock, things began to fall into place, the puzzle pieces fitting perfectly. Her mind spun. Olumide’s words, his subtle actions…
Read MoreThen her hands, against his chest, firmly pushing away, brought the moment to an abrupt end. ‘No! No! No! Olumide, what are we doing?’ She cried out, her hands covering her mouth as she stood up. ‘We can’t do this! Bukola… oh my God!’ She bolted for the front door.
Read MoreOlumide’s tall frame partially blocked the doorway. A white, long-sleeved shirt tucked into a pair of charcoal black jean trousers. Navy blue sneakers completed his outfit. Decisions or friendship line, Zibby’s heart flipped at the sight of him. ‘How are you?’ Deep tones acknowledged the greeting before its owner’s gaze found Zibby. ‘Hi. Do you have a minute?’ He asked politely.
Read MoreShe smiled. Sewing a t-shirt for him hadn’t solved anything. This year she had decided to embrace her feelings, wholeheartedly, for him. Take them in her stride. If he didn’t utter anything in that direction, he’d never know how she felt. And in time, they’d fade into non – existence. But if he did…
Read MoreHe might be away but the effect of him wreaked more havoc on her mind than his presence had. That hug! Oh that hug dogged her waking hours and determined her breathing patterns whenever she dwelled on it. So much for his absence making her forget; her heart was on a frantic train to, she was certain, breaking point. Her head, on the other hand, was at cool station.
Read MoreSuddenly imaginary weights landed on Zibby’s legs, immobilizing her. She couldn’t move. She tried. She couldn’t speak either; her tongue was in a tangle.
Read MoreShort sleeves from the t-shirts he preferred these days exposed sinewy, toned arms that suggested an equally ripped torso underneath. He towered over Bukola’s ‘5 9’ by a head which housed dark, brooding looks recalling images of rhythm and blues crooners – R. Kelly, Joe, Luther Vandross. What was left was his singing voice to seal the look. Well – groomed side boards ran from his close-cut hairline down to strong angular jaws beneath a thin line of a mouth, piercing, deep – set eyes and deep, deep tones released in well – spoken diction. They made a beautiful, beautiful couple, Bukola and Olumide
Read MoreThe music from the main house stopped abruptly; the ladies exchanged knowing glancing as they left the quarters. They were rounding the corner of the main building and into the parking space, and were just in time to see Bukola fly into Olumide’s long, outstretched arms.
Read MoreHer own love life was non existent. Mya had been aware of the one romantic alliance she had had while in the university. In her year two. He was in his final. There had been others but none had gotten as far as he had. The chemistry between them had been, at first, mutually supercharged. Every free waking moment had been spent together. In his room. In hers. Reading together. Laughing like children. Living like lovers. Having fun. It was also the period of the nickname Fit and Zibby’s small business experiencing a very good run. In time, it became obvious who her first love really was. In trickles, there were missed dates, and a steady decline in shared moments.
Read MoreBukola Awobokun was the quintessential sisi eko. A certified social butterfly. Her weekends (and some weeknights) read like the schedule of an event planner. Weddings. Baby showers. Owambes. Housewarmings. Hen nights. Anniversaries. Movie nights. Awards. Karaoke. Thanksgiving…the works. And she required outfits, often new ones, for most of them. Especially those whose invitations came with their own aso – ebi cloths or colour code.
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