The Weekend

Not quite sure what jolted me back to life; whether it was the chirrup of birds gossiping, the gentle beckoning of my guardian angel or Satan’s high pitched laughter of victory. My head was banging audibly, like I had switched brains with a rock star. I was hot, sticky and reeked of cigarette smoke.

After several failed attempts at opening my eyes, I decided it was best to just lay still and let the chaos recede. My mind was a hazy blur of sounds and weird visions. Trying to make sense out of it all made me restless, and so I forced open my eyes, and was immediately blinded by vicious sunrays that registered a sharp note in my head.

In spite of the agonizing pain, I slowly sat up, and took a look around. This wasn’t Nnengi’s room. I sluggishly surveyed the room, my train of thought picking up momentum with data registered. A small dingy room, with walls covered with posters of barely clothed models and famous athletes. On the floor a faded blue rug that had clearly seen better days and had no reason to be in the same room with a brown curtain. A half open wardrobe with a couple of jeans and a Polo shirt that barely made it in; a camp gas tucked away in the compartment below along with shoes. Sparsely furnished, musky odor ….

“OMIGOD IT’S A MAN’S ROOM!!”

That very realization caused whatever sleep was left in my eyes to vanish! Alarm bells rung loudly. I froze on the spot yet my heart kept racing like it had every intention of taking flight and leaving me behind. My mind tried desperately to figure out what was going on.

“Why didn’t I have any memory at all?”

“Whose room was I in?”

“Omigod! Why in the world was I wearing a Jalabiya?”

I was still in my daze when in strolled a young man. He wore boxers and a singlet, as was traditional of Nigerian men most mornings.

“Hello Sunshine”, he said calmly. “I went to get us breakfast”, he explained off-loading the goods from the yellow and black nylon he was holding - Indoomie, eggs, sardine and two bottles of Fanta.

Ah ah!

He went on to put water on the stove and started talking while chopping onions and tomatoes.

I was mute as a monk. This chatterbox of a Man seems so comfortable with me, and I hadn’t the slightest clue who He is, or how I ended up in his bed dressed in a Jalabiya. What was going on here?

I guess he noticed my silence, because he suddenly turned towards me with a questioning look in his eye. Then he begins to laugh hysterically; the most sinister of all laughs. The kind you hear only in old Chinese kungfu flicks when the evil guy has the hero’s sister trapped in a corner. You know the type that starts with faint giggles and gradually climbs to crescendo with the head jerked so far back I wished it could just fall of f and put an end to my misery.

What had I gotten myself into this time? Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I opened my mouth to talk, shout or scream but all that came out was a small gasp…