TRAPPED...Part 8.

It was the January of 2004. I had left my village for Lagos to make something out of myself. I had just finished my secondary education and the prevailing financial situation of the family made further schooling, a  pipe dream. The alternatives were to remain in the village and be plucked like a semi-ripe paw-paw or to travel to Lagos and become useful. I chose the latter.

I had always been fascinated by clothes from childhood. I could remember sitting in the church as a child and admiring women in their clothes as they danced past during offertory. I had made a skirt from a jute sack when I was ten using only a needle and thread. So, when my relative in Apapa asked me what I would like to do in Lagos, the answer was ready. 'Tailoring,' I told her. Everyone called her Deaconess. I soon realized that the name gave her a special form of satisfaction. She was a kind-hearted, middle-aged woman, who lived in two rooms with her husband and five children. Deaconess made it clear that schooling was not an option. 'It makes girls stubborn and headstrong,' she told me, when I first mentioned it. "Many of these campus girls just dey follow men anyhow,"she said, pointing at imaginary winding paths. "You can't learn righteousness there,"she said with a tone of finality.

She prided herself as a virtuous woman and was quick to list a litany of educated but divorced women, whom she was 'better' than.

The next morning, she took me to her friend's tailoring shop in Igando.

"Deaconess! Deaconess!" A well-dressed woman greeted us as we entered.

"Bless you! Madam Ese. How una dey?"

"We are fine o! We just dey as Tinubu keep us," Madam Ese replied, hugging Deaconess.

 The shop was busy. Three machines were humming in sync, manned by young girls about my age.

"I brought my niece, Stella, to learn tailoring in your shop."

Madam Ese looked at me from head to toe. I avoided her gaze.

"I hope she can run errands," she said with a sneer.

"Ah! Very well," Deaconess said, taking her leave. "We will see at the church."

I was Madam Ese's unofficial housemaid for one year. After close of work, I would go to the house, cook, clean, wash. It was a good thing she was single. I soon made friends with the other girls at the shop. Nkoli was the oldest and most talkative. Robust and well-breasted, she had been in the shop for a year and is always discussing men. Atinuke was the youngest and the funniest. Her lanky frame made her look fragile. The third girl, Tolu, was the quiet, moody type. Her often recriminating stares can throw one into a quick examination of conscience. I gave each of them a nickname. Sharp-mouth. Toothpick. Slow Poison. After several protests from Tolu, I shortened her nickname to Slow P. P for poison. Not to be outdone, she quickly coined one for me. Bad belle. I soon began to bond with Slow P. She had an air of mystery around her. Soft-spoken, tall and well-mannered, her amiable character was marred by her erratic bouts of melancholy.

One weekend, I finally persuaded her to take me her house. Madam Ese has travelled to her hometown, Ekpoma and will be back the following week. We alighted from a danfo in front of a gate with a neon signboard reading 'Delight Inn'.

'You live here?' I asked, surveying the environment.

'Kind of,'she replied, nonchalantly.

A heavy-set woman in her forties met us at the gate. She was wearing heavy make-up.

'Tolu, you are late,'she said, glaring at Slow P. She gave me a flippant look. ' Is she the new girl?'

'No Madam.' Slow P's tone was apologetic. She is my friend from the shop.'

'Oya, go and change fast fast. Table 2 has been waiting for you since.'

Inside, music was blaring from the speakers. Seats were arranged around tables. A football match was showing on the television. Slow P led me to a table, ordered a  drink for me and left, promising to be back shortly. As I sipped my malt, I looked around with piqued interest. The people drinking there were mostly men. At the next table, two men were having an argument in Yoruba, their voices struggling to stay above the loud music. A dingy building was on the other side of the fence with a connecting gate. 

Slow P soon emerged from the gate, completely transformed. She was wearing a clingy, short, orange gown. She was looking sensual, her lips smeared with red lip-stick. 'Slow P!' I screamed in disbelief. 'Wetin be dis?' I pointed at her outfit. She shot me a disapproving look, said a quick 'I dey come' and slithered seductively to the next table. The arguing duo beamed as they saw her. She sat on the laps of one of them, smiling demurely. She was acting animated, the direct opposite of the quiet girl in the shop. A popular tune was being played. Slow P started dancing, gyrating her bosom. My eyes wanted to pop out of their sockets. After the dance, she disappeared with one of the men into the adjacent building. I just sat there, shell-shocked.

More scantily-dressed girls were coming out from the house and following the same routine. "Is this seat free?" Two boys had approached the table. "I guess so." They sat down and ordered their drinks. "So, what are you doing here, all by yourself?" the dark one  asked. 'Drinking,'I replied, curtly. He found it funny.

'My name is Dan. Daniel Olise,' he said offering his hand.

'Stella,' I replied, taking his outstretched hand.

I could feel his penetrating eyes on me as I sipped my drink. Dan's friend drank quietly, looking uninterested.

Slow P soon returned and found us chatting. 

'I can see you guys have met.' She promptly sat on Dan's laps. He whispered into her ears. She laughed and suddenly stood up. "You sef, you no dey ever gree do anyhing. Fake Pastor Daniel." She transferred to the fair quiet one, who brightened up and soon followed her into the building.

'You seem to be popular around here,'I remarked.

He laughed. 'Actually, this is my third time here. Ugo always insist I must come with him. He seems to like your friend a lot. I just come to drink o!'

'I want to start going home.' I stood up to leave.

'Which side are you going?'

'Igando.'

'Oh. I am going towards that area. I stay in Ikotun.'

'Let me inform Slow P...Tolu...that I am leaving.' I opened the gate leading to the building.

Some girls were smoking at the verandah.

'Who you dey find?' one of them asked.

'Tolu,' I replied, consciously stopping myself from breathing in the smoke.

'Check am inside.'

The hallway was filled with moans and grunts emanating from the rooms. I stood there confused. One of the doors opened. Ugo emerged, trying to buckle his trousers. He looked surprised to see me. 'Where is Tolu?' I asked.

'She dey inside,'he answered, lowering his gaze.

I entered the room. Slow P was lying on a flattened mattress, cigarette in hand, her naked frame facing the ceiling. She was jolted when she saw me, flung away the cigarette and wrapped herself with a bedsheet.

'Slow P, which kain life be dis?' I began. 'I thought I knew you. I thought you were a good girl.'

She gave me a cold stare, stood up and went to pick the remnant of her cigarette.

I wanted her to say something. Anything.

She turned to face me, anchoring the bedsheet on her chest.

'Have you ever been raped by your father? Ehn?' Slow P asked me, visibly incensed.

'No,' I replied, surprised.

'No?' Her eyes were filled with rage. 'Then, shut up! Shut the hell up!'

She was shouting now. I quietly left the room.

Outside, Dan was waiting for me. 'What is wrong?' he asked. I couldn't speak.

He flagged down a cab and we entered. On the drive home, he asked for my phone. I gave him my Nokia 3310. He punched in his number and dialed. I was silent all the way. I tried imagining my father raping me and almost choked at the thought. Could anything else be more abominable? I thought about Tolu and the girl she had become. By that singular act, her father had irreparably damaged her. Her heart has been shattered into a thousand and one pieces.

I stopped at Igando. It was a lonely walk home.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015.