Black Is the Colour of Envy (II)

“Rimini Dajuma.” I said, knowing she would turn to look at me if she was the one. “Wh . . . Longji Dawam?” She said with a great deal of uncertainty. “Yeah, that’s me baby.” “It’s a lie. . . Oh my God!” She flung herself at me as our arms interlocked. We temporarily hijacked […]

“Rimini Dajuma.” I said, knowing she would turn to look at me if she was the one.

“Wh . . . Longji Dawam?” She said with a great deal of uncertainty.

“Yeah, that’s me baby.”

“It’s a lie. . . Oh my God!” She flung herself at me as our arms interlocked. We temporarily hijacked the attention of many of the spectators but we didn’t care. We then exchanged a dozen ‘how is this/that’ for the next half hour. The mad-man-looking guy resurfaced again. He acknowledged me with a wave and I reluctantly waved back.

“Hi Simon.” Rimini saluted him.

“You know him? The mad guy?”

“He is not mad,” she blurted.

“I am sorry. But he doesn’t look sane either.”

“He was my senior at St. John’s Secondary School. He was very bright, but of all things, he wanted to become a rapper. He worshipped Ice Prince, I think he envied him rather. Went to Lagos to pursue a career in rap music and came back like this,” she pointed at his disappearing figure. “He lost both parents and his only sibling on the day he came back to Jos. He hasn’t been the same ever since.”

“How terrible. I feel for him. But I feel something else for you.”

Her eyes searched mine. It also spoke of how much it doubted my words.

“I have always loved you right from primary school, and I still do now. Rimini, ‘you should let me love you, let me be the one who’ll give you everything you want and need.’” Those were Mario’s words and we both knew I was stealing from his song – ‘let me love you’. Little did I know that the words I had stolen would rebound on me.

“Seriously? Are you talking about love?” She cocked her head. “You think love works with an American accent? Wake up bro. Hmmm. I can’t allow myself to love you just like that o!”

“I’m serious, Rimi.”

“Eh, Eh, just hang it. What do you have to offer me? The debts your father is owing people all around Jos or his dead Jeep which spends more time at the mechanic’s workshop? You want to give me everything I need abi? How much do you have? You think say we no know say na brokeness pursue you come from America? Look my eye well well, I no hold feeding bottle for mouth wey you go dey form Americanah for o! Where were you when your father was a Member of House of Representathieves eating our money?” Rimini lost her calmness and nearly everything ladylike about her. I was facing a monster. “Fourteen years, fourteen freaking years and you bolt out of the blues expecting me to love you? No abeg o, no be me. Go find your size.”

“Baby Rimmy, is everything okay? Akwai damuwa ne?” A young man asked. I recognized him immediately even though I wasn’t sure whether he remembered me. He hung a small towel over his neck yet he didn’t care to rub off the sweat dripping from his face.

“Everything is fine, I was just putting a square peg in its hole.” She replied, looking intently at me. “Good bye Longji.”

She turned and walked towards a silver-coloured Benz C230 Compressor. The man started the engine and zoomed off as soon as she entered. She was with Yakubu, the widow’s son who was sent to learn carpentry when we were going to secondary school. It seemed the trade had paid off.

I watched their car blend with the array of cars on the highway until it was out of sight. I was stood rooted to the spot where she left me like a statue. It never occurred to me that the game had ended when Rimini’s boyfriend came out.

My phone rang. No, it wasn’t Rimini calling to apologize as I wildly hoped.

“Hello, Mama”

“Longji, where are you? Your father has slumped. We are currently at Plateau Specialist Hospital now.”

“Did the doctors say what’s wrong with him?”

“They said it’s a stroke and he might die. Your brothers are not around as usual. Please hurry, bring some money with you. O Yesu, yesu ka taimake ni.”

“Mama, but . . .” The line at the other end went mute. “Shit”. I clenched my right fist and struck my left palm.

I hopped into a Keke and asked him to take me to Rayfield Resort, a mining pond which had been converted to a tourist site. Dusk was fast approaching.

I stood over the vast body of water contemplating whether or not to write a suicide note. There was no point writing one. I braced myself.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

At first, I thought it was God speaking to me, and then I whirled. Simon was strolling towards me, a stick of cigarette between his thumb and index finger.

I froze.

“I have walked this path before, but I stopped there,” he was coming closer as both smoke and words poured from his mouth, “right there where you’re standing. And I asked myself one question: will the hands of time turn back if I die?” He inched closer and was standing before me. He blew the last cloud of smoke into my face.

I coughed without moving a foot.

“The world is yours for the taking.” He crushed his cigarette stub under his feet. “Look at me! I have nothing but hope, yet I am still alive. What about you? You should be thankful.”

He turned suddenly and left. I fell to my knees and allowed a gush of tears overwhelm me.

Concluded.

Yadok is a teacher, writer, and poet. His debut novel, ‘king of the Jungle’, was published in 2014.