Diary of a pastor’s son episode 24

Diary Of A Pastor’s Son

Episode 24

Written by: Frank The Writer

Fair warning: ⚠️ This episode is long but not too long. Additionally, it’s r@ted +. Thank you.

***

My trip from Ibadan to Lagos was a successful one. I arrived in Lagos somewhere between 2 to 3 pm. I can’t really tell the exact time. And it happened to be my first time coming to Eko— Lagos. Yeah! All my life have been revolving around Ibadan and Ondo. I didn’t tell any of my family members about my trip to Lagos. Neither my mom nor my father would agree if I ever informed them I was going to see Biola.

Just like Biola had directed, I got on a bus when I arrived at Ojota. The distinct yellow ‘danfo’ bus which is peculiar to Lagos State. I held my small black bag firmly, to avoid stories that touches the heart. I was dressed simply in a black shirt and plain trousers.

Sitting down on the danfo bus, sweating profusely, I began to have random thoughts: “What if something bad had happened to me on my way to Lagos? What if this, what if that?” They were all negative thoughts. But I tried to shove them off my head by scrolling through my phone. Then my phone rang. I glanced through it and noticed it was Biola calling.

“Hello..”
“Femi, where are you now?”
“I’m on the bus already.”
“Okay. Please, be careful. This is Lagos.”
“No problem,” I smiled.
“Don’t dull yourself oo,” she added in Yoruba.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

I sat at the extreme side is the bus, just to see things for myself. Cars and trucks swooshed past, but we were stuck at one point. I have always heard that Lagos and traffic are like bread and butter. Between the incredible heat, the smell in the danfo, and the noise—both in,side and outside the bus—I would be very happy if I get to Ikorodu in one piece.

Finally, the bus began to move approximately 150 cm and then back to standstill traffic again. When the driver switched off the engine, I felt my heart sink into that special zone of despair reserved for a ‘JJC’ in Lagos, on the brink of missing my way or perhaps arriving at my destination late in the night.

Then an argument ensued between the conductor and a passenger who wanted to know why the driver had followed a different route only to find out the road was also blocked.
Their disagreement took two left turns, crossed a bridge, climbed a hill, and somehow ended up with both the conductor and passenger s¢ræming at each other. The duo became a source of joyful entertainment for the rest of the passengers as loud laughter rocked the bus while they insulted each other in what seemed like ‘Lagos Yoruba’ not the kind of Yoruba we speak in Ibadan and Ondo. One of the passengers farted while she was laughing out loud and that got everyone laughing so hærd. I must say, I was so entertained by these Lagos people.

Eventually, the traffic started to move and we finally arrived at the bus stop. I glanced at my timepiece, it was 4:12 pm.
When I alighted from the bus, the two men were still heartily calling down evil and chicken pox on each other’s presumably innocent parents. I bet the conductor got Master’s Degree in abusive words. The dude was so brutal with his choice of words in Yoruba. I heard words I never heard before.

***

I looked round to see the bustling here and there. Lagos, a paradise for Nigerian hustlers. The city where everything is for sale, the city that never sleeps. They said every race and religion, every tribe and language are in Lagos, and I couldn’t believe less.

As of then, Okada riders were rampant, I found one and told him where I was heading to—and instantly I hopped onto his bike without negotiating—a very big mistake I made. We got to Las₱0tech minutes later, and I was unable to argue with the opportunist okada rider ( a young Yoruba boy with two rolls of tribal mark on his cheeks) who charged me a thousand naira for about eight minutes drive. I was mad at him and mad at myself for not negotiating in the first place.
I had no option but to pay the greedy fellow. I walked out angrily. I walked to a s₱0t and took out my phone from my pocket to call Biola. She answered and said she was on her way coming out. I heaved a sigh of relief on hearing that.

About seven minutes later, I looked up and sighted her coming with her protruded belly. My heart suddenly sank on sighting Biola. She had changed from the last time we met. That was a few months ago when I was still in Ibadan. I walked in her direction and I could see smile wreathed on her face. Her smile was so infectious that I couldn’t hold mine. I smiled back.

Biola and I finally embraced each other when I got to where she stood. I could feel her heartbeat and warm body. I felt so emotional. I had a wave of old memories rushing through my head. I have really missed her and it was obvious. But Biola wasn’t so comfortable embracing me in the public. She was quick to discharge herself and I understood that perfectly. She was still shy and nervous as a pregnant student.

“Femi, longest time,” she said in Yoruba.
“Yeah. Been months now. How’s it going?”
“Um, you have seen me naa..”
“Yes. And you ain’t looking bad.”
“Don’t say that again oo,” she turned and looked me in the eyes.

We were both walking together. She lead the way while I followed.

“Omo University,” Biola teased. She meant University Boy.
I just giggled and said nothing.
“How’s UI treating you?” she added.
“UI is not for the feeble. Always choking us with unending assignments and loads of work.”
“I thought as much. It’s written all over you.”
“Oh! Really? How do you mean?”
“Your neck is longer now,” she laughed.

Biola and I got talking as she lead the way to her lodge located around Success Garden, Agbowa, Ikorodu. She told me it hasn’t been easy with her if not for my mom’s steady support. She said sometimes she had cravings for things she can’t afford. I really felt for her as she shared her pregnancy story. When she was done, I told her about my experience with the bike man and she told me I gotta learn the distinction between being smart and being street smart.

~ Biola’s POV ~

I felt so relieved seeing Femi again. There was this feeling of joy in my stomach. I had long craved his presence and I could feel my baby kicking but I didn’t understand what that meant. Yet I didn’t tell Femi exactly how I felt. I felt there was no need to tell him how I feel about his presence.
I had finally gathered enough nerve to put the wheels of my plan in motion and now that Femi came through for me, my happiness knew no bounds. Femi presented himself as an eagerly submissive male from the very onset. Our bond is a perfect example of how two opposites attract.

~ Femi’s POV~

We got to Biola’s apartment; a single-room apartment with a toilet and kitchen. I walked quickly to the door with her following and then she stopped a meter from the door to allow me to do the gentlemanly thing. I opened the door and we went in. I looked up at the wall, and my eyes caught the multicolored wall clock on the wall; it was 5:00 pm.

Biola’s room was neatly arranged and decorated with some nice artwork. One was a frame of an African woman with C cup br××st, a narrow w–st, and a gigantic backside. There was another beautiful frame of Pablo Escoba which hung on the wall. I later learned she got it from her ex-boyfriend.

I dropped my small bag at a corner where she kept some of her clothes. Silence stood between us for some seconds before she asked if I had eaten.
“I’m very hungry. Did you cook anything?” I asked. She replied in the negative.

~ Biola’s POV ~

When Femi said he was feeling hungry, I made tea and bread for him to cool off before I headed to the kitchen to prepare food. I already bought the foodstuffs for Efo soup before his arrival.
While I was in the kitchen, Femi lay on the bed on his back as he got busy with his phone.

A moment later, I came out to meet Femi already fast asleep. The soup was ready but hot water for eba was still on fire.
Seeing the way he lay on the bed, I had several crazy thoughts in my head. I craved to lie on top of him as I watched his belly as it rose and fall back while he breathed.
When finally I made the food was ready, I dished out the soup and eba on a stainless plate. “Femi,” I tapped him, but he didn’t respond. I tapped him on the shoulders the second time before he sluggishly rose from bed—yawning and stretching his arms.

~ Femi’s POV ~

I was woken up by Biola to feast on eba and efo soup. It was dawn already. The light from the moon flickered through the window. I heaved a sigh of relief while Biola stood and stared at me. I pondered what could be going on in her mind. “Let’s eat together,” I said. She joined me and sat on the bed which served as a chair while the food was on the tiled floor. It felt like we were a newly married couple experiencing marriage life and expecting a child soon. Yeah, that was exactly the way I felt as Biola and I ate from the same plate. She would constantly gaze at me and then continue eating. I didn’t understand that gesture. I simply smiled.

By the time we were done eating, I told Biola I needed to take my shower—and she showed me the bathroom. I reached for the corner where she left her clothes, unbuttoned my shirt, and also pulled my trouser. I was just on my boxers. I quickly unzipped my bag and brought out my white towel. I went in,side the bathroom and bolted the door. My phone served as a source of illumination. I turned the tap and was glad the shower was working. So I quickly pulled out my boxers and began to have a cool bath.

About three minutes later, it seemed I heard a knock at the door. I kept quiet to be sure I was right. Then the knock became obvious.

“Biola, is that you?”
“Yes. Please, open the door,” she busted.
I was puzzled by her demand.
“I’m not through yet. Do you want to take something?”
“No. I’m not taking anything,” she stuttered.
“Okay, so…”
“I want us to bath together, please,” she said.

I felt a lump in my throat. I was bewildered to hear Biola make such a ridiculous request.

“Femi, please, I have long craved for this. Don’t say no,” she said and paused.
It became obvious Biola wasn’t joking. I was awestruck. I didn’t want to do any of these with Biola. One voice was telling me to ignore her while another voice was countering it, saying, it’s part of pregnancy cravings. I was mute and didn’t know what to tell her.

“Femi, I know we haven’t done this before, but please, for the sake of my pregnancy, let me in,” she continued.
“Femi, this is a temptation, don’t open the door,” — a voice that rushed through my head.
Water dripped on my body while I contemplated my next line of action. It seemed I was helpless. Lots of imagination and pictures already clouded my head.

To be continued…
© Frank The Writer
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