Fiction: Lost Love by Olabode Oladapo Samuel

“At least if I’ll finally find a way to let go, give me a reason. Tell me what you see in me from the first time that keeps your heart far away from me. Please. At least do this for me so that I can find a way to adjust in my later love story.”

As I was chatting with her on Whatsapp, I could feel a deep sore cruelly engraved at the centre of my heart. I could see myself crying without tears; losing everything I never for once possessed.

After a few seconds she replied, and I was lost.

“Nothing” Nothing? Did she really mean I would lose everything for nothing? All my efforts, all my fights, all my time, all my thoughts, all my calculated plans? I would lose all my life, just for nothing? Nothing would be my first love story? I tried to comprehend the situation, but I could not. I could not just comprehend it: could not comprehend the end to the last moment of my first love story.

My first love story started even before I became a teenager, though I could not remember the exact age. I loved girls so much when I was in Junior Secondary School that I seldom moved with boys. Beautiful girls swarmed around me like bees probably because my mom was a little bit rich and I was really handsome. No pride. I really had great times being with them. The reminiscence of those days, often made me squeeze my face smiling. I was really charming.

We both attended the same Junior Secondary School and lived in the same neighbourhood. Although those things we had in common were enough to spring some feelings, we were simply acquainted. I got my cliques; and she had hers. That time, I could not really remember what transpired that created such unimaginable distance between us. Maybe I considered her not to be my taste of a girl. 

Life truly is unpredictable. It was incredible when I realised I started developing feelings for her when we got separated. That was after our final exams for Junior Secondary School. She was taken to a boarding school for her Senior Secondary School education while I proceeded mine at the same school, Obafemi Awolowo International School, Ile-Ife. We lost connections while the seedlings of my feelings for her started germinating. And I was oblivion of the development.

The reality started crawling in during holiday periods. Once there was a holiday, she would come to the neighbourhood. Fortunately for me, my cousin lived in the same neighbourhood and his house was beside her father’s. Several times, I would pretend as if I was paying my cousin a visit just to see her. 

On her own part too, she would leave her house and come to my cousin’s side. So, we had great times together, chatting about those days in Junior Secondary School, while I would be updating her about the current situations in her former school. She would also talk to me about her school conditions and the likes. We really had a great time. Looking back now, I would have wished we never grew up. I would have wished we never really grew matured.

Whenever I was leaving my cousin’s house, she would see me off. Several times on the way, I would want to tell her how much I loved her, how much I wanted to be with her. Expression always failed me those days. Although I was a baddoo, I did not have such courage of telling a girl that I loved her. I just preferred playing with them. Yet the feelings I had towards this particular girl was different from others, and I was afraid to pour out the torrent in my mind. I was afraid of the unknown.

“Elizabeth,” one day I finally summoned courage to tell her how I felt towards her.

“Yes,” she answered.

“I’ve wanted to tell you something for a long time,” I started and I ended, somehow perspiring. I could not utter the next statement. I was just perambulating around the main purpose of the conversation I started. She pestered me to tell her what I said I wanted to tell her for a long time. I could not say the combination of just four words until she said she had to go back home after seeing me off to the usual destination.

I lost the flow; I lost my courage; I lost my heart.

“I love you Elizabeth!”I finally screamed the four words several times. But it was too late. I was sure she was already in her house. I was just there in the balcony of my father’s house torturing my emotions, disturbing the empty house with my silent scream.

As times passed by, she kept on disturbing and pestering me about what I wanted to tell her the other time. I just kept on lying to her. Whenever I actually told her one of those lies, she would tell me I was lying. She caught me red-handed. Looking back now, I kept wondering if she actually knew what I wanted to say. Did she know I loved her already but was just waiting for me to say it? And most importantly, did she feel the same way? I wished I could get an answer each to this emotional questions that would not let me be.

Nevertheless, all talks about my feelings somehow stopped. She ceased to ask me questions, I ceased to give her a clue to my feelings. We simply shared gist about our schools and other related stuffs. With that, we moved on happily ever after.

We both sat down for Senior Secondary School Certificate Examination. She finally graduated from the Federal Government College, Ipetumodu. We were then both seeking admission into tertiary institutions of our different choices. She was processing admission for Accounting in the University of Abuja while I was processing admission for Medicine and Surgery in Obafemi Awolowo University, OAU. During that period we spent more times together and our friendship grew stronger. Then, I didn’t need my uncle as a cover-up anymore. We both visited each other regularly. People in the neighbourhood, together with our parents, all knew we were close friends. I was sure some even thought we were dating. Yet, I was afraid to express my feelings. What the hell my problem was then? 

Finally, we both gained admissions as exactly as we wanted. She travelled to Abuja for her university education while I stayed in Ile-Ife for mine. We got separated again, but thank God for social media. Through 2go, we were able to connect on our smartphones. We would spend several hours chatting, sharing experiences just like the old days.

After a whole session in OAU, I was finally groomed from a boy into a man. I could finally confront her and express my feelings to her. Fortunately for me, or should I say unfortunately for me, the holiday that marked the end of us being freshers in our different schools was immediately succeeded by the nation-wide six-month strike embarked upon by the Academic Staff Union of Universities, ASUU. She came back home to Ile-Ife, and I finally expressed my feelings, which I had been hoarding since, to her.

It all started without a thoughtful beginning. It was really a long night. Although her father’s house was not far from mine, that night, the distance became farer. What a pity for me!

On that fateful day, I was the one who visited her in the house. We shared our experiences as usual and cracked some jokes. When it was around eight in the evening, I finally told her I was leaving, and as usual, she saw me off. On our way, we talked a little and I finally told her, not screaming to an empty house this time, but right to her face.

“Elizabeth I have feelings for you. I want you to be mine. I love you.” I finally told her with OAU guys’ courage, though scared within.

“Are you serious?”She asked with that feminine voice, and I was startled. My blinded eyes were then wide open. I realised she was not the same girl I grew up with. She had become a lady just like I had become a man. A man? I cast doubts on that.

“What do you mean?”My courage was turning its back against me. “Elizabeth. I’m not joking. I love you and I want to have you in my life. I want you to be my lady.”

“No, it can’t be. I don’t feel the same way,” she calmly replied and I surely knew I was in deep trouble. “I only like you as a friend,” she continued.

“Try to understand me Elizabeth, no matter how hard I think about it, you’re the only one my heart beats for. Elizabeth I love you. You’re the only one my heart desires. Please, give me a chance to prove my love for you. Please, give me a chance to show you how much I love you.” So, I pleaded with her, oblivious of the fact that I was going to be repeating similar statements for the next four years.

“I really love you too. Just that it won’t work out. Try to understand and reason with me. I’m now studying in Abuja while you’re studying in Ife here. The relationship won’t work out. I love you, but as a friend.”

“Elizabeth please let’s give it a try.” I pleaded further, almost weeping without tears.

“No. And besides, I don’t feel the same way. The thought of dating you never even crossed my mind.”

That night was a nightmare for me. It was like we were cast in a tragic love movie. I pleaded with her, begged her, draining my whole energy just to convince her to love me, all to no avail. It was like she knew a day like that would come. Like an efficient defendant in a Court of Law, she was well prepared for her defenceagainst my proposal. And she was actually winning, tearing all my claims to pieces. She made me look like a fool, or perhaps a clown. She caught me unaware, my pants down.

Finally, I let go of her around 11:45 pm. That was indeed the longest night we ever had. That was the first time I could not sleep throughout the whole night without being in infirmity. Maybe I was actually sick, in my mind though. I spent the whole night thinking about what might have happened. Where had I gone wrong? On my bed I laid down turning left and right – restless. I thought it would be easy since we had been together for a long time, but I was wrong. She showed me I was wrong and the rest was just a story.

And there I was, four years later, on the 17th of July, 2016, chatting with her on Whatsapp, still pleading my claims. The frustrating part about those years was that as days passed by, my love for her kept growing stronger and deeper. I even wrote her a beautiful poem once. In the course of love, everyone is a poet. She saw it and she was even dazed by its exceptionality, yet she would not still unseal her heart. I just finished my 300 level studying medicine and surgery, and I could not believe that I could not find someone else to replace my love for her. Then, I was scared. I had to close that chapter of my life before it became something else. Before I would not let go anymore. Before it became an obsession. 

We spent some time chatting and it was the same old story: she loved me, but she loved me just as a friend. To worsen the matter, she even told me she had a boyfriend already.

If I would finally go down, if I would finally let go of her, I did not want to do so easily. And that was the beginning of this story. All I wanted from her then was a reason, the reason she decided not to reciprocate my love for her. The reason she did not feel the same way. Her reason was nothing. She chose not to love me for nothing. Like seriously? Or was she actually being economical with the truth? Did she actually have a real reason for not loving me? I did not think so. Elizabeth could not have done that. We were closer than that. She would not have hidden the truth from me. Funnily, as the chat went on, she even said I was cool and nice. She just did not feel the same way.

That was how nothing ended my first love story and I finally moved on, searching for a better love story. My name is Olaoluwa, and I am single and searching.

Fiction: Lovers of the People by Olabode Oladapo Samuel

Like a cruising car showing off its efficacy to the passers-by, they waddled and chatted down the street. Things were really changing here. Hopes were high; the birds were singing sweet melodies; people were happy. 

For the past four years now, they’d realised and would continue to realise that they hadn’t made a mistake. The steps were so skillfully calculated and obviously its rewards were visible to the blind and audible to the deaf. The government was working. Soon, all the remaining social amenities would be provided to their town. In the blink of an eye, this town, their town, would be swiftly turned into a city. With the way things were going and moving faster, their seemingly unquenchable expectation for the establishment of a tertiary institution would be fully and adequately satisfied. Their economy which was depreciating day by day would be drastically improved. This government was clearly open-handed. Cash was flowing, their town would soon become popular. Like that, they chatted their way towards a market.

“Have you heard that the governor is coming today?” Labake asked Royeke.

Labake and Royeke were friends from childhood. Through times of hostility and reconciliation, they still managed to get along. They’d caused each other pains and had vowed never to converse together again, but with the movement of time and the healing of bruises, they’d realised the impossibility of ending their friendship. They spent virtually their whole lives in the town. They knew how things worked around there. They were never devoid of information nor oblivious of a minute development in progress. The only visible disparity between them was that while Labake was fat and of average height, Royeke was slim and beautiful, though some people considered her lanky.

“Today?” Royeke repeated like someone unpleasantly pressed to a corner. “Okay, I thought it’s supposed to be tomorrow.”

“He should be around in less than two hours,” Labake said.

“Seriously! I don’t know why he’s disturbing himself. He has people’s mandate already or what do you think?”

“Abi nao. Just that politicians like showing off.” They smiled.

As they were entering the market, they greeted passers-by, traders in their shops among others.

In less than two hours, the governor would be there with his entourage and convoy, campaigning for his second term in office. His good works preceded him. He recently started the construction of a two-lane wide road passing through their town straight to the government house. Power supply was stable, taps were running. He truly was the government of the people by the people and for the people. People adored him and highly respected him. He was coming to see his people, his citizens and most important, people who believed in his cause.

“I heard the governor is at the garage and is moving down here. Did you see him?” Mrs Duroti inquired as the duo were approaching her.

For more than two decades, Mrs Duroti, Labake’s mother had been selling “ready-made” clothes in the market. She was born here, lived here, worked here and probably would die here. She knew every route in the town. One thing that was peculiar and sacred to the people of the town was their market day. Market day was always held in every five days. The market was considerably large enough to accommodate other traders from neighbouring villages, towns and cities to showcase their goods. It was a den for cheap goods, especially farm produce. This was apparently the main reason why some outsiders couldn’t stop patronising the town.

“No Ma. We even thought he should be here in the next two hours.” Labake replied and greeted her mother. Royeke greeted her too. 

Customers came around and there was no time to socialise. Labake and her mother attended to the customers while Royeke left them for her mother’s shop which was directly across Mrs Duroti’s. Fifteen minutes later, screeching of tires, blasting of horns and sirens coming from the rally were becoming audible. Villagers in the market engaged one another in light conservation. They gathered in twos, threes and so on. Their lover, the lover of the masses was coming. They were elated and the more the sound became audible, the more they gyrated, showing their support and allegiance.

The governor, his entourage together with his party members and supporters got to an open space at the centre of the market. They were surrounded by market people who either gathered to watch the governor or halted the process of buying and selling goods to watch him.

As planned, a makeshift podium was quickly and somehow mysteriously arranged for the governor to have a good view of the people and comfortably address the throng. A microphone was affixed to the podium. He wore his party vest and a pair of blue jeans. He covered his head with a fez cap, having his party’s logo on his right hand. Finally, to show his solidarity to the people, he wore a pair of neatly shined black shoes and his stomach was moderately protruded. He repeatedly chanted his party name and slogan to which the people responded accordingly and enthusiastically. After they were all calm, he started.

“Good morning my people.” He began slowly. “As you all know that the governorship election is fast approaching, I hereby come here to solicit your supports and most especially your votes.”

He took his time lecturing them on how imperative it would be for them to come out to cast their votes. Although he strongly believed that the people were for him, if they didn’t come out massively on the day of election to cast their votes, God forbid, the opposition might win.

“You have all seen what our administration has offered and done so far.” The crowd nodded and chanted with approval. To that, he waved, smiled and continued. “If you all come en masse and cast your votes for us, we promise to continue the good work. You are only witnessing a tip of the iceberg. If you vote for us for the second time, we promise you much more of what we have been able to do in the first term.”

He went on, pointing out the roads under construction with a promise to finish them. He assured them of opening the newly constructed primary and secondary school blocks. Their administration would ensure that the power supply get better and better. There would be improvement in water supply too.

He took a breath, stooped closely to the microphone and with the consciousness and awareness that this was what the mass had been expecting, he said, “If you look around you, you will see that work has already started. We are determined in ensuring that we construct a new market for you people, our people. And to this promise we will surely fulfil. Modern structures and shops which are under construction already will be firmly established in this town. Furthermore, if you vote for us for the second term, we promise you strongly that we will ensure that an institution of higher learning is brought to this town. Also, we are going to ensure the availability of job opportunity for every citizen of our state.”

With that and other few more promises, he majestically concluded his speech by shouting the party’s name and slogan to which the people loyally responded accordingly and cheerfully only for them to realise the truth of the matter a year later.      

                                                                 

She looked up into the sky, vividly saw an approaching bullet, and many thoughts ran in a jiffy through her simple brain. To blame or to act? To react or to calm down? To ruminate about the past or to save the future? She was indecisive, not because she didn’t know what to do but because she was high and dry, highly frustrated.

“Ma’ami! Ma’ami!” Labake called her, bemused by her mother’s stationary position. Instantly, Mrs Duroti was jerked out of her nightmare back to the dreadful reality she tried to run away from. “Are you not going to do or say something?” Labake asked, almost crying.

Since a month ago, the market had been really burning, emitting heat greater than the Nebuchadnezzar’s furnace. Friends had and were becoming foes, smiling and hopeful faces being gradually metamorphosed to austere and depressed appearances. Their lives and what they’d cherished for ages were steadily being ruined while they were still alive. Their situations were getting worse and things were getting really weird.

The last market day before that market day, things couldn’t really have got worse when Labake mounted on Royeke like an angry mob pounding on a pickpocket. It all started like an inquisition. Then it became the free-for-all. Who actually began what was to be a feud was actually a matter for debate but Mrs Duroti firstly voiced out. 

“Mummy Royeke, why did you shift your counter towards us? You know well that your shop doesn’t extend to this place.” Mrs Duroti was addressing Mrs Ajala.

Mrs Ajala was Royeke’s mother. Just like Labake and Royeke, they were childhood friends. Probably that was what fostered the intimacy between their two daughters. Although they still maintained their relationship cordially, marriage had had its pound of flesh on their closeness. Sometimes, when the occasion arose, they did attend ceremonies together, sewing the same attires and same designs. Mrs Ajala was a grocer. Recently, things hadn’t being going well with them.

“Don’t tell me that. You’re the one at fault here. You are the one that couldn’t maintain you boundary. When I came to market this morning, Royeke informed me about what Labake did.” Labake, who was busy spreading the “ready-made” clothes on a counter, together with Feyi, Mrs Duroti’s apprentice, looked up at Mrs Ajala in disbelief and shifted her gaze to Royeke who was four feet behind her mother. Their eyes met. Royeke used her hands to guard her waist, questioning Labake’s strength and probably challenging her to a fight.

“Mummy I didn’t do anything!” Labake exclaimed, trying to defend herself.

“Shut up your dirty mouth!” Mrs Ajala shouted at her.

“Mummy Royeke, you don’t have to shout at my daughter like that. You are meant to listen to both of them before you conclude, a reasonable elder doesn’t judge having heard from just one party.”

“Let us hear words.” Mrs Ajala cut in. She made the next statement, “Who else will the housefly support if not the one with the sore. Like mother like daughter”, and all hell was let loose.

They proceeded from insulting one another, mothers and daughters, to grasping one another’s clothes. This madness they displayed within a very short period before people in the market noticed them and brought them back to saneness. However, the damage had been done, feelings had been hurt, and the bond had been loosened. That incident haunted Mrs Duroti particularly, being a person of loving, easy-going, and tender character. 

“Feyi! Feyi! Feyi!” Mrs Duroti wailed at her apprentice who had become the recipient of her distressing situation. “Why are you so sluggish? Quickly park those ready-mades inside the black sack before they get soaked in water.” It’s about to rain.

As she was packing the clothes, she couldn’t help herself thinking, silently cursing the prevaricator that brought this calamity upon them. The promise was well constructed and made. Like hungry fish sighting the fisherman’s fishing line, they unconsciously took the bait. Now, like a vagabond wondering the deserted desert, they were high and dry. Nevertheless, what could they do? Or better still, what could they have done? They’d sold their birth rights to the cunning dogs. They were left to ruminate on the leftovers.

Finally, the heavens opened and there was commotion. People were seen struggling to protect their goods and chattels. The wisest had packed their goods and went home or didn’t bother to come at all. Others were wet from heads to toes together with their goods and chattels.

Mrs Duroti looked around and sprinting tear nearly found its way through the hard walls of her eyes. She wasn’t about to cry because of what she actually saw. She was about to cry because of the inconvenience and defeat she felt within, the agony. She noticed people wallowing in the running mud, trying to pick up their falling goods from it. There were no roofs to shield them from the sun and rain. The government had bulldozed their once cherished, ancient market for the promise of a better one. It’s been more than nine months now and work had abruptly halted. No information about the way forward. The government was dead to its promises; the market was gone, reduced to ruins; the economy was done for; and the people were dead, soul and mind. 

None would certainly believe there had once been a very big commercial centre on the piece of land if that person never saw it when it still enjoyed fame and popularity, when it was full of glories as it was always busy with different forms of trades before bulldozers and other machines were brought from the government’s office.

Mrs Duroti gave up after being mercilessly beaten by the rain, sighted Labake and Feyi and said, “Pack the dirty and soaked clothes. It’s time to go home…”