I am in a mourning mood. I got the sad news of untimely
demise of one of my long time ladies few weeks ago. It was Rashidat that first
called me. I did not believe her because both of them were arch rivals. It was
not Rashidat Deen o! It was Rashidat Owoh.
Bola was introduced to me some years ago by one of our
social aunties fondly called “City Mama”. Bola was a popular hairdresser in one
of the state capitals around us. She and the two Rashidats always kept my
company whenever I visited that state; it depended on whom I saw first.
Our first outing left a sour taste in the mouth, though
she eventually made up the disappointment. It was at one of City Mama’s friend’s
birthday party. The ceremony was in the top gear when this motor-cade blearing
siren disrupted the gathering. The vehicles grounded to an abrupt halt and a
young man jumped out of the SUV vehicle and ran to the celebrant where she
seated. She stood up and embraced him. He gave her a peck and handed her a
bulky envelope. I later on learnt that he was the cousin of the celebrant.
“Sister, I won’t stay long o! We have to go back to Lagos
tonight.” He shouted. He looked around and saw Bola. He beckoned at her. She
ran to him. He whispered something to her and both of them rose. To my chagrin,
Bola followed him and the convoy left noisily the way they came. I felt empty.
I was boiling all over. The wine I was sipping became tasteless in my mouth.
About two hours later, Bola emerged from nowhere and sat
quietly beside me. Her defence was
“Faari, don’t be annoyed, Omo-Oye was my boyfriend right
from our secondary school days. You see refusing to answer him in public like
that would be an insult. The guy has just come back from the United States and
he is seeking an elective post. I’m even one of his campaign agents here” she
kept on defending herself.
Another disappointing scene was when I went to that city
on an important appointment with a top state functionary. After arranging for
the next day, I called at Bola’s Salon. She was happy to see me. She arranged
for my feeding and booked hotel accommodation for me. She went back to her shop
and promised to call again in the evening. That was the last I saw of Bola o.
It was like “waiting
for Godot!” If you have not read that book go and read it. When it was
about 11pm and I did not see Bola, I started calling her number. She had
switched off her phone. I slept alone that night. I woke up early, needless
telling you that I did not enjoy my sleep. I was afraid what could have
happened to Bola? Did armed robbers attack her on her way? Various thoughts
kept coming to my mind.
I decided to check on her on my way to the state’s
secretariat. There I learnt she did not sleep at home. My appointment with the
commissioner was for 8.00 0’clock and I was to travel with him to Abuja that
morning. It was from Abuja that I went back to Lagos. Bola called me later in
the week and started apologizing and giving excuses. I was not fooled. She was
otherwise engaged and did not want me to see other alternatives.
You can now understand my feelings when I heard that she
died in a ghastly auto crash. I was curious, therefore I instructed our Bureau Chief
in that State to investigate the circumstances that led to her death.
According to his reports, Bola in her characteristic
manner followed one of her men to a drinking joint in the outskirts of the
town. They were in the middle of enjoyment when this pretty young girl entered
the hall. She was this man’s girlfriend. The girl was hesitant at first, but
the man beckoned at her and asked her to sit on his laps. Bola was furious. I
knew her to be of terrible temper. Bola was a stammerer! She picked her cup and
that of the man with both hands and poured the contents on the duo.
She picked the man’s bunch of keys on the table and
stormed out. She ran to the car park, entered the man’s car and sped off. Few
minutes later, she ran the car into a stationary truck in the road with full
speed. Bola died instantly!
BEHAVE RESPONSIBLY; LIFE IS
SHORT!
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