A new academic session was beginning on Monday. Anxiety made the weekend unnecessarily long. I couldn’t wait to experience the so-much talked about campus. It felt like the hours became longer since Thursday evening. I only had three options to kill my boredom. Get on my PlayStation, use some porn and masturbate, or, take a walk down to the community football pitch. But mom never wants to hear that I ventured close to the football pitch. There’s no time we walk past the pitch without seeing smoke in the air. A unique type of smoke though. Created by students of Ganja High School. They’re always there through the soccer games. But they’re there at night too, even when all footballers are at home sleeping. Bloody children of wobe!
I had to plead with mom to let me go to Mrs Olu’s place on Friday night. It would enable me visit the school on Saturday. That way, I’ll most likely get a head start with my registration on Monday. I’ve always heard it’s a stressful task to accomplish. Mom refused. I could tell she was missing me already from her body language. She didn’t let me choose a school far from home as I wanted earlier. I called Mrs Olu and told her my ordeal with mom and she intervened. Sometimes, I just wished Mrs Olu was my mom. She’s less rigid. Mom finally agreed after Mrs Olu’s persuasion and let me leave home on Saturday afternoon. She almost cried as I was leaving home. She’s about to leave her baby boy for a while.
Mom didn’t let me leave home without the usual ritual of Yoruba or maybe African parents. “Face your studies squarely. Remember the son of whom you are. A good name is better than silver and gold…”, and so on and so fort. I was already yawning by the time mom finished her short prayer session. After a minute-long hug, I dashed out of the house and walked fast to the bus stop. It was inside the bus that it really dawned on me that I was leaving my mom’s clutch. Life without her constant control and call-to-order was unimaginable. Mrs Olu would be there but hers is nothing. I could easily violate her rules. If she ever acts funny, then she’ll never have my dick again, I thought.
On getting to Mrs Olu’s gate, I brought out my phone and dialed her number. She picked up and I began to talk to her like we do when it’s just the two of us. To my surprise, Mrs Olu wasn’t responding the usual way. She was quite evasive. Then I heard her talking quietly to someone in the background. Mrs Olu spoke in deep Yoruba in a deliberate attempt to cut me off their conversation. But she underestimated my Yoruba proficiency. I understood everything she said clearly. She told the fellow to stop being jealous that I was only her best friend’s son. Right there I knew she was with some man.
For the very first time in my life, I felt so much rage. I could literally feel my blood boiling inside my veins. Angrily, I walked away from Mrs Olu’s gate and headed to the store at the street’s entrance. I bought a very cold bottle of coke which I used to pass time. Minutes later, a very clean Nissan Pathfinder drove into the street and Mrs Olu was inside. The driver was a man almost old enough to be my grandpa. I got up immediately and followed the car. The man already dropped Mrs Olu at her gate and sped past me on his way back. I watched Mrs Olu from afar as she reached for her phone and dialed my number. My phone was ringing but I didn’t pick the call. Instead, I walked closer until Mrs Olu could see me.
Mrs Olu was all smiles as she opened the gate to her house. We entered and she began to play with me immediately. I was too angry to respond. “You’re a cheat. So, I’m not enough for you? That’s why you go fucking that old man, you bitch?”. Yes! Those were the questions in my mind for Mrs Olu. Unfortunately, I had no courage to muster such words so I just stayed quiet. Mrs Olu noticed my mood and was smart enough to decipher what the problem was. “Please come and assist me in the kitchen so I can be quicker with dinner”, Mrs Olu said. She walked into the kitchen and I followed her quietly.
As we entered the kitchen, Mrs Olu walked to me and turned her back. “Please help me undo my zippers”, she asked. I pulled the zipper all the way from just below her neck down to her buttocks. The gown dropped to the floor and Mrs Olu’s rumps greeted my eyes. The anger in me began to dissipate immediately. Mrs Olu began to talk, “Tunde, there are some things you need to know…”.
To be continued…