Here Comes The Sun

 

 Life is tough. Yes, it damn well is. Mind you, I am not trying to ask for your pity. It is simply a glaring fact if you have to live a hand to mouth existence. I have an eighteen months daughter, Boluwatife (How God wants it). Do you want to hear the story behind the name? I became pregnant and had to drop out of school. Boluwatife’s father disappeared right after she was born. He is not dead. This guy is as cunning as a fox and he just hates responsibilities.

Anyway, here I am with a baby, living in a shabby one room in a dilapidated part of town. No job. Well, I could not call my hawking roasted groundnuts and fruits in front of my house a job, could I? No profession having left school unceremoniously. I blame everyone around me for my troubles. My landlady minds everybody’s business, except her own. Puts her nose in everything I do.

‘Sola, wipe your baby’s nose,’ ‘Sola feed your baby,’ ‘Sola, are you sure your baby is not sick?’ etcetera, etcetera. God, she makes my blood boil.

And as for my other cotenants: Ha! Kofi, a migrant from Ghana, has suddenly become a pastor. He preaches to me non-stop about better life after death. I ask him how he knows, if he is still here with humans. He just looks at me and gives me his usual patronising smile saying, ‘What a pity you are so ignorant. You better come to Christ,’ is his usual singsong every day.

And of course you have the middle-aged couple, Baba and Mama Tunji. They live in the flat upstairs with four children – two boys and two girls. They always tell you, if you care to listen, what sexual position conceives a boy or a girl, while winking at each other. I think they are too old to be swooning like love-struck teenagers. Baba Tunji is a corporate driver for one of the new banks. His wife is a caterer. What that means is that she cooks at parties – anywhere there is a large crowd. She is there as part of a group of professional cooks. She told me she can make up to N3000 (about $20), on a good day, but then she comes back late and exhausted. She brings food home at such times and sends some downstairs, or just shouts, ‘Wo, Sola, wa gba onje ko je’ (Look, Sola come and take food to eat).

You never see her ill or loafing around. She is so restless that rather than sit down doing nothing, she will sweep the compound, fetch water, or go out to look for catering jobs. Her saying is ‘Ise ki npania, ise ni npania’ (Hard work doesn’t kill, it is poverty that does).

Who else? Oh, the youth corpers; six of them in total, three to a room. They bring their friends, sometimes, to squat without the knowledge of the landlady. They can be a pain in the-you-know-what, but at other times pure joy. When they are a pain, they play ear-splitting music, make so much noise my daughter wakes up crying, or come in late from parties banging the doors loud. The late-night crawling my landlady cannot take.

 ‘I wonder if your parents know what you people are up to?’ she would lament day in day out.

When they are good, they joke and fool around or carry my daughter to relieve me for a few hours or bring me the occasional Mr Biggs or Tantalisers’ jollof rice and fried chicken.

‘Sola you know what, you can still go back to school, once your baby grows up a bit.’ Chinedu, a mechanical engineer will advise.

‘You must be joking, where do I start?’

‘Start from the beginning. The most important is to start,’ he will go on.

That in a nutshell is my co-tenant “family”. Fine and good you may say, but I don’t think so. They are just ganging up to make me feel inadequate. I can see through their goody-goody attitude. They can take their niceties and shove it. I don’t need charity and pitiable looks, thank you very much. They think they are better than me with their condescending expressions. Well, I will show them. I grabbed my daughter and stormed into my room banging the door shut. I was seething with rage. Against who in particular? The whole world of course. Is it my fault that everything around seems to be conspiring against my survival and my child’s? I try to feed and put a roof over our heads, but my God, luck is against me.

My anger and my frustration are beginning to show on my face and affecting my health. I have to do something about my life.

‘Sola, Sola come o.’ I recognised my landlady’s voice, which jolted me back to the present.

‘Your rent is overdue, and why can’t you respond to your baby’s cry?’

‘Please Ma, give me another two weeks to pay.’

‘You said that two weeks ago.’

‘I promise to give you something, I beg you to be patient a little longer.’

I picked up my baby and tried to soothe her with a biscuit, which she took and started to suck on.

I sat down and suddenly a thought popped into my head. ‘No I can’t do that.’   ‘Yes, you can.’   It was as if two people were inside my head. One urging me to do what I was about to do, the other reminding me of the repercussions.

‘What have you got to lose? Look at yourself. You are in your prime. Your mates are already out of university with nice jobs, some even with cars. Here you are in a one room apartment, a single mother with a baby that cries all the time, your rent in arrears, and not sure where the next meal is coming from. Get real, girl.’

‘Don’t listen. Yes, you are in your prime, which means you can still be what you want to be. Having a baby should not be an obstacle. Listen to the youth corper’s advice. Don’t be too arrogant. Let them show you how to get back to your education. Take one step at a time and you will get there.’

‘Look, you are wasting your time,’ the other voice interrupted. ‘Take this short cut. It is much easier and faster. Who will ever know? The other route is too long and tough.’

‘Okay, enough,’ I shouted to the two voices arguing in my head.

‘Who are you talking to?’ Kofi asked from behind me.

 ‘I was talking to my baby, who keeps crying,’ I lied.

‘But your baby is busy chewing on a biscuit.’ Kofi replied.

‘She was crying before, anyway what do you want?’ I was slightly irritated.

‘Nothing, are you alright? You are sweating so much.’

‘If you have not noticed, this place is not Sheraton, is it?’

‘Do you always have to be so sarcastic about everything? Life is as good as what you put in. No one can do it for you. You have to do it yourself.’

‘Thank you. Have you finished?’

‘No I’ve not. I want to invite you to my church next Sunday. Will you accept?’

‘I can’t say yes now. I have to think about it.’

I walked away before Kofi could start another religious argument and resumed my conversation with the two voices in my head.

‘You want me to sell my body for money? There’s not much money in that, and for how long? I want quick and good money.’

‘Now, you are talking. Let me tell you, this is not about cheap prostitution. I mean high class, high-flyer prostitution. London today, Paris tomorrow, New York the next. You are with the rich and famous, that kind of thing. You are beautiful, good skin, excellent features, perfect figure and your breasts… wow.’

‘Don’t listen. Prostitution is prostitution whether high class or low class. Your body and respect suffer in the long run. What legacy do you want to leave your daughter? Take my advice, go back to school.’

I said to the last voice, ‘I just want to try it, at least for six months. If I don’t like it then I can get out.’ With this decision, I dismissed both voices, closed my eyes and dozed off. The next day, I announced to my neighbours that I had landed a new job, but required doing shifts, hence must take my daughter to my mother in the village temporarily.

‘That’s good, what sort of job is it?’ the female youth corper, Yemi, asked.

‘It’s a job in one of the hotels as a bar girl. I can also help in the restaurant sometimes. The pay is not much, but it’s a start,’ I lied. Lying was becoming easier and easier.

The next task was to travel to the village with my daughter.

‘Sola, this is a surprise. You did not tell me you are coming,’ my mother stood up from peeling cassava for garri.

‘Well, you know how these things work sometime. Anyway, I miss you and the peace of this nice village. How are you doing?’

‘We thank God for our provisions. My garri is the best in the village, so I cannot meet the demand. It is just that the buyers cheat us. I can make twice as much for a bag of garri if I take it to Lagos.’

‘Lagos? It’s better you stay here o. Lagos will be too rough for you. By the way, Mama, I want to leave Boluwatife with you for six months. I have this new job, which requires working ungodly hours, I mean shifts.’

‘What sort of job is that?’

‘It’s a job as a manager in a good hotel in Lagos,’ I lied again.

‘Are they paying you well?’

‘Yes, enough for me to retire after six months,’ I said jokingly.

‘I will be glad to have my granddaughter stay with me, so when are you returning to Lagos.’

‘The day after tomorrow.’

With that arrangement sorted with my mother, I got on the bus back to Lagos, and immediately went to a public phone. I took out a folded piece of paper from my bag and asked the girl to dial.

‘Yes, can I help you,’ a female voice answered.

‘This is Sola, remember me? You said I could call this number when ready to get that bar job.’

‘I remember. Are you ready?’

‘Yes,’ I answered simply.

‘Okay, know what you have to do? Meet me at the weekend, same place, my sister.’

I went back home.  In the next two days, I gave myself a makeover: trimmed my hair, did my nails and bought second hand clothes with the little change I had. I am lucky with my body and physical features. I did not need too much money to make me look like a well-kept lady. At least that is what I am going to be very soon.

I was amazed at the heads turning, and wolf-whistles, as I walked on the road, avoiding the potholes, towards my appointment venue.

I took in five deep breaths, pushed the door and entered a big room, cloudy with cigarette smoke, to see half a dozen girls in different revealing dresses lounging on the sofa, drinking and laughing out loud. The men amongst them were young, good looking and carelessly dressed also.

These could not be the high-flyer men promised, I thought.

‘Come here, Sola’, my hostess walked towards me, and as if reading my thoughts said, ‘These young men are also on our pay roll for the big girls, you know, whose husbands are too busy making money, or too old to meet their “needs” .’

‘What now?’

‘This is the address for your client. Remember the rules: safe sex (insist on condom), no violence, no anal sex, do not swallow the semen during oral sex, bolt out fast once you think your life is in danger, and don’t forget to carry your pepper spray just in case. Got all that?’

‘I think so.’

‘No “think so,” you must get it 100% as this could be the difference between whether you live or die.’

‘Yes, 100%’

I got an allowance for taxi, which will be deducted from my earnings. I flagged down an unpainted taxi and gave the driver the address.

I sat back and tried to relax. I started imagining what my date would look like. He would probably be a bald old man, in his sixties, potbellied, short and fat with bad teeth and putrid breath. God, let me survive this ordeal. I started to pray, which sounded odd even to my ears.

‘Now you remember God. But I warned you,’ the familiar voice crept in ‘It is not too late to turn back.’

‘How can I turn back? It is too late,’ I lamented.

‘Sister, we don reach o,’ the driver brought me back to reality.

‘Okay, thank you.’ I paid him and scrambled out to see the big gates with walls almost touching the sky. If I am murdered, no one will ever find me within the wall of this mansion. I chilled at the gruesome thought.

I pressed the bell, and felt I was being watched by an inside camera.

‘Yes, who is there?’

‘My name is Sola. I am expected.’

‘Wait there.’

After what seems like an eternity, the big gates swung open. The inside of the compound is big enough to take five additional houses, but only one big house dominated the centre of the sprawling compound, with beautiful hedges, palm fronds and flowers of different species. There was this nice flowery smell in the air. I quickly glanced at the immaculate shiny cars parked in front. So far so good.

I was led inside through different sitting rooms, into the last one; remarkable. I quickly surveyed the room and looked for an escape route just in case a monster emerged from one of the doors.

‘Hello Sola, please sit down.’

I turned round anticipating the worst. To my utter amazement, there stood in the middle of the room, a tall, slim man who seemed to be in his forties. I did a fast survey; simple trousers and shirt, but they looked expensive, a smart watch, casual slippers, and a warm smile.

‘You can’t be…’

‘Yes, I am. Surprised?’

‘Yes. I was expecting an older man.’

‘Bald and potbellied?’

‘As a matter of fact, yes’

‘They always think so.’

‘You mean other girls?’

‘Yes. I am sorry to disappoint you. Please sit down and tell me about yourself. Like a drink?’

‘Anything soft will do. But I only have two hours with you, Sir.’

‘Call me Tony.’

‘Sorry, we are not allowed to use names’

‘I insist, but I know your name.’

‘Okay, let’s get on with it.’

‘Get on with what?’

‘What you are paying me for?’

‘Oh, that? You are getting it wrong. I just want your company, so let’s chat. Tell me about yourself.’

‘There is really nothing to tell,’ I was adamant.

‘What is a beautiful girl like you doing in this profession?’

‘This is my first outing. In any case I only want to do it for six months so I can make enough money to take myself back to school and take care of my daughter.’

‘They always say that, but end up doing it for many years. Prostitution is like cancer. Once it gets into you, spreads and difficult to control’

‘With due respect, Sir, I’m not here to listen to your lecture. I don’t have time. Time is money.’

‘I will pay whatever you ask. I still insist we get to know more about each other.’

I was afraid of losing a client on the first date and incurring the wrath of my agency, so I succumbed to my client’s request.

We talked about so many things. He told me a little about himself. He had never been married because he spent so much time on his very successful business, which took him all over the world. He talked about his brothers and sisters. How he lost his parents very early. I found myself relaxed so much I forgot the time.

‘Shall we do it now? It is time for me to go.’

‘Do what?’

‘Have sex, of course.’

‘That subject again. Anyway, let’s leave that for now. I want to see you again same time next week. I will tell your agent not to let you see another client only me,’ he gave me his warm smile again.

‘Is that possible?’ I said hoping because I liked the house and this strange but interesting man. Moreover, the thought of not being lucky twice scared me. I could meet a real monster next time. A cold sensation ran through my body at the thought.

‘Money can fix anything, but let me take your permission to do that first?’

‘It is okay with me,’ I said too eagerly and almost kicked myself.

For the next three months I went on seeing Tony on a regular basis, no sex, while he continued to pay for what we both referred to as ‘chat time’.

He surprised me one day when he asked me to go with him on a trip to Rome. It was a one-week business trip and said he needed me around to calm him down after the rigours of boardroom meetings. He arranged for my passport, visa and got my tickets, along with extra money to buy new clothes. It was on this trip that I started to fall in love with this strange, kind man. I learnt so much from him—kindness, compassion, unselfishness, intelligence, humility, and above all more about God. My body began to yearn for him in an intimate way, but I was too afraid to make the first move. There was nothing in his behaviour to betray any love emotions. He treated me more like a sister for so long I lost hope of ever making him return my desire.

Almost six months now into the “relationship,” I had a lot of money saved and was able to move away from my one room apartment into a more befitting flat in a better part of town. He never for once tried to find out where I lived. We met in his house, travelled together to foreign places, and parted ways at the end of our ‘chat time’.

‘I cannot go on with this arrangement anymore. I am in love with a man who treats me like a sister and confidante. The next meeting will be my final goodbye, after all I have made enough money and seen places that I never dreamt to see in my entire lifetime,’ I said to myself. In any case I missed my daughter so much, although I had been sending money to my mother.

‘This is going to be our last meeting. You have to find another girl to keep you company,’ I told Tony during one of our regular ‘chat time’.

‘Why, what is the matter? Have I offended you? Do you want more money?’

‘No, you have been most kind. I count myself lucky to have found you. I had a lot of fear about this “job”, but God has been gentle with me. No, I don’t want more money. You have given me more than I deserve. I want to start a new life, go back to school. I miss my daughter also. I just want to do something with myself while I am still young.’ I said with a heavy heart.

‘Sola, please I am used to having you around me. I am falling in love with your person. I did not want to take advantage of earlier promise to just chat. I want us to make the move together, to make love, and not just sex. I want to take care of you and your daughter. I want to sponsor your education. I want to love you as a woman, not as a sister. What I am trying to say is I want you to be my wife.’

‘But you never show any love. You have always treated me as a sister.’

‘I know. It has not been easy keeping my hands off you anytime we are together. But I had promised God not to take advantage of your vulnerability, unless you are in love with me too and agree to marry me.’

‘You know I almost became a prostitute. If I had not met you first, I probably will be roaming the streets by now,’ I protested weakly.

‘Well, that is destiny. You were never meant to be a prostitute, so you met me. I believe in chance meeting, you know. All the girls I met before you were never touched. I chatted with them, just as I am doing with you. The difference between you and the others is wide. You are natural, intelligent, spontaneous, and childlike sometimes appreciating little things.’

‘That is strange, because I was angry with the world, until I met you. You made me see things in a different light. I thought the world was cruel, but I have come to see that there are still some good people who will help, if you let them. The truth is I have loved you since our trip to Rome, but too scared to make the first move just in case I drove you away. Yes, I will spend the rest of my life loving and caring for you, so help me God.’

I married Tony, did home tutorials for my GCE, and later enrolled for a diploma course in Business Administration. My husband bought a small business for me, which is thriving. We are blessed with three more children, my daughter moved in with us and you can hardly tell the difference. Tony adores her just the same. He is in love with the name Boluwatife. I count myself lucky to have been saved from the claws of prostitution. Not many girls are that lucky. Tony is my sun, the brightness in my dark, confused life. Tell me, what can beat the excitement a rising sun stirs up in you in the early morning?

Story Credit: Waving in the Wind by Bisi Abiola (Outskirtspress, 2014)

Photo Credit: Creative Commons.