Love Matters? (3/3)

An irrefutable fact of life

An irrefutable fact of life

I’ve been busy.
I’ve been very busy.
In fact I’ve been so busy that I almost forgot that I was in the middle of regaling you with tales of my exploits, sonnets of my misadventures and entertaining you with my litany of misdeeds.

At the moment, I’m on the third floor of a classroom building. Overlooking a not so romantic orchard in which I can clearly discern at least 10 different couples in various stages of conversation, laughter and even one close to the square stealing kisses when they think no one is watching. Well… I’m watching. Big Brother sees all.

So while trying to orchestrate my thoughts, make sure they are coherent and censored enough to be put into writing, a phenomenon I had not experienced in a while popped into my head yet again.

Yes, you bloody Muggle, there has been a lot of things popping into my head lately.

Anyways, I’ve been talking about that first love feeling. That state of total correspondence that is the human response to the stimulus of attachment. The pre-pubescent reaction to lofty declarations of affection. I can remember mine perfectly. The continuous calling and texting, the consistent presence in my thoughts and dreams. Ahh… the dreams… That hormone fueled domain of writhing bodies. That awesome feeling of complete vulnerability that I will probably be too jaded, wounded and emotionally unavailable to ever feel again. And that my friends, is the only stage or rather period in life where some school of thought would deign to admit that love matters.

But as you’ve already noticed, I again digress.

Let’s get back on track.

You know there’s a name for someone like you right? You’ve been following this trilogy so religiously, hoping this dude is gonna go through hell and back for your entertainment. You do know it wasn’t this sweet when all this was going down right? You do know life is way better in retrospect? You do know you’ve never actually been in love? You do know you were just in a heightened state of co-dependence which is very unhealthy? You do know…

Well there are a lotta things I wish you knew, that you probably don’t.

After the very auspicious day where the three sisters called Fate, the universe, Mother Earth, ancestors, gods, spirits, demons and every other entity out there with even an iota of supernatural power had gifted me with her PIN, it had been very hard going.

In fact, my attempts at getting close to her were kinda like Nigeria’s attempts at getting uninterrupted power supply. We all know how that’s going right?

It was like trying to climb Mount Everest with just a pair of swimming trunks on. And if you’ve heard the term “blue-balls” or the more politically accepted nomenclature “prostate congestion”, you would understand the extent of my pain.

After much bugging and trust me, I bugged her, persistence had paid off. I can remember my messages hanging there, delivered but not read for days on end, me hoping and praying for just a simple ‘hi’. Which, as you must have guessed, didn’t come. After a while though, she warmed up to me and we could converse for hours, getting to know each other; me falling deeper for her and she doing whatever it is girls do with guys they know have no future with them.

I wonder how they do that though, or more importantly, why they do actually do that. Is there something fundamentally wrong with us guys? Yes? No? Maybe? Then why in God’s name do you keep shooting straight, articulate, semi-presentable and definitely capable guys down? Lord knows I’m no Superman, but I’m pretty sure I make a pretty great Clark Kent.

From the rantings of the above paragraph, I’m sure the intellectually capable among you would have already guessed where we just arrived at. And those “Joey’s” relations out there just got it now. Yea…

Next stop, Casa le rejection.

Okay, it’s pretty normal to get rejected at first, then the dude is supposed to wave his magic wand a bit (not that wand, perv!), murmur some incantations and voila, you’ve got yourself a boo. But this time it was obviously different. She had that emphatic look on her face. I really don’t know how to describe the “look” but I’m pretty sure over the course of your life, you probably have or will come across the look. And there and then, you will know that all hope is lost.

I think its pertinent to mention the fact that it just started raining, water gushing forth from the sky on to the scalps of the love birds down below at my behest. And even in this cold outpouring those two still manage to hold hands and make the search for a suitable hiding spot romantic. And that my friends is why love is so gaddem frustrating and weirdly mysterious.

With all my few years of experience and even fewer years in the administration and management of love, the dishing, doling and receiving of feelings in not so equal portions and not so frequent proportions, I’ve come to realize that like beauty, love is in the eyes of the beholder.

Pretty awesome to watch people in love. Well depending on the state of your love life at that moment, it might hurt a bit too. But if you “imagine” yourself to be currently under the spell of the dwarf plonker Cupid, or just like me you’re indifferent to the whole kebab and impervious to Cupid’s pesky arrows then watching lovey dovey couples can be a fun pastime.

The shocker though is when it comes to you, it’s not as fun as it looks, especially if you’re a member of Team Love Unrequited (TLU), Team Heartbroken and Weary (THW), Team No Love Found (TNLF) or the many other teams and associations out there that cater to distresses of the heart. But yet again, there’s nothing comparable to looking across that crowded room and feeling that special tug close to your sternum. That feeling isn’t even comparable to the indescribable heady rush of the first kiss. And if you’re observant, you would have noticed the fact that I used the word “feelings” a lot during the course of writing this. Probably because that’s what love is about. Feelings, and actions, both good and bad prompted by the said feelings.

One way or another, Good or bad, I guess love does matter. Be it in the search for the elusive true love/soul mate, trying to keep the relationship with the said true love/soul mate going, or plain-old trying to run away from the not so true love/soul mate. We are all infected, affected, afflicted and most time controlled by the impulse of “Love”.

As the winter winds litter London with lonely hearts
Oh the warmth in your eyes swept me into your arms
Was it love or fear of the cold that led us through the night?
For every kiss your beauty trumped my doubt
And my head told my heart
“Let love grow”
But my heart told my head
“This time no
This time no”

Mumford and sons – Winter Winds


Love Matters? (2/3)


I know what y’all be thinking….that I left you in quite a bit of suspense and more importantly, left unceremoniously too. That wasn’t my intention, in fact you only take affront to my leaving cause you haven’t experience the wrath of Mama. Take Muhammad Ali, doing his butterfly floating and bee stinging thingy, combine that with the Incredible Hulk, always ripping and renting clothes and finally add the cold aloofness of Voldemort to that cocktail of terror. That is Mama when’s she gets angry.

But yet again, I digress.

It wasn’t like I had walked up to her and said “let’s hump our brains out,” I almost did that but that wasn’t what I wanted. All I wanted was a companion, someone to be there when I needed someone and vice versa. The problem was that I had gotten to the meat of the pie without first eating the dough. I had said “be mine” without first acknowledging or inventing feelings for her.

To tell you the truth, love has always been sort of an illusion to me. Like that perfect Fufu, with just the right ratio of firmness to suppleness, I’ve always felt true love was a myth. A story probably invented by aliens to conceal their slow and insidious infiltration of our minds and fill us with unrealistic dreams and aspirations. But that, my friend, is another story.

I swear you could have heard a pin drop. Who would have thought an unruly group of college kids could be this decorous? For the next 2 minutes, ears were straining to pick up the next words and I’m sure quite a few other occupants of the room – my friends inclusive – were waiting for the inevitable slaps-giving.

And for all you wondering if that was a Typo, it wasn’t. I had actually asked her “Can I tickle your nipples with a feather”.
It was all part of the strategy. The i-be-so-lonely-and-i-haven’t-had-a-girlfriend-for-2-years-running strategy it was, but still I had an inkling of a plan and half bread as we all know is way better than buns.

You see there was two possible replies to that: “Huh? What did you just say?” and “Yes, please!”

If she replied “huh? What did you just say?”I would have just tugged at my collar and reply, “I said there’s quite a trickle of people given the weather.” It would have saved my cheeks and gotten me an opening line with her.

And if she had said, “Yes, Please! by all means do”, I sir, would have immediately called my cab guy and adjourned the subsequent part of the conversation to the comfort of my room.

Alas I had finally met one for whom the phrase “breaking the mold” was coined. She simply stared at me for a couple of moments with something akin to disappointment in her face, picked up her school bag and walked out of the eatery without a word. The utter look of contentment on my face after about a minute or two would have being puzzling to people who didn’t know what I did. She was coming back, in fact, in the next five minutes she was gonna walk right through that door back to this table and also, on an unrelated subject, I’m awesome.

I was yet to apply for any job yet, so I really don’t know how it feels after hearing the ubiquitous “we’ll get back to you” and being finally gotten back to. But I can imagine that to an extent, I would very much feel like I did while waiting for her to realize how awesome I was and come back, apologize for leaving abruptly, hand me a sheet of paper containing her pin, phone numbers and house address and finally beg me to fix a date for the consummation of our newfangled relationship. If nothing else, just like Martin Luther, I had the right to “have a dream”

The swing of the revolving door brought me out of my day time fantasy/soap opera just as she was going down on one knee and asking me to be her boyfriend. The cute chocolatie girl, this time in realistic technicolor walked back to my table, stared at me for a couple of seconds yet again and this time picked up the enormous Medical textbook she had forgotten on the table and began the cycle all over again. She swiveled on her cute little crepe shoes and proceeded to walk away again. And this time also without a single word.

Yes, things hadn’t gone as planned, or as peculiar to this case, daydreamed. But this dude wasn’t gonna let this second chance of a lifeboat sail away without grasping on to it with both hands and holding tight for dear life. So I immediately stood up and “walk/ran” after her. Okay, I so can’t remember the name of the “Kenyanese” guy that won the Olympic medal for trekking, but apparently this girl could have given him a “walk” for his money. I had immediately stood up and followed her, but when I burst out the door, eyes scanning faster than those of Robocob and Terminator coalesced into one. I couldn’t find her. She, the object of my fantasies and daydreaming was no where to be found.

When I had earlier explained the depth of my gratitude and extent of my joy at finally getting her BlackBerry pin some of you had probably thought I was overly excitable and exaggerating as we amateur writers are prone to doing. But if you had seen me running that day. Yes monsieur, actually sprinting down the corridor towards the car park, I’m sure you would be in Concords with me when I say Usain Bolts had got nothing on me. By a freak accident I had gotten a glimpse of her reflection on the multitude of glass planes the designer of the building apparently thought classy. She had just closed the trunk of a low slung very expensive looking vehicle into which the school bag and massive textbook had obviously being dropped into and was now in the process of getting into the driver seat and zooming off not to be seen again. We sha all know that you never get to see a Unicorn twice in a single lifetime.

How I got across that fast is still a mystery to me, though I’m of the impression that I was almost faster than the speed of light and that the sound I heard while running was not thunder but rather sonic boom as I flew into Mach one and arrived at her window just as she was pulling of the curb.

Marilyn Monroe would have being proud of the grace with which she gently braked, powered down her window and purred “what took you so long?” Do I have to tell you that I was more interested in the piece of paper she handed me than in the grace with which she did it? Even if a professional gymnast had contorted herself into the most awkward or even more preferable the most “interesting” position to hand me that piece of paper. I still wouldn’t have given a hoot. I can just hear Iyanya crooning “all I want is your pin”

I wonder why Mama’s staring at me like that.
Now she’s approaching rather too innocently.
And I think she be holding a broom!
SHIT…..I haff gast to GO!!!

Love Matters? (1/3)

Today I suddenly realized why my last relationship has sunk faster than a torpedoed submarine with an overheated nuclear reactor, and why the girl I had deigned to ask out in the succeeding months had even been happier to fire bomb my requests than the Japanese at Pearl Harbor. Thinking things through has never been my forte, I’ve always been more of a “sudden realizer” or in more fancy words; “Epiphanist” so I wasn’t very surprised when a light bulb magically appeared right on top my head and this popped into my head as I was busy pounding Fufu for grandma.

For some reasons best known to my subconscious, I no longer spoke of love, thought of love, dreamt of love or even in any way acknowledge the existence of the phenomenon called love and that….is where the crayfish had bent.

I think I’m now in the timeless phase most men get to at middle age, though mine had come a little bit faster as you can see.
‘Mid-life crisis in your early 20’s?” you might wonder,’ “practicality and realism at my prime” I’ll definitely reply.

But I digress, let’s get back on track.

I had met her on a lonely day, school was empty and just a few of us “homeless” student were left in campus. Some still attending classes according to their warped academic calendar and some of us working on our projects according to our warped project supervisors.

It is said that you shouldn’t have to speak for yourself, your personality should do that for you. And hers spoke volumes.
Take a minute and imagine the Imam at the mosque close to your house, multiply that sound by 3, then imagine it being broadcast by the array of speakers those Fuji musicians use effectively to induce deafness in Owambe parties. That was how loud her personality spoke.

The first thing it said to me was” I don’t take trash.” I hadn’t even mapped out my approach strategy and she had already discern my intentions and was now giving me her poker face glare.
The second thing the personality said to me was “don’t come close to me, I just want to eat my food in peace and get back to class” but alas the poker face and cold shoulder was no match for me, just as the gazelle ain’t no match for the leopard on the hunt. In fact she either had no experience with the fervor with which boys like me adore the no-nonsense look or she underestimated the extent of my loneliness.
One way or another, that episode ended with me scaling Mount Everest, swimming the English Channel, fording the Atlantic Ocean and spending a night in embattled Mali. Therefore for all these heroics and others here unmentioned, I was rewarded with her pin. My victory smile and sigh of relief outdid that of Usain Bolts as he tried slowing down after breaking new grounds and winning his 6th Olympic medal in sprinting.


She was cute, small and dark skinned. I’ve always being intrigued and attracted by the light-skinned carriers of the double X chromosome but this was different. There was something different about her. A sparkle in those brooding eyes that was being suppressed, a once huge fire beneath those luscious lips that was now banked. Obviously there was something wrong and I wanted to fix it. There was a smile struggling to burst out that serious face and I had to help it out. I almost vowed to make it my life mission to make her happy but then I recalled the Home Video I had seen as a kid about oath-taking and immediately crossed myself. Pope Benedict would have being proud of my commitment.

A couple of things had put me in the advantage, first was that I and some of my friends had already been in the eatery before she came, so I had the home effect in my favor. second was the fact that the place was kinda crowded and I was the only person sitting alone at a table, so after ordering, it was only natural that she sat next to me, but not “with” me.
As she sat down I gave her a tentative polite smile which was met with a straight face. This was a technique I liked to call le reverse interrogation. By her reaction I could already tell that nowhere would be gotten by fawning over her, so I deliberately gave her another smile, a big boy nod, focused on my food and proceeded to forget the fact that she existed.

The plong plonging of her blackberry brought my attention back to her. By this time we were both done eating and the game was on. she waiting for me to make the move and me enjoying watching her wait for me to make the move. After bout 5 minutes I could tell she was getting restless and decided to put her out of her misery.

After much rumination and cud-chewing, I decided to use a line coined by the Maestro of virtual and practical hook-ups: vunderkind. so I leaned back on my seat, turned up the wattage of my sexy smile and said;

“Can I tickle your nipples with a feather?”

Hold up! I hear mama’s shuffling footsteps and I haven’t even made the soup. I haff gast to GO!