ARAIRE
I was a stripper.
That was how I made my first few millions as a young, hustling girl on the streets of Lagos. Apart from the fact that it was a lucrative business, it was also a hobby because I loved dancing. When I danced, men stared with open-jaw admiration. I wasn’t shy, neither was I introverted. I loved my body and flaunted it at any given opportunity.
I was a beautiful girl, and I knew it. What with my long legs, sizable buttocks, and beautiful well-endowed breasts that never failed to lure men the way flies were attracted to honey or sugar. The men would be so focused on my boobs that they usually forgot I had a smart brain tucked in my pretty head, and I used it to my advantage. Oh! I used it well.
Getting a job after NYSC was like trying to uproot a tooth from the gum. I wasn’t the smartest in my class, but I was intelligent and would deliver any responsibilities assigned to me. Unfortunately, one look at me and all those randy idiots wanted to do was dig between my legs. I loved sex. I enjoyed it but I wouldn’t do it in exchange for a Job. Hell no! I wouldn’t stoop that low.
After walking the whole day searching for jobs, my best friend, Bella, and I usually retired to the Club where we relaxed by smoking cheap weed or drinking and dancing as if there was no tomorrow. Afterwards, we would return home to carry our troubles on our heads like boxes of gala. We became a regular at the Club.
One day, we got to the club and the Club manager, Mr Joseph, was looking distressed. Two of his strippers had quit and didn’t turn up for the night. His clients would be highly disappointed, and he couldn’t afford to lose any of them right now. I offered to take up the job. I needed the money. If a bunch of men were willing to pay me for ogling my body, why not?
Bella was shocked. My father was a staunch Anglican and he would have instant stroke if he found out his daughter stepped into a Club, talkless of dancing half-naked in front of strangers. Well, Baba Ara wasn’t here, and a girl needed to keep body and soul together by all means.
I did a great job that night and earned the kind of money that I had only dreamed of. Different complimentary cards also accompanied the cash placed in my vault, and I became a woman of great connection overnight. Having sex with men of high connections who were wealthy and powerful had more advantage than spending time with broke-ass niggas who had nothing to offer except their dick.
Bella was intrigued. Bella came from an Islamic home. Her real name was Belau. Our friendship started when we were teenagers. She joined me in the stripper’s business the following day and our job-hunting days came to a stop.
We upgraded to a better paying Stripper’s Club with time and moved from the Mainland to the Island. I had a good head for business. Caring for my smooth, ebony skin was one of my obsessions and I began a skin care line which gave birth to Trendique, a skin care and fashion line. Today, I was a successful entrepreneur with several thriving businesses both in and out of the country.
Of course, the moment the money began rolling in, the good men began to disappear, or maybe they never existed in the first place. But we didn’t stop searching for them. We returned to our roots. Talk of the prodigal daughters.
Who would have thought my priority would change with time? Life has a way of rearranging your wants and needs in life. We had all the time in the world, or so we thought.
Just like me, Bella was in her 40’s too. She went for hajj several times in a bid to ‘catch’ a good Muslim man to no avail. The things we women do just to have that precious title of “Mrs” behind our names was unimaginable. Bella, whose five daily prayers were never completed, became a regular traveller to the holy land and a devout worshipper at Nasfat Assalatul ground every Sunday.
On her last trip from the lesser hajj popularly known as Umrah, she met Olalekan and the rest they said was history. Six months later, Olalekan popped the question and today was the wedding. The declaration of love between the two was so obvious and touching. There were no dry eyes during the Nikka, myself included.
God, when will it be my turn?
Sweeping my eyes over the beautifully decorated reception hall, I couldn’t help but give myself a pat on the back for a great job. Bella’s wedding reception was an intimate but lavish affair. The ambience in the room was cool and the music was slow. Close family and friends were the only invited guests.
I had succeeded in giving them their dream wedding. The couple couldn’t stop staring into each other’s eyes as they moved to the music, locked around each other and oblivious to the presence of other people in the room. The four-inch heel strapped sandal I wore was beginning to make my tired feet ache and the long, silky, dinner gown was making me feel itchy but the night wasn’t over yet.
As the best friend to the bride and the chief bridesmaid, part of my job was to make sure the guests were comfortable and enjoying themselves. I sighed as I moved around the small hall, making small talks while I made sure everyone was having a swell time. Most of the guests were married and half were on the dance floor, moving to the music.
My eyes strayed occasionally to the entrance, expecting to see my present boyfriend, Bamidele, walk into the hall, but no luck. He sent a text message in the morning that he would be coming late, but I expected him to be here by now.
A glance at the slim gold watch around my wrist told me it was 9pm. The party was winding down and guests would soon start leaving. A wave of disappointment crashed over me. He wasn’t coming. The message was clear. He didn’t want to mix with my friends or family.
The relationship was waning, but I was holding on with all my might, hoping it would be my last. We met when he came for grocery shopping in one of my supermarkets and the debit card he provided for payment was declined. After several attempts, he grew agitated and was about to return his product. His account had been hacked and his fund was removed without his knowledge.
They were still on it with the store manager when I walked in and demanded to know what happened. He was soft-spoken and upset. Embarrassment and agitation was written all over him. Somehow, I believed him and decided to write-off the products for him. His products were returned to him and he collected my card, promising to be back. He came back two weeks later and paid for his products, even though they had been written off. I was surprised he came back but I was also astute enough to know he wanted to get into my good books.
Afterall, I was a wealthy and beautiful woman. I didn’t care though. Even if he wanted me for my wealth, I didn’t care. Well, not much. When you get to a certain point in your life when everything is working except your relationship, you realise that a beggar doesn’t have too much choice. I needed a man in my life and I would do anything to keep him. He gave me a call and asked for a friendly date. We had been together since then. Now, he refused to show up at my best friend’s wedding party.
An ache in my lower tummy reminded me my bladder was full and needed to be emptied. Beckoning on one of the servers, I dropped the empty champagne wine glass on the tray and made my way to the restroom.
How the hell do I start all over again?
This roller coaster of starting a relationship, investing all you had emotionally, physically, and financially, wondering if this would be the ‘one’ before it finally came to an end was getting on my nerves.
Taking deep breaths, I tried to calm myself down. The fact that he didn’t come to Bella’s wedding didn’t mean the relationship was over. Stop jumping ahead of yourself. Anything could have happened. Maybe I should just call him again and …
“Ouch…please, watch where you are going.” It was a man’s voice.
Hands grabbed my arms and steadied me before I could pitch headfirst into the solid wall of the human chest on my way back to the reception.
I looked up into a pair of laughing twinkling eyes and my mouth curved into an answering smile.
“I am so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Oh my ovaries! He was built like a linebacker with bulging biceps and solid chest. He also had a beautiful face with slanted eyelids and full, curvy lips. It was obvious he spent lots of time in the gym. There was this saying that men who spent most of their time in the gym were usually jobless and gold-diggers. The thought made me want to burst into laughter.
“I could see that. A penny for your thoughts?” He was laughing and I joined him.
If only he could read my thoughts, he would give me a sound smack on my bum. Bum, Araire? That was the only part of your body you could think of, right? My eyes strayed discreetly to his left hand and the wedding band on his finger drained the laughter from my eyes. The cute ones were always taken.
“Did I say something wrong? I am sorry if I did.” He sounded genuinely concerned.
“No, please. It is fine. Hope you are enjoying the party?”
“Yes I am. I did. It is a great party, but I need to get home now.”
“Of course. Have a good evening, sir.” I inclined my head and got myself out of his way before I started drooling over another woman’s husband.
*****
Driving into my compound about two hours later, I hooted my horn in greeting to my security man, Kamil and pulled up in front of the house. My legs ached from standing for too long in the tooth-pick heel sandal I wore for the better part of the day. My muscles quivered with exhaustion, my eyes were crossed and my heart was heavy. Throwing my wig into a big shopping bag, followed by the shoes and sequined hand purse, I got out of the car in my bare feet.
The couple had gone to the airport from the reception to catch their mid-night flight to Bahamas for their honeymoon. I couldn’t help but envy Bella. She had left me alone in this spinsterhood journey. To my chagrin, tears filled my eyes, and I blinked them away.
Honestly, I was happy for her. For the past few weeks, we had been riding on the adrenaline of planning and preparing for the wedding but it was over now. All I wanted was to crawl into bed and bawl my eyes out in self-pity.
The light was on in my sitting room. The door slid open before I could press the bell, and my niece smiled at me as she collected the bag I was holding.
“How was the wedding, Aunty?”
Omolewa was the daughter of my immediate younger sister, Fiwasara. Fiwa got pregnant when she was 15 years old, still in secondary school. Hell broke loose in our home. Our parents were staunch members of the Anglican church. The boy who impregnated her, Hassan, was Hausa and in first year of university. His parents owned up to their responsibilities and wanted the young couple to get married.
Father refused point blank. None of his daughters would ever marry a non-Yoruba, non-Christian for any reason at all. Omolewa became our own while her mother returned to school. Most people thought she was mine because she was fond of me and was always following me around. She came to live with me the moment I was on my own and had been with me since then. Fiwasara was married now, with kids. Omolewa was 22 years old now and worked in an Audit firm as an accountant.
“It was fine. The couple has left for the airport.” Heaving a sigh of relief, I dropped into my favourite seat in the room and closed my eyes.
“Wow. I am so happy for Aunt Bella. She deserves to be happy.” Omolewa smiled as she moved away and came back with a chilled glass of water.
“Thank you, Lewa. You are such a darling.” After gulping the water down and returning the glass cup to her, I noticed the glint on her engagement finger. My heart dropped to the ground and I sat upright, grabbing her fingers.
She winced. “I was hoping you won’t notice this till tomorrow morning.” She snatched her hand away and hid it behind her back as she stepped away.
My eyes narrowed to a slit as I stared at her. “What was that?”
“Derin proposed to me today. That was why I couldn’t make it to Aunt Bella’s wedding,” she mumbled.
Not again! There was an explosion at the back of my head. I was glad I was sitting down. “And you accepted? How old are you? Don’t you think this is too early? Aren’t you too young for this?” I got to my feet slowly.
“We are not getting married now, Aunt. Maybe in a year or six months.”
“Can you just listen to yourself? Why the rush into marriage? Are you pregnant?” My heart rattled in my ribcage as my eyes dropped to her flat tummy.
“No.” Her voice was full of indignation as she glared at me. “We have never…never ..had sex.” That ended in a stammer.
“Oh I see.” My hand went to my waist as I stared at her contemplation. “He wants to get into your pants, right? That is what all this farce is all about.”
“Oh Aunt. How can you say this about Derin? He is not like that.”
I snorted. Men were all the same, made in different packages.
“Trust me, he is not.”
“Have you told your mother?”
“Not yet. It happened today, aunt. Stop sweating it nah.” She gave me a pleading look.
“Leave the poor girl alone, Ara.” Swivelling around at the masculine voice, I stared at Bamidele in surprise. His eyes were swollen with sleep but he was smiling. An immense sense of relief flooded my system. He hadn’t left yet.
“Don’t even interfere in this, Dele. It is none of your business.” I flounced past him. “And I have not forgiven you for not turning up today.”
“Congratulations once again, Lewa. I am sure your aunt will come around soon.” He grinned as he turned and followed me into the room.
“Thank you, sir.”
*****
After he had apologised by making love to every inch of my body and we laid in each other’s arms, sated by lust, all was right in my world again. Almost right.
“When will it be our turn, Dele? We aren’t getting younger any longer.”
He sighed and moved to lay on his back. “I know, Ara. I can only give you what you want on one condition.”
“What is that?” Raising myself on my elbow, I stared down at his face. He refused to look at me and fear skittered down my spine. What else did he want? He lived in my house most of the time and drove the car I gave him for his last birthday. He was forty-four last year. Not to talk of the numerous investments I made on his behalf. He was an investment banker. He was also processing the admission for his Masters programme in a University in the U.K. and I had been helping with all the finance involved. All I wanted from him was for us to get married before his admission came through.
“I want you to have my baby. You are 45, Ara. It is not easy for a woman in her mid-forties to get pregnant and I don’t want to be trapped in a marriage without children. Get pregnant for me today and I will propose to you that same day.” He turned to face me.
“What?”
My heart splintered into a million pieces.
******
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