Fast forward, 9:45 PM the second day, the music was loud, everyone was dancing, everyone had thrown their home training to the gutter and it was just two hours into the show, about five different heavy fights had been settled at the time that I thought everyone in this town I thought was beautiful was a gangster; how scarily shaped and dangerously sharpened matches, knives and daggers, wood clogs and broken bottles were outrightly drawn against each other in the fights made me a little worried.
“I thought they said this town only breed cultured and well-behaved children. Well, with the way these boys and girls exchanging sexual pleasure at every dark corner. How they smoked Marijuana openly and draw deadly weapons on each other. I am throwing my impression of this town away, it’s no different from other towns – I thought this place was a paradise where there won’t any type of the acts of tonight,” I said to myself, I sipped the cup of Don Simon I was holding, stirred it around in the cup while I just surveyed the area with eyes hunting for a catch.
First glance was the same scene I’ve been seeing; a cluster of young boys rocking young girls in the most unimaginable ways for a town so praised for its culture and religion. The second glance was even worse; a cluster of young boys and some lost adults passing time with pots. Some dangerous mixture of altered alcohol that contained almost all sort of other intoxicating stuff – codeine, tramadol, gegemu, etcetera, you name it and they’d told you it’s in the solution.
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I decided to have my last glance around but this time a different way and that time I found what I was looking for. Well, on a normal day before the party stripped me off of the town’s holy children impression I wouldn’t even have thought about it but she was standing alone, gently grooving her head and her curvy body that I thought the alcohol had helped altered to the song that was loudly playing. She was having a short cape on, a long skirt that hugged her so well to reveal what any male individual would want to see.
As I continued to move closer to her, I continued to see more of her blessed body and in three minutes after my first glimpse of her. I was by her but not very close. The alcohol was kicking in my head too and it was making things difficult for me so maybe by the order of the alcohol. I just only gawked at her so much she felt very uncomfortable about it that it made her talked.
“Ejọ buroda, ẹ wá mú nkan tẹ fi simi lára kúrò, ké lè yẹ wo mi bí ẹni pé mo jí yín lomo gbé,” she said with her deep-rooted Iwo accent and that was all I wanted, a kick into a conversation with her. I moved closer and stretched my hand forward for a shake “My name is,” I paused at that moment and thought it would be a total turn off for a Muslim girl if I’d said my name was Samuel.
So, I picked up the line again, “My name is Dhikrolai but you can call me Dhikro,” I introduced myself and belched very loudly – at that point, I knew the alcohol was ruining my most precious moment of the night. She hissed and gave this hysterical laughter I would never want to hear ever in my lifetime, “Ejọ kí a lè pè ara yín nísinsìnyí, Dhikro, rárá Khodija lè bá mọ je,” Another hysterical laughter and I ignored her manner. She didn’t take my hand either and it made my look really silly for attempting to have a handshake with her.
Long story short, it took jokes and a little more, and she began to smile. We had a little meaningful conversation, she told me her real name after a very rigorous pressure. She is not in the higher institution yet but the majority of her friends who had invited her for the party are students of higher institutions, her education was great, at least her spoken English was way better than the way she had presented herself with the knee jamming deep-rooted Iwo accent Yorùbá.
We exchanged contacts, and by the time she was leaving, she wasn’t going to call me “Dhikro,” a girl’s name I didn’t know was a girl’s. So, she left with my Yorùbá given name, I don’t want to risk calling myself Samuel to her. I knew it was going to ruin everything.
To Be Continued.
About The Writer
Olamide Yakub Lateef is 26 years old. I am Yoruba, I’m 5ft5 tall and I hail from Osun State and I’m an indigene of Iwo. I am an undergraduate student majoring in computer science at the online University of the People, CA, USA. I’m a lover of writing, I’m a poet and I love to take tasks the same reason I’m into programming.
I started conscious writing when I was a little above sixteen years old; that was when I first wrote my first poem. I’ve been writing since then, I’ve written many unpublished poems, short articles and few proses. I love to write because it’s the easiest way for me to relax after I might have written a few lines of codes in programming and by telling stories I feel like I’m building my very own universe.
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