Skip to main content

Diary Of A Pastor's Son (III) || 2go Love

Diary Of A Pastor's Son (III)
2go Love



2go (an instant messenger app) brought me amazing friends and friendships.

Friendships that migrated to Facebook. Facebook friendships that migrated to physical friendship. Virtual friend turned physical sister, like Comfort. Soul knit friends like Bulelwa. And you, Joshua Chisom, our friendship started there. I saw you last week Monday around Echefu street. Boy, you're grown into a big man. 

Also, awesome personalities like Lamosi You're loved. Blessings like Blessing and her friend, Sonia. I met Sonia through Blessing.

Blessing and I were chat buddies. We'd chat all day, all night about random nonsense. Hormones would fly us nine clouds above common sense and fling us back to reality in flip seconds.

It was fun. She was fun.

I was more fun, because play on words, poetry, overtly nice, hilarious and by myself.

A girl couldn't 'hold' herself. She spread the news to her friends.
The Gospel according to Saint Stefn. Sonia was first to send a request.

She jovial.
She funny. 
She chatterbox.
She emotional.
She lovely.
She green light. 
She shine bright.
She blind me. 
I fell in... In what?

Sonia let me in her life, social, familial, emotional, spiritual. I let her in mine, because reciprocity.

Love.

Innocence.

Poetry. She loved poetry.

Ours could be likened to a cup of coffee. Thick. Black. Creamy. One sip triggered a longing for more. Soon chats weren't enough. Phone numbers were exchanged.

She asked me to call. I couldn't. I don't like talking. It drains me. If it's not music, don't tempt me. My vocal chords would cry for silence.

She understood.

I remember our first call. She called.

I was strolling lazily to the tap to fetch water, clutching a white 20 litres gallon in my hand when my phone rang.

Caller ID, Sonia.

Have you seen a new bride grin at her wedding? Yes, that idiotic smile spread across my sweaty face.

Her voice, sweet heavens! I was floating in the fluidity of cherubic voice waves.

Night calls. 
Sextings. 
Wishes. 
Love talks.

We talked about places we would go once she arrived Aba. She always put beautiful pictures on her 2go status. 

She asked me out. A beautiful girl asked me out. Talk about a reverse Ned-Regina episode. I accepted.

Sonia and I were infatuated. It felt good. It was beautiful. We'd build castles of wishes on floating clouds, about things we'd do if we eventually meet.

But distance mocked us: Sonia was in Kaduna. I was in Aba.

Sonia, desirous to meet me, made plans that surprised me. She inquired and found out she had relatives in Aba.

The news met me smiling to work on a daily, negligent of the fact that I'd spend 9 hours in the same office with a colleague whose bad breathe could choke the host of heaven.

Sonia was my air freshener. 

With thoughts of her coming to Aba, I could stand the stench of rotten egg mixed with sour ogiri soup.

August, 2010. She announced her arrival. A week later, we agreed to meet on a Saturday. She told me to stay in one particular place, a street away from hers (because she wouldn't want her uncle to 'catch us'. She'd meet me there, she assured. I agreed.

I arrived at the agreed venue (Umule Road), found a good spot and hid behind a parked truck. Few minutes later, my phone rang. I was peeping from behind the truck to see who was calling. I wanted to be first to spot her. I saw this indescribable girl. I picked the call.

"Hello Sonia, can you see a boy on suit beside a truck?"

She turned around, our eyes met.

Her smile. I was smitten. She approached me, smiles and all.

As always, that idiotic grin was all over my face. Methinks she loved it. Because she grinned too, like an idiot. Two sweet idiots.

She was all what her pictures said of her.

She was all what her chats said of her.

She was all what my thoughts formed of her.

She was all what she said she was.

I reached out for a handshake. She went for an embrace instead. Warm. Tight. Bear. Hug. I was engulfed in fluffy soft things. She had flesh in the right places. Let me spare you the graphic images.

Minutes later we hugged again and I took my leave. Dancing like funky roaster about to mount his chick. It was a brief meeting. That was our first meet... and the last

Because work, we couldn't meet again before she returned to Kaduna. Then a worst thing happened. My phone blew. Bad charger. All contacts in it were saved in the phone memory. I lost them all. With it went Sonia.

Six years later, I received a friend request from a name that was too academic to be a name.

Scholastica.

Accepted.

Her message dropped.

"Hey Stefn, it's I Sonia. Blessing's friend. From Kaduna. Your 2go love. We met in Aba. Remember?"

"Sonia! OMG! Scholastica? What a name! It's been centuries"

"Yes, been a while. I found you again. Thanks to Blessing"

"Indeed, she's a blessing as always"

"I missed you"

And the memories rushed right back: The calls. The chats. The hugs.

"You know it's mutual, Sonia"

"I'm married now, with two kids..."

"...um"

I paused. She paused. Both of us paused.

#Pengician #SSA


Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and share with friends. Thank you! 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Fiction | The Tripod Effect

THE TRIPOD EFFECT The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the surrogate father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I'm off. The man should be here soon" Half an hour later, just by chance a door- to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale.  "Good morning, madam. I've come to...." "Oh, no need to explain. I've been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in. "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good. I've made a speciality of babies"  "That's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat"  After a moment, she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?"  "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out!" "Bathtub, living room floo...

The Curve And Colors Of Hate | Uwen Precious Ogban

The Curve And Colors Of Hate When the evening news had broken Father spoke with a tone of pain and anger “Nigeria is a whore,” And my mother agreed Painting sensual scenes giving you pleasure of what looks like a garden that hides a landmine. And how trying to walk through it becomes slippery A journey asking for crimson libations, full of fractures and ‘Had I knowns’ while you looked over the fence for greener  pastures Her sighs spoke of a menu full of thrills but you are served double horrors She, Nigeria, abhors you later on when it relinquishes you of value, Truly, she is an old ‘Whore’ My Father picked it from there, “Nigeria gets hard as rock” Wants of men despised Sullen moods recorded in poems, speeches, and events, snubbed For as long as it makes sultry suplex’s on a comfortable ring – Nigeria is satisfied “Son, Nigeria is you, your mum and I” Guilty to a fault Pained by happenings that come with fire and brimstone Let loose from bellies that should hold  patriotis...

Featured Poem: Slavery In Africa - by Uwen Precious Ogban

SLAVERY IN AFRICA We believe they rowed their boats of tumults into our region; carrying with them bags of conundrums, while we drummed our drums and jollied to their, intonation. The way they dressed, the way they addressed us Made us mime to the harmony and yearns in their speeches of a dawn to civility and hale: that was a start of the course of slavery in Africa. We still thought they were our brothers, because our chiefs rolled floridly with their proposals While we were mockingly disposed of In the field, or given to bespoken tailors as apprehends; as helps; in servitude; ‘posed to carry out orders as the come in flicks. We became babies in our own motherland we became cartage of their foreign plans. We cleared our huts so that they could find comfy and build on our strengths draining our tears as they wryly whipped us on our backs. Their wisdom their prowess They used to molest And we gazed in cluelessness Cause we still didn’t see it as slavery then – but as pain, so enjoyable....