Chapter 2
Esther was a final year student at Covenant University, studying Business Administration—or at least that's what I gathered from eavesdropping on my uncle. She was tall and fair-skinned, with attractive lips and a charming dimple that contrasted with her gap-toothed smile. When she smiled, you'd think she was the most caring person on earth (guys, don't be deceived by smiles, I'm begging you!).
I couldn't determine her figure completely since she dressed modestly, but she had curves that occasionally invaded my private thoughts—trouble indeed! She would travel to Lagos directly from school before heading to Abuja, where her parents (my in-laws and siblings) lived. This December, though, she wanted to stay in Lagos for reasons I didn't care to know—she was just a spoiled brat in my eyes. Sometimes I looked at her and pitied her future husband. But either way, "I must use Asamoah's style to deal with this situation," I thought within seconds.
"Danladi, what is this?" she asked, glancing at my embarrassing situation, still somewhat concealed. Before I could explain myself, she brushed it off, smiled, and said: "Where's my breakfast? I need to eat before taking this anti-malaria medication."
Seriously? Esther smiled at me? Those dimples appearing while her gap-toothed smile shone in my direction? For what reason? Malaria? Food? What a liar! She didn't know I was a walking lie detector.
All these thoughts raced through my mind. "I won't be swayed like this," I told myself. So I simply told her where to find the food, still trying to maintain my composure.
"Nice boy," she said, turning around and leaving with another smile. Blood of goat! Another smile? I frowned and fired the million-dollar question: "ESTHER, WHERE IS BROS ABU?" I stood there like Balotelli in the 2012 Euro Cup.
She froze, looking puzzled and shocked, her face displaying one hell of a "WTF" expression.
At this moment, I felt like the Puppet Master (though I can't remember where I picked up that reference). I had Esther right in my palms, just like Asamoah had his dad's drivers. I was so elated that my earlier situation quickly deflated like a balloon. (Scientists really need to explain these mysteries surrounding male anatomy.)
"What kind of question is that? Which Abu are you talking about? And how dare you call my name in such a tone? Have you gone nuts, or do you think you're talking to your sister?" These were like JAMB questions fired at me, and to make matters worse, she asked them in an unusually low tone—very unlike Esther. I figured she must be keeping her voice down to avoid being overheard, which only confirmed my suspicions. So I pressed on: "YOU THINK I DIDN'T SEE YOU TWO?"