SARAAAAHHHHH!

ABIMBOLA OLADIPO

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I don’t know the particular day I despised most: the day I met Deji, or that day I practically tiptoed to his hostel an hour earlier than we agreed on after my class got cancelled unexpectedly and smelled that putrid smoke smell again. There was no one he could push the blame to at the time. Not when he still held the smoking embers of whatever it was he had used in wrapping his weed. Yes. Weed.  I stood in shock as I took in the sight of his rumpled bedclothes that still had particles of dried leaves on them and my mind went back to that fateful night his forehead had furrowed in disgust as that he told me he didn’t smoke.

He said he didn’t smoke cigarettes, you moron. Of course not, he probably smoked only weed, he is obviously too classy to smoke cigarettes.

Words tumbled out of his mouth as he kept mumbling, but I couldn’t decipher a thing at all as my mind was miles away from what he was saying. I kept looking at his mouth. At those pink lips I had kissed way too many times, and tried hard to restrain myself from causing a scene that would put him in trouble with the school authorities.

I have always been of the (rather silly) opinion that igbo smokers were synonymous with those agbero with blackened lips like roasted meat. It never ever occurred to me that an igbo smoker might have pink lips, or that I might have kissed lips which had kissed weed.  I burst out laughing at the irony.

“Sarah…Sarah…” I left without looking black

The minutes, hours, days and weeks that followed were ones in which I ignored his calls, texts and blocked on every blockable platform when his unwelcome persistence started getting on my nerves. He once called my friend and asked her to speak to me. The scathing look I gave her was more than enough to make her recoil the snakelike hand she had used to extend the phone to me and subtly hinted that I might not be in the mood to talk to him. I imagined the look on his face when he heard that, his eager to please girl standing up to him and taking a stand on her decision for once in her life

People have always made my decisions for me; telling me what’s right and what I should do at every turn in my life. First it was my parents then siblings, then friends, then Deji. I wanted to do something by myself for once. If I said I did not want a someone who smoked igbo, then I don’t want anyone trying to persuade me otherwise or telling me to give him a second chance.

It turned out that I wasn’t as strong as I originally thought. I missed us terribly and had to restrain myself several times from calling him. One dreary night that I couldn’t sleep, I read his messages and listened to those voice notes again and again. At first, he was calm, saying he knew I had a right to be upset but we still had to talk about it. In the later ones, he pleaded for me to see things from his point of view; he was depressed, his mother had died the year before and he wasn’t over it yet, he was trying to forget all these things and blablabla… Being high helped clear his head and study, God knows his department could drive anyone crazy… In the last one before I blocked him, he sounded somewhat frustrated and angry as he told me that he wasn’t addicted or anything and would stop it since I didn’t like it but I have to grow up and let’s talk about it like adults. I went to bed lighthearted that night as I unblocked his line, patiently waiting for him to call me because I knew we were going to make up. 

I, Sarah, who has never done as much as felt dizzy all my life swooned thrice. First it was in the morning. I was brushing my teeth at the balcony, and I was thinking about Deji. He hadn’t called or texted in the three days I unblocked his line when I heard my phone ring. I was diving with enviable agility into my room to retrieve my phone in one second, and was enveloped in thick darkness in another. I was laid against the wall, sopping wet when I discovered he wasn’t the one that called. My head ached badly as about a hundred agitated girls cried from outside the Porter’s lodge. I inevitably ended up at Jaja and had some tests run. I was later discharged that very day. In the following week, I became convinced that Deji didn’t want me anymore, the thought was devastating but I resolved to move on. 

The second time was when I fainted at some fancy resort with my coursemates just before second semester exams started. One moment I was laughing and grading the girls’ dresses with my newly found friend Princess (Deji’s replacement of me), when I blacked out again. I was rushed to a private hospital where the doctor patiently asked me a couple of questions before quietly telling me that I was pregnant, and then more quietly that they could take care of it if I wanted to. No, he wasn’t pressing and no, I did not have to, but I was already eight weeks gone and I had to make a decision in no less than a couple of weeks.

I had no one to confide in. Besides, I told myself I had no choice. I was just seventeen. I could see my father looking at me first in shock, and then in rage. I could see my stepmother who had told my ten-year-old half sisters to study hard so they won’t get wound up like me. On every side, all I saw was the prospective look of disappointment awaiting me. My elder sister would yell at me and say I abused the opportunity given to me. You know how many people long for this opportunity you have? You ungrateful child! Did you ever lack anything?

I cried a lot in days following the revelation. I couldn’t tell Deji, it would only make things more complicated. In fact, I couldn’t tell anyone. I sobbed into my pillow to muffle the sounds at night, and laid under my blankets all day, doing nothing else but cry. Hoping for a sort of miracle; maybe the doctor’s diagnosis was wrong, or maybe I would be spared the agony of deciding to kill my baby if I starved and discomfited myself a lot. If only I would slip and fall like they often show us in Nollywood movie sand miscarry. I intentionally slipped and fell at every opportunity, twisting my right arm when I once lost balance on a flight of stairs while going downstairs in Awo hall and landed on my tummy. Still, I didn’t achieve my aim. 

Eventually, I called the number the doctor gave to me and booked an appointment. On the D-day, I didn’t eat breakfast like the doctor asked; I didn’t take any chances by eating dinner the night before either. As I sat in the waiting room, I suddenly caught myself mumbling words of prayer…whoa me Sarah…. I haven’t prayed since God knows when. But there I was, desperate, praying and begging God to forgive me that I had no choice and I would never have premarital sex again in my life. I struck a lot of deals I would not remember with God at the moment, clamouring that he spares my life so I would not die.

Eventually, it was my turn to go in. I took a long deep breath which I hoped wouldn’t be my last and stepped into….

To be continued….