as a highly placed member in one of the ministries he feels insulted that he has to share the girl with a scruffy university of botswana student. he had tried telling her earlier that evening to get rid of the kid.

                 “why would i do that? will you leave your wife for me?”

            “wena, you think you’re smart. i am serious. nna, i can’t share you with that ke bokae.”

            “ke bokae! rra a thuba mmopa, waitse.” she laughs knowing exactly what his referent phrase means. if this high risk thinks i am gonna leave thuso for second-hand sex he is joking, she muses.

            “do yo know i have two tests ka monday, but i had to tshela metsi my group discussions to spend time with you, and you’re here talking kaak!

                “so i am talking kaak? o bua dilo, waitse. so, wena, you want to continue to be a drop hole?” the moment the words come out his body goes cold. he watches her to see how she will react.

silence.

she sits there unmoved and continues to eat in silence, chewing like a calf on stored grass. he sits next to her in the beautiful hotel suite in the grand palm, slurping on his room-service dinner. he is rich, but he is grovelly like his pigs. they say you must enjoy the job you do, so him also being a pig farmer … i’ll have to deal with that charity case she calls a boyfriend, he muses. she gets up from the table without saying a word. he gets up too, and goes to her.

                   “sorry, cheri.”

silence.

                “ao mma, i said sorry. it’s just that my blood boils each time i imagine you and him in those barracks.”

silence.

                   “cheri!”

                  “ee rra. i hear you. ke la pile.” she goes into the bathroom, and moments later he hears her brushing her teeth. he looks around the room for her cellphone, nothing. he sits on the bed, frustrated. she returns from the bathroom, undresses and climbs into bed. he goes into the bathroom, takes out his main cellphone and dials her number – his heart is pounding like that of a yazidi hiding from an isil invasion. he hears her get off the bed …

                   “hello! hello! hello!”

he drops the call. and returns to the room just in time to see her return the cellphone to her bag, which she then leaves on one of the chairs in the room.

                   “ke mang?”

                   “ga kitse. the idiot didn’t say anything.”

                   “are you sure it wasn’t your –”

she stops him with a hard look, climbs back into bed, and switches off the bedside lamp on her side. he goes into the bathroom and simply sits on the edge of the bath-tub, waiting for her to fall asleep. soon enough he hears the snoring. there’s just something about beautiful women who snore … three minutes later he flushes the toilet and returns to the room. he undresses and climbs into bed. he knows there won’t be sex tonight – she was still too angry because of his comments. well, today is friday, there is still tomorrow. he is sure after he takes her shopping tomorrow she will open up. he lies in bed wide awake, waiting. there’s just something about beautiful women who snore …

                “opelo!” she doesn’t respond. he shakes her, not intending to rouse her, he just wants to know how deeply she is sleeping. she adjusts her position and resumes her snorry sleep. there’s just something about beautiful women who snore … satisfied she is comfortably nestled in morpheus’ grips, he gets off the bed, picks up her bag, takes out her cellphone, goes into the hotel bathroom. his heart pounding, he starts to search …

his search is first to determine if she has any other boyfrend or man in her lfe – you never know with these magosha. he scrolls through her call register – just names, he is stored as blesser. he laughs. Then he opens her sms messages – nothing interesting, just stupid university girls’ trash talk. He opens her whatsapp chat – the last chat is with firstbase. he frowns. his heart proverbially in his throat, he opens the message thread.

                   “when are you seeing him?”

                   “i’m mtng him ka 6.”

                   “for the weekend?”

                   “e rra. sori.”

                   “ee go siame. you won’t forget to ask him, akere?”

                   “no, i won’t frgt honey. ke bokae?”

                   “nine thousand shld be ok. eish, babe you know this is my last resort.”

                   “sharp. pls send account details ya gago.”

                   “61141818419. mall branch.”

                   “did you receive it?”

                   “yes, honey. i will dpsit it before 12 ka moso. he is here. later. xo”

                   “later, bae! *as i go to refec with a heavy a heart*”

                   “lol! later. xo.”

he remains sitting on the edge of the bath-tub in the dark bathroom, his heart racing, his hands shaking. he can hardly breathe. he gets up, his legs like licorice sticks. he sits back down. the cheek! the rascal thinks he is smart, scheming to make me pay for his education, he museshe knows he is struggling to get sponsorship after two instances of ‘fail and discontinue’. he forwards the message with his bank account details to his number and then deletes the message forwarding it to his phone from hers. he gets up, the adrenaline of revenge has strengthened his legs. he goes steathily back to the room, puts her cellphone back in her bag – she is still deep in sleep, snoring. there’s just something about beautiful women who snore …

he checks his phone – no message from her or the bank. women! how could he trust she would come to his rescue, he muses. he gets dressed and leaves for church. he is in a combi on his way to church when the message comes in, but doesn’t feel the vibration because of the coughing of the combi and the loud music in the bus. he only sees it when he is already inside the church, and the service is in full flow.

                “bwp 16000 was deposited to acc. ending 8419. eft. available balance is now bwp 16076.54.”

he rereads the message. his heart starts to pound furiously. he looks to the side to see if the woman sitting next to him can hear his heart beat. she is looking ravishingly at the pastor. he looks at the pastor, the pastor smiled. he is referring the congregation to luke 15:11-32. his hands are trembling – he has never had such cash before. he only needs six thousand. i must thank her, he muses. he gets up and goes out.

he dials a cab, he needs to go to airport junction and get her something real nice … three hours later, he sits by chicken licken, laden with spoils from stuttafords, edgars, clicks, and american swiss – his heart smiling broadly. he needs to go and take off the price tags …

he dials a cab – las vegas. his room will be too small for how he intends to thank her … he receives the party sixteen. in his excitement he had forgotten to eat, but his stomach wasn’t on the same wavelength with his head. he needs to pack a few things for the tryst.

he dials a cab, cresta lodge. he needs to prepare the room before she arrives.

                   “hey bae! meet me ka cresta lodge.”

                   “hey bae.ok. nako?”

                   “asap. 221”

                   “ok.”

she steps into the room – the room has been set up to impress her. she is impressed. she can smell her favorite meal – shrimp curry.

                   “thanks, babe.”

                   “for?”

                   “the money.”

                   “small!”

she is wondering where he got the money from. because she had a fight with blesser on friday night she had actually returned to her room on saturday morning without asking him for the cash. she din’t contact him since saturday morning because she didn’t know what to tell him – and then this. who sent him money? how much? why is he wasting so much to please her – but the gifts are lovely, she muses. but she is gemini.

and then they have two days of bliss – feeding and feeding. 

and then wednesday morning – the call.

                  is that mr. molefi?

                  yes. can i help you?

                  yea. am calling from fnb. am afraid there’s been a mistake –

                  mistake?

                yea, am afraid the sum of sixteen thousand pula was mistakingly deposited in your account. we have reverted the amount but it is short by nine thousand thirty-six pula. when can you come into the bank to …

Copyright © Fani-Kayode Omoregie 2016