Once Upon A Prostitute

CHAPTER 4 - PRAY FOR ME

My father was silent for a while, his bushy eyebrows drawn closer together in thought. He was still in his mid- forties but the greying edges on his temple gave him the look of an old man. He was often brooding and solemn, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. My brother, Tekena said there was a time papa was fun to be around, when they were much younger, before mama died. Papa and fun seemed so wrong in the same sentence. I don't remember papa ever being fun. I don't remember laughing with him or cracking jokes. He was always an observer... he would crack a smile now and then, but it rarely reached his eyes. He is strict and withdrawn, but he is a good man and loves us very much. For that, I have no doubt.

"Mina' he called.

"Yes papa"

"As you grow older, you will realize things are not always black and white. Sometimes there are hidden layers of colour in between." Damn! Whenever my father starts speaking in perfect English and proverbial terms, he is in top-serious mode. He continued ''I am making some calls. We will wait."

I exhaled in frustration. "What calls papa? Everything is taken care of.."

"It's not finances I'm worried about."

"Then what is it?" I demanded hotly "I'm sure if it was Tekena, you wouldn't stop him. You're always being partial to him..."

"Enough!" My father's voice quaked so loud I swear I heard the louvres rattle. "You will do as I say and wait for my instructions. End of discussion."

I got up and stomped out of the house. He could very well call me back and whip me for walking out on him, but I didn't care. I don't think a whip could match the pain in my chest right now.

How could he not let me go? This was an opportunity not just for me but for the entire family. We could get out of this poor meagre standard of living.

During the holidays, we'd go back to the village again...no not to visit Grandma and Grandpa even though they were always excited to see us. We'd go to farm and harvest crops which we process for food and for sale. How else do we buy our uniforms, books, bags and clothes. Yes daddy had a job as a school bursar but it paid him peanuts. Money was never enough. How lucky we were to be allocated a flat in the school premises. We would have probably still been living in the village. Thank God for free education in the state, we would have probably dropped out long ago.

So during our school holidays, we will spend most of our days at the farm. Funny how the holiday periods, except Christmas always coincided with planting, weeding and harvesting seasons. Whoever designed the Nigerian school system must have been a die-hard farmer.

I stomped away angrily thinking of the many times I had to tell my friends at school made-up stories of how fabulous my holiday was. Now I had a golden opportunity to tell a beautiful story that wasn't a lie. But no, papa would rather have me be the scrawny poor, Scrappy looking farmer's/bursar's daughter who wears hand -me-downs and sometimes eats soaked garri for dinner. Even though I like soaked garri, I still want it to be a choice.

"Arrrh" I had rounded the corner beside the house and run into a hard, tall object.

"Ah ah..Mina. are you alright?" It was Dagogo, Tekena's fine friend. And just like that I forgot I was angry. Damn the boy is fine. Dagogo was dark and tall and so handsome. He had glassy brown eyes that glistened in the sun. I stared into them for a moment.
He smiled at me. Damn...I love those dimples. I didn't even know when I started grinning like a fool.

"Are you alright?" He repeated.

"Yes," I smiled shyly.

"Where are you off to?''