Chosen

Chapter 3

I watched myself on the screen. I was naked, sweaty, moaning.

Other people were watching too. Some were pointing, some were even laughing.

Please – don't! Turn it off! Turn it off!!!'

'Amara?'

My eyes opened like two flash-light beams. I found myself in class, slumped over my desk.

'Someone's tired. You fell asleep in the first half,' Chinedu said chuckling.

He'd made an awful habit of always sitting next to me. By always sitting next to me I meant my designated seat at the back of the room. I was never on time to class.

'For goodness sake,' I muttered, burying my face into my palms.

It was the first month into my second year at uni and I was already slacking. I was finding it harder and harder to motivate myself and attend lectures. My European module was the only one I went to. This was partly because I had upcoming coursework and partly because Urenna was always chasing up on our attendance. The joys of being in a small class.

'We're on a break,' Chinedu said.

I peered up at the wall clock. I still had ten minutes before Urenna would resume the second half.

'Alright...I'm coming back.'

I got up from my seat, grabbed a lighter, a packet of Meso's, and headed for the door.

*

Wisps of silver smoke curled in on itself in the air. I flicked off the excess ash from my cigarette and leant against a brick wall. I made sure to stand well away from the lecture building.

I noticed a couple of whites from class stood by the entrance. There weren't many in any of my lectures, let alone LSPT. From what I'd heard, there were a lot more than there had been some years ago. Things were changing for the better. Slowly but surely.

I took one last drag before tossing the butt to the ground and crushing it beneath my trainers.

My crop top rose as I crept on my tip toes. I think one of those white guys was the one I'd crashed into the other day.

*

'I think it was economically viable.'

'That's bullshit,' shot one of the white guys.

The class turned silent.

My eyes reverted to Urenna. In her lectures opposing opinions were welcome, profanity, on the other hand, was not. Nevertheless, she allowed him to continue.

'Africans saw Europeans as inferiors. There's evidence of this mindset even before slavery,' it was coming from the one that I'd spilt his coffee.

Someone objected, 'there are also diary entries during the same period of whites calling blacks barbaric. What's your point?'

'My point is that African elites have always adopted a superior complex based on race. Hell, you even see it among Subsaharan Africans towards North Africans. In the 16th century white Europeans were lower than the browns in the Indies, the browns in Terra Australis, and the yellows in Asia. Prejudice views towards white skin was why Africans captured Europeans and put them to work in West, Central, and Southern Africa.'

Urenna nodded her head then scanned the classroom.

'Amara,' she purred, 'why do you think Africans enslaved Europeans?'

The white guy turned to look at me and I couldn't help but blush. His face was chiseled to perfection, his facial hair was light and sparse, and he had a little scar just above his left cheek. He had piercing green eyes, a pointed nose, and large pink lips. His wavy, dirty-blonde hair cascaded his neck and he had a stern look on his face.

'I think it was largely economic,' I let out.       

'Yes?' Urenna nodded, prodding me to expand.

'Urm... African elites may have seen Europeans as inferior, but that was mostly in regards to civilisation... Race was still a loose term in the 16th century and what would Africans have gained from enslaving Europeans based on race?... Africans wanted to exploit Europeans for economic reasons... If anything they then used race to justify their actions.'

Urenna smiled, 'okay.'

The white guy shook his head. He didn't like the sound of that.

'With historiography, there is no right or wrong answer. In your essays I want you to discuss different schools of thought and decide which one has more weight.'

I nudged Chinedu and mouthed thank you. What I'd said weren't really my thoughts. Chinedu had just let me read his notes.

'And with that a big thank you for a fantastic session. Same time next week!'

'What are you doing for lunch?' Chinedu began.

I didn't answer. Instead I watched the white guy rise from his seat and push in his chair. He grabbed his jotter, ran his hands through his floppy locks, then walked out of class.

*

In the evening I was back in the flat with Chioma and our good friend Shola. She'd made Ayamase at her place and brought some over. Unlike Chioma and I, Shola was of Yorubaland decent.

We sat around our kitchen island digging our faces and sipping cheap wine.

'Mama Chioma, Oga Chioma, and President of the paper, how has your first month been?' Shola questioned, almost making me choke.

Chioma rolled her eyes.

'All jokes aside, the paper has been a dismal. The writers are wack, no artistic streak, no passion. I want to fire them all,' she said, pointing her fork.

'Ah, don't try it,' Shola chuckled.

'Watch me,'

We all laughed.

'What about the first monthly debate?' Shola inquired.

My mind travelled back to that awful poster Chioma had created of the white girl with dreads and the black girl with extensions.

'It went well, we got a record number of attendees, all thanks to me,' Chioma boasted, raising a hand.

'But you wouldn't believe this silly white guy that was there. Talking about cultural appropriation and all this nonsense. This isn't the 1960s, no one is forcing you to assimilate,' she hissed.

Chioma and Shola went back to eating. 

'He has a point,' I said, filling my cup with wine.

They both stopped mid-chew.

'Was it not the other day whites were in an uproar because a woman was told to get rid of her 'European' hairstyle after an interview?'

'That's rubbish,' Chioma fired, 'that woman applied to work at Hair magazine. How can you represent the brand with a non-Afrocentric hairstyle?!'

I gave Chioma the side-eye.

'Whatever the hell that means,' I scoffed, gulping on more wine. 

Shola got up to turn on the little TV screen in our kitchen. I think she felt kind of awkward. She flicked through a few channels before Chioma stopped her in her tracks.

'Wait, Shola...can you go back to IBC News?'

Shola pulled a face but did so anyway.

'...It's been reported that terrorists have bombed an amusement park in North London.'

We gasped.

There was a sweeping shot that followed. Candy floss and bright lights were juxtaposed with frail bodies and bloodied faces. A derailed dodgem was being lifted to remove a trapped child underneath. People were screaming.

It was utter carnage.