Morning classes at 8 were incredibly challenging. I arrived on campus a few minutes ahead of time and chose not to take the shuttle, opting to sprint to my class instead. I retrieved my phone from my crossbag, slung over my shoulder. I navigated to my Naija oldies playlist, plugged in my earpiece, and started grooving to the music. Afterward, I stashed my phone in my pocket, concealing it beneath my black tee.
The school was bustling with students making their way to their classes for the time of day. I recognized some familiar faces in the crowd, knowing that they, too, were headed to PHY112, just like I was. I couldn't help but feel a bit out of place as many of them were chatting and walking with friends, while I walked alone. It was reassuring to spot another lone student, carrying a bag filled with books. It reminded me that if I felt odd, there was always someone who was odder.
This was one of the rare occasions when I attended class on my own. I typically went with Sewa, but given our recent disagreement, I wasn't certain if we would be going together again.
As I approached the lecture theater, it gradually came into view, and I quickened my pace. I ascended the stairs carefully, being mindful of my phone in my back pocket. Given the number of students I had seen heading for physics on my way, I hadn't expected the entire lecture hall to be filled when I arrived. I pulled out my left earpiece to fully take in my surroundings and understand what was happening.
Did these students not have homes to sleep in? Everyone who entered after me ended up finding a spot to stand at the back. I knew that there must have been available seats hidden in the front rows, but I couldn't bring myself to descend those stairs and ask for a vacant seat, knowing it could easily be denied with the excuse that someone was already sitting there.
I settled for a space at the back, and I managed to find an open windowsill to sit on. I pulled out my phone before sitting down, unconcerned about the possibility of it staining my trousers. Fortunately, I was wearing black, so I could just dust it off. Since I had some time before the teacher arrived, I decided to browse my phone, revisiting Facebook. The day before, after two failed attempts to recall Mr. Utomi's password, I successfully logged into his account. I now had access to all his Facebook data, but it seemed like he hadn't used the app in three years. I guessed that even millennials didn't use Facebook as much.
One thing in particular caught my attention: the most recent person Mr. Tony Utomi had been chatting with was an account that had been deleted. This account had no profile picture and no name, only a series of messages sent by Mr. Utomi. I had spent the entire previous night reading through these messages, attempting to piece together what was truly happening. But the complete context remained elusive since I couldn't see what Mr. Utomi was responding to. Nonetheless, I filled in the gaps myself, which gave me a sense of understanding that they were involved with each other.
The rest of the conversations seemed rather mundane, and even though I was already prying into Mr. Utomi's personal life, I had no intention of reading any of those messages. However, it was clear that Mr. Utomi had an excellent taste in men. He appeared to be a part of an online Nigerian queer community, and as I went through their posts, I felt a connection. I had encountered a few openly queer Nigerian men, only on Grindr, but these gay men were different. Unfortunately, it seemed that most of their accounts were no longer active.
I received a message notification that made me slightly jump, though not enough for anyone around me to notice. It was from one of Mr. Utomi's friends who had seen his account online. I contemplated responding to it to avoid raising suspicion, but I had no idea how Mr. Utomi communicated, so I decided it would be safer to ignore it. I was so preoccupied with this that I didn't even notice when our teacher entered and began the lecture. When I eventually turned my attention back to my screen, I was perplexed to see that the friend's message had received a response. But, I hadn't typed out the reply – it was most likely the work of noone other than Maxwell.
As if by serendipity, Prudence arrived late for class, entering through the back door right beside me. She was dressed in her usual corporate attire, but this time it was a cream-colored top. She walked closer to the back row seats, clearly searching for someone. With none of her guys nearby, this seemed like the perfect opportunity. Given that her boyfriend was acquainted with Maxwell, I thought I might find a solution to my predicament.
I got up, brushed off my trousers, and casually approached her, teasing, "A whole coordinator came late, what's going on?" skipped the usual pleasantries, and Prudence chuckled, though her eyes remained fixed on her search.
The discomfort I had anticipated when conversing with her was precisely what I experienced. I continued to stand by her, pretending to be searching for someone else as well, but I started to genuinely look for Sewa to see if she was in class. But when my eyes fell on Kennedy, my interest waned.
"Other than Anatomy which other departments are here?" I asked Prudence. Since she was the coordinator, I assumed she would be aware of which departments were present.
"The whole faculty is here" Prudence chuckled, causing me to doubt if she was being honest.
"Are you serious?" I asked.
"Yes"
The awkwardness returned as Prudence ended her search and started paying attention to the teacher. Despite the tension, I was determined to make our friendship work. I added wit into the conversation after the teacher said something that wasn't quite clear, making Prudence giggle along with a few other students in the back row. I noticed that our interactions were attracting some attention, but I tried to ignore it to keep things casual, all while planning to ask about Maxwell later.
Distracting myself with my phone, I hoped to lessen the awkwardness caused by curious eyes in the classroom. The urge to check Facebook took over, and as I looked through my messages, I noticed that the most recent conversation was from three years ago with the deleted account. Maxwell had likely deleted his chat with the other guy. Realizing that I needed to act swiftly, I brainstormed various ways to bring up Maxwell in a conversation with Prudence without raising suspicion, but I couldn't come up with any clever approach. I finally let the words slip out, "Have you seen Maxwell?" I asked Prudence, as if it were common knowledge that we both knew him.
Prudence responded, "No, I don't think he comes for classes." Her answer indicated that Maxwell was indeed part of our faculty, but I remained uncertain about his specific department. I did know he wasn't in our department, Anatomy.
I pretended to remember and asked, "He's in what department again, Physiology?"
"No, nursing," Prudence handing me my answer. It was puzzling to imagine someone like Maxwell in nursing. What was a yahoo boy doing in nursing, and how had he managed to gain admission into that department, but I didn't.
Prudence eventually found the guys she was searching for and had to leave to take her place at the front of the lecture hall. I confirmed that there were indeed vacant seats in front for some students. "It's fine, I can't even hear anything they're saying. I'm leaving too. Text me if there's any assignment," I told Prudence, sharing my number with her. While I doubted she would actually text me, considering how busy she was, I figured it was worth a try to have a reason to converse with her again. I checked my phone and noticed it was just a few minutes before 9. Time had flown by, and I realized I needed to make my way to the library to find Maxwell.
I exited the class and made my way downstairs, where I found plenty of Kekes ready for me. I took one to reach my next destination, the library. Upon arriving at the library, I entered and removed the essential items from my bag before securing it in one of the lockers located downstairs. Afterward, I proceeded to the next floor by climbing the stairs.
Mr. Utomi was seated at the sign-in table near the entrance. I greeted him, and he responded with a smile. It seemed like he had grown accustomed to seeing me at the library, almost as if he was expecting my visit. I felt a sense of happiness seeing him there. While signing in, I thought about how I had always suspected Mr. Utomi was gay due to obvious stereotypes. Now that I had confirmation, it provided me with a sense of closure and representation.
I made sure to check the sign-in list, but I couldn't find Maxwell's name, which meant I had arrived at the library before him. I returned to the seat he had used the day before. The computer system was already on, so there was no need to wait for the booting process. When I opened the Facebook website, it prompted me to log in, which was unexpected. I checked the saved passwords, but Mr Utomi's Facebook login information was missing.
Looking back at Mr. Utomi, who was occupied with another student at the entrance, I suspected he might have found out. I took out my phone and opened Facebook. Unexpectedly, I encountered an error on the app. In my haste to remove the error message, I tapped on it, unaware that it was actually a prompt to log out.
I tried to log back in using Mr Utomi's password, but it rejected it as incorrect. Not only was the account logged out, but the password had been changed. I needed to know who was behind it.
I inquired with a boy sitting nearby who had noticed my concerned expression, "Did you see any guy with dreads use this system?", He shook his head. I followed up, "Ok what of a fat black boy?" Once again, the boy replied that he hadn't seen anyone using the system fitting that description.
Perhaps the boy was correct, and it was likely Mr. Utomi who had changed his password upon discovering the situation. Nevertheless, my need to find Maxwell remained, knowing that he would eventually return to access Mr. Utomi's account, so I decided to wait.
...
I whiled away my time studying and entertaining myself with the school's WiFi, losing track of time until it was well past 2 PM, and Maxwell had not shown up. My suspicion that he might not come had come true. I realized I should have left earlier, as there wasn't much time left before Mr. Utomi would ask us to leave the library. But I couldn't simply give up and go home; I needed to find a way to contact Maxwell.
For the time being, Prudence was my sole hope, but I couldn't figure out how to ask for Maxwell's number. She hadn't messaged me either, so maybe there was no assignment after all. I decided to reach out to her. I didn't have her number, but I found it in my department's WhatsApp group where she was the admin. I sent her a direct message with a simple "Hey, did the lecturer give us any assignments?" The message showed two grey ticks immediately, making my heart race. I anticipated her response just as quickly.
Again, it seemed like a replay of my experience with Kennedy—message received, but no response. Prudence remained offline, leading me to assume that she was likely occupied with other matters and would reply when she had the chance. I began mentally plotting out our conversation, thinking about how I could smoothly transition into asking for Maxwell's number. But, this entire plan felt precarious, contingent on her response or lack thereof. I needed a more solid approach.
Saving Prudence's number was just the beginning. I reluctantly delved into one of Instagram's features that I dreaded the most – syncing my phone contacts with the app to discover Prudence's Instagram profile. Scrolling through my contact list on Instagram was a laborious process, filled with numerous weird usernames and people I didn't even recognize on the platform. I fervently hoped that none of them would discover my account, as I strongly disliked friends following me. In case they did, I was prepared to block them if we weren't close friends.
Eventually, I stumbled upon "prettyprude," Prudence's handle. To my relief, it bore some resemblance to her actual name, although I initially misread it as "prettyrude" and wondered who would choose such a name. However, my confusion was short-lived as soon as I recognized her profile picture.
Prudence's Instagram account was set to private, which appeared to be a dead end at first. But, not everything in her profile was private. Her boyfriend's username was neatly displayed in her bio, accompanied by heart emojis – a sight that made me cringe and gag. Her boyfriend, Investor was on Instagram, his grid was very yahoo boy coded, never revealing his face in any of his pictures. He always had his back to the camera or obscured his face with his hand, and there was something odd about his choice of fit – a repetitive choice that seemed to be shared by many guys involved in online fraud. It was almost as if the so-called "yahoo boys" were part of a fashion-challenged cult.
But Investor's pictures were not what I was after. I shifted my focus to his list of people he followed and initiated a search for "Maxwell." Regrettably, this attempt yielded no results. If only these boys used their actual names or any recognizable usernames, this task would have been significantly easier. I realized that I needed to try different keywords, and "max" surprisingly did the trick. It led me to a page named "whotfismaxx."
Maxwell's Instagram profile turned out to be quite different from what I had pictured. Surprisingly, he seemed cool and confident. He didn't hide his face like many Nigerian guys did. In fact, his profile picture, featuring him holding the edge of his cap with two neat dreadlocks peeking out, was one of the best Nigerian profile photos I had come across.
My perception took a hit when I discovered that he had numerous highlights on his Instagram that spelt out "MAXWELL". This revelation left me questioning, "Who did he fuck did he think he was, anyway?"
Mr. Utomi started urging us to leave, I began to pack up my books while Maxwell's Instagram story was loading. It turned out to be a filtered video of him doing something that resembled a gang sign. I couldn't be entirely sure, but it seemed like a recent trend where guys held their middle finger down with their thumb, while the rest of their fingers pointed up, waving it in the air with a grin on their faces. In the video, I could spot Investor, although he was predictably hiding his face.
Upon closer inspection of the video and hearing the background music, it dawned on me why Prudence hadn't been responding to my messages. It turned out she was modeling for the Freshers' Party at Campus 1. What's more, Sewa was also involved in the event, and I suddenly remembered that I had promised to show up for Sewa. Despite our recent argument, I realized I still needed to be there for her.
"Ehis!" Mr. Utomi called my name – it appeared he had actually memorized it. He gestured for me to leave the library, and I complied eagerly, as I was on my way to Campus 1.
I left the library and proceeded to take a shuttle, followed by hopping on a bike outside the school, making my way to Campus 1. Initially, as I entered, everything appeared normal at the entrance. But, while walking through the campus, I gradually began to hear the music, Doja Cat's 'Boss Bitch,' growing louder.
Campus 1 was notably smaller, and the path I was on led straight to the boy's hostel at the far end. As I drew closer, I encountered a sizable crowd of students arranged in a circle right in front of the hostel. My main focus was to spot Maxwell, so I kept an eye out for someone sporting a black tank top and beige trousers. The scene was quite chaotic, with people spilling out of the circle into the canteen beside the boy's hostel. I could also observe shirtless guys positioned in the hostel corridor, getting a different view point of the ongoing event.
I ventured into the crowded circle, but my view was somewhat obstructed by the people ahead of me. Therefore, I navigated around to find a better position. After some maneuvering, I managed to squeeze my way to the front. With a prime spot in the front row, I could now witness the female models as they made their entrance. Among them, I spotted Sewa, who was positioned third in line. Without her glasses and adorned with makeup, she looked stunning and exceptionally beautiful.
As each model took her turn to walk down the runway and present herself, the first one received a decent applause from the crowd. When Prudence graced the stage with her unique style, wearing a cropped button-up shirt, baggy jeans, and stiletto heels, her immense confidence shone through. Her self-assured presence on the runway earned her a significant amount of cheers from the audience. Yet, there were a few immature boys in the background making body shaming comments, swiftly silenced by some of the girls in attendance.
I took out my phone to capture the moment when Sewa made her entrance, and she walked in with a resting bitch face. In that moment, she was practically Bella Hadid to me, dressed in a striking blue shiny suit and trousers, complete with transparent heels. Despite my initial intention not to draw attention to myself, I couldn't help but scream in excitement. I didn't know anyone around me, and I likely wouldn't see them again, so I didn't care about making noise. My voice stood out even among the cheers, and Sewa turned in my direction, flashing a brief smile. She quickly regained her expressionless demeanor, continuing down the runway with her stylish locs flowing along. As the next model took her turn, I stopped recording, now that Sewa was out of sight.
I grew tired of being repeatedly asked to move back by the event managers, so I reluctantly abandoned my spot at the front. As I exited the crowd, I scanned the area, spotting someone with dreadlocks. I hesitated, waiting for the person to turn around because I didn't want to approach the wrong person. Once I caught a glimpse of the shirt they were wearing, I realized it wasn't Maxwell, unless he had suddenly switched to a white top.
Turning back I saw Investor, causing my heart to race once more. I had a strong feeling that Maxwell must be nearby. I followed Investor's gaze, but he was making his way toward the boy's hostel. It seemed odd for a yahoo boy to stay there, so I considered that maybe he was a less fortunate G-boy. Nevertheless, this gave me a hint that Maxwell might be in the hostel since Investor was heading there. I briefly thought about secretly following Investor, but I didn't want to abandon the event with Sewa still participating. That's when I noticed Travis Scott's dreads wearing a black tank top and beige trousers in the crowd.
I stylishly walked over to the circle, not so far off from me Maxwell stood behind. He was recording the event on his phone, which made sense since his friend's girlfriend was modeling. This provided the perfect reason to strike up a conversation with him. Though it felt a bit intimidating, I approached him and tapped his shoulder to get his attention. He turned to me, and I moved closer beside him, then asked, "How far, you fit send me wetin you record?" Hearing myself speak in pidgin felt a bit unusual.
"Of course, no problem," Maxwell responded, opening his Xender app to transfer the videos. I was feeling a bit awkward, trying to think of what else to say to him. He attempted to connect with my phone, but it didn't seem to work. "You're the Tecno?" He asked. "Yes," I replied and decided to hand over my phone to him so he could scan and transfer the videos more easily.
We were still standing in the circle, when the transfer was done. I couldn't think of anything to say, and Maxwell's attention was drawn back to the male models who were now on the stage. One of the models was shirtless and had some oil on his body, causing his skin to glisten in the setting sun. It was a captivating sight, and I was surprised to see that Maxwell was impressed by it, even exclaiming, "Shit!"
Investor rejoined Maxwell in the crowd, and I realized that my chance to talk with Maxwell was likely over. They continued to stand beside me, engrossed in watching the show and discussing various models, including one dark, slim girl who was described as "forming hard girl" during her turn. It was clear from their conversation that they were talking about Sewa. Although I wanted to add some playful commentary about her, I didn't want to risk being ignored, so I refocused my attention on the event.
I realized that Sewa was on stage once again, which explained why they were discussing her. Sewa confidently strutted onto the stage, wearing a long, elegant red gown that flowed gracefully as she walked, her hands gracefully spreading the gown's fabric along the floor. She was an incredible sight, and despite our past disagreements, I found myself completely captivated by her. I stopped and gazed at her, momentarily forgetting all that had transpired between us. It was a shame that she couldn't see me because I was no longer standing at the front, but I hoped that somehow she could sense my warm smile directed at her.
Despite the exhaustion of straining my neck to see from my new position away from the front, I decided to remain until the end of the event simply because Maxwell was still beside me. As the event reached its climax, it was time to announce the winners of the modeling competition. The MC encouraged the audience to shout in support of their favorite models, and the plan was to determine the winners based on the volume of the cheers from the audience.
"Is she the winner?" The MC resting his hand on Prudence, which led to enthusiastic screams from the audience. Then, he placed his hand on Sewa, igniting an even more thunderous round of cheers. It was down to the final two girls, and we had to make a choice. The MC relished the suspense, gazing at both Sewa and Prudence, who stood at his side "And the winner is...". The tension was palpable, and I could see the anticipation in Investor's eyes; he was as eager for his girlfriend to win as I was for my best friend to emerge victorious.
"Number 3!!!!!" The MC declared Sewa as the winner, following the order of her lineup. My heart was bursting with excitement, and I yearned to shout louder than the rest of the audience, but I managed to keep my composure because Maxwell was standing beside me.
"Thank you very much!" The MC expressed his gratitude to Prudence as he bid her farewell. She still wore a smile as she left the stage. "Like I said earlier, I'll be paying the winner's school fees, considering school fees payment is over, I'll transfer the money directly to you," he announced, and students reacted with astonishment. "How much is your school fees?" He then directed the microphone to Sewa. Sewa promptly responded, "200k," even though she added an extra 30k to her actual fees. Without hesitation, the MC's assistant initiated the transfer after collecting Sewa's account number from her, and She received the alert, her elation evident to everyone.
Sewa requested the microphone, saying, "Thank you, sir! This means a lot to me. I'm only here because of everyone who supported me. And to every girl who modeled alongside me - especially Prudence, you're all so beautiful." Sewa's heartfelt words uplifted Prudence once more. I quietly murmured "queen" under my breath as they adorned her with the winning sash, crown, and flowers.
As the audience began to disperse following the next announcement of the male winner, I extended my hand for a handshake with Maxwell. As we shook hands, I couldn't help but notice his painted nails with black polish and his Apple wristwatch. With his hand still in mine, I felt compelled to say something. "Boss, show me the way na." I said while glancing at his watch, subtly hinting that I wanted to know how he could afford such a luxury.
He smiled, chuckling as he backed away with his hands raised. "After you na you o." I kept hyping him, not knowing what I was saying, but it felt like the right thing to say. "Abeg your number, so we go fit run am later" I handed him my phone, pretending I was interested in yahoo. Maxwell walked back to me, entered his number, and then left, winking at me on his way out, which left me feeling a bit bewildered. Still, I had successfully obtained his number. As Maxwell headed to the boy's hostel, Investor had already gone to join his girlfriend, Prudence.
I went in search of Sewa, but she ended up finding me first. I congratulated her, and together we began to leave for the school gate. She was still adorned in makeup and her long red gown that swept the floor as she walked, holding her flowers, and people kept congratulating her as we walked.
Then, Sewa broke the tension that had been hanging in the air, saying, "I'm sorry for what happened day before yesterday." It was a mature gesture on her part to be the bigger person, but I wanted to be even bigger. "No, I'm sorry for trying to turn it into an argument," I replied. What Sewa had said earlier would always bother me, but I realized it was best to leave things as they were. There was no way I could make her understand, I was always the one having to apologize for my identity to people. At least she didn't resent me for being gay.
While we continued our walk towards the gate, a tall fair lady holding a tote bag rushed up to us. She hugged Sewa, lifting her into the air, causing Sewa's flowers to fall to the ground. "Congratulations, my love!!" Eseosa, Sewa's roommate, exclaimed, showing incredible strength for a middle-aged woman. Sewa was grateful to Eseosa for helping her carry her clothes and belongings in the tote bag. I picked up Sewa's fallen flowers and handed them back to her. The two friends began conversing, leaving me feeling like a third wheel.
As I walked with the girls, I occupied myself with my phone, going back to browse through Maxwell's Instagram. There was something about him that piqued my curiosity, prompting me to check the accounts he followed. As I scrolled through his following list, I noticed a common theme, most of the people he followed were male fitness influencers — gay male fitness influencers. Sewa was already ahead of me and urged me to catch up as I had slowed down while using my phone. "I'm coming," I replied and hurried to join them.