The Girl Whisperer
as published by the Sunday Guardian
September 14
CHANCE ENCOUNTERS
I went to a birthday party last night; lot’s of food and music. People laughed, danced and chatted, and there dancing in a snazzy hat and a short dress, was the girl of my dreams. She was beautiful by every standard, she was effervescent, the soul of the party...and she didn’t even look at me.
I’d met her a few times before so I knew her inability to ‘see’ me was deliberate. But the point of my story? It’s not every situation you are in, that will work the way you might want it to. And the fact that it does not work the way you want it, doesn’t mean you are at a disadvantage. Sometimes, some things are not meant to be, some friendships are not meant to take deep root or blossom, and like ships that pass in the night, we sail past each other, unaware of the interests we might share with this person or the levels the meeting might be taken to. As a young man in his early twenties, I would have mooned over this girl, but I know now, from experience, that things are never what they seem, and the world is full of beautiful people. What you must look out for are those with beautiful hearts.
How many people can you actually connect with? We must reach a point where we accept that what will be will be. It removes feelings of frustration, and of helplessness. Don’t waste your time trying to change what is cast in cement. If you give anything time, it will pan in your favour if it was meant to be.
As an aside, I sometimes meet with people who say they’re bored. I have never been able to figure that. How can you be bored with life? They’re too many things happening around you at any point in time. Everyone who goes by you has a story, has history, and you can see another world through the eyes of the man who walks past on the street. Pick up a good book and read, watch a seven-year old laugh down the road, sit and muse as rain falls and the air is filled with the smell of parched dust rising, but never say you’re bored.
Chance encounters. One night, years ago, as I drove home in the company of a friend, I took a detour down a deserted road and saw a man walking fast holding an object that looked like a machete in his hand. Just a bit further on was an old woman who must have been in her seventies. I slowed the car to match her pace and asked if she knew the man behind her. She said she didn’t, but that that the man had been calling out to her, yelling for her to drop the polythene bag she was carrying. The man had melted into the bushes nearby, the moment he saw my car slow down but I had a feeling he was tracking us in the bushes. I asked the old woman to get in but she hesitated. I could see she was half-crazed with fear and I asked her again, harshly this time, telling her I would leave her there if she didn’t get into the car. I knew I had endangered myself and my friend and I didn’t want to stay longer than necessary in that dark place. She got into the car and I accelerated away from there. In the vehicle, she told us she had decided to walk down that road because she knew that her son and his family whom she lived with would have been waiting for her to return. She had gone out of the state to stay with another son a couple of days before and upon her return to Lagos, had been unable to get a vehicle that would take her home so she had chosen to walk a few hundred metres. In the bag she had been carrying, was a new local broom she’d just purchased and three hundred naira. Not nearly enough to get yourself killed over but she had been so paralysed with fear that she hadn’t been thinking straight. The bag must have looked valuable to the man in pursuit. When I dropped her much further on, at a very busy bus-stop, she knelt by the road to show appreciation. I have not seen her since, four years on now, but her memory will stay with me forever. My eyes have met with those of nice-looking young women on trains, people I knew would connect with me with ease, laughing eyes, pleasant eyes, but we have gone past each other, not talking, realizing an age-old truth. You are not sent to everyone in the world, just a few.
The Whisperer has met with many females; it is his calling after all. There are really great people out in the world, unsung heroes, people who might never be known publicly, but these are the individuals that make the world such a great place to live in.
The next time you think you’ve missed the chance to be close to a lovely person, remember it is humanly impossible to be with everyone. Circumstances, inclinations; all may work against you being more than two people whose eyes lock in a crowded room. You must believe, however, that you are exactly where you are meant to be; and if the reverse is true, the change will come naturally, without you having to force the situation.
So, I remember my dream girl in the snazzy hat as I write, and I have a smile on my face for the beautiful moments I shared being in the same crowded room with her. And I understand that life has beautiful moments. And she was one of them.
Showing posts with label Chance Encounters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chance Encounters. Show all posts
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
CHANCE ENCOUNTERS OF THE LARGE KIND
A Day in 'Gidi
I was driving to the Starcomms phone company's Surulere offices yesterday when a large female sailed by as a passenger on a motor bike. I gave her a fleeting look and then looked again because she was waving furiously, at me. So I waved back, not sure where I knew her from. I forgot about her and drove on for another minute before I got to my destination and there she was again, the bike somehow having gotten behind me. She flagged her 'pilot' to stop as I sought parking space. As I parked, I noticed (with some alarm) that she was trying to open my locked front door (passenger-side). I told her as I got out of the car, 'I'm going to the Starcomms Office.'
This squat female with be-jewelled fingers (at least 8 rings on those fingers) greeted me fervently, asked how I'd been (all in Yoruba). I scanned my memory, but couldn't place her. She said she wanted to give me her phone number (Her pilot still sat patiently on his aeroplane across the road). I searched for a pen, now uneasy around this woman, unwilling to even show my phone but falling into that politeness-trap that doesn't allow us be outrightly rude even when it would save our lives. The fates were against me, I usually have 10 or so pens on or around my person at any given time, but none were at hand. I gave her my phone and she typed in her digits and then said her name, 'Alhaja Yinka'.
'Call me, brother' she said, as she turned to go and somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought, 'she's probably a distant relative who's met me a few times and since I am notorious for spurning family ties, it was a good thing I had behaved myself.'
She took a step, two steps and turned back. 'Egbon mi, e ma fun mi l'owo moto'. (Older brother, you'll give me transport fare). The Con. I smiled to myself. She was good. This was a blitzkrieg. Shock and Awe. She was really good. I know all the cons, but a female on a bike was a new one to me. I mentally acknowledged her brilliance and offered her N200 (applauding a brilliant performance) but she wasn't having it. 'No', she screeched in Yoruba. She wanted more and I felt I detected menace in her voice. Calmly, in my buba and sokoto, (traditional top and trousers) I told her I had to pay some money to Starcomms. Without warning her hand delved into the loose pockets of my buba by my side, saying, 'it's here, it's here'. It was done half-jokingly but with real intent. I felt the strength of her fingers as I forced her fingers out of the empty pocket and again her hand flashed towards the breast pocket, where indeed the money was. By this time, even though she was laughing, I knew war had been declared on me. I grabbed her fingers and held them as hard as they held the money. I saw her calculate. An old trick is for a female to proclaim loudly that she had not been paid for 'services rendered'. Public shame has made many an innocent man pay for these phantom services. But she saw something in my eyes that made her pause and then let go, settling for the N200. I can be very ungentlemanly when it comes to anyone attempting to take undue advantage of me as those who have ...ehr... 'disturbed' me, can testify. I mentally prepared myself.
She turned away as if nothing had happened and crossed the road saying over her shoulders, 'broda, please call me'.
A barber just a few metres away sat in shock.
This reminded me of a galleria incident last year so I delved into the files.
Posted July 4 2007
I had that kind of day today, so I thought I'd go unwind at the Silverbird galleria. I like to watch movies by myself, sometimes. When the movie finally started, I looked for a place where I could absorb the plot and lines of "Premonition" with Sandra Bullock. You know how it is with drama on the screen, one has to concentrate.
So the movie started with about 20 people scattered around the hall. After a short while, this guy came in with a girl and for some reason, chose to sit next to me, his girl, beside him. It didn't take long before his phone rang and he began a lengthy conversation on it. When he finished, he commenced another lengthy dialogue with the girl by his side.
When I couldn't take anymore, I clambered over a row of seats with my bottle of water, so as to get away from him and sat at the end of the row just in front. Then I felt popcorn thrown at me. I looked and there were two girls to my left side, looking at me. One had thrown the popcorn and she signalled me over. The seats between me and them were empty and even though I tried, I couldn't make out the face of the thrower. I felt it might be my friend, Deola, who's a maniac about movies. So I moved closer. Complete strangers. They stared back at me. The thrower asked me to stay where I was, right beside her, and I did. I felt she was some movie buff commiserating over the talkative I had fled from so I turned back to the screen.
Then I felt her hand on my arm. A caress. She did it again... and again. Asked me questions about the movie while pressed against my arm. When I sat forward in my chair, leaning away from her, she asked belligerently, "what's the matter with you?" I explained diffidently that "I had stuff I was thinking about". After that, there were no more caresses. I felt fleeing to another row of seats might cause other people in the hall to wonder about me. Then she looked at Sandra Bullock's eyes and said to the screen in a loud voice, "She(Bullock) knows this woman is "skrulling" her husband", cackled and repeated the line again for everone to hear. Then she asked me softly, "does she know that woman is skrulling her husband?" After trying to decipher for a few seconds, it struck me that she meant "screwing".
And then came the climax of the film and as people in the audience gasped repeatedly, she began to shriek in ibo (I could tell she was yoruba, so her expletives were ghastly in rendition). This time, I found the courage to flee towards Frank, the anchor of the Nigerian version of "Who wants to be a millionaire" who had come in sometime after the movie started. I spent the last few minutes with Frank and his friend, while my caressing friend sneaked glances at me, then I walked out with Frank. Frank, like his programme, had thrown me a "life-line". I didn't see her again.
You might meet the girl of your dreams in a dark hall at the theatre but I can bet she won't start carressing your arm 3 minutes after meeting her. I don't do tramps and I reckon I'm beyond sex for sex' sake now, or even worse, paying for it.
Maybe she's found someone else to skrull.
A Day in 'Gidi
I was driving to the Starcomms phone company's Surulere offices yesterday when a large female sailed by as a passenger on a motor bike. I gave her a fleeting look and then looked again because she was waving furiously, at me. So I waved back, not sure where I knew her from. I forgot about her and drove on for another minute before I got to my destination and there she was again, the bike somehow having gotten behind me. She flagged her 'pilot' to stop as I sought parking space. As I parked, I noticed (with some alarm) that she was trying to open my locked front door (passenger-side). I told her as I got out of the car, 'I'm going to the Starcomms Office.'
This squat female with be-jewelled fingers (at least 8 rings on those fingers) greeted me fervently, asked how I'd been (all in Yoruba). I scanned my memory, but couldn't place her. She said she wanted to give me her phone number (Her pilot still sat patiently on his aeroplane across the road). I searched for a pen, now uneasy around this woman, unwilling to even show my phone but falling into that politeness-trap that doesn't allow us be outrightly rude even when it would save our lives. The fates were against me, I usually have 10 or so pens on or around my person at any given time, but none were at hand. I gave her my phone and she typed in her digits and then said her name, 'Alhaja Yinka'.
'Call me, brother' she said, as she turned to go and somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought, 'she's probably a distant relative who's met me a few times and since I am notorious for spurning family ties, it was a good thing I had behaved myself.'
She took a step, two steps and turned back. 'Egbon mi, e ma fun mi l'owo moto'. (Older brother, you'll give me transport fare). The Con. I smiled to myself. She was good. This was a blitzkrieg. Shock and Awe. She was really good. I know all the cons, but a female on a bike was a new one to me. I mentally acknowledged her brilliance and offered her N200 (applauding a brilliant performance) but she wasn't having it. 'No', she screeched in Yoruba. She wanted more and I felt I detected menace in her voice. Calmly, in my buba and sokoto, (traditional top and trousers) I told her I had to pay some money to Starcomms. Without warning her hand delved into the loose pockets of my buba by my side, saying, 'it's here, it's here'. It was done half-jokingly but with real intent. I felt the strength of her fingers as I forced her fingers out of the empty pocket and again her hand flashed towards the breast pocket, where indeed the money was. By this time, even though she was laughing, I knew war had been declared on me. I grabbed her fingers and held them as hard as they held the money. I saw her calculate. An old trick is for a female to proclaim loudly that she had not been paid for 'services rendered'. Public shame has made many an innocent man pay for these phantom services. But she saw something in my eyes that made her pause and then let go, settling for the N200. I can be very ungentlemanly when it comes to anyone attempting to take undue advantage of me as those who have ...ehr... 'disturbed' me, can testify. I mentally prepared myself.
She turned away as if nothing had happened and crossed the road saying over her shoulders, 'broda, please call me'.
A barber just a few metres away sat in shock.
This reminded me of a galleria incident last year so I delved into the files.
Posted July 4 2007
I had that kind of day today, so I thought I'd go unwind at the Silverbird galleria. I like to watch movies by myself, sometimes. When the movie finally started, I looked for a place where I could absorb the plot and lines of "Premonition" with Sandra Bullock. You know how it is with drama on the screen, one has to concentrate.
So the movie started with about 20 people scattered around the hall. After a short while, this guy came in with a girl and for some reason, chose to sit next to me, his girl, beside him. It didn't take long before his phone rang and he began a lengthy conversation on it. When he finished, he commenced another lengthy dialogue with the girl by his side.
When I couldn't take anymore, I clambered over a row of seats with my bottle of water, so as to get away from him and sat at the end of the row just in front. Then I felt popcorn thrown at me. I looked and there were two girls to my left side, looking at me. One had thrown the popcorn and she signalled me over. The seats between me and them were empty and even though I tried, I couldn't make out the face of the thrower. I felt it might be my friend, Deola, who's a maniac about movies. So I moved closer. Complete strangers. They stared back at me. The thrower asked me to stay where I was, right beside her, and I did. I felt she was some movie buff commiserating over the talkative I had fled from so I turned back to the screen.
Then I felt her hand on my arm. A caress. She did it again... and again. Asked me questions about the movie while pressed against my arm. When I sat forward in my chair, leaning away from her, she asked belligerently, "what's the matter with you?" I explained diffidently that "I had stuff I was thinking about". After that, there were no more caresses. I felt fleeing to another row of seats might cause other people in the hall to wonder about me. Then she looked at Sandra Bullock's eyes and said to the screen in a loud voice, "She(Bullock) knows this woman is "skrulling" her husband", cackled and repeated the line again for everone to hear. Then she asked me softly, "does she know that woman is skrulling her husband?" After trying to decipher for a few seconds, it struck me that she meant "screwing".
And then came the climax of the film and as people in the audience gasped repeatedly, she began to shriek in ibo (I could tell she was yoruba, so her expletives were ghastly in rendition). This time, I found the courage to flee towards Frank, the anchor of the Nigerian version of "Who wants to be a millionaire" who had come in sometime after the movie started. I spent the last few minutes with Frank and his friend, while my caressing friend sneaked glances at me, then I walked out with Frank. Frank, like his programme, had thrown me a "life-line". I didn't see her again.
You might meet the girl of your dreams in a dark hall at the theatre but I can bet she won't start carressing your arm 3 minutes after meeting her. I don't do tramps and I reckon I'm beyond sex for sex' sake now, or even worse, paying for it.
Maybe she's found someone else to skrull.
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