Entangled: A Little Too Many, A Little Too Close

by Kenneth Igiri

  11:00 PM. It was time to call Hassan Garba. It had been a long night. He had dropped Abena off by 10:30 PM. Night driving in Accra was not as dangerous as it would have been in Lagos. Philip never drove in Lagos, at least not his own car. The job had been a breakthrough for him but it was yet unclear whether it was a blessing or a curse giving the trend of things. Some say you cannot claim to be an honest person till you have been exposed to opportunities for theft. Philip had never lived alone so he could not say he was really faithful at keeping himself pure for God. He had never been in a relationship so he could not claim to have enough self-control to see the same woman daily and not have sex with her. He had never been this rich, so he could not now tell what the motives of the growing harem of “virgins” were.

  A virgin at thirty plus… impressive some may think for a man. As he made the last right turn leading to his three-bedroom flat he recalled his conversation he had had with Bose, a plump young lady whose number he had lifted from the third page of The Sun Newspaper back in Nigeria. He had a knack for chatting with ladies on social media. It seemed a safe distance from real danger. Actually, calling them was not so common but he called Bose; it was one of those adventure days. She was a member of The Called Out Church, a prominent charismatic church in Lagos and she claimed to be in the work force. He was surprised how hysterically she had laughed when he told her he was a virgin at twenty-six. More than five years later, he was still a virgin. Impressive; impressive to man but not necessarily to God.

  Philip enjoyed the tranquil nature of his neighbourhood, particularly in the evenings though he hardly ever got to really enjoy it. As he stepped out of his car to open the gate, that lonely feeling came again. He was again going to step into an empty three-bedroom flat. Maybe he would call his fellow night crawler, Emem Allen-Howard. What time would it be in Port Harcourt right then? Midnight? Whatever time it was, she always picked his calls and she could be wide awake till 2:00 AM.

  “Hassan. How are you?”

  “…” Hassan must have been asleep for two hours. He pulled himself up on the bed. After all, the discussion was more beneficial to him than to his expatriate friend.

  “Am fine,” he finally answered.

  “So, About Zainab. I really don’t think…”

  “Bros why you dey do me like this now? Make you help person small na… I say make you just help me for one week, only one week…”

  “Hassan, you don’t have to interrupt me. I have my reasons for my response. It is not personal”

  “Philip no be say I dey vex for you but you suppose understand say before I call you I know say you be correct Church boy. Na condition cause this matter. I no wan make Zainab lose this opportunity. You know say that side no dey like Nigerian schools. If she no come on time she fit miss something.”

  Philip had his reasons. He had taught many that it was not healthy to live with the opposite sex in the same house. It was not safe to stay overnight or behind closed doors with a lady… the thoughts rang through his head. Was the situation peculiar or was he just being overcome by his desire to please others. He felt he needed to yield and let Zainab come. He needed the company and what could possibly happen in a week?

  “OK,” he finally consented, interrupting Hassan’s ranting.

  “Sorry?”

  “I said OK. When is she coming?”

  “Wow… thanks very much. I appreciate. God bless you Sir. You will not regret it. She is a very nice girl. She will behave…”

  “Yeah, yeah… I hear you”

  “Thanks Bros. She will be there in like two weeks. Last week of June”

  “OK. Just keep in touch. “

  “No wahala. Abeg bros make I sleep small… thank you plenty”

  “Alright. Have a good night”

  “God bless…”

  Philip Ezeani what are you doing? It was as silent as midnight in Accra. Crickets could be heard chirping loudly but the alarm bells that rang in Philip’s inner being were loud enough to keep him awake for another thirty minutes. How would he make the rules? No shorts outside the room? No towels outside the bathroom? No touching in the evening? How was he possibly going to live in the same house with a lady and not lose control? Wait a minute? Was she even a Christian? Zainab! She was probably a Moslem like her cousin. At least some of them had good morals. If he didn’t start anything she probably would not. Or would she?

  He remembered Efe and Harriet. They had worked together back in the day during his National Youth Service year. Shortly after they began work, they had proposed staying together in a three bedroom flat. Everyone would have their room and they would all share the living room, kitchen and bathroom. It sounded pragmatic, but his conscience would not allow. What could happen with two women in the house? What could not happen? It seems some moral lines blur as one got older, or is it as one got richer? Or more exposed to the wider world. He had accepted. Zainab was coming. He was going to live with her for a week. A week alone with a woman in the house. He had seen her once and wasn’t so attracted so it still felt safe. Nothing would happen!

  “Are you afraid we will rape you?” Harriet had joked back then. She was the bubbly, outgoing one of the two. Efe just joined in the laughter. Philip couldn’t say why because they would not understand. They were both Christians too but did not really mind staying in the same house with a man. They had probably done it before back in University of Port Harcourt without batting an eyelid.

  “It is like you have a lot of money,” Harriet ventured again, driving her argument harder.

  “Philip why now? You don’t want to stay with us? This is the cheaper option o”

  All efforts to extract the reasons for his refusal failed. Their manager had earlier proposed that the company could pay for a joint accommodation for three of them if they could find a place. He had not budged. His answer was final. Possibly the fire of campus fellowship was still burning bright. His answer was “NO”. His answer had changed in Accra. This time it was only one lady.

  Friends at First Sight

  “Can a man take fire to his bosom,

  And his clothes not be burned?” Proverbs 6:27

  Spontaneity. It was not unusual for Philip to suddenly become friendly with total strangers. Once in while he met someone that simply had that inexplicable magical spark that connected with him. Jokes would become absolutely natural and flow flawlessly. The dialogue as it often was would spiral from one subject to another till someone or something broke it. His melancholy in private could not be reconciled with his sporadic expressions of sanguine behaviour. It was even more pronounced when the other party drove the conversion. The other party was often a lady, middle-aged, young, married, single, pretty, not-so-pretty, it didn’t matter! What mattered was the spark.

  Gazelle West Africa had built a reputation for comfortable bus transport across the region. Their eight to ten-hour drives from Lagos to Accra were the viable alternative for those who had class but could not afford a flight ticket or simply wanted to enjoy the West African Coastline. Zainab had the spark. She glowed right from the time she stepped off the bus. Five feet seven. Flawless dark skin. Perfectly shaped set of teeth. When she smiled her eyes glowed and she exposed them: dazzling white. She wore a TM Shirt with thick lilac stripes. It looked quite new. She definitely looked slightly improved when compared with the picture in Philip's memory. He previously thought he would not really be attracted to her part of his reason for letting this arrangement happen. She spotted him from afar. He was always more popular than he thought. People knew him from afar that he did not know growing up. Zainab knew him and smiled brightly.

  She stepped down from the bus, dragging along her hand luggage and saying goodbye to friends she had made on the bus. Philip approached her, blushing, unable to take away the smile from his face till it became like plastic. "Oh, nothing will happen" he thought to himself. Once close enough she hugged him and held on for about three seconds.

  "Oh Philip. Thank you so much. It's so good to
see you"

  Philip hesitated but did not want to seem archaic. He held on to her lightly and responded as much as he could. He recalled that question a friend had asked him back in secondary school: 'why do you startle so much when a girl touches you?'. What was the answer again?

  "Good to see you too... ", Philip responded after a short lag.

  Zainab leaned back and smiled again. It could have disarmed a Russian soldier. Philip glanced at the yellow handbag dangling from her left arm while looking for something else to focus on asides Zainab's face. She broke the brief silence.

  "Please come help me with my big box"

  "OK"

  Her hand slithered down his upper arm and back to her hand luggage as they both went back to the ninety-seater luxury bus. It was rowdy. Passengers were clamouring for their luggage while the bus conductors did their best to help maintain sanity. Zainab stayed an inch behind Philip pointing out her huge brown leather bag. It was out in a few minutes after just a little pushing and shoving and both walked side by side out of the park to the busy highway where Philip had parked on the covert.

  The ride was very chatty. One chatty lady with one responsive man creates a chatty ride in a brand-new city. Much of the conversation was about her experience with the trip and her questions about Ghana.

  "... I hate sitting for long..."

  "Thank God you made it then. It's not a problem for us..."

  "Us?"

  "When I was you we used to go home every Christmas like most Igbos. The bus ride is about ten hours..."

  "O God!"

  "Hahaha"

  "I have never travelled like this before. My legs ache eh... annoying"

  "Sorry..."

  "But I met nice people anyway... Ghanaians are nice..."

  "Yes. More civil. More likely to talk to you with respect than the typical Nigerian. Or should I say the typical Lagosian... always in a hurry somewhere"

  "Do you blame them?"

  "But did you ever go to your home town when you were young?"

  "Oh No. To do what in that village? "

  "Where do you come from?"

  "Kwara..."

  "So, you have never been to your village?"

  "I don't remember o. But I have been to Ilorin many times with my Dad"

  "OK"

  "Lights everywhere!"

  "Haha..."

  "I heard Ghana has not had a power failure in the last ten years..."

  "Ghana or Accra? Well I heard that too before I came. It's not perfectly true. Once in a while ECG strikes but it is not so often"

  "And the traffic lights even work"

  "Haha. But the traffic lights work in Naija too na"

  "Where? VI?"

  "At least VI and Ikoyi"

  They shared their first session of hard laughter. Philip had to face the road, but Zainab leaned sideways looking at him almost throughout the ride. Once or twice she looked out the window when something interesting caught her attention. The road from Gazelle Bus Park through Kwame Nkrumah Circle to Adabraka was not so different from typical Nigerian roads. Circle, as it was popularly called reminded Zainab of Mile 2 back in Lagos. There was nothing so interesting about the city asides the working traffic lights on the road to Accra Central, the plethora of working lights and one or two hotels so Philip was the main attraction so far.

  The last five minutes of the ride were somewhat quiet. Maybe the excitement had quelled a bit or the reality that they were going to be sleeping in the same house alone was becoming heavier on both of them. Even for a non-believer in Jesus Christ, sharing a house alone with a man was a bit disconcerting for an African woman more-so when nothing romantic was happening or expected to happen. It was more disturbing for Philip because he did not expect to be attracted to her or enjoy her company like this. He was not prepared for this.

  "Let me help with the gate" Zainab ventured once it became obvious that they had arrived.

  "Oh no don't worry"

  "OK."

  She sat and stared a bit then threw her face away as though she was stopping herself from becoming attached.

  The neighbourhood was quiet. it was purely residential, and Philip's house was almost at the end of a close with detached bungalows on both sides all the way along the close. Almost every house had a flower bed in front and the walls were ever so short. Not many were concerned about having electric wire or spikes. Apparently, security was not much of an issue in Accra. The peace and quiet of the evening and the lights gave the atmosphere such a subtle sense of romance. It would be great to be married in Accra, wouldn't it?

  The gates were open, and Philip was back in the car to drive in. Zainab stepped out once he had come to a complete stop and watched him close the gates. She turned away again and looked towards the carpet grass in front of the apartment. A few green shrubs were also growing along the short wall. She looked around. The house reminded Zainab of Surulere back in Lagos. The houses in this area must have been built about the same time too: the 70s, way before she was born. So much space for just one person.

  "Do you stay alone here? "

  "Of course,"

  "The whole compound?"

  "Oh no. There is a BQ. My neighbour lives there with his wife and two kids."

  "OK. So, you have the front house to yourself?"

  "Yeah"

  Another silence ensued as they grappled with the bags. Philip noticed the change in Zainab's voice. When she wasn't excited her voice was so soft, inviting. Philip opened the front door and let her in first, dragging the huge brown bag behind her. He shut the door and turned the key twice as he normally did. His heart missed a beat at the second torque. Zainab giggled.

  "What?", Philip asked, half smiling.

  "Nothing. Can I use the bathroom?"

  "What are you giggling about?"

  She laughed.

  "You. Such a gentleman! Please the bathroom. I have been holding it back"

  "OK. The washroom you mean? Ghanaians say 'washroom'"

  "Washroom ke? What are they washing there?"

  Both roared with laughter.

  "This way"

  Philip led her passed the kitchen door into the house's main bathroom. She shut the door behind her and he had a moment of silence. He heard the Silent Whisper again: "This is not right". It was quiet again. He never forced his way, he never shouted, he never threatened, he only warned. Ever so silent, the Silent Whisper. 'This is not right'.

  He ignored the voice. What could he do now? Send her away? Pay for a hotel room for her? Move to one of his friends' houses? What could he possibly do at this point. Hassan's call broke into his thoughts. He picked up at the second ring. He kept the conversation short, telling him Zainab was in the washroom. He would speak to her early in the morning. Zainab was out in about five minutes. She looked around at the living room again. Light blue walls, almost bare, just a cheap painting hanging over the television which sat on a piece of elaborate furniture specifically designed for electronics. The curtains were rich, blue with some silver patterns all over. She admired them. The floor was very good quality marble with a thick Persian rug at the centre. The large sofa could sit five. It seemed it was a combined piece, made up of one three-seater and a two-seater joined at a ninety-degree angle. Two other chairs leaned adjacent to the door separated by a glass side stool. She walked over to the first chair and sat sinking into the warm chair. Accra seemed a bit cold at night. Philip had turned on the television and she turned her eyes that way after taking a glance at him.

  "Your bags... "

  "pardon?"

  "Let us get your bags in the room" Philip offered.

  "OK. Thanks," Another smile formed on Zainab's face.

  She wasn't quite sure of what to make of him. He seemed somewhat withdrawn though he made good conversation when spoken to. Did he like her or was he just being nice? He was too nice.

  In a few minutes she was out of sight again and Philip was left to his thoughts, his conscience and the Silent Whis
per. She had hidden herself in the room to prepare for a shower. Philip walked into his room to undress too. He would normally wear boxer shorts in the house and may or may not wear a shirt. As he pulled down his chino trousers he contemplated how he was going to dress before stepping out. Just then he quickly pulled up his trousers and gently shut his bedroom door. He had forgotten that part of this new arrangement. He could not leave the door open while undressing, could he? He threw his trousers on the bed, hung the shirt by its neck on the open wardrobe door and again promised himself he would get the room tidy when he got back from work the next day. Looking around the room was embarrassing to him while alone. He could not let Zainab see this.

  Books which could not fit in the living room shelf piled up by the computer on his desk. Books he intended to read. Was he really that busy or was he just very good at moving things to a future date (putting it mildly). The blanket lay across the bed roughly resembling the three-dimensional map of Utopia. A sheet or two lay by the bed next to the wall. The typical routine was to shift things against the wall when it was time to sleep. Those clothes did not move, and that map was not disbanded till it got really bad and the Saturday morning seemed free or when Nana Ama, his non-resident housekeeper came to the rescue once a month or so.

  Zainab found her way around her room. It was like a hotel room. Maybe not a five star but a good hotel. Rich blue curtains, closed up shielding her from the reality outside. It suited her personality type, private. She wiped dust off a few really bad areas and decided it would all wait till the next day. She opened the wardrobe, her shirt in hand, paused, sighed and threw it on the bed. Rummaging through her brown box, she pulled out a large towel and wrapped it over her body and walked out of the room to Philip.