In my first year of University, I met a man. I had been on a hunt for banks that would open an account for me without the endless list of requirements. After an annoying episode in First Bank, I reluctantly entered Mainstreet and that was where I met him.
He was a Hausa man. I do not even know if he was married or not. From the form I had filled to open the account, he took my number and called. One call became frequent calls and soon we were a sort of friends. ‘Sort of’ because I was his friend but he was not exactly my friend… do you understand?
He would call and ask to see me, I would say I was busy even though I was lying on my bed, doing nothing but gisting with my room mates.
One day, I realised I was broke. I was not from a wealthy home but I had been given enough for me not to be broke as at that time. But there I was, broke. And as the devil will have it, he called. I knew that he would give me some money if I would ‘coperate’. So when I went out to see him that night, my mind was made up to go with the flow.
Long and short of the story is, I kissed him that night, long and indifferent. He tasted like Hausa perfume and suya. But that was all it was: a kiss I regret every time I remember it. It’s not just the fact that I kissed him that hurts, but the knowledge of the fact that my intentions were slutty.
And oh…he gave me 2k.