APARTMENT 7 EPISODE 2 ARISHA The tall slim man walking back and forth before the white board is delivering his final notes on the history of journalism. “In the nineteenth century, eighteen nineties to be exact, the rise of American publishing moguls like William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer brought a new kind of journalism. These two men owned papers in New York and other places…and both used a sensationalistic kind of journalism designed to lure as many readers as possible. The term yellow journalism started from this era. It came from the name of a comic strip - The Yellow Kid - published by Pulitzer….So, that was how sensational or yellow journalism came to be.” The man takes off his glasses and looks around the class “That will be all for today. In the next class, we will be taking on the decline of print journalism.” Gathering his notes and nodding at the group of two women and three men that soon swamp him, the man who introduced himself as doctor Alogaga prepares to leave the classroom with its louvred window, two ceiling fans and a dozen desks and chairs where I will be receiving my two month course in international journalism. The pregnant woman sitting beside me sweeps up her notes and gives me friendly smile. “So what did you say your name was again? “Arisha.” She nods and stands up, clutching her papers to her chest. “It was nice meeting you. I will see you on Monday…I guess.” I tell her I will be at the next class which is two days from now. “And oh, by the way, my name is Mercy.” I say goodbye to Mercy and carry my own notes and move out of the slowly emptying class. I squeeze past two men at the door and enter the passage that leads to the offices of the institute’s lecturers. I find the office of the exceptionally nice lecturer who had been responsible for my admission into the institute. “Good afternoon sir.” Mr. Aderibigbe is a stout elderly man with a hairstyle that is reminiscent of the sixties. Most of his hair is filled with grays and his pleasant face lined with wrinkles. Right now, he is looking up from the newspaper he had being flipping through with a frown of concentration on his face. “Good afternoon young lady,” Mr Aderibigbe says, closing the newspaper and giving me a smile. “You are the young lady who just came from Lagos?” “Yes sir.” Mr. Aderibigbe waves me to one of the chairs opposite his clustered desk. “Please sit down.” I thank him and make myself comfortable. Our discussion on the rigours of journalism, my activities for the next two months, and of course, my favourite topic, politics would take over an hour, but I am not rushing. I have so much to learn and Mr. Aderibigbe is happy to provide extra lectures. “Over the phone, you talked about having interest in investigative journalism, right?” “Yes sir.” Mr. Aderibigbe nods and adjusts his thickly framed reading glasses. “Okay, I will see how I can help you achieve that.” “Thank you sir.” “But there are risks involved,” Mr. Aderibigbe says, giving me a look of concern. “And you look rather…delicate.” I draw myself to my full height and talk tough. Mr. Aderibigbe gives me a smile minutes later. “We shall see, young lady. We shall see.” ************************************** LADI I shake the hand Mr. Uchendu offers to me and stand up from the not so comfortable leather chair I have been glued to for the past thirty minutes. In his gray pin striped suit, Mr. Uchendu looks every inch the powerful executive sitting at the top of one of the country’s most important parastatal.. “I am really sorry about keeping you waiting. Those were the president’s men,” he says, referring to the group of forbidding looking men that walked past me in the plush air conditioned reception area while I waited with a young secretary that kept her eyes glued to me while I pretended to read a copy of the Guardian. “I understand.” “So,” Mr. Uchendu says, clasping his hands together, a pleased smile on his face. “I guess till next week then.” “Yes, till next week.” “Don’t forget to come along with the papers.” “Sure.” I begin to turn from the table but Mr. Uchendu still has more to say, “And…erm…I was just thinking…” I almost groan out loud but I remember how much is at stake and keep an interested smile on my face. “Yes, Mr. Uchendu?” “Are you open to having drinks with me and some friends one of these days?” I think about the invitation for some minutes. “When?” “Like erm…Saturday.” I shake my head, but fill my voice with the appropriate amount of regret necessary to sound sorry for turning down his invitation. Mr. Uchendu shrugs in a carefree manner and tells me that there will be other days. I nod, even though I am not too sure that I am open to having drinks with the man, at least not when I am still at the onset of an important business deal. My exit from the quiet relatively tall building covered with grayish white glass is faster than my entry to it. The security guards manning the foyer of the building barely spare me a passing glance. At the gate, the men of the mobile police unit perform the routine check of running bomb detectors under my car as well as search the trunk of my car. Satisfied with their check, they wave me off to concentrate on the car behind me, a heavily tinted Mercedes. As I drive past the barricade at the gate, I adjust my rear view mirror and see the bold letters at the top of the building behind me as it fades into the distance. Nigerian Securities And Mint PLC. ********************************** I leave my uncle’s study and find my way downstairs to where Baba, Dipo and Joseph are waiting for me. All conversation stops when I walk into the spacious living room with white walls, creamy white sofas arranged in an L-shape, a raised ceiling where countless recessed lights line like little stars and a navy blue accent wall where a ninety inches LCD television is hanging from. I plant myself beside Dipo who is sitting slouched with his left leg thrown over his right knee. Baba who is sitting on the adjacent sofa wants to know how the meeting with his father went. “I am taking the papers to the man next week.” “Maybe I can come along?” I shake my head at my younger cousin. “I don’t think so.” Baba makes a face at me, but he still has questions about the meeting. I talk about the young secretary, skip the business discussion and then share my concerns about Mr. Uchendu. “Too smooth talking. I don’t think I can trust him.” Joseph straightens from his squatting position near the television where he is charging his blackberry in one of the power sockets sitting on the lower part of the wall, and walks to join us. “Why?” I turn to look at him. “There is just something about him that sets me on edge.” Joseph narrows his eyes and studies me thoughtfully. “Did he say or do anything to make you feel that way?” “Well, not really,” I tell Joseph with a shrug, and just then I remember Mr. Uchendu’s invitation. “He actually invited me for a drink with some friends.” Baba releases a loud hoot of laughter. “Ladi has gotten himself a boyfriend!” Joseph and Dipo share his amusement, spluttering in laughter. I watch them enjoy themselves at my expense for a few minutes. “Don’t get ahead of yourselves. Maybe he was trying to be nice.” “So why didnt you accept the invitation?” “I just didnt feel like.” Baba snorts. “I know you too well. You don’t turn people down except you have a bad feeling about them.” I smile at my cousin’s endorsement. “Thank you sir.” “I am not praising you or anything. Just stating facts.” “Okay.” “Look you have every reason to be careful,” Dipo says, playing with the tip of the lace dangling from his sneaker. “This is Abuja. Not every man is…straight.” I shrug. “I am sure I can take care of myself.” Baba’s phone begins to ring. He picks it up from beside him and stares at the screen before looking up to smile smugly at us. “Love calls.” I turn to the television and watch the bike race going on Supersport, my mind going back to my new flatmate. Early this morning, I had been at my tether’s end with the endless shuffling coming from her room, and had been tempted to knock on her door to tell her how much it annoyed me, but I stopped myself on time. It was Amina’s fault that I had to deal with her in the first place. Baba seems to have read my mind, because when he ends his call, he raises one curious brow at me. “So how is the chick at your place?” Dipo and Joseph are interested too. “Is she pretty?” “Is she hot?” I ignore them and steal a glance at my wristwatch. “I better start going back.” I stand up and my cousins stand up with me. “We are coming with you.” I make a face at them. “No, you are not.” Baba walks past me to the staircase. “Try to stop us,” he says with a smirk, jogging up to his room. I know he is going to fetch his car keys. I stand there, glowering at my remaining two cousins, but like Baba, they are smirking at me. ************************************ ARISHA “I don’t have change,” the taxi driver tells me with a regretful look. Picking up my handbag and notes, I tell him not to worry about the fifty Naira change he owes me, besides I am yet to get over the shock of how cheap transportation is in Abuja. “Thank you.” I smile at him and close the passenger door. “No problem.” Engine loudly revving the taxi drives off on the clean asphalt. I hug my notes to my chest and turn towards the house. I greet the security guards at the gate. Their response is cool and I feel them watch me with interest as I walk into the building. I am at the door of the apartment when I remember that I have been locked out. I lean on the wall beside the door and groan. “Ugh…I should have asked when he would be coming back. I feel so silly.” The clanging of the gate distracts me from my self bashing and I walk to the window of the stairwell. My relief is immediate when I recognize the haughty profile of my host in his black BMW X6. “Thank God.” Minutes later, the sound of jogging fills the place and I am surprised by how fast my heart is beating. My host appears within seconds. I try my friendly I-like-people smile but my host ignores me, producing keys from his pocket and opening the door. I step into the living room after him and wonder why the apartment feels like home only after a day. I lock the door behind me as my host walks to his room with slow lazy strides. I follow suit, locking myself in the guest room. Once I drop my bag and books on the top drawer of the bed stand, I step out of my clothes, my eye on the door of the bathroom. I am just one step short of the bathroom door when a knock sounds on my door. I freeze for a moment before running to the closet where my clothes are now arranged to fish out the first decent thing I can find. A sleeveless white tank top with a lace trimmed neckline and a cuffed blue jeans shorts. “Hi!” I open my mouth at the new face before me. “Hello.” The man in black track suit and black T-shirt offers me his hand. “Baba.” Feeling very self conscious as more voices reach me from the living room, I take the man’s hands. “Arisha.” My I-like-people smile works on Baba and he returns the smile. “Pretty name. Sounds like Aisha.” “Thank you.” “I am Ladi’s cousin.” I am almost about to ask who Ladi is, and then the obvious answer comes to me in that instant. My host. “Oh okay.” Footsteps approach us and I press against the door frame and hold the door before me like a shield, preparing to meet new faces. I get two more in no time. I take their hands. “Dipo.” “Joseph.” I nod at the handsome trio before me. “Pleased to meet you all.” “We bought Shawarma,” the one called Dipo says, pointing backwards to the living room. “Do you care for some?” My stomach growls silently at the invitation and I smile at Dipo. “Sure.” “Great,” my three new friends chorus together, waiting for me to step out of hiding. “I will be with you guys soon,” I promise and they nod, turning back to the living room. I close the door and rush back to the closet for something decent this time. Really, really decent. *********************************** LADI I sit on my favourite sofa and watch my cousins fall over themselves as they try to charm the woman I have been forced to live with. So her name is Arisha. Well, Arisha certainly seems to be enjoying every bit of attention being lavished on her this very instant. Women! “So you read Sociology?” Arisha nods at Dipo, giving him a shy smile. “Yes.” “I almost read the same course,” Joseph lies smoothly, beating Dipo at the flirting game. He gets a warm smile from Arisha. Emphasis on warm. “Really?” Dipo glares at Joseph, but he is being ignored as Joseph regales Arisha of tales from his days at the University of Ibadan. Baba is left out of the conversation as he types on his blackberry with a smile on his face. He looks up seconds later and jumps headlong into the conversation. “So Arisha, do you have a boyfriend?” Arisha looks at loss for words. “Err….no.” “Nice,” Baba says, looking suggestively from her to me. Dipo includes Baba in his glarefest. I sigh and look at the clock on the wall. “It is getting a little late.” Baba agrees and stands up from his seat. “Yes it is.” Dipo and Joseph look sorry to leave. Arisha continues her shy act as they promise to pay her a visit soon. “That will be nice,” she tells them, looking genuinely pleased at the prospect of seeing my cousins again. Tired of the chasing and preening going on in my living room, I shoo my cousins downstairs, leaving Arisha wriggling her fingers at the door. “She is pretty sha,” Baba says when we get to his car parked outside the compound. Dipo and Joseph agree with him. “I don’t care if she is,” I tell Baba with a shrug. Baba cocks his head and studies me pensively, “wetin that girl do you wey don make you turn robot,” my cousin stops to shake his head. “Not every girl is bad, you know.” I scowl at Baba, refusing to be reminded of my past. “Goodnight.” “Bye bye,” Baba says, imitating my scowl and getting behind the wheel of his car. “And try to stock your fridge with food abeg. You have a guest now.” ********************************** ARISHA I clear up the living room, thinking how different Ladi’s cousins are from him. I pick up the empty plastic bottles of soft drinks, making my way to the pristine kitchen and wondering if Ladi has always been this way. He seems to have that permanent scowl on his face that tells you he is not interested in you the moment his eyes meets your own. “Something must have happened to him,” I muse to myself, turning the faucet of kitchen tap and rinsing my hand with the water that gushes out from it. I hear the living room door open and close as Ladi returns. He must have only spent a second in the living room because when I leave the kitchen, I find the living room empty. With a sigh, I walk to the guest room. I am living with a recluse. **************************************** LADI I come out of the shower to find my phone ringing, and make the second biggest mistake of my life. I pick the call without checking the caller I.D. I close my eyes when I hear her voice. Too late. “Hello Ladi.” I try my hand at pretense. “Who is this?” There is a pause, and her voice is hurt when it comes back. “You don’t know who is calling?” I stiffen against the wave of old feelings. “I don’t.” “Okay.” I sit on the bed and massage my temple. What does she want? “What do you want?” She seems to struggle for some minutes before saying, “I just called to say I miss you.” “Thank you.” “Is that all you can say?” “Yes.” The catch of a sob is all I need to end the call. Tossing the phone on the bed, I reach for my pyjamas and T-shirt on the bed and decide that a late night movie might just be what I need to relax my frayed nerves. *********************************** ARISHA I hear the door open and want to disappear into the sofa. I should have stayed back in the guest room, but how was I to know he would be returning back to the living room? I turn to look at Ladi and see surprise register on his usually expressionless face as he pauses in his steps. “Hi.” To my utmost surprise, he nods. “Hi.” The guarded look comes back to his face when he sees that I am watching a movie. I offer him the remote control, and he looks at it like a poisonous snake before stretching his hand to receive it. “Thank you.” I expect him to switch the channel but he merely returns the remote control to his side and settles to watch the action movie about a former assassin on the run from his former employer. After some minutes of staring too hard at the television screen, I decide to study Ladi. The scowl gone from his face, his facial muscles are relaxed, making it easy for me to see how good looking he is. His face is finely chiseled and his full lips, not too defined but appealing all the same. He must have felt my eyes on him because he turns towards me, his eyes unreadable. Embarrassed at being caught staring, I return my attention back to the movie. Scene after scene whiz past but the theme of the movie is lost on me. I soon grow tired of it and stand up from my seat. “Goodnight.” Ladi nods at me. “Goodnight. In the room, I climb into bed, pick up my notes and try to read about how to become a good investigative journalist. I will not think of the enigmatic loner sitting a few feet away in the living room. ************************************ LADI I finally give up the pretense of watching the movie when the door closes behind Arisha. I look in the direction of her room door and think how uncomfortable she makes me. What makes it worse is her constant staring when she thinks I am not looking. I make up my mind to avoid her as much as I can. I look at the clock to find that it is almost midnight. I turn off the television and leave the living room. I am going through the song list on my iPhone when my blackberry rings. The caller’s identity is hidden so I ignore it. The call ends and then starts again, and continues till I can no longer stand it. When I pick the call, I find a male voice at the other end of the phone. “Is this Ladi?” “Who is this?” Click. I stare at the phone, feeling confused as I try to search my memory for anyone that sounds like the mystery caller. Nothing comes up. I switch off the blackberry and go back to my iPhone. My peace is short lived because in the other room, I can hear a loud thud of something falling. ARISHA I bend down at the doorway of the bathroom, pick up the plastic bottle of shower gel that slipped from my hand to the tiled floor, my eyes going to the wall separating my room from Ladi’s room. Did he hear that? LADI I pick up my headphones with a sigh. Does she ever sleep? by @umariyim umaryiayim
Posted on: Wed, 14 May 2014 08:16:23 +0000
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