Tag Archive | somi ekhasomhi

Chapter Three

It was a society wedding. The type where there were a lot of high profile people, no celebrities or sports people, just a lot of old money, a few politicians with old names, and their highly indulged offspring.

It was noisy, but it was a refined sort of noise; well-modulated voices of society matrons in conversation, their exclamations as they met the children of their friends – potential spouses for their children, the deep laughter of men, not too loud, just self-possessed, the way rich men laughed, not the loud, self-conscious cackling often attributed to the obsequious poor. Above the din, the live band played, alternating between old classics and modern sounds.

They were beautiful, Ada thought, these people. The women, with their expensive laces, sweet smelling perfumes and beautiful jewelry, – not the loud, heavy jewels of the classless rich, but subdued pieces of gold, pearls and precious stones that didn’t need to scream to get your attention. The men, with their distinguished airs, deep voices and impeccable manners, and their children, young, beautiful and stylish, with musical voices adorned with the best of British and American private school accents.  Continue reading

Chapter Two

“I still don’t know why you couldn’t come to live with us.”

Ada looked up from the kitchen counters she was busy cleaning, at her brother, Zubi. He was her only sibling, if you didn’t include her father’s children with his second wife, whom she didn’t know at all. He was sitting on the tiny kitchen counter, swinging his legs like a small boy, with a slight frown on his face. Ada shook her head.

“Seriously?” She asked, getting up and moving to the gas cooker, to wipe the oven clean with a rag. She had moved in two days before, and since it was Saturday, Zubi had finally been able to come over to see what the place looked like. “You think the best thing is for me to move in with you and crowd your three bedroom apartment that already contains a wife, two children and a maid?”

“Why not?” He challenged with a frown that was so like hers. They looked so alike that it would have been safe to call him the taller, more masculine, version of her. “Some families of seven in this same city of Lagos live in just one room.” He continued. “Go to Ajegunle if you don’t believe me.”

Ada snorted in disbelief. “You’re just talking.” She said. “Have you ever been to Ajegunle?”

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Chapter One

It was late afternoon. At that time of the day, Tafawa Balewa Square was not yet as busy as it would be later in the evening, when the labor force from Victoria Island, would arrive to queue for the buses that would take them over the bridges, to the mainland. Now there was a long queue of big, empty buses, with only a few passengers seated. The drivers waited impatiently for more people to arrive so that they could be on their way. Hawkers, selling cold drinks, fruits, boiled groundnuts, and other typical Lagos traffic snacks, sat impatiently on the curbs, disgruntled with the slow afternoon sales and eagerly awaiting the thirsty, hungry crowd that would soon arrive.

On the other side of the road, in front of the old tennis club, Ada Arinze watched as two children in school uniforms walked along the sidewalk, holding hands. The bigger child, a girl about eight years old, wore a red pinafore, a pink check shirt, black rubber shoes, and a pair of white socks that reached up to her knees. The boy, much smaller, wore the same except that instead of the pinafore he was wearing red shorts.

Ada was already reaching for the camera hanging down from her neck. The movement, almost involuntary, happened whenever she sensed a good picture. Her slim, caramel skinned, medium height figure was casually dressed in blue jeans, black sneakers and a purple T-shirt, her thick cloud of tightly curled, springy hair, narrowly prevented from becoming a sky-high afro, by a wide purple headband. Continue reading