At early morning mass the next day, I could still feel a slight tingling on my lips from Michael’s kiss. I kept thinking about it and about his face as he stood by my door. I was so angry with him, what was he playing at, why was a grown man stealing kisses from me like a school boy? But there was also pleasure, pleasure that was now making my lips tingle and my cheeks heat up even as the priest challenged me to a life of piety.
Most Sundays after church, I would drive down to my parents’ house in Magodo, to eat a hearty lunch and raid the freezers for soups and stews, and also to see my parents and my younger twin siblings Cynthia and Chris, who, when they were not at university, still lived at home.
Because it was a Sunday, there was zero traffic leaving the island, I did Third Mainland Bridge in less than five minutes and in less than twenty minutes total, I was at home. If only Lagos traffic would always be like that, I thought as I drove into my parent’s compound, Lagosians would be happy and helpful all the time, instead of grumpy and quarrelsome.
My parents were still at church, but they had left the house keys with Ahmed, our Fulani gateman. He was full of happy smiles as he gave me the keys, exclaiming that he hadn’t seen me ‘por bery bery long time’. I answered all his enquiries pleasantly and left him still smiling happily at me…. Read more