Adriel, what do you do when the two people you are trying hard to avoid begin a fight over you?
Well that is what happened in the room this morning. For the past three weeks, Ijeoma has been inviting me for one party after the other, and I have been succeeding in avoiding them, but it was not until two days ago that she really saw where I stood.
She had come into the room before noon, as usual, from one of her ‘outings’, and she had promptly fallen asleep. Patricia, Stella and Bukola, thinking that she had gone out again, began their usual backbiting. They actually abused her, called her an AIDS victim, and enough names.
I was trying to type out a draft for my class project from the material I had garnered at the library the night before, and soon my ears were filled. I think I’d just about had enough of their hypocrisy. I turned my sharp tongue on them and gave them a piece of my mind. Bukola was a prostitute, and Stella was in her second extra year, with another one looming in the future if she didn’t read her books.
I was incensed with Patricia the most, because it was she that Ijeoma chose as confidante in the room, so I didn’t understand why they were making Ijeoma seem as if she was any different from them. I was just the effico, the bookworm, with the chubby cheeks that got along well with them, but I was really mad that day. Stella tried to shout back at me, calling me a hypocrite, and asking me why I didn’t preach to Ijeoma if I knew that what she was doing was bad, and I told her that it was not my place to judge, and that I didn’t condemn either. I told them that I had had enough of their hypocrisy, and that whatever they wanted to say about Ijeoma, they should always wait until she return.
By the time I had finished my tirade, I had packed all my books and laptop, and was heading for the door, when Bukola, who was not a student anyway, grabbed my bag and started demanding to know what had given me the courage to talk to her and her friends like that.
Anyone that grew up in Nigeria would know that it is always wise to run away so you can fight again. Three of them surrounded me, and began to call me names – goody two shoes, miss know it all, miss effico, miss I am better than you. But I stood my ground, and began tapping my foot. When they saw that I was not moved, Patricia shoved me, I staggered back two steps but shook my head. I was not going to payback – anyone caught or reported fighting was immediately suspended, whether you were on your right or not. I didn’t want to have an extra year because I missed exams that I would have done if I had not been in a fight. I just tried to go to the door again, but Patricia grabbed my bag and held on.
That was when Ijeoma opened the curtain in her corner (she had curtained off her corner so she could have some privacy, so we didn’t know she was still in bed, as we didn’t hear any movements behind the curtains and no one thought to check). She ordered them to release me, told them to face her directly, after all I was defending her.
Now, Ijeoma is a beautiful, lithe and agile six feet two inches tall, taller than all of them, and she had talons for fingernails, ready to destroy the toughest face that dared to oppose her. She was tough, and she was a Warri chick so anyone itching for a fight with her must have signed her will just in case. Or gotten married so it would not matter if any guy didn’t want her battered body after the experience. It was because of these that I was careful in turning down her offers.
She stood up and stared them down, abusing them in Warri vernacular. She opened the door and told me to go and finish my homework in the next room, while she dealt with the other girls. Later I heard the gist of what happened, and it turned out that Ijeoma had practically shredded them to pieces with her words, and promised to expose them to the authorities. I wondered why they could not reply her, or threaten to do anything in return.
By the time I returned to sleep in the room that night, there was a tense atmosphere. The only person happy to see me was Ijeoma, and she had gone to great lengths to cook food and dish mine into a cooler. I apologized (as usual), and told her that I had eaten already. She thanked me loudly for not being a hypocrite like the others, and promised to repay my kindness one day.
I was relieved. Bukola’s gang have tried luring me into their group of aristos, but I had been graciously declining. I could not help hearing them when they slandered Ijeoma, and then welcomed her with open arms when she returned. And the fact that Ijeoma always bought me gifts, and (apart from Patricia), was closest to me, they must have felt resentment, that maybe I was just doing the holier – than – thou acting for them in the room.
Anyway, I have papers tomorrow. Gotta go.
Friday, April 18, 2008
THE SWIMMER GIRL MAKES NEWS AGAIN
Adriel, I am beginning to think that someone is deliberately keeping the story alive. In the Guardian newspaper, last Saturday’s edition, the story was there again. But this time it was about heroism, that despite the fact that there were not many young heroes in the country, there were still some to emulate, in terms of bravery, grace, and patriotism. I like the piece though.
It earmarks the reasons I stand my ground by not revealing my identity. I did not do it for the money.
I did not do it because I wanted fame.
I did not do it to be noticed.
I did it…. I just acted out of compassion.
Between you and me, I didn’t even know that I could swim that well, and under such pressure. It should be God taking the glory, not me. Even if I accepted the gift and gave it to charity, I would have exposed myself and my family to God – knows – what.
Anyway, life goes on. I actually checked the story according to CNN, and I found out that I was described as a local girl. That irked me a bit. I got the full names of the boys anyway, and tried google with that. As an aside, its funny how we create words from nonsensical words that have no meaning, and it catches on everywhere, like how the word ‘google’ has become a common word. We even use it as a verb – googling, or googled. Right now my word processing software still puts a red wriggly line under the words, but I expect that the latest versions will reflect the new words pretty soon.
According to the articles I got from google, the boys are doing fine. I am glad about that, because I didn’t want it to be a case of ‘Final Destination 4’, where every body would still die, if you know what I mean. You might wonder why I checked up, well I had an accident this morning.
Well, almost. You see, I was riding an okada to get to church on time and the …er….okada driver must have felt omnipotent, because he went speeding to overtake a gigantic petrol tanker. I mean, picture a small Suzuki motorbike, versus a huge 33000litre petrol tanker. I was just shouting ‘Blood of Jesus’, and pinching the driver to slow down, but he was behaving as if he had no sensory neuron in his skin. Eventually the tanker had had enough, but instead of speeding off, or even letting the bike pass, he decided to force us to the side of the road. By this time I was shouting on the guy to stop moving.
When he finally stopped, I jumped off and began thanking God for saving my life. I could barely walk, but I was alive. The tanker driver and an Army man came down from the tanker and came towards the bike. If it was possible to disappear right then like Mr. Claypole in Rent-a-ghost, I would have squeezed my nose hard upon sighting the Army officer’s boots – not the total him o, just his boots. But I remained where I was, all thoughts of getting to church forgotten.
You should have seen how they beat this guy up. I mean, he must have had it coming, because the tanker driver said he knew the guy. I had to wait so I could at least pay the guy for the halfway journey, but I could not stand there and stare. On the other hand, if I plead for him, God knows what the Army official would say or do. After swallowing my spit for the fourth time, I just shouted at them all – plus the crowd that had gathered.
“Its enough! The guy don learn his lesson! Haba! E no go fit waka from hia now!”
That got their attention. The Army official stopped pounding the guy and stood straight. I used the opportunity to press the fare into the guy’s hands, and give him advice.
“Next time you will have the patience to WAIT.”
It was a miracle that I walked off unharmed – as I was leaving, the customary mob by other motorbike drivers was just arriving. The tanker driver and his friend also took it as a good time to go.
So, you see, I got to church late, and attended third service instead, but it was worth it, because I danced and danced during praise worship, in gratitude for saving my life and my legs – I cannot describe the ward that has been created for okada accidents in Igbobi Hospital to you – its really terrible. The mere thought of the place brings to mind the vivid picture of several desolate men with one and a half limbs all staring into space in grief.
I just had to make sure it was not life imitating art, that those boys were okay.
Thank God they are.
It earmarks the reasons I stand my ground by not revealing my identity. I did not do it for the money.
I did not do it because I wanted fame.
I did not do it to be noticed.
I did it…. I just acted out of compassion.
Between you and me, I didn’t even know that I could swim that well, and under such pressure. It should be God taking the glory, not me. Even if I accepted the gift and gave it to charity, I would have exposed myself and my family to God – knows – what.
Anyway, life goes on. I actually checked the story according to CNN, and I found out that I was described as a local girl. That irked me a bit. I got the full names of the boys anyway, and tried google with that. As an aside, its funny how we create words from nonsensical words that have no meaning, and it catches on everywhere, like how the word ‘google’ has become a common word. We even use it as a verb – googling, or googled. Right now my word processing software still puts a red wriggly line under the words, but I expect that the latest versions will reflect the new words pretty soon.
According to the articles I got from google, the boys are doing fine. I am glad about that, because I didn’t want it to be a case of ‘Final Destination 4’, where every body would still die, if you know what I mean. You might wonder why I checked up, well I had an accident this morning.
Well, almost. You see, I was riding an okada to get to church on time and the …er….okada driver must have felt omnipotent, because he went speeding to overtake a gigantic petrol tanker. I mean, picture a small Suzuki motorbike, versus a huge 33000litre petrol tanker. I was just shouting ‘Blood of Jesus’, and pinching the driver to slow down, but he was behaving as if he had no sensory neuron in his skin. Eventually the tanker had had enough, but instead of speeding off, or even letting the bike pass, he decided to force us to the side of the road. By this time I was shouting on the guy to stop moving.
When he finally stopped, I jumped off and began thanking God for saving my life. I could barely walk, but I was alive. The tanker driver and an Army man came down from the tanker and came towards the bike. If it was possible to disappear right then like Mr. Claypole in Rent-a-ghost, I would have squeezed my nose hard upon sighting the Army officer’s boots – not the total him o, just his boots. But I remained where I was, all thoughts of getting to church forgotten.
You should have seen how they beat this guy up. I mean, he must have had it coming, because the tanker driver said he knew the guy. I had to wait so I could at least pay the guy for the halfway journey, but I could not stand there and stare. On the other hand, if I plead for him, God knows what the Army official would say or do. After swallowing my spit for the fourth time, I just shouted at them all – plus the crowd that had gathered.
“Its enough! The guy don learn his lesson! Haba! E no go fit waka from hia now!”
That got their attention. The Army official stopped pounding the guy and stood straight. I used the opportunity to press the fare into the guy’s hands, and give him advice.
“Next time you will have the patience to WAIT.”
It was a miracle that I walked off unharmed – as I was leaving, the customary mob by other motorbike drivers was just arriving. The tanker driver and his friend also took it as a good time to go.
So, you see, I got to church late, and attended third service instead, but it was worth it, because I danced and danced during praise worship, in gratitude for saving my life and my legs – I cannot describe the ward that has been created for okada accidents in Igbobi Hospital to you – its really terrible. The mere thought of the place brings to mind the vivid picture of several desolate men with one and a half limbs all staring into space in grief.
I just had to make sure it was not life imitating art, that those boys were okay.
Thank God they are.
EXAMS ARE AROUND THE CORNER
Adriel, exams are around the corner and I still do not know if I should register the first missing result. My mother has been of such tremendous help, that I keep thanking God for making sure that I was a lecturer’s daughter in that horrible school.
She was able to pull some strings and one of the lecturers miraculously ‘found’ my missing exam script, and marked it. His result made it in time to be submitted for the semester, but the other lecturer insisted I re-write the paper. Just picture it – through no fault of mine, I am required to retake an exam I did not fail, and that will be recorded as a failed grade against my first attempt anyway.
You tend to wonder where the justice keepers of the world reside, right?
I am just tired. I have a friend who had to retake two courses three times before passing them. And guess what? The first two times she wrote those courses, their results were missing. Yes, missing.
And we are students of one of the sought – after universities in Nigeria.
God is in control, right?
She was able to pull some strings and one of the lecturers miraculously ‘found’ my missing exam script, and marked it. His result made it in time to be submitted for the semester, but the other lecturer insisted I re-write the paper. Just picture it – through no fault of mine, I am required to retake an exam I did not fail, and that will be recorded as a failed grade against my first attempt anyway.
You tend to wonder where the justice keepers of the world reside, right?
I am just tired. I have a friend who had to retake two courses three times before passing them. And guess what? The first two times she wrote those courses, their results were missing. Yes, missing.
And we are students of one of the sought – after universities in Nigeria.
God is in control, right?
SUSPICION
I am beginning to think that some people actually know that it was me. Last night I went to the Akintunde Ojo Library – which is an open air library that students can read in, to read for my upcoming tests in peace, or so I thought. One guy walked up to me, and started the usual scenario I hate so much.
“Hi,” he began. “You look kind of familiar.”
And I know that I am supposed to play along and help try to remember where we must have met, never mind that most often the two people are total strangers, but the discussion would have reached the point where it would only seem natural to exchange names, and maybe numbers. I didn’t have the time though. I needed to read for three tests next week, which was why I went there instead of my usual place where my classmates can locate me.
“I don’t think so.” I said, and looked back at my book. Let me confess, the instant load of guilt that burst in me at being so rude was enough to make me look back up at the guy’s retreating back to apologize. But he was still standing there.
“I’m Bolaji,” he said instead. “I’m a year three student in Law, and I think I know who you are.”
“Really,” was all I could say, my heart thumping with the fear that I was found out.
“Yes,” he emphasized. “You are related to Lolade Adesola aren’t you?”
I almost breathed out a sigh in relief. “Yes I am.”
“May I sit down with you?” he asked.
Uh oh.
“The seat is already taken,” I replied quickly. “The guy there said he’ll be back soon.”
“Ok,” Bolaji said. “I just wanted to catch up on my buddy. How is Lolade doing?”
“She’s fine,” I replied with a smile. “She’s doing really great. I’ll tell her you asked after her, er….”
He helped me with the name, and I made a mental note to write it down the minute he walked away. He asked after my name and then said he would see me around.
Ten minutes after he’d walked off, I was still staring into space. What would I have done if he’d announced that I was the swimmer, right there in about 50 people’s earshot? I asked myself.
What with the $200 dollar gift for anyone with information on the …’the swimmer girl’ that everyone was searching for. I don’t know why the press and media generally would not let the story die.
I mean, what did it matter? The whole crew that came for that concert, including the children where back in the States where they belonged. It was over a month ago now, but the story keeps cropping up, especially when some people made claims and were proven wrong.
The funniest one was the man that swept the lagoon front. He said that he’d been transformed into a fish and had saved the children, then disappeared. He said the swimmer girl had been him, and he’d had to use a big cloth to cover his fins from view when he returned (thus explaining the grey area of the swimmer girl dressing up and walking away). Of course there had been eye witnesses that saw the contours on the girls body identifying her as female, and even saw her dripping hair, and feminine slippers.
What finally killed his assertion was the fact that some one he had had an argument with at the same time, at the other end of the lagoon front, came forward to testify. That killed his $1000 dreams.
I didn’t want to come forward because of many reasons.
One. I knew that I would be asked to give a statement, and my mother was not supposed to know I had been swimming. In fact she used the incident to warn me from going to the pool afterwards, and you should have heard her go on and on about how even American children didn’t know how to swim, and who was I to feel that I could. I made a promise to her not to swim about six months ago, and if she found out that I had broken my word I would be in trouble, serious trouble.
Two. It would be a highly publicized event, which meant that my face would be pasted all over the news network, and in the papers, and my name would be right beside each picture. If you are a Nigerian, you will understand that by doing that, you have just signed your death warrant. Your whole family will never be safe anymore. In Nigeria we have so many intelligent people, but some use their God – given brilliance for other things besides creating brilliant small companies with giant concepts that would grow the Nigerian economy. It’s a thing of ease to trace people’s backgrounds, whereabouts and families in Nigeria. And there is no such thing as witness protection program like in the States. And don’t tell me that I can give conditions that my identity not be shared with the press or any other person.
My guy, this is Nigeria. Wake up and smell the coffee – there is no such thing as secrecy here.
Three. What about my school grades? Those terrible lecturers would just have another load of ammunition against me. Taunts like ‘Instead of reading her books she is swimming across the Atlantic.’ ‘Stupid girl’. ‘Let me see how she will do well in her academics with all the stardom going into her head’ would just be floating around me. It might even backfire and those terrible Physics lecturers that I am currently pleading with to let me check for my exam scripts, will also say the same things.
On the other hand, having $1000 in my bank account is not such a bad idea. All the things we need in the house will be taken care of, and you know that there is no feeling like having money in the bank that wont finish in a long long time. My problem is, that is the ONLY reason for going forward. And I have three reasons for not going forward. Besides, I am not a money – chasing oriented person.
No. It is better this way.
The boys are saved, alive and well. I am alive and safe and well. My family is alive and safe and well. My grades are not affected by any extra sadism from any angle. And I am making progress in the location of my missing results.
God is really in control.
“Hi,” he began. “You look kind of familiar.”
And I know that I am supposed to play along and help try to remember where we must have met, never mind that most often the two people are total strangers, but the discussion would have reached the point where it would only seem natural to exchange names, and maybe numbers. I didn’t have the time though. I needed to read for three tests next week, which was why I went there instead of my usual place where my classmates can locate me.
“I don’t think so.” I said, and looked back at my book. Let me confess, the instant load of guilt that burst in me at being so rude was enough to make me look back up at the guy’s retreating back to apologize. But he was still standing there.
“I’m Bolaji,” he said instead. “I’m a year three student in Law, and I think I know who you are.”
“Really,” was all I could say, my heart thumping with the fear that I was found out.
“Yes,” he emphasized. “You are related to Lolade Adesola aren’t you?”
I almost breathed out a sigh in relief. “Yes I am.”
“May I sit down with you?” he asked.
Uh oh.
“The seat is already taken,” I replied quickly. “The guy there said he’ll be back soon.”
“Ok,” Bolaji said. “I just wanted to catch up on my buddy. How is Lolade doing?”
“She’s fine,” I replied with a smile. “She’s doing really great. I’ll tell her you asked after her, er….”
He helped me with the name, and I made a mental note to write it down the minute he walked away. He asked after my name and then said he would see me around.
Ten minutes after he’d walked off, I was still staring into space. What would I have done if he’d announced that I was the swimmer, right there in about 50 people’s earshot? I asked myself.
What with the $200 dollar gift for anyone with information on the …’the swimmer girl’ that everyone was searching for. I don’t know why the press and media generally would not let the story die.
I mean, what did it matter? The whole crew that came for that concert, including the children where back in the States where they belonged. It was over a month ago now, but the story keeps cropping up, especially when some people made claims and were proven wrong.
The funniest one was the man that swept the lagoon front. He said that he’d been transformed into a fish and had saved the children, then disappeared. He said the swimmer girl had been him, and he’d had to use a big cloth to cover his fins from view when he returned (thus explaining the grey area of the swimmer girl dressing up and walking away). Of course there had been eye witnesses that saw the contours on the girls body identifying her as female, and even saw her dripping hair, and feminine slippers.
What finally killed his assertion was the fact that some one he had had an argument with at the same time, at the other end of the lagoon front, came forward to testify. That killed his $1000 dreams.
I didn’t want to come forward because of many reasons.
One. I knew that I would be asked to give a statement, and my mother was not supposed to know I had been swimming. In fact she used the incident to warn me from going to the pool afterwards, and you should have heard her go on and on about how even American children didn’t know how to swim, and who was I to feel that I could. I made a promise to her not to swim about six months ago, and if she found out that I had broken my word I would be in trouble, serious trouble.
Two. It would be a highly publicized event, which meant that my face would be pasted all over the news network, and in the papers, and my name would be right beside each picture. If you are a Nigerian, you will understand that by doing that, you have just signed your death warrant. Your whole family will never be safe anymore. In Nigeria we have so many intelligent people, but some use their God – given brilliance for other things besides creating brilliant small companies with giant concepts that would grow the Nigerian economy. It’s a thing of ease to trace people’s backgrounds, whereabouts and families in Nigeria. And there is no such thing as witness protection program like in the States. And don’t tell me that I can give conditions that my identity not be shared with the press or any other person.
My guy, this is Nigeria. Wake up and smell the coffee – there is no such thing as secrecy here.
Three. What about my school grades? Those terrible lecturers would just have another load of ammunition against me. Taunts like ‘Instead of reading her books she is swimming across the Atlantic.’ ‘Stupid girl’. ‘Let me see how she will do well in her academics with all the stardom going into her head’ would just be floating around me. It might even backfire and those terrible Physics lecturers that I am currently pleading with to let me check for my exam scripts, will also say the same things.
On the other hand, having $1000 in my bank account is not such a bad idea. All the things we need in the house will be taken care of, and you know that there is no feeling like having money in the bank that wont finish in a long long time. My problem is, that is the ONLY reason for going forward. And I have three reasons for not going forward. Besides, I am not a money – chasing oriented person.
No. It is better this way.
The boys are saved, alive and well. I am alive and safe and well. My family is alive and safe and well. My grades are not affected by any extra sadism from any angle. And I am making progress in the location of my missing results.
God is really in control.
A WEEK LATER, STILL HOT NEWS
I got back to the hall this evening, and saw a poster at the entrance, confirming a rumor I‘d heard earlier. There was definitely something wrong with this campus. Adriel, do you know that the students are still talking about the rescue of last week? There was even a rumor of a $1000 reward for the life guard that saved those kids. Now what I do not understand is why the press would think I would bite something like that. What use would the fame do me anyway? Would it help me to find the missing results that I still had pending on my head? Would it solve the case of my not having to retake those courses? If it would you know I would be the first to contact them. But the lecturers involved are terrible people: one is a goblin – like lecher and the other is a frustrated tyrant that really despises any student in my department. He doesn’t need a reason – just being a student from Computer Science department is good enough for him. I had already lost hope of finding those missing results.
Adriel, I have news for you – that young handsome guy that is supposed to be my boyfriend showed up on Friday. And guess what? He had practically no reason for the three month silence. Nothing at all. A part of me was not surprised. By the time he was leaving, I had shut down my heart completely – it was on stand by before. And to think I was worried sick all that time, thinking that he might have been in an accident on his way to see me or something.
Well, he’s history! I sent him a mail calling the relationship quits on Tuesday. He replied, asking me what was going on, but I insisted that I preferred us being just friends. I broke up with him before he broke my heart completely. Of course he was cheating – how else can you describe a situation where you didn’t feel the need to see, call or reply your girlfriend’s mails for three months? There was always another woman involved believe me.
Well, now that he’s gone, I think I need to reassess what I really want in a guy. Because, between you and me, I know deep down that I was not physically attracted to him – I could not even kiss him on the cheek! Now I was either extremely shy or just not feeling that part of it. Anyway, that is something to think about another day. This evening I have to find a way to avoid Ijeoma’s still – standing invitation to her …er…..father’s friend’s party on the island. She’s a nice girl, but all the other roommates call her an Aristo chick* behind her back, something I do not like to be part of, which is another reason for not staying in the room as much as possible. Ok, let me give you a brief intro into what life on campus is like.
Not everyone stays on campus to be closer to the school. Campus is like a market place: people are there to purchase or sell different things, some are there to catch all the excitement they possibly can, by going to parties and keeping late nights, something they would never enjoy if they were at home. Some, like me, need extra time to read, and study, and therefore require the extra hours that others that have to go home every day would normally spend on that journey. Some are not even students. How come? You ask, Well the system is porous, and the campus has a reputation of harboring lovely ladies that are willing to help you have a good time – for a price of course.
The best thing to do is mind your business and concentrate on the primary reason you are there in the first place – what ever it is. Since mine is to read and excel, I try to focus on that, and ignore the lures of others.
My roommates are all a mixture of these kinds. Ijeoma is a good –time girl, and she keeps thinking she is doing me a favor by inviting me out to be with her…er…’older’ friends. I do not see things in that light, but how do I put it delicately without being even worse than the other hypocrites in the room, who abuse her at her back, and share in her money afterwards? I really do not want to sound like them at all.
That is another food for thought. For another day though.
Adriel, I have news for you – that young handsome guy that is supposed to be my boyfriend showed up on Friday. And guess what? He had practically no reason for the three month silence. Nothing at all. A part of me was not surprised. By the time he was leaving, I had shut down my heart completely – it was on stand by before. And to think I was worried sick all that time, thinking that he might have been in an accident on his way to see me or something.
Well, he’s history! I sent him a mail calling the relationship quits on Tuesday. He replied, asking me what was going on, but I insisted that I preferred us being just friends. I broke up with him before he broke my heart completely. Of course he was cheating – how else can you describe a situation where you didn’t feel the need to see, call or reply your girlfriend’s mails for three months? There was always another woman involved believe me.
Well, now that he’s gone, I think I need to reassess what I really want in a guy. Because, between you and me, I know deep down that I was not physically attracted to him – I could not even kiss him on the cheek! Now I was either extremely shy or just not feeling that part of it. Anyway, that is something to think about another day. This evening I have to find a way to avoid Ijeoma’s still – standing invitation to her …er…..father’s friend’s party on the island. She’s a nice girl, but all the other roommates call her an Aristo chick* behind her back, something I do not like to be part of, which is another reason for not staying in the room as much as possible. Ok, let me give you a brief intro into what life on campus is like.
Not everyone stays on campus to be closer to the school. Campus is like a market place: people are there to purchase or sell different things, some are there to catch all the excitement they possibly can, by going to parties and keeping late nights, something they would never enjoy if they were at home. Some, like me, need extra time to read, and study, and therefore require the extra hours that others that have to go home every day would normally spend on that journey. Some are not even students. How come? You ask, Well the system is porous, and the campus has a reputation of harboring lovely ladies that are willing to help you have a good time – for a price of course.
The best thing to do is mind your business and concentrate on the primary reason you are there in the first place – what ever it is. Since mine is to read and excel, I try to focus on that, and ignore the lures of others.
My roommates are all a mixture of these kinds. Ijeoma is a good –time girl, and she keeps thinking she is doing me a favor by inviting me out to be with her…er…’older’ friends. I do not see things in that light, but how do I put it delicately without being even worse than the other hypocrites in the room, who abuse her at her back, and share in her money afterwards? I really do not want to sound like them at all.
That is another food for thought. For another day though.
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