EXAMS NEARLY OVER, ROOM FIGHT

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.