Writings / Creative Non-Fiction: Oludayo Olorunfemi

I met Adaku 10 years ago now. She was the first person I spoke to as I walked into the faculty square as a freshman at the University of Ibadan. I really cannot say what attracted me to her. ‘It must have been ordained from creation’s morning,’ we would later say. Eledumare must have known that I would need her calmness to cool the fiery spirit that was me when he ensured that our path crossed. We soon became inseparable on campus. We went everywhere together. During the holidays we took turns spending time in each other’s house. I visited Adaku’s family in Aba. Her grandmother referred to me as her long lost daughter who has finally come home. We would sit with her and listen to her talk about the Biafran war and why the young men now went after enterprise instead of schooling. What was the point of their education, Nne mused, when they had no money to defend themselves against the Yoruba and their friends from across the Niger, she would say? My mother, who rarely has good words to say about my many friends, could not find any fault with Adaku. My brother’s marriage to Adaku’s niece was the seal to our relationship; we became not only friends, we became kindred spirits, soul sisters. My mother loves her daughter-in-law and would say proudly at the women’s meeting that her son married a good girl, though she is Igbo.

Just the other day Betty came to see me. How long would we continue like this she asked. I wondered for a minute about the ‘we’ she was referring to but I knew it was Betty in her usual style of making her problems a national security issue. I listened as she moaned and whined for the umpteenth time about her relationship woes. I didn’t say a word for many reasons. Betty, unlike Adaku wears her troubles on her sleeves; I am her friend but I would not say the same of her. Betty likes to hear her own voice and she really wasn’t seeking my opinion; besides I was busy plotting my own escape. She noticed I was distracted but because she is Betty she couldn’t be bothered to ask if all was well. Betty was married to Emeka. Emeka sold motor spare parts at Ladipo market. He is the kind you refer to as the King of boys. Emeka was larger than life. They lived in a 6 bedroom duplex with a 4 room servants quarters at the back, a gym and a waiting area separate from the main building where you had to pass through security before you got access to the main building regardless of who you were and how many times you had visited before in nouveau rich Lekki peninsula. Emeka bought the place for N200m for his 40^th Birthday three years ago. Emeka always had a retinue of aides and hangers on with him everywhere he went. Even his bedroom was not spared. Emeka was never alone. He spoke loudly for all to hear and the admiration of his court and the indignation of his wife reeling out tales of his escapades during his many trips and how he made his money. He was indeed a marvel to watch. It soon became clear to Betty not long after their one in town wedding that she was another of his assets, she was never to aspire to be a partner, friend or lover. Emeka did as he pleased and no one dared question him least of all a woman whom he fed, clothed and who satisfied his manly urges when the need arose. She should be happy he would say. She took a six-week all-expense paid trip twice a year to Europe and America with her six daughters. She didn’t have to work even though she was a qualified doctor with hopes of specializing in General Surgery when she met Emeka in the Accidental & Emergency ward at the Lagos University Teaching Hospital Idi Araba.

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