CHAPTER TWO
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Johannesburg looked like a huge garden from two thousand feet above the ground. The in-flight magazine said that the city had one of the largest urban forests in the world and indeed, from above, the city sprawled across the rolling hills between little green and purple tufts like a fluffy carpet. Abayomi didn’t recognize any of it and couldn’t tear her eyes away from the window as the promise of change caused a grooving in her belly. The courage to stop waiting for something to happen took root there.
“Bing! Ladies and gentlemen, we’re beginning our descent into Johannesburg. The local time is eight-fifteen and it’s expected to be a bright sunny day!” the Captain’s announcement echoed. Abayomi strapped herself in and watched a baby boy’s head bob about as the plane hit the ground. The little boy chuckled with delight as the aeroplane skidded on the runaway during contact.
Pia meanwhile had tightened her grip on Abayomi’s hand and pushed herself into her backrest. The stack of files she chose to hold on to with her other hand tumbled onto the floor as the wheels made contact with the runway. Not that Pia noticed. Her eyes were shut tight. But Abayomi embraced that change would not always be smooth and christened the new beginning by waving dreamily at the baby boy.
After disembarking into the vast halls of O.R. Tambo airport in Johannesburg, the girls grabbed their luggage and met the concierge with a sign bearing their names. He was helping push their trolleys to the limousine when suddenly an army of news reporters pounced upon them.
All the delegates arriving for the xenophobia conference were being hounded by questions. Would the conference achieve anything or was it just political fancy-footing the gist of it? Their concierge was attempting to shield Pia and Abayomi from the chaos caused by the incisive questions being hurled at them. His reach was limited, though, and he was soon overpowered by an ageing newscaster in a trench coat, who climbed over everyone else. His microphone was stuck in Abayomi’s face.
“Are you aware of faction groups in South Africa who are dead against the conference?” he shouted at her.
“Maybe you should send them a bloody invitation!” Pia swiftly countered, creating a deafening silence.
She had three children and chaos was something she handled with considerable ease. Pia calmly hooked her handbag into the crook of her arm and stepped into the limousine. Abayomi simply shrugged her shoulders and leapt into the car after Pia.
Down on the ground, Johannesburg was a collage of sunshine and shade. It had recently rained and the beautiful Jacaranda trees had shed their purple flowers, coating the streets in pretty mauve pathways leading everywhere Abayomi wanted to go.
“Did you know they’re not indigenous to South Africa?” Abayomi pointed out.
“Alien, like us, you mean?” Pia quipped in jest.
Driving along, they were awe-struck by apparent wealth of Johannesburg. The spread of industry, residence and recreation, told the tale of a nation with vision. Johannesburg was indeed an ambitious city and it was no wonder that South Africa was a favourite escape destination for Africans. There really was so much to discover beyond the rote pushing of paper from one hand to another at the office.
Eventually they exited the highway en route to their hotel. The city definitely pulsed to the beat of the African drum. Taxies tooted their horns and traffic was a dismal effort to navigate. It felt just like the esplanade Abayomi’s office overlooked in Lagos with people trafficking themselves in a thousand different directions, each with a purpose. A sense of home overtook Abayomi, so she opened the window to allow the fresh breeze to flow into the cabin of their car. The heat was slowly rising through the morning, but the sky darkened as tall buildings filtered out most of the light.
At a traffic light, a young boy, barefoot, led an old lady, with an empty cup in her hand, to Abayomi’s window. His eyes were enormous in their hungry sockets, but Abayomi’s attention was struck by the opaque blue haze over the old lady’s eyes as she hobbled along beside him.
“Give me a few coins” Abayomi stretched her palm out to Pia, unable to look at the old woman.
Pia scratched around in her handbag but, before any were found, the traffic light changed and the driver started off again. Abayomi swung her head around, moved by the forlorn family left out in the streets. Johannesburg was no doubt beautiful from above but the incident left Abayomi’s gut wrenching. It seemed that, down below, Johannesburg was quite different and it was quickly becoming a contradiction for her. Abayomi was not sure what to expect anymore.
The feeling passed when they arrived at the Michelangelo Hotel, a stately and comforting distraction. As their car swung around the great stone fountain in the entrance, Abayomi stepped out into the caring hands of a team dedicated to her every whim and fancy. It was a decadent experience and continued as they rode the elevator up to their palatial suite. This time, Abayomi did not shy away from handing the concierge a large note in gratitude for his services. Which girl doesn’t enjoy being treated like a princess?
Sadly, Pia had missed the whole thing. She’d been scratching in her handbag ever since they’d met the beggars, and was now consumed by panic.
“I can’t find my keys” she shrieked. The girls had brought gowns especially for the gala dinner planned for the evening, and, without her keys, Pia couldn’t unlock her suitcase. “I’ll lend you something ‘til we sort it out, don’t worry”, said Abayomi, unzipping her own luggage. But Pia wasn’t really game.
“We’re two very different women” Pia sulked. Abayomi picked up the telephone to dial for some help, but Pia’s agitation was brewing up another scheme.
“Wait! I have a better idea…” she interrupted. Abayomi put the receiver down.
It was tempting too, regardless of the fact that Abayomi had already blocked out her calendar in order to catch up with notes in preparation for meeting the selected delegates at the inaugural gala that evening.
“You know you want to, Abi!” Pia said, with big enthusiastic eyes. If Pia had a tail it would be wagging right now.
“Oh, what the hell!” Abayomi conceded. Instantaneously, the right priorities snapped into place...
Gucci, Prada, Hermes and Louis Vuitton! Sandton City was like a parallel universe. Rather than pushing paper files around the office, and sparring old slobs in the boardroom, here they bargained around spectacular glass counters, tended by supermodels. While the office ethic hinged on trying a few solutions to fit the parties involved, here, in the mall, the girls delighted in achieving a good fit for parties they just had to be involved in. Life was quite simple when the forest could be seen from the trees!
Clarity came in the form of an incredible pair of strappy sandals that would lift the little black number Abayomi planned to wear at the evening’s gala dinner. With one bare foot still firmly planted on the ground, Abayomi modelled the sandal in a tall mirror by turning her ankle this way and that. She liked them, but couldn’t quite decide whether to take them or not. As usual Abayomi was diligently tallying up the pros and cons, only to discard the whole exercise when a handsome man, passing by the store window, licked his lips at her. Abayomi bent down to take the shoe off, but Pia had seen the whole thing, and stood behind Abayomi to rectify the rather lop-sided image in the mirror.
“Practical is for the office, Abi!”
Pia hoisted Abayomi up at the waist, and Abi tried to balance, wobbling, on one foot while Pia reached down for the other shoe to slip onto Abayomi’s bare foot. Pia then stepped back.
“Ta da!”
Once she was balanced again, Abayomi’s svelte figure stood tall in the mirror. Pia pushed her palm into the crook of Abayomi’s back so her image in the mirror lengthened into a shapely silhouette. For an African woman, Abayomi’s breasts were ample enough to accentuate her confidence. This was the sacred altar of fashion and, when she wasn’t hiding herself, Abayomi made for quite a vision.
“The mirror never lies” Pia commented, quite satisfied with her handiwork.
“Unfortunately, the men who are attracted to this do” Abayomi replied, wondering just why she was so afraid to embrace her womanhood.
In all honesty she didn’t want to be a thought of as being sexy. Though she was against the game, culture supported the notion that men preferred to hang out with women who oozed sex appeal yet didn’t want to make a home with them. At home they needed someone who could roll up their sleeves and get truly dirty, not just sexually, but with kitchen gloves on. At home men wanted to be taken care of, just as their doting mothers had done, and domesticity rather than sexiness was the sage advice mothers handed down to their daughters, one generation after the next. Under those circumstances, shying away from her sexuality made for perfect sense, as it was almost a guarantee of love. Then again, who even knew what men wanted?
In a way, conforming to a stereotype was comforting and it was easy to buy into, hook, line and sinker. She didn’t want sex to be the only tool she had to ply her love. But holding herself up to a stereotype also stifled her power to command the attention of men, just as the lascivious passer-by who licked his lips at her reminded Abayomi. Why not embrace it? It was a man that she wanted to share her love with after all.
Chug-chugging along to the end of this train of thought was a dark tunnel. In it was the fear that Abayomi was not enough somehow. Neither situation could be satisfied if conforming stifled her, while becoming attractive branded her. Those deep soulful eyes she inherited from her mother softened encouragingly in the mirror. Mum learnt to negotiate with Dad despite her traditions, and Abayomi too could relax comfortably into herself without expectations. We learn how to love from who we love, right?
And so she flopped into the couch, alongside Pia, and lifted her foot so they could both take a look at her pretty feet.
“Ma’am we need a club!” Pia shouted at the puzzled sales assistant.
“And some rope too” Pia continued. She knew they were going to be hitting men over the head, and dragging them home tonight. Abayomi roared with laughter. What a pleasant surprise liberation was! This is why she had a soft spot for Pia. Pia understood.
That evening even the glorious African sunset couldn’t compete with the girls in their gowns. The view atop the Sandton Convention Centre was spectacular. Guests from all over Africa had assembled there, some faces were even recognizable. The gala dinner was planned to acquaint the delegates with each other, in preparation for the following day, when the official conference began.
“Six!” Pia said pointing to a guy in a navy blazer, white shirt and jeans. He was tall and burly, as if nourished by the African sun.
“Marriage and children have obviously made you desperate!” Abayomi came back quirkily. Guessing the origins of the variety of African men, the first game they played that evening, was not as exciting as rating them.
“His friend, rather” Abayomi suggested. He was a smaller man, but looked quite dashing in a black tuxedo.
“And suddenly you’re an expert?” Pia provoked.
“Just look at me!” Abayomi threw her arms out, struck a pose for Pia in her little black number, enhanced by those strappy sandals.
“If only I was a man,” Pia snarled, curling her fingers into a tube and swinging it back and forth from her crotch. They bellowed with laughter while a group of highly-polished girls standing nearby scowled in disgust. But Pia’s obscene gesture also got the men’s attention. The taller guy led the way over. Abayomi tensed up a little, so Pia grabbed a fork from the cocktail plate alongside, and shoved it into Abayomi’s handbag.
“There, in case you don’t like the meatballs!”
The usual pleasantries ensued, followed by a light flirtation directed at Pia. The taller man, Edmund, was keenly interested in Pia’s opinion of the conference.
“I have three children. My interests are Barney the dinosaur and how to get stains out of the carpet” Pia muttered, nearly killing the conversation.
“I’ll remember to call you then in case I spill anything”, the shorter guy in the tuxedo joked, to rescue the conversation.
He introduced himself as Muhammadu when he noticed that Abayomi was impressed by his social intelligence. The conversation soon deepened when the rooftop party was invaded by a few delegates who represented an opposition to the trade agreement. They came from across Africa, but, amongst them Abayomi recognized the scandalized Priest she had read about in the conference brochure. He was a quite a charismatic man too, and many seemed drawn to him.
“Why do we have to listen to them at all?” Edmund turned his back on the new arrivals. His sensitivity about xenophobia was laid bare. Edmund believed that violent people shouldn’t be heard, they should be incarcerated before they caused any trouble.
“Democracy gives everyone the freedom of expression” Muhammadu argued, becoming unnecessarily legal during the otherwise casual conversation.
It was an important point being raised but, like all things men, the conversation turned into a debate, which then became louder and soon attracted a crowd which blocked Abayomi and Pia’s attempt to sidle away. They were trapped by intellectual masturbation. When Muhammadu kept looking at her as he made his argument to the gents, Abayomi realized that this game was designed to earn their approval. She sipped her drink to keep the boredom at bay.
And with a glass in her hand, she found her thoughts inevitably finding their way to a comforting bubble bath, away from all this yakking. She could even smell the sweet vanilla wafting up from the hot foam, bringing with it the thought of a hefty agenda for the three tough conference days lying ahead. Along with some candlelight and the velvety-soft skin she always had afterwards, the bubble bath was a tried-and-tested recipe she used to refresh her spirits.
“We need to stop at a chemist”, Abayomi whispered to Pia.
“Oh - I have a few condoms in my handbag!” Pia quipped.
“No, silly, a bubble bath later on would do wonders.”
“God, are you dating those little bottles of luxury soap?” Pia said, all deadpan.
Muhammadu noticed their detachment and asked Abayomi her opinion so as to keep the engagement going. Abayomi obliged, patiently, but her beliefs had the reins.
To her, bringing African nations together in harmony was no different from bringing any group of people together. It was an exercise in sharing common needs rather than emphasizing differences. In this way, it was no different from any other relationship. Nations are simply larger individuals, and so the principle still stood.
“You’ve all had one, I presume…a relationship?” Abayomi asked, raising her eyebrows.
Facts and figures were set aside to accommodate this simple human truth. If South Africa had a legacy of prejudice, then that is what they had to work with at the conference. Respecting each other was the basis for participation, and, that way, the nations of Africa could draw strength from each other rather than cutting each other down. In Abayomi’s opinion it was just like love, only on a large scale, and perhaps with a few more partners in the mix than the old folks back home would allow!
“The rest was all bickering!” Abayomi quipped, and the crowd cracked up with laughter.
She used it as a distraction and yanked Pia by the hand to escape the boys. Muhammadu took her arm momentarily to stop her.
“Sorry, I’m in unchartered territory”, Abayomi responded to his advances and quickly fell out of the group. Perhaps, if they were lucky, she winced, they might run into a man sometime. But, as they emerged, Abayomi found herself staring at the Priest, just as his attention searched for the source of joy. It was a knowing exchange, momentary, as it waltzed past. Pia didn’t notice, she was amused.
“Damn, Abi, if you talked like that back home we’d have been tied to a tree and whipped!” Pia said, astonished, as they entered the dinner hall. Abayomi surprised herself too. Then Pia locked their arms and came in close.
“He’s a ten!” Pia whispered in her ear.
She was talking about the handsome blonde man watching Abayomi attentively from a distance. When Abayomi’s eyes found his, the vibes in the ether told her that he was a stranger she could find interesting. It was an oddity that she had often experienced. Passing by a stranger, she would know immediately whether she would befriend him or not. She knew, from just a glance, that this person was cut from the same human fabric as she was. And often it was confirmed, as it was now, in the eyes of the blonde. Abayomi kept walking.
“I’ll meet you at the table”, Abayomi told Pia, and followed her own path for a while.
It led her to the bar. Halfway through a glass of wine for company while she people-watched, she found the same blonde man pulling up on a barstool alongside her. While waiting for the water he had ordered, he turned to her.
“You could be a politician!” he said.
“Never thought of it as a career choice.”
“With those shoes you’ll have no problem getting votes!” he smiled.
“Now, don’t mistake your vote for everyone else’s” she played along casually, noticing also that he was scanning the room intently. Abayomi stopped talking.
He suddenly swung around on the stool to face her, leaning on an elbow. She waited, but he didn’t say anything. He just drank her in while she sipped the wine, and waited for her to continue where she had left off.
“This is Africa’s problem too, don’t you think? Perfect as they are, just not good enough for themselves?” she said softly, in a more feminine tone, obviously as a means to kill the silence.
“Hmmmmm… he reflected, while reading her vibe. “And South Africa has the same problems as you have in…?”
“Nigeria…Lagos”, Abayomi added for clarity, rather formally. She didn’t know why, but she’d snapped into her best behaviour.
He repeated her words verbatim, but again didn’t carry the conversation any further. Slightly disconcerted at having to explain the obvious, she asserted that she’d been invited to the conference. His gaze rested steadily upon her, happy to listen, with undivided attention. It was unnerving to say the least, yet seductive in a way - to be so completely absorbing for someone. It engaged her in way that Muhammadu couldn’t. Abayomi felt as if she were being drawn out, yet she wasn’t even aware she was in a shell. ‘Unchartered territory’, she thought to herself.
“And you are?” she asked, pushing her hand out.
Given the purpose of the dinner, the formality made sense, but she was rather heavy-handed in using it. He smiled, taking her hand in his, and shaking it gently.
“Oh, no-one important” he replied, and then she lost him again. His eyes had flown over her shoulder to follow something or someone.
Abayomi didn’t have eyes in the back of her head, so she used this opportunity to inspect the curious creature. The almond shape of his mouth was unexpected. Atop his strong jaw he had bright red lips, almost as if he were wearing lipstick. They seemed to be saying so many things, without even moving, and Abayomi found herself sifting through words for a conversation only imagined. Her instincts were definitely aroused, for the slightly unshaven man who moved with purpose beneath a crop of wild hair, which made him look unkempt and carefree. He caught her looking at him when his attention suddenly returned to her.
His penetrating blue eyes locked on hers, and the whole of Johannesburg became eclipsed. He was reading her fluently and it scared the hell out of Abayomi. She quickly raised a finger, calling for another glass of wine to break the connection. She couldn’t allow him to see just how drawn she was to him, a stranger. Ducking for cover was instinctual. She didn’t trust what a stranger might do with her heart. Chances weren’t always worth taking.
“You don’t see a daffodil wishing it was a rose, now do you?” he whispered. The intimacy in his voice put her at ease despite the words being so incisive.
“You don’t see a rose?” she murmured, taking a chance on him anyway.
“I see this”, he replied, opening his palms to her.
“And I see a wandering eye”, she retorted.
He was suddenly reminded to scan the room again, and, when his attention returned to her, he was aware that she could read him too. They understood each other at some primal level, it was as if she too knew him the way he knew himself. For her, it was an intoxicating realization, making it all the more difficult to let down the guard she thought she had already dropped. The truth was that Abayomi wanted control over those blue orbs - she wanted them fixed upon her. Attention is, after all, the currency of love.
Without warning, he leapt off his stool and accosted one of the waiters passing by. At first it seemed a trick, and Abayomi thought that this guy was just playing her. She didn’t want to be drawn into more games like the ones with Lemar, and took her clutch bag, ready to leave. A small altercation in a local dialect ensued between him and the waiter, and she changed her mind about what was happening. Her rendezvous with the handsome blonde was cut short. He leaned over to her momentarily.
“If I see you again, I’ll see you again”, he whispered in her ear and, just like that, the stranger disappeared through the kitchen doors.
Abayomi crossed her legs tightly, imagining possibilities that could have been. Suddenly, the independence she fought so long and fiercely for wasn’t all that interesting anymore. Her attention was still with the ghost of that man and she sipped the wine to drown it away. She didn’t like feeling dependent on someone’s invitation. It was a weakness. She dabbled in the mystery of his name, which she hadn’t discovered, but in reality she was also asking just who this person was that she had become?
It didn’t feel as if she’d had too much wine, but when Abayomi got up to see what the commotion behind her was all about, she definitely wasn’t as stable as her normal self. Someone shouted for a doctor while standing above a choking woman. She’d already gone blue and looked ghastly as her companion tried to frantically dislodge a particle of food from her throat. Suddenly, the man pumping at her chest also collapsed into a coughing fit. Abayomi pulled herself together as he lay on the ground, unable to breathe. She couldn’t believe her eyes.
“Pia!” she muttered in a panic.
By the time Abayomi reached her, all the guests seated alongside Pia were bent over and choking too. With one hand around her throat and the other reaching out to Abayomi, Pia gasped for help. Abayomi took Pia’s hand and cradled her friend in her lap. Tears flowed down Abayomi’s cheeks as she cried out for help amidst the pandemonium. And that’s when the unfinished dinners caught her attention. Abayomi sniffed the leftovers in Pia’s plate - luckily she hadn’t felt like having dinner.
“Consider this a warning from the people of South Africa whose lives have been taken away from them!” a waiter’s shouting bellowed through the dining hall.
Other waiters tossed away the trays they carried, and they joined in, with their fists in the air, shouting ‘Viva National Liberation Army’. They went on the rampage towards the delegates, but shot off for the kitchen as security closed in on them. Little skirmishes broke out here and there as security pounced, but the damage of what seemed to be a calculated xenophobic attack was done. The conference could certainly not go on without the affected delegates.
In the distance, a voice drawled out of the speakers, something about the effects of the poison only lasting a few days. Abayomi ignored this until she noticed that the masked man from whom the message came was being chased down the long row of tables by security. He was running while still shouting into the mike and she couldn’t help thinking that there was something familiar about that voice. But it couldn’t be, could it?
Guests shrieked in horror as the masked man leapt from one row of dining tables to another, changing direction to escape the security men giving chase. Food was kicked everywhere as the thug and a few security guards came storming toward Abayomi. She got up to shield Pia from harm just as a security guard got the upper hand on the masked man by pulling the table cloth from beneath his feet. The man tumbled to the floor right in front of Abayomi. He rose swiftly to his feet and caught her just as she lost her balance on those strappy stilettos.
“Thank you,” Abayomi said instinctively, only then realizing how inappropriate manners could be sometimes.
Up close, she noticed that his mask was nothing but a handkerchief tied around his head but Abayomi swore that he was none other than the fair-haired man with whom she’d just shared a glass of vino. He pulled her sharply to her feet again, but by then security and police had surrounded them. Guns clicked as they were pointed at him, so he swung his arm around Abayomi, swiftly grabbing a steak knife from the table and holding it to her throat. She froze like a doe in the headlights. Even the tears she shed for Pia’s safety stopped flowing from the shock. She knew it was him - the man with no name. Minutes ago she had revealed herself to him and now there was a steak knife between them instead of a burgeoning romance. How could she trust her instincts now?
Slowly, her captor backed up. With his arm pulling her from around the neck, Abayomi was dragged with him, on limp legs, through the kitchen swing doors. The last thing she saw before the doors swung closed was Pia stretching her hand out to her, while she lay choking on the floor. How could they help each other now that they were out of each other’s sight? In a flash, the xenophobe escaped with Abayomi into the dark night.
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END OF FREE CHAPTER.
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Bad Love
Ever wondered who those around you really are? Who you sleep with? How exorcists slay the demon?
When the universe shifts, a young writer struggling to express himself suddenly drops into the magical world of an exorcist. He finds himself pinning down a frail woman with five men and, while wondering what the hell he's doing, comes face to face with the devil possessing her. As the clues to exorcise her unfold, dark family secrets come to light, and the writer questions whether people are worse than the devil?
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