MY LIFE, MY SURGE, MY REALITY

*MY LIFE, MY SURGE, MY REALITY*      It’s always raining heavily in the month of July, and I’m sitting  here lost in my thoughts, and thinking of possible ways I can move out of Port Harcourt to further my education. For as  much as I can remember, I have always been obsessed with two  things, which I nursed since I was younger: becoming a graduate, and living in Lagos. As I grew older, the likelihood of  my dreams coming true continued to dwindle, and by the time I  got into SS3, reality was staring at me right in the face so harshly that I could almost hear its wicked laughter. The life I envisioned  was truly not as easy as I thought it would be. I’m done with my  secondary school education, and my parents cannot afford to  send me to university, talk less of a good one in Lagos. The  tuition fees and cost of living was way beyond their budget. So, even though I have always been one of the best in my class, my  academic future seemed bleak due to the financial constraints of  my parents. I have lived in Port Harcourt all my life and have grown tired as  I seek for a new adventure. There is a smallness to it that chokes  me, and the fact that every day is the same frightens me; I cannot bear the thought of such a dull, monotonous existence. For most  of my 19 years, I have dreamed of escaping from Port Harcourt  to a place where I can spread my wings and soar like an eagle,  where I would be able to express myself and become the woman  I’m meant to be. There’s no way I can remain here. There’s nothing here for me.  This is my chance to leave and achieve my life’s purpose. I put in  so much effort and sacrifice into my WAEC and JAMB  examinations. I stayed up late night after night reading the huge  textbooks I had borrowed from friends who could afford them,  and poring over copious notes I painstakingly took in school. In  the end, I passed with flying colours. Unfortunately, there is no  one to sponsor my University education, and that became the  genesis of heartache as my mother wants me to learn a trade. I honestly can’t wrap my head around the fact that I might end up  as a hairdresser or tailor if I don’t find a way out by myself. That  would be the death of all my dreams, hopes and aspirations. My  hard work and sacrifice would be in vain, and my excellent results would become useless. I can feel the tears stinging my eyes just at  its thought. There has to be a way. I must go to Lagos, and I must  get a college degree. I’ve been trying to think of someone who can help me in any  possible way. I have no rich aunt or uncle to run to for help. My  friend Rita is the only person I know who is doing well financially. I can’t really tell how rich she is, but she seems to be  very successful. Rita is two years older than I am. She recently celebrated her 21st birthday at Bonny Island and it was a huge rave. She’s been shuttling between Lagos and Port Harcourt for two years. Every time she goes and returns, she appears richer and even more beautiful. Her lifestyle and affluence constantly had tongues wagging. Within two years, she had opened two  boutiques here in Port Harcourt and she drives a black Toyota Camry. Everyone knows the money didn’t come from her  parents because they simply cannot afford such luxury. Yet, no one really knows what Rita did to get all this money. At this point, I am not really interested in speculations about the source of her money. I need help, and I think she will be able to help me at this breaking point. I should have a heart to heart conversation with her. I sent Rita a “please call me” text. I rarely had airtime on my phone, and even when I did, it was rarely sufficient for calls. So, I sent her an SMS in the hopes that she would respond, and I waited patiently. It was only a few minutes, but it was the  longest wait of my life. Even though I was expecting it, I jumped  to my feet at the sound of the incoming call. “Hello,” I said as soon as I answered the call. “What’s up? I got your text message,” Rita replied. “Nothing much babe, just chilling. Please I need to see you urgently.” “I hope it’s nothing serious? I am at the boutique on Peter Odili Road, you should come over,” she said. “OK, I’ll be there in 30 minutes." Hope surged through my whole being as I hung up and I was  somewhat relieved. Not only did she call back, she actually  sounded open to hearing whatever I had to say. *What an awesome friend* I quickly went through my set of ugly, worn out clothes I had  bought as second-hand. I didn’t even have anything nice to wear,  and my hair was so untidy. Even though I was going to ask for  help, I knew I had to look a bit presentable to Rita. To be honest,  we were not the closest of friends because my parents never liked  her in the first place. They felt she was growing up too fast, as she  was always acting older than her age. Nonetheless, their opinion  did not really matter to me at this point. A solid education is the  best thing parents can give to their child, and my parents simply  couldn’t afford that. Thinking about the situation got me upset,  and I had to take deep breaths to compose myself. I reminded  myself there was no use of getting annoyed and all worked up over what I could not change. It was better to focus on finding a  way out. I looked through my clothes one more time and decided  on a pair of blue jeans and a white shirt. I pulled my hair into a  bun, laid my edges, put on a little makeup, and hit the road-. I wished I could take a cab- but I had just N2,000 in my purse so I  had to take a bike to Rita’s boutique. She was attending to a customer when I arrived, and so I took  the chair closest to me and waited, grateful for the air  conditioning after enduring the scorching sun all through the ride on the bike. I watched Rita as she gestured in conversation  with her customer. Her hair, her outfit, her well-manicured  nails, the beautiful jewellery that adorned her fingers and wrists,  her perfect makeup, and her glowing skin instantly fuelled my hunger for a better future. I knew I was fashionable, but I had  no money to flex or make myself look good. I quickly looked  around the boutique, all the clothes there were brand new and  obviously expensive. I wanted it all. “Hey girl,” I said, standing up as she walked towards me. “Na  wa o, you are always looking good! See how fresh your skin is.” “Stop whining me abeg,” she said, laughing and leading me to a  private corner with a desk that had leather chairs on both sides.  She took her seat and pointed to one of the chairs opposite her. She turned to her left, took out a bottle of malt and a glass cup from the small fridge beside her, and filled my glass with the  drink. “What’s up? You sounded very strange over the phone,” she said, placing the drink in front of me. The glass frosted immediately, which means that the drink  would be refreshingly cold, but I wasn’t there for that. I ignored  it and leaned towards her. “Rita, thank you. I will drink later  please. I need to get out of here and move to Lagos. Things have  not been easy with me. My parents barely managed to see me  through secondary school and even though I passed my WAEC  in flying colours, it’s looking like I will be stuck here without  achieving my dreams. And I can’t allow that to happen. I won’t sit in this town with my parents while life passes me by, please  help me. I am willing to do absolutely anything to make my  dreams come true. My parents are not making any effort to help  me achieve my goals at all. Imagine, my mum asking me to  choose between tailoring and hairdressing. Rita, I just cannot  imagine it, after all the effort I put into getting good results.  Being in that house, watching my parents with zero ambition is killing me. I need to leave this place by any means possible,  please. I need to find a way to get to Lagos, make some money,  and further my education. You are the only person I know who  can help me out, I have no wealthy relatives I can ask for help.  Please help me.” As I gushed about my struggles and frustrations, Rita listened to  me with a pitying look on her face. When I finished, she sighed  deeply. “Cecilia, I know that everyone thinks I am a p********e, that sells my body for financial favours,” she said, looking into my eyes.  “Don’t even try to deny it, I know that’s the popular belief. I’ve  heard the rumours and all the side talks. People look at me, my  boutiques, my car and the little luxury I’ve been able to achieve,  and the only conclusion they can come up with is that I sell my  body for money. Cecilia, the truth is I don’t.” I remained silent as she leaned forward, bringing her face closer  to mine. Everyone knew she achieved her wealth through runs and frankly, if I had to sell my p***y to get out of my situation, I  was willing to do just that. “I met a guy, a white man in his 30s,” she said. “He took a liking  to me and decided to change my life. All I had to do was agree to  be his companion and that was how things turned around for  me.” I didn’t believe a word she said, but that wasn’t any of my  business at this point. “Rita, please how can you help me?” Rita picked up her phone and excused herself. “Let me make a  call, I’ll be back.” She was on the phone for about 10 minutes. I could not read her lips but I did hope that something positive  would come out of the conversation. Finally, she ended her conversation over the phone and walked back to me. “So, I just called my friend and he wants to meet you.” She  scanned me with her eyes from my head to foot and frowned  slightly. “This your hair and clothes look somehow sha.” “Meet me?” I asked. “What does that have to do with me  getting to Lagos?” “Don’t worry, he will help you. Just do what he says.” “OK, when do I have to meet him?” “He is a very busy man but he said Saturday will be fine. Pick  two dresses from that rack and try them on. I will lend you my  black wig too,” Rita said. “Thank you, but I don’t have any money to pay for the dresses,” I said. “Don’t worry, I’m not selling them to you. Consider them as  gifts from me. When you get there, please be well-mannered and  act classy. And don’t tell him your real age,” she added. “Got that?” “Yes. I’m so grateful Rita, but I hope I don’t have to do  anything if I don’t want to?” “Are you accusing me of being a pimp? Abeg o, I’m just helping  you. What I am doing is giving you connection o. What you do  with it is your own choice.” “Oh okay, thank you very much. God bless you. So, this your friend..."  “His name is James,” she cuts in. “He’s an older guy in his 40’s,  but he’s cool and very rich. He’s not from here, he just lives here  because he works with a multinational here. I’ll text you the  time and place of meeting, as well as his number. Finish your  drink and come choose your dresses,” she said. I emptied the glass quickly and went with her. After looking at all the gorgeous dresses on display, I picked two beautiful ones. “Thank you so much, Rita,” I said as she wrapped up a black  wig with the two dresses and handed the bag to me. “You’re welcome my dear.” She counted five N1, 000 notes,  placed them in an envelope, and handed it over to me. “When  you’re going to see James on Saturday, please take a cab, and  not a bike.” At that, we could not help but burst into laughter. I arrived home tired and hungry. As usual, no one in the house had prepared any food. Everyone was waiting for me to handle  the chores. My sixteen-year-old twin siblings, Michael and  Martha, were seated at the dining table doing their homework.  As soon as I walked in, the demands began. “Sister Cecilia, please help me with my homework.” “Sister Cecilia, I am very hungry, we haven’t eaten anything.” “Sister…” This is the story of my life, day in, day out. I have become a  glorified house girl in my own home, and my parents have no  desire to see that my present status changes. I honestly can’t wait  for Saturday. I am hopeful things will go well. I can’t wait. At last, my dream of going to Lagos will become a reality.       I really do not understand how my parents live so comfortably  in mediocrity. Mum is content with the peanuts she makes from  her little provision store. My dad seems to be comfortable with  his job as a civil servant that can barely pay for our rent and  other bills. Sometimes, the government even delays his salary,  and the family suffers dearly for it. I cannot count how many  times I was sent home from school over a delay in the payment  of school fees, so it wasn’t much of a surprise to see my younger  brother and sister walk in at 10 a.m on a school day. Martha  was in tears but I already knew her answer, but I asked anyway. “Michael, why are you both home at this time, and why is  Martha crying?” “The school sent us home because our fees haven’t been paid,” he replied. “Sister, they even asked us not to come back,” Martha said as  tears kept flowing down her face, “Because we owe every term.  They embarrassed us in front of the class.” I pulled her close and hugged her. “Please, stop crying. Don’t  worry, when Daddy comes back, we will sort it out.”  I felt very bad because I knew how embarrassing it must have  been for them. I endured the same humiliation myself as a  student, and most times, I cried myself to sleep for many nights. I had to figure out a way to make my younger ones happy. Out  of the N5, 000 Rita gave me to pick a cab on Saturday, I had  already spent N1, 500 on a pair of sandals, and N1000 on  matching panties and bra. None of my worn out shoes went  with the dresses Rita had given to me, and I was ashamed to ask  her for sandals after she had given me money, dresses, and lent  me a wig. I also needed a decent lingerie just in case something  happened with Mr James. I figured that the best thing to do for my siblings at the moment  was to buy them ice cream and donuts. That would definitely make them feel better. I thought about the lovely fast food place  just around the filling station, about 5 minutes away. If I spend N1, 000 out of the N2500 remaining, I would be left with N1, 500, which would no longer be enough for a cab to GRA. I  knew Rita wouldn’t be happy with me squeezing into a shared  taxi to see Mr James but at this point, I didn’t think I had a  choice. It was my duty to make my younger brother and sister  happy. My heart was sad and my head was filled with thoughts  of making it in life, earning good money, taking good care of  them, and being a good role model to them. “Michael, Martha, go and take your baths. Put on something  nice, we are going to an eatery right away.” “Sister, with which money?” Martha asked. “Don’t ask questions, just do as I say.” They put on the best they had, which was their “Christmas clothes” as Nigerians would say, and their mood lightened up a  bit. We joined a taxi to the eatery and when we arrived, the  waitress pointed to a corner so we could sit. “What would you like ma?” she asked. “Two donuts and a mini bowl of vanilla ice cream please,” I  answered. “Sister, please I want chocolate ice cream, I don’t like vanilla,”  Michael said. “OK, chocolate it is then,” I said, turning to the waitress. “What about you ma, what would you like to have?” she asked, looking directly at me. “Nothing, I’m OK. Please what’s the total cost?” “N1,500,” she said. I was taken aback. “Ah, for two donuts and one bowl of ice  cream? How come?” “Our prices were recently reviewed ma.” This was way above my budget. If I had come alone, I would  have picked up my purse and left quietly, but I took one look at the eager faces in front of me and knew there was nothing I  could do but to succumb. “Okay, let’s have them please,” I said. I was upset at myself for spending more than I bargained for,  but I wanted to do anything possible to keep the twins happy.  The snacks arrived and their faces brightened up. I was happy I made a difference, albeit in a small way. They ate slowly and  chatted about their school mates. They were more concerned  about whether anyone would still want to be their friend when  they got back to school, and I thought that was sad. “Listen, real friends would never change because of mere school  fees. Anyone who stops being your friend because you were sent  home over school fees was never truly your friend in the first  place. You understand?” They nodded their heads in agreement. “It’s getting late, finish up let’s go home.” “OK sister,” Martha said. Mum and Dad were already home when we returned. “Where are you people coming from?” they asked in unison. My siblings turned to me, not sure on what answer to give. I quickly replied, “They were sent home because they haven’t paid  their fees, and they were even asked not to come back because it  happens every term. Martha came back home crying, so I decided  we should go out for some fresh air to cheer them up.” On a good day, my parents would have probed further, wanting  to know where exactly we went to, but the news about the  school fees was too disheartening, which prompted them not to  push further with more questions. They looked at each other in  disappointment, then my Dad cleared his throat. “We will figure out a way for both of you to return to school next week, OK?” My father said. The twins nodded, while I looked on irritated. Same old line I had  heard every time I was sent home over school fees, we will figure  out a way. It usually meant I would spend a week out of school,  then return to at least two weeks of struggling to catch up and  begging my classmates for their notebooks so I could stay up late  copying the notes from the classes I had missed. Tears stung my  eyes at the memory. Dad was a man of few words. To many, it  was an admirable quality but to me it was the opposite, because it  went hand in hand with his laidback attitude to life which my  very soul despised. Why couldn’t he just make an effort to get  more out of life than to be stuck on a spot? “Cecilia, please, you will coach your younger ones in the  meantime, so they don’t stay idle. By God’s grace, they should  be back in school next week,” my mother said. “OK Mummy, I will,” I agreed without hesitation. I would  possibly do anything to help my siblings.