Reward for BETRAYAL n

That will be six thousand Dollar ma,” said the cashier. Excuse me, please what did I buy o?” I started to pull things out of the shopping basket. “Small chicken, tub of yoghurt, biscuit and bread. Now now, 6k? I didn’t kill Buhari’s child o, egbami,” I lamented under my breath. I had no choice but to hand over my ATM card since I was holding up the line, as the cashier had pointed out. But I did it with so much reluctance. Inflation these days mocks me in Dollar bills. So here I am sharing my woes when we haven’t even been properly introduced yet. My name is Teminikan, but my friends call me NK. You can call me NK too. Can you already tell that I ramble a lot? Well, it’s not that I’m scatter-brained; I just always have so much going on in my head that I want to let out all at once. Anyway, you can’t complain because that’s why you’re here, to listen to my ramblings without judging me. Back to my intro: I’m NK, and I work as a senior copy editor for Galway Group, an up-and-coming advertising firm in Lekki. I’ve worked at Galway since I graduated from University a few years ago. Not to brag but I’m one of the select few who can spend an obscene amount of cash and not feel a thing—even though inflation hits us all at a point. All in all, I would call myself pretty successful but that’s just me. My mother believes that at the ripe old age of 28, I’m way past my marriage due date. I am now “a dusty old book on the shelf of the unmarried.” But really, that’s her business. I like to think of myself as smart, as a woman with a good head on her shoulders. Unlike my mother I don’t care so much about religion. I do care about fitness, although I only work out when I’m in the mood. My conscience is my business, and I don’t put much stock into what other people think about me, and as you can imagine, my mother hates this. You might be thinking, why this entire back story? Even more importantly, why all this talk about my mother? Well, everything about my mom is essentially irrelevant, but you need to understand where I’m coming from to appreciate this journey we’re about to go on. After all, it isn’t every day that a well-bred girl like me slept with her friend’s husband and wouldn’t mind doing it again and again and again… and again. As I walked out of the supermarket aka money guzzling demon from the pit of hell, I saw a familiar car parked on the opposite side of the road and out came a familiar figure. Sasa P!” I screamed as I crossed the road. “Mumu girl, so you’re back in this country and couldn’t even call me? I suppose slap you.” I hugged my skinny friend as she explained that she had only arrived a few days prior and was trying to “get her bearings.” She had just gotten married, and needed to get used to being around Mr Sugar all the time. There was some chitchat, and then it was time to go. Alright girl, see ya around. Call your girls o, we’ll be waiting,” I said as I bid her goodbye. I crossed back to my own car, dumped my bags on the passenger seat, and zoomed off. I played Naira Marley’s latest banger and reminisced on how Sasa and I became friends. Salma (Sasa P to her friends) was a second year Business Administration student when I was in my first year at University. She had been one of those daddy’s girls with their own cars on campus, always being trailed by her suck-up squad. She had it all, the looks, the money, the popularity, so imagine my surprise when I found her seated beside me in Communication 102 class. Yes, this almighty campus beauty was re-taking a course meant for first-year students! I had snickered and thought to myself, “So she doesn’t even know anything,” and as if she could hear me loud and clear, she turned to me and said, “I was ill on the day this exam was taken and couldn’t write it last year. Mind your own business In that moment, a feeling of shame washed over me but I covered it well, nodded and minded my business. We didn’t have any reason to talk to each other anymore until we were paired for a project midway into the semester. The project would count for half of our final grade. We would meet to discuss our presentation strategies several times in the week, and we found that we had quite a lot in common. She was funny and spontaneous, and like all rich kids, she didn’t like being labelled as one. Needless to say, we aced our project presentation and passed the course By the next year, I had moved into her room to save myself rooming costs. I got to realise that what I had thought of as her ‘suck-up’ squad were actually a couple of intelligent and talented ladies that were a lot of fun to be around. By the end of my second year in uni, we were known as The Four. All three of them graduated before me but we remained as close as ever. We always met up at least once a month, even when Boma, one of us, travelled out of the country to do her Masters As I got home and parked in my compound, I group-called Boma and Precious (our number four) and informed them of the lovely surprise I found at the supermarket. Girls, she was glowing,” I was almost screaming into the phone as I opened my door with one hand and balanced my phone on my shoulder. “If this is what marriage does to skin, I wan marry too abeg.” Boma and Precious laughed at me and Boma replied, “You that you’re too busy sampling Lagos boys.” I take exception to that please,” I told Boma. “I only sample men, not boys. Boys wouldn’t know what to do with me even if they could have me.” Well done, Madam Boys 2 Men. Did Sasa at least mention when we would meet up? That girl owes us gist abeg,” Precious started. “Plus I need an excuse to get away from this little devil masquerading as my son. When are you even coming for a visit self, Aunty NK? Didn’t you promise this weekend?” Precious is a stay-at-home mum to the most adorable godson one could ask for, but she was right that he did sometimes double as the antichrist with all his mischief. I’m coming tomorrow ma, sorry ma,” I laughed at Precious. “Sasa said she’ll give us a call in a couple of days so I would guess a midweek lunch is in order. Let her keep basking in newly wedded bliss o,” I said in response to Precious’ question. We exchanged our goodbyes and I once again promised to come over to Precious’ Ikoyi mansion to spend some time with my godson. Of the four of us, I was the only single friend. Precious had gotten married to the love of her life just after uni. They had been dating for two years. She had her son a year after. Boma was in a committed relationship, as she had been for the past 5 years. I sometimes called her Lord of The Rings because her fiancé, Muna, had proposed to her two years prior and had somehow not followed up with a wedding. According to Boma, he was trying to “get all his affairs in order.” Of course he was. And Sasa, as I mentioned, was newly wedded to her man of 2 years, Adeola. I actually met Adeola first on vacation in Ghana, but when he met Sasa, it was love at first sight. Or, at least something close to that. I humbly bowed out of the race and allowed them to carry on loving each other. Now they were married, and I wished them the very best of married life.