Love and Lust

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.”