Stowed Away

Chapter Two

The streets were lit with a few functioning streetlights. A car sped down the road, leaving its tail lights blurring after it. Close to them, a Suya seller had his wares displayed - beef cut in small pieces and stacked on sticks, seasoned and served in newspapers and with a side of onions. The aroma wafted through the air and Eno could feel her stomach churn in hunger. A church was in session, the shouts of "fire, fire," ringing through the air. Eno was sure if a fire started in churches like that, it would take the flames crawling up the roof of the church before people would understand that the "fire" was literal.

The "fire" that was being shouted at present, was not literal. More than a prayer, it was a command to the heavens to send down fire and burn their enemies and people who wish them evil to a crisp. Eno knew only a few people as self-obsessed as they were. Despite her sentiments, she was still appreciative of the community churches strove to build. It was in a church like the one in session where she got her first gig. One of the members owned a modelling agency for children, and had reached out to her parents. For that, she was grateful. But her gratefulness could only erase only a small part of the sentiment she held.

It smelt strongly like Christmas. Almost all the shops Eno saw had Christmas decorations – green and red ribbons and Christmas lights. The dry cold Harmattan wind further stressed the point.

Pauline held her gloved hand as they walked down the street, a plastic bag that held the suya they bought. There were a few things, Eno could resist, Suya wasn't one of them. She had spoken to the seller in the little Hausa she picked from her National Youth Service in Bauchi, and was able to get them a good deal for ₦1000. Eno felt stronger, with Pauline's hand in hers. Like Clark Kent and Hulk combined. She looked down at their hands.

A few years lived away from a place could chip away memories. One which, Eno had let slip when she agreed to walk with Pauline to the restaurant. The streets, at night, was home for miscreants who after a long day from whatever it was they did in their day, to hang around and catcall unsuspecting ladies. One leaned on the streetlights, his presence further accentuated by the lit butt of his cigarette.

"Heys," he called out. "Fine babes."

One of the tricks Eno learnt during her fifteen years in the area, was to walk faster and hope whoever it was would resort to name-calling, and not grab your hand and pull your back. Or hope that wherever you're going was in sight. In their case, the restaurant was in sight already, and the man had resorted to name-calling.

When they were safe and close to the restaurant, Pauline exhaled loudly. "By God, if I had some kind of power, I'd have done something he'd regret."

"Imagine him resorting to name-calling. Who's a slut?" Eno spun on her heels, faced the direction they came from and spread her hands in the darkness. "Your mother and sisters are the sluts."

-

Pauline’s ring caught the light when they got close to the restaurant. The rock did. It was pretty impressive. Eno held their entwined hands up.

“Impressive,” she said.

Pauline smiled and examined the ring like it was the first time she had seen it. “I know, right?”

Eno hoped it was not his money that had made him worth it. Pauline’s income was okay. At least, compared to hers. She had a modest house and modest cars. Modest, but fine anyway. She could not help but notice that the ring did not fit Pauline’s finger well enough. Not too loose to easily drop but could still drop if one was not conscious enough.

“It doesn’t fit you well.”

Pauline slid it up and down her finger easily. “He said he was going fix it, but I told him not to. He doesn’t have to, not now. Who knows, returning it to the store before our wedding could attract bad luck.”

“It looks like he had someone else in mind while buying it,” Eno teased.

Pauline glowered at her, a small smile playing on her lips. She had gotten used to her teasing, Eno noticed. Pauline always gave her the silent treatment whenever she did so. But now, now was different.

Eno was sixteen months older than Pauline. They could pass for twins if they wanted to. While Eno was tall, at six feet, Pauline was even taller at 6’2.

Someone had to be the model. Eno was. Pauline was a History professor at thirty-three, having graduated and completed her Master’s and PhD when she was twenty-four. And Eno was the model, albeit a struggling one.

“And look at that.” Pauline threw her hands up in delight. The restaurant was still open. Twenty-four hours, Pauline had mentioned.

“It is really nice,” Eno said, her eyes sweeping through the room.

Dull yellow lamps hung from the ceiling. The light shone directly on the chairs. It was painted in grey and white – simple and elegant. Eno felt at home; like she was back in her parents’ kitchen. Not hers.

Hers was not the model kitchen. Nothing “model” about unwashed plates stacked up in the sink just because she was too lazy to run her dishwasher. Maybe she would get a housekeeper one of these days. But then, she had been pushing that forward also. They picked the chair beside the window – Pauline did.

Pauline’s perfectly manicured fingers picked up the menu as they settled into their seats. A pale pink color that gleaned against the light.“I’ll have Salad,” she said. “Ceaser salad.”

Eno raised both eyebrows. She expected her to laugh it off and pick her usual rice and fried drumsticks, but she didn’t. Pauline was always of the opinion that one should eat well in a good restaurant.

Pauline shrugged when she met Eno's eyes. “What? I want Salad.”

“Salad?”

“Yeah,” she said as she spread her hands matter-of-factly. “I’m watching my weight.”

Eno turned to the waiter. “Spaghetti, abeg,” she said. “Serving for two.”

Pauline scowled. “For two? If you think I’ll eat with you, you’re so wrong.”

“No, Pauline, I’m famished.”

Paulina pressed her lips together and glared at her. If looks could kill, Eno would have been six feet under the earth. “I’m not eating with you.”

Eno shrugged. “I didn’t say you were.”

The waiter soon arrived, and both dug in. Pauline could not have been said to have dug in since she only spooned the salad into her mouth. Small, tiny heaps that that could have been placed on the spoon with a toothpick. Watching her eat that way was painful.

Eno stared at her for a while. She had expected to at least steal a spoonful or two. Pauline did not even look up from her salad like it was the most interesting in the world. If she said that, then she meant it. Pauline almost always meant everything she said.

“Pauline, are you serious about it?”

Pauline chuckled. “Yeah? I wasn’t joking. I told you I was watching my weight.”

Pauline wasn’t one to care about her weight. She didn’t even have to lose weight. She was a size twelve, a tall size twelve at that.

“When did you start caring about your weight?”

“I just want to maintain it, isn’t that enough reason?”

As if to ward off any other attempts to prod or ask questions, Pauline stuffed her mouth full with salad. It was only a few spoonfuls.

"Really, Pauline? Can you even swallow that much?"

When she was done, she moved to the bottle of chilled Five Alive Pulpy, sipping it slowly. Eno reached across the table, and wrenched the drink out of her grasp, spilling the yellow juice on the white tablecloth. The wet spot increased, staining the tablecloth in fast-spreading yellow. Part of her efforts was to rescue the drink from Pauline before she chugged everything, and to stop her from stalling. The plan fell to the ground, or to the table, like the drink, leaving Pauline laughing until her mouth hung open to let breath in.

"I hate you," Eno said, amidst chuckles.