Escapades of Toun: Part V

Escapades of Toun:
Part V – Love in a time of freedom

Everybody on Toun’s floor knew about the relationship by the following week.

               Toun walked into the office one morning and she felt the eyes of Nifemi and Erica boring into her as she headed for her desk. She hadn’t been sitting down close for a minute when the two of them – lips freshly glossed, faces radiating with makeup, hips perched steady on stilettos – showed up in front of her.

               “Toun,” said Nifemi, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Hi.”

               Toun lifted her head. “Hi.”

               Erica spoke.  “Hmm. Ja wa si o.”

               Toun watched them. “Excuse me?”

               “Fashi grammar jo.” Nifemi winked. “Shebi Mr. Price has friends…”

               “And his friends have friends…” Erica smiled.

               The two leaned into each other and giggled.

               Toun was irritated. “What are you people talking about?”

               Erica eyed her. “You’re acting like you don’t know, abi? No problem. Just remember us. Spread the word. We’re decent girls. We don’t ask for much, and we can make some expats very happy.”

               Toun felt her face heat up as she watched the two slink away.

               It didn’t end there.

               During tea break, when Aunty Rachel brought her cup of Milo, she lingered by the desk.

               “So na true,” Aunty Rachel said, voice low.

               “Wetin?” Toun ask.

               “You and that… oyinbo.”

               Toun sighed. “What have you heard?”

               Aunty Rachel lifted her shoulder.  “Nothing o. Just that…”

               “Just that what?”

               “See. You know as people dey talk.”

               “What did you hear?”

               “Say you don do jazz for am, say he wan marry you, carry you go America.”

               Toun chuckled, shook her head.

               “Make I just tell you my own.” Aunty Rachel leaned in closer. “If na him money you wan chop, chop am well. But shine your eye o. Find better man wey go marry you.” And with that, Aunty Rachel turned around and pushed her cart off to the next desk.

---

Toun and Nike lay on their bed, each hitched up on one elbow, heads bent in; sisters locked in sacred gossip.

               “Did you use protection?” Nike asked.

               It was a Thursday night, the television was turned on in the living room and their parents’ faint laughter drifted in every other minute.

               Toun nodded. “I didn’t even have to ask him.”

               “Good. Always use protection. No unwantables.” Nike sighed. “You’re really serious about this guy.”

               “Yes. And he’s really serious too. Yerima literally avoids me now. Like the plague.”

               Nike laughed. “That’s a good man to have on your side.”

               “As in.” Toun looked down at a loose threading lying on the bed sheet. “Do you think Aunty Rachel was just talking?”

               Nike shrugged. “I don’t know… but you know people will always be people. Who knows? Maybe she’s jealous he didn’t notice her first. You know they’re closer in age.”

               They laughed and then a thought crossed Toun’s mind.

               “Do you think… she was the one who told them Yerima?”

               Nike’s eyes widened. “Maybe.”

               “I... keep thinking about what Yerima said about my career.”

               Nike sighed. “Toun, in this life, you can’t have it all. You can’t have a super rich boyfriend and a super career. Something’s gotta give.”

               The two lay like that, in a comfortable silence.

               And then Nike added, “You know at some point you’re going to have to tell mummy about him. Especially if this marry and carry you go America gist is true.”

               Toun closed her eyes. “I know.”

---

Toun and Marques sat on the balcony, eating fresh fish from the spot in Bonny Cantonment. Marques had sent Moses to buy it and he returned two hours later, smelling like smoke, with an angry look in his eyes, which they both ignored.

Marques had a soda water in his glass and now that things were official, Toun had told him she didn’t like soda water and he had stocked his fridge with cranberry juice, Fanta and Sprite instead, with which she made her own version of chapman.

               “Marielle is coming in a few weeks,” Marques said, picking determinedly at a fleshy portion of the fish.

               “Oh?” Toun eyed him.

               “Yes.”

               Her heart dropped. “Oh.”

               “She’s always wanted to visit and I kept making excuses…” He put the fish in his mouth and chewed. “Then she got her mother involved and I hate it when Michelle gets worked up about anything because she just goes on and on… so I gave in.” He looked at Toun. “So, you’ll get to meet her.”

               “Does she know about us?”

               “Well… she knows I’m seeing somebody.”

               “What I mean is, does she know this person you’re seeing is just two years older than her?” Toun looked out into the night, fighting the wave of nausea that was rising in her stomach.

               “Does… that bother you?”

               “She’s going to hate me, Marques.”

               “No, she won’t. She doesn’t even know anything about you to hate you.”

               “She will. I would hate me.”

               “Babe, don’t talk like that—”

               Toun stood up and walked into the house. In the kitchen, she washed her hands at the sink and went into his bedroom, curling up in bed.

Marques entered a few moments later, still with his plate of fish and a worried look in his eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed.

               “Why are you making a big deal out of this?” He asked.

               “I don’t think I’m ready to meet your kids. They’re going to think I’m a gold digger.”

               “No, they won’t—”

               “Everybody at work does. Everybody on earth does, except Nike, she’s the only who knows… I just really love you.”

               Marques’ eyes narrowed in. “I know you love me. And that’s all the matters. No one else’s opinion should.”

               “But don’t you see the way people stare at us? That time at the cinema, didn’t you see the way the security guard kept eyeing me?”

               “Does it matter?”

               Toun sighed, exasperated. “You don’t get it. I’m the black girl and you are the rich white man.”

               “I’m not white. I’m Saint Lucian.”

               “You have curly hair, hazel eyes and an accent. You’re white where Nigeria is concerned.”

               The two held their gaze and then rocked with laughter.

---

After dinner, Marques walked Toun down to the car, gave her a peck and gave Moses strict instructions to drive her right home.

Toun climbed into the back seat. Moses asked her if she had her seat belt on and she ignored him. Then he made a comment about the traffic on Falomo Bridge, which she also ignored.

               Finally, he cleared his throat and cast a pensive glance at her through the rear view mirror.

               Speaking in Yoruba, he asked what state she was from.

               Toun responded in English. “Osun.”

               He said a good friend of his was from Ilesha, one Papa Ajimotokin.

               Toun brought her phone out of her bag and pretended to busy herself.

               In Yoruba, Moses continued, “I want to advice you like I would my daughter, and I hope that you will listen to me. That my oga you are dating is somebody’s father. How would you like it if your own father was dating a girl your age? Good. I don't think you will like it. If it’s money you’re looking for, you already have a very good job, and I’m sure you have good home training. Don’t throw it all away for this man. News travels fast. Already people at work are saying you came to—”

               Toun’s reply was in Yoruba; it was short and direct. “Please watch the road, Moses, and mind your own business.”