Escapades of Toun: Part VIII

Escapades of Toun:
Part VIII – Love in a time of the internets

Ibiene Bidiaque

There was a lengthy message from Marques on PC Chat waiting for Toun the following morning. It broke her heart; he told her he didn’t know what the matter was and why she had ignored his calls and messages the night before, but that he felt it was because of the drama surrounding their relationship and that, as long she was still in, he was willing to fight for them and he would do whatever it took to make her happy.

               Her eyes watered. She went to the toilet, sat in a stall and cried, ruining her eyeliner and mascara. She wanted to see him. She wanted to go up to the eleventh floor and kiss him, in front of the whole office; damn the consequences and just throw herself at him.

               She remembered her scandalous call to Folarin the night before and felt very stupid. She remembered the butterflies that had fluttered in the pit of her stomach when she had heard his voice and she felt like a complete fraud.

               Back at her desk, Aunty Rachel had placed her cup of Milo by her notepad. She put the cup at the edge of her desk, plugged her earphones in and responded to Marques’ message, saying that she loved him and that she was in, to which he sent a toothy smiley face.

               She was neck-deep in work when her phone rang; it was a number she didn’t recognize. When she picked up, Marielle’s voice came sailing through.

               “Hey, Toon?”

               “Oh. Marielle.”

               “Hi.” Marielle cleared her throat. “My dad gave me your number?”

               “Okay.”

               “Are you guys broken up or something? Is it because of something I said?”

               Toun’s eyes stung, tears threatening to fall again. “No. No.”

               “The way you left yesterday, you know? He could barely sleep after.”

               “I was tired. That’s all.”

               “Are you better now?”

               She sighed. “Yes. I am.”

               “Cool. So I was wondering, I really want to get cornrows done.”

               “Like weaving?”

               “Yes. Kind of like weaving, I guess. Do you know someone who can get that done for me?”

               “I know plenty people. I’ll take you somewhere.”

               “Oh. My dad says the person has to come home.”

               “Don’t mind him. Home service is expensive. I know a lady in my area. Or is he scared someone will kidnap you?”

               They laughed.

               Toun felt a shadow hovering over her. She turned to see Aunty Rachel by her cart. She told Marielle she would call her back and got off the phone.

               “You no go drink your Milo?” Aunty Rachel asked.

               “No, I won’t.”

               “Why na?”

               “Actually, I won’t be drinking Milo again. I’ll bring my own from home.”

               Aunty Rachel’s eyes widened. “How you go talk that kain thing?”

               “When you been report me, you no know abi?” Toun eyed her. “If you fit do me than kain thing, to poison me no far na.”

               Aunty Rachel lifted her hands to her mouth. “Toun. Why you go talk that kain thing?”          

               Toun plugged her earphones in and turned back to her computer. When she heard Aunty Rachel push her cart away, she picked her phone up to call Marielle just as Folarin’s call came in.

               Her heart dropped. She had gone looking for trouble.

               She closed her eyes as she answered.

               “Babe!” Folarin sang.

               “How far?”

               “I’m good. At work.”

               “Is that why your voice is sounding so official?”

               Toun forced out a giggle.

               “I just say make I holla sha,” Folarin said.

               “Thanks.”

               “There’s this… show on Friday. I’m playing. It’s an acoustic show. Do you want to come?”

               Toun pressed her fingers against her temple. “I… might be busy Friday. I’ll let you know sha.”

               “No shaking.”

               They got off the phone and Toun considered barring his number.

---

Nike was the strong one; the younger sister who had the tenacity and poise Toun often felt she lacked. Nike was the fighter of the two; the one who laughed in the face of the storm, made a joke – at times inappropriate – out of anything life threw at her. So, seeing Nike helplessly lying on the bed, body trembling as she cried, Toun did not know what to do.

               “They didn’t tell me,” Nike was saying admits sobs. “They didn’t tell me MD was coming this week, so I did not know, I swear to God.”

               She had been fired. She was deputy head of welfare at the private school she worked in in Lekki and the MD had shown up in MM2 unannounced and had had to transport herself to the school from the airport. Imagine the sacrilege.

               They were in the bedroom, Nike’s head cradled in their mother’s thighs and her feet in Toun’s. This was the consolation ritual of the Osunbiyis; Toun’s extremities had spent nights in the thighs of these women again and again, just a few months ago, during her battle for employment.

               “God will make a way,” their mother said softly. “He always does.”

               Toun nodded. “Yes, Nike.”

               Toun and their mother were not exactly on speaking terms but they had put their differences aside tonight.

               Their father was in the living room, having his dinner; he had sat with them a little while before his stomach began to rumble and he had to give in to the hunger. The women’s dinner was still in the kitchen, already dished. Mummy had just served the meal when Nike arrived from work, face broken with sweat and tears, exclaiming, “Temi ti baje o! My life is finished!”

               “In this recession,” she said now, “where will I get a job? Nobody is employing!”

               Mummy rocked her head. “Shh. Shhh. God will make a way.”

   Toun nodded. “Yes, Nike.”

---

Toun and Marielle could not convince Marques to let Marielle come to Gbagada to get her hair done, so they settled for a fancy hair salon in Ikeja City Mall.

               Getting the weaving done – just the ten of them across Marielle’s scalp – with half a bag of blonde attachment cost a whopping eight thousand, five hundred naira. Toun nearly flipped out at the cashier.

               “Did you use gold to plat the hair?” She asked.

               The cashier, with a conspicuous gap tooth, laughed shyly. “Madam, that’s our standard price o. But don’t you like the hair?”

               She actually did not like the hair. Mama Iyabo down her street or Blessing a bike ride from her house would have done a better job and collected nothing close to that amount. But Marielle seemed to love it; she kept twisting and turning her head, peering into the mirror, riveted by the hair style.

               Marielle wanted ice-cream afterwards, so they went to Coldstone and ordered a small tub with brownies and crushed waffles, which they shared.

               “So… how long have you and my dad been an item?” Marielle asked.

               Toun had to think. “About two months.”

               “How’s it been?”

               “Interesting.”

               Marielle giggled. They scooped ice-cream in silence.

               “What’s he like?” Marielle shrugged. “Like, as a boyfriend, I mean. I know him as a father, obviously, but, like, as a boyfriend. Do you know what I mean?”

               “Yeah.” Toun found herself smiling. “He’s… really caring.”

               “Really? My mum wouldn’t agree.”

               The two laughed and the couple at the table next to theirs eyed them.

               “You’re crazy,” Toun said.

               “It’s true. They hate each other. You should see them during thanksgiving. It’s a mad house.”

               “Really?”

               “Yeah, so… when you say he’s really caring… that’s a shocker.”

               “How old were you when they got divorced?”

               “Seven.”

               “Wow. Young.”

               “Yeah.”

               “How did you take it?”

               “Badly. I hated him. Still hated him till a few years ago, actually.” Marielle looked out of the window, turning the plastic spoon between her fingers. “My mum made it look like, you know, he was out there travelling the world, living in these cool cities, neglecting us and she was the one who had made the tough decision to stay in Richmond and take care of us, you know? So Mark and I kind of grew up resenting him. It wasn’t until I started college I realized he wasn’t all bad. Fine, he left, but he never really left us. He always came around for the holidays, always called during our birthdays, always sent a card or a gift, he always tried to be there. We just, hadn’t been able to see it early.” Marielle looked back at Toun. “That being said though, Mark still kind of hates him. Can’t have it all, I guess.”

               “Yeah,” was all Toun could say. Then, “So, do you have a boyfriend?”

               Marielle’s face grimaced as she smiled. “Yeah. Kinda.”

               “How do you kinda have a boyfriend?”

               “Okay. Yes. I do.”

               “Tell me. What’s his name.”

               “Pai-han. He’s Taiwanese. We met online.”

               Toun swallowed. She reminded herself not to preach. She was not the girl’s mother – at least not yet. She pushed the thought away.

               “Really?” She smiled.

               “I mean. It’s crazy, obvs. And my dad doesn’t know.”

               Marielle talked about meeting Pai-han on an app for young singles; PeerUp. They had been talking for several months but only just made their relationship official the week she left Richmond for Lagos. Pai-han was a programmer, working with Google and based in Taipei. He was twenty-eight years old, much older than Marielle, she knew, but he was a great guy and he paid attention to the small things, and that was all she asked for. She was planning on visiting him soon, maybe during the summer, when she had saved up enough money. She still wasn’t sure how she was going to tell her parents she was off to Taiwan to meet someone she’d met online, but she would find a way. The world was becoming smaller now, right? These kinds of things were happening regularly and more people were getting into successful, long-lasting relationships via the internet.

               Toun and Marielle finished their ice-cream and went to the parking lot, where Moses was asleep in the driver’s seat. The ride home, Marielle was on a call to Pai-han. Toun ignored Moses’ trolling eyes and looked out the window at the passing city, thinking about the privilege she had in parents who had stuck together, and wondering if her life would have been much easier had she met Marques over the internet.