I seethed with rage at the okada driver who had stubbornly refused to take me to my destination. He abruptly halted and insisted on full payment for the agreed-upon fare. Me, Catherine, giving in and paying him the whole amount? Absolutely not. “Give me my change, or I’ll wreck your bike,” I grasped his shirt tightly, my voice piercing the air in hopes that passersby would intervene.
A voice broke through the escalating tension. “What’s happening here?” It was a young man named Chinedu, as I later found out. I hadn’t spared a moment to really look at him, not wanting to lose focus on my goal.
“Tell this useless aboki to hand over my change, or his bike won’t survive,” I fumed. Chinedu calmly pried my hands off the bike rider’s shirt.
“Sir, what’s the matter?” he inquired from the bike rider, who rapidly responded in Hausa, leaving me out of the conversation. To my astonishment, Chinedu fluently replied in the same language, and they continued conversing. I was bewildered, unable to understand their discussion. It was then that I took a proper look at the person who might rescue me from this situation. He stood tall and imposing compared to my petite frame. Dimples adorned both sides of his cheeks, and his full beard complemented his short hair. Wearing a navy blue polo over black jeans and flip-flops, he exuded an aura of confidence. His eyes glistened in the sunlight, a captivating shade of sky blue. His flawless light skin and inviting lips seemed to beckon for attention.
“He says he’s out of fuel and won’t give you any change,” he relayed, snapping me out of my indecent thoughts.
“Tell him that’s his problem; I want my money back,” I shouted.
“I can take you to your destination, just let him keep the money,” he proposed, appealing to me.
Meeting his gaze, I confirmed that his eyes were indeed as blue as the sky. Internally, I concluded he wasn’t Nigerian, and I seized the opportunity to talk to him. So, I agreed. He led me to his parked car, and I appreciated the fact that he had momentarily halted his own plans to intervene in something unrelated to him. He opened the car door for me, ensuring I was buckled up before driving. I avoided making eye contact, opting to scrutinize everything but him. However, the overpowering scent of pineapple inside his car nauseated me.
“Are you feeling alright? Should I roll down the window?” he inquired, genuine concern lacing his voice.
“No, I’m not. Your car reeks of pineapple and I’m allergic to it,” I retorted irritably.
“Oh, I apologize for that. I’m picking pineapples for my mother. She loves making juice out of them,” he explained, his tone carrying sincerity. He rolled down the window, allowing the fresh air to soothe my discomfort.
“Right,” I managed, the only word I could muster. He chuckled softly.
“I’m Chinedu, by the way,” he introduced himself without glancing my way.
“I’m Catherine,” I replied.
“Nice name. Do you mind if I call you Kate?” he inquired. The request surprised me; most people referred to me as Cat. It was a nickname from my childhood that I had grown fond of. “Sure,” I agreed, shrugging nonchalantly. It wasn’t a big deal.
A smile curved his lips.
Before dropping me off at my destination, he requested my phone number, and I obliged. He called almost immediately, which struck me as a bit eager. However, it took two years before he asked me to be his girlfriend.
********
I sat up in bed, propped on one elbow, gazing at the sleeping Chinedu. He was incredible in bed. Studying his features, I traced my fingertips along the contours of his mouth. He stirred and opened his eyes, almost as if he sensed my gaze. He winked, playfully pinching my nipple, and another passionate round began within moments.
“I’d love a little Kate or Nedu running around,” he commented shortly after we’d shared an electrifying intimate moment. Truth be told, I couldn’t decide between the two options, given that Chinedu was my first love. Naked and entwined in bed, we clung to each other, reluctant to part. I nestled against his chest. His fingers traced invisible patterns over my buttocks, tickling me. I squeezed my buttocks tightly to stifle the urge to giggle. “Don’t you think about having a child?” he broached the subject.
The way he phrased it almost made me consider taking a pregnancy test. It was as though he’d planted a seed inside me, and I was oblivious. I nodded, unsure of my desires at the tender age of 20.
“Perhaps we can think about it when you’re a bit older?” he suggested. I offered another nod. He was 27 then, and I hoped he would follow up with the notion that someday when we were older, we might marry, have children, and live happily ever after.
We lingered at that moment before I rose and announced my departure. Gathering my belongings, I headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. Chinedu dropped me off just outside my hostel. After a brief kiss, he discreetly slipped some money into my hand.
“Darling, I’ll give you something more substantial during the week. Manage this for now, and don’t let those young boys take you away from me,” he advised.
I laughed, planting my lips on his before bidding him farewell. As I stepped out of his car, I watched him drive away down the street.
Read Part 3 Here: My Pride 3
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