aFRica

―Tonight?‖
He laughs. ―Where?‖
―I‘m at the Hilton. What‘s so funny?‖
―I didn‘t expect to hear from you.‖
―Why not?‖
―I didn‘t ask for your number. It might have
seemed…‖
―It didn‘t seem anything.‖
―Good. I didn‘t want my staff to think I
was, you know.‖
―You were fine. You weren‘t flirting.‖
―Who says?‖
―So, I‘ll see you later?‖
―What time?‖
―Eight?‖
―Eight, then.‖
She struts around her room, then she pats
her cheek. She mustn‘t look desperate.
She has dinner at the hotel restaurant and
returns to her room to take a bath and
change. She sprays perfume on her wrist,
smacks her lipstick in place. Her earring
needs securing. She smoothes her
eyebrows.
The front desk calls to say he has arrived
and she goes downstairs again, this time
pretending to take an interest in the décor
in the lobby, which is reminiscent of a
dictator‘s palace, with its crystal
chandeliers, faux Louis Quatorze chairs and
white marble floors. The light reflecting on
the marble blinds her and she worries
about slipping. There are a few expatriates
and many Nigerians walking around in that
lethargic manner that is typical of loiterers
in hotels.
Wale is by the front desk. He has made an
effort, his shirt and trousers are pressed. He
looks naturally trim. He stands with his
back to the lift, which might be deliberate,
and she is tempted to pinch his bottom
and throw him off balance, but she taps his
shoulder instead.
―Have you grown?‖ he asks, looking her up
and down.
―My heels,‖ she says.
He smiles as if she is a statue he can‘t quite
take seriously.
―Shalom?‖ she says.
―Pele, then,‖ he says. ―Pele, if you prefer.‖
―Not really.‖
Pele doubles up as an apology. Pele might
also mean he feels sorry for her.
In the lounge she orders a Cointreau. She
has never had Cointreau before. It is strong
and tastes of oranges. He has a neat
brandy. She doesn‘t just like his eyes; she
likes his way of looking at her as if she is a
solo act. She is also aware of the stares she
gets from the security guards who size her
up as she tells him about her day at WIN.
―What pains me is that I now have to go
back and admit to these people that
Nigerians are fraudulent.‖
―She‘s just hustling like everyone else. She
and the other woman, who might be trying
to sabotage her.‖
―You think?‖
―Of course. Even microfinance is a hustle
now. The people who are meant to get it
don‘t. It‘s all about competition here.‖
Saraba | Issue 13 | Africa 31