By the way, I know this is a lazy way to the challenge…but I’m just about to let you know that am in for the A-Z April Blogging challenge at Arlee Bird’s blog where a band of 1, 750+ writers congregate to blog alphabetically from letter A-Z.
This post is supposed to be my B, as in knowing a ‘B’ from a Bull’s foot.
That reminds me of an experience I had when I was processing my undergraduate admission at my alma mater.
It happened that I was in Ibadan for admission clearance and had no place to spend the night. I connected with a long lost acquaintance and bargained a bed space for the night.
It so happened that, my hosts for the night were a collection of high level boys, who had known a ‘B’ from a Bull’s foot. Poor me, my education started here!
A lady dropped by to visit her boyfriend in the hostel, we were eight in the room. She was cordial with all, including me. I found her interesting and struck up conversation with her. Funny enough, other guys trickled out of the room like substance leaking from a keg. Who cares, I continued talking anyway. Her boyfriend came in after countless run-ins and outs like a dog on heat and wore some that-kind-of a look. I was worried but who cares I’m meeting him for the first time. He definitely has issues with his mood swings. I made a mental note to ask my buddy later.
The atmosphere changed with a threatening of the rain and he slotted a 2face track on the stereo ‘African Queen’. He hopped to her back on the seat she sat and his hand started making some discreet movement upon her body. If only my eyes had kept to a place and she had sustained the conversation, my sufferings would have been minimal. I doubt if it’s my ears or it actually happened; I heard some stifled moans from her throat…she gazed at me with a pleading eyes, but I wonder what that could be for. I stayed put, even though words were fast becoming superfluous and my throat was gulping speedily—I had only witnessed such sights on the movies!
The song charged the scene further and the hands’ covert operations were becoming sloppy and observable…my priggish head had started condemning the lady when a deserved interruption came in.
‘Mr Charles, let me see you for a jiffy’
I went out to meet my pal and deduced he had no tangible to discuss. I made for the room and met the door firmly shut. I felt cheated. I felt short-changed for the reason I never would know.
Four years later, when a casual friend visited my room at the Nnamdi Azikiwe’s hall and my visiting friends trickled out, she asked why they had to go, I told her ‘they knew a ‘B’ from a BULL’s foot!’
I hope she got the message.