The night was cool, with light wind blowing westward. A tall trim feminine figure leaned on the pavement of the balcony. She gulps the entirety of the cold glass of wine in less than a second, just then the tall male silhouette who had been admiring from the other far end of the balcony speaks, “with the way you are drinking, one would be forced to conclude that you’re good at it, like it’s some sort of profession.” She was stunned at the comment. Considering the fact that it came from a young man and bearing in mind that she was well above her limit, she giggled softly. Then he approached her and said “I’m glad I could make you laugh. My name is Obiora, and you are?”……………

Hello there my beauties, I am Mrs. Jegede Lolade and darling this is the story so far. My wonderful husband of blessed memory, Lt Col. Abimbola Jegede, was a great man. Industrious and too forward for his time, but always found the right way to fuse our generation’s naïveté with the future which I always thought he was from. He was a very exciting individual to be with, and when it came to his work never did he lose sight of what needed to be done. We got married on the 4th of July, 1970. Oh, was it the best wedding day any woman could dream of, from the splendor of my white silk gown that matched perfectly with my husband’s ceremonial army uniform. I can still remember vividly that it was the same day the Americans around us celebrated their independence, notwithstanding our wedding still ended up as the talk of the town for weeks.

We were one of the few original socialites to grace the Lagos elitist scene in our glory days. And as God would have it we were blessed with two ambitious sons Oladotun and Abimbola. Cutting a clear line between our popularity round town and our private life, we never neglected to exercise due care and precision in the training of our two boys, what I mean is, we never speared the rod to spoil the child. We tried our very best not to instill in them the kind of fear that would not enable them to speak up when they ‘needed’ to. Our boys went on to be very successful in their various areas of endeavor, Dotun becoming a creative non-conformist architect and Bimbo who prefers to be referred to as ‘Bo’ this days became a director of the highest cadre in the Nigerian film industry.

My late husband and I started this foundation a couple of years before he passed on, The Greater Tomorrow Foundation. Our foundation is geared at providing tuition funds to young Lagosians from not too affluent backgrounds to attend university in foreign countries. Well, I would say this was our own little form of giving back to the society which provided us with the tools that made us who we were. As a means of garnering funds, my late husband and I organized an annual fund-raiser event, which was a form of allowing the movers and shakers of Lagos to showcase their various collections of well-tailored expensive couture and get drunk enough to write huge figures on their cheque leaves and hand it to us. It was at this event that my love story with the moose of ages began.

It was a cool summer evening, although we never had summer in Nigeria, but then you should understand my point. And well, the movers and shakers of Lagos had gathered in my large banquet hall at our Lagos island residence for my annual fund-raiser event, to “do something” for us. My sons had just made a toast to me and indulged everyone in the hall to observe a moment of silence for my late husband, their father, and then the Disk-Jockey had just began to play Nina Simone’s “Do What You Gotta Do”. Dotun in his usual hysterical nature took me by the hand, smiled, and pulled me up to waltz with him. My God, did he resemble his father so much so that the smile reminded me of the same smirk that his father had on his face whenever he wanted to dance.

As the dance floor began feel a little clamped, I detached myself from my son’s embrace, took a brisk walk to the high table where I sat earlier, poured myself a glass full of wine and took a brisk walk to the balcony of the banquet hall. I let out a tear, and gulped the wine like a fish in water, and just as I finished the contents of the glass, a guest that had been watching me from the far end of the balcony spoke, “with the way you are drinking, one would be forced to conclude that you’re good at it, like it’s some sort of profession.” Then I thought to myself, what nerve did this man have to judge me for my drinking, but then I was like, what is the use of trying to be the old woman here. I let out a short giggle. And then I saw him walking towards me.

“I’m glad I could make you laugh. My name is Obiora, and you are?”

‘Lola, Lolade Jegede.’

“It’s quite chilly, don’t you think?”

‘What have I gotten myself into today o, Jesu’, said my inside voice. But I was determined to be a nice lady that would not want to give up the obvious sign that I was suffering from an aftermath of a terrible midlife crisis.

‘Yes, it is quite chilly though, but sadly I left my shawl back in the hall.’ And then this young stranger, removes his jacket, and beckons on me to put it on.

As I wear it, I utter a low voiced ‘Thank you’ appreciation to the young man.

“You’re welcome”, he replied.

I take a second look at my empty glass and thought to myself that it would be a good idea to get another drink. As though the universe had heard me think, a female waiter just happened to wander to the balcony with a tray full of champagne glasses. I motion to her to come towards me by raising my hand slightly above my head and then grabbed myself a glass after she came. I took a sip.

“If you don’t take it easy, I might be forced to take get a cab to take you home,” Obiora said.

‘And I thought gentlemen didn’t exist in this generation’, I replied.

“It’s all a matter of perspective, ma”.

‘Ma! Did he just call me that? Was I really that old for him to address me in such a manner? Ah, Lola your life has finished, the jig is finally up.’ I thought to myself.

I downed what I had left in my glass, dropped the glass gently on the pavement, removed the jacket and handed it back to Obiora. And just when I was about to walk back into the hall he says,

“Could I have your number or complimentary card, just in case we don’t have another opportunity to see each other again tonight,” I tell him my personal phone number, and as soon as he was done typing it into his mobile phone, I whisper into his ear, ‘call me.’ And with that my love, is how this story between my young lover and I all began……

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………….It was morning, and the bright sunlight had just shone through the drapes of the wide larger than life master bed room. By the right side of the bed lay this short fat man with a protruding belly, wearing just a boxer shorts and singlet. The hard knock on the bed room door woke him up, but reluctantly the fat man on the bed rolled over to the middle of the bed and let out a thundering sound from his buttocks fart. After a couple of more incessant knocks on the bedroom door, the fat man was forced to answer in his thick Onitsha Igbo accent “who wants to destroy my door this morning. I hope it is not you, Mama Theo? Because I will kill you.” And a light voice came from the other side of the door, “it is ooh, and if you know what is good for you, better come out now” and with that the fat man was forced to get out of his bed and walk briskly to the door. Just as he opened it………