Fela

Written by Winifred Òdúnóku

You’re supposed to be doing an assignment on your laptop, but your mind is far away. Sitting across from you is Fela, a fellow student who shares the same sleeping space—one of the departmental halls—with your sister, who is attending YabaTech. When you visit the department during the day, they’re just that: halls—for giving and receiving lectures. But when you go at night, you see a different place. Tables turned into beds. Cabinets into wardrobes. Fans into harnesses for fastening mosquito nets. And every other thing upturned, doing something else other than its original function. And of course humans, snoring away their stressful day as the night wears on.

It was on one of such nights that you saw Fela for the first time. Or rather, actually noticed him. You were in bed with your sister, your backs to each other; she, snoring, you, fiddling with your phone, unable to catch any sleep because your body had not acclimated to this new sleeping condition. He had passed by your table two to three times and tugged at your phone playfully in the dark. You stood up from your supine position, wondering what just happened. Was someone trying to rob you? You’d heard stories from your sister on how things go missing here. So you turned and tapped her gently awake. She hissed and asked you to go back to sleep. She hadn’t heard your complaint.

Another tug at your phone, and your shout of “Who is that?” jerked your sister fully awake. She immediately switched on her phone’s torchlight to make sense of what was happening, then sighed upon sighting Fela. “Why are you disturbing my sister?” Fela laughed and said he was just playing with you. As he laughed, you studied his face—oblong and sharp, just the way you like them. You smiled at him then. His hand brushed yours as he bade you and your sister goodnight. The smile remained on your face when your sister told you not to mind him. “That’s how he goes around disturbing everyone. Now, go to sleep.” You closed your eyes, but sleep didn’t come. Instead, you looked forward to another time when Fela would stop by to play with you.

Now, you sit facing your computer, trying to write codes and fix the bugs you created yourself. Your eyes are on the dancing characters, but your mind is far away. Sitting across from you is Fela. He is preoccupied with a discussion with a lady who is all over him. She rubs his chin. He rubs her thighs. You rub your chest. Then your hands. You still aren’t getting the codes right.

You check the time—6:05 pm. Your sister is not yet back from where she’s doing her industrial training. If she were here, you would have had a small talk with her to distract yourself. You pretend to stretch, but while doing so, your eyes travel to Fela’s side of the large hall again. He’s sitting across from you, but the distance between you is wide—three or four tables away. As he plays with the lady, you long to be in her place, with envy written all over your face. Your heart skips a beat when he looks up and meets your eyes. You quickly bring them down and face your computer, typing furiously. The more you type, the more bugs you create. But you’re oblivious to this.

A day later. Thoughts of Fela still weigh heavily on your mind as you sit inside the bus on your way to the coding boot camp—the reason why you’re in Lagos. While in transit, you chastise yourself non-stop. What has gotten over you? Haven’t you seen a handsome man before? What about this Fela is even different? You have a boyfriend, Keji.

You begin to say this to yourself so it can stick, getting lost in your world. The bus conductor taps you and asks for his money. You have a boyfriend, Keji. You continue repeating even after alighting from the bus and as you walk to the office space where the boot camp is taking place. There, you face your codes squarely, trying to debug them and seeking the facilitators’ guidance. Your attention span has been on point for some time. Your mind, at peace. You’re taking control of the situation. You’re in charge. At least in that moment.

In the evening, as you step wearily into the school gate—which welcomes you to the boisterousness within—a hand appears in front of your face, oscillating this way and that. You grab the hand and make to shove it away, with a big warning to the owner never to try that nonsense with you again. But when you hold the hand, the owner laughs and shouts, “Got you!” You look, and it is Fela. Your heart begins to race.

“What’s up?” he says. There’s a smile on his face. And now that you see him in the daytime, he looks even more handsome than you had thought.

You stutter in response. Say you’re fine and immediately start walking away. You have a boyfriend, Keji. The voice is clear in your head.

Fela catches up with you, breathing heavily. “Calm down now. Let’s walk together.” He tries to make small talk. You respond in monosyllables. He talks all the way to the Faculty of Art building. As you climb the stairs, he tries to make body contact. You keep climbing. He keeps talking. First floor. He doesn’t stop talking. Second floor. You honour him with a few responses. Third. Then he blocks your path and asks you to at least tell him your name, just before you both enter the hall.

“Keji,” you say. Your lips part into an unplanned smile.

“Mide,” he offers his hand for a handshake.

When you take it, he uses his forefinger to caress your palms while maintaining eye contact. You remain in that position for three years, until a lady thrusts her hands out to separate you two.

“You’re standing in the way. Please excuse me.”

It is then you realise you’re blocking the entrance to the hall. “Oh, sorry,” you offer, but she’s far gone before the sentence drops out of your mouth.

You look at Fela and ask to excuse yourself. You imagine him smiling and rubbing his chest as you walk to your section of the hall. Almost immediately, you hear someone shout his name and run excitedly to him. You look back, and it is the lady from the previous night, flying into his waiting arms. You scoff and continue walking. Your heart burns with rage.

When your sister returns that evening, you ask her the titular question. “Shey Fela and that lady are dating ni?”

“Which lady?”

The one that throws herself on him all the time, you say, with scorn in your tone.

She rolls her eyes and says many ladies throw themselves at Fela just the same way he ogles at them. Where do you think he got his nickname from? Then she warned you to be wary of him. Why are you even asking her that sort of question?

You shrug.

She asks about your day at the coding boot camp.

Your mouth moves, but you do not know what you’re saying. Your mind is with Fela. You’re no longer thinking about your boyfriend.

You’re in front of the hall, by the corridor, resting on the rail and feasting your eyes on the activities going on at every corner of the big faculty building. Opposite you is an art studio for Painting & Design students. Adjacent is the fashion department, and you can hear the noise of sewing machines racing after one another as though in a competition. Down below, on the second floor, is an array of dyed fabrics spread on the rails to dry. On the ground floor are students discussing in clusters. Others fondle books that you assume are only for decoration. Your phone rings.

It is your boyfriend.

You speak about the coding boot camp and how it is going. He asks when you’ll be back to school. He has missed you. You don’t say the same. Instead, you say you have an assignment to do. He says he loves you before hanging up. You look at the phone, and mixed feelings envelope you.

When you lift your eyes to continue soaking in the environment of this Federal Polytechnic whose aesthetics beat those of your university hands down, you notice someone by your side. “Fela?”

“You can call me Mide.”

“How long have you been standing here?”

He leans on the rail and closes the small gap between you two. “Long enough to notice how beautiful you are.”

You tsk and look the other way. This man is playing with your heart. You don’t like it. You have a boyfriend whom you’ve promised never to cheat on. You have values that you’ve promised yourself to uphold. Your spirit is willing, but your flesh is weak. Your body is falling apart.

“So why did you come to YabaTech?” He asks you.

You enter into a long conversation with Fela. You can’t help but notice how he looks at you, how he makes his hand brush yours on the rail, how he leans sideways to poke you, and how his hearty laughter rings in your ears in a baritone rhythm. He tells you how he came to be known as Fela—nothing close to what your sister had said. You ask why he’s studying art. He says he loves creating things with his hands. He has a sister who sings. They are artistic in their family. He’s a pastor’s child. But he wants to be different. You laugh when he says that. He says he’s serious.

Now, he takes your phone and dials his number. He saves it as Mide. When he gives it back, you add ‘Fela’ in brackets. You want him to be different too.

Then he asks if you have toured the school before to see all the magnificent sculptures and beautiful works of art done by students who have etched their names in the history of YabaTech. You say no, and he offers to walk you around. You take his hand and smile in spite of yourself. “What is wrong with you?” You hear your boyfriend’s voice, more persuasive than corrective. “Are you this loose?” That’s your mother’s, but you tell it to shut up. “Where are you going?” Your sister’s, only now it’s not just in your head.

She’s in front of you, looking at Fela despicably. “Oya, follow me.” She commands.

You let go of Fela’s hand but linger to search his eyes and the emotions they carry. Is he angry too?

“Are you deaf?” Your sister roars.

You turn around and walk towards her; rage fills your eyes, and she hisses at your rebellion.

Later that night, when she calls home, she does not mention that you’re getting distracted. She only says you’re doing fine and that she’s taking good care of you. You grumble under the sheets. When she taps you to speak to Mummy, you pretend to be fast asleep.

Three weeks of the coding boot camp are gradually coming to an end. You have failed 2 out of 5 assignments, but the facilitators said you’re doing well for a beginner. As you sit in front of your laptop to start the last assignment that evening, you tell yourself you must not fail it—4/6 is better than 3/6. You decide to lock in.

Just then, Fela drops by.

“You again?” your eyes ask.

He smiles and places his hands on your hip gently. You didn’t expect it, but you like it. Hot liquid escapes your vagina; your body’s way of saying it likes it too. You tighten your legs and adjust your laptop on your thighs. “Yank his hands off. What audacity.” A voice chides you, but you shut it down. This is not the time for your brain to function. You’re enjoying Fela’s attention.

“How are you nah?” Fela asks.

You say you’re busy, but your voice betrays you.

He smiles and moves his hands up and down your hips. You grab his hands, but don’t take them away from your body. His smile deepens.

“Fela!” a shout erupts from the other end of the hall, and he immediately drops his hands. “Where have you been since?” The lady—the one whose existence you hate so much—walks over to where you are and grabs him by the hand.

“Hi,” you wave.

She looks at you and fakes a smile. If it were another day, you would have stood up and walked away from her little drama. But not now. You sit your ass there, bearing her scrutinising looks. It is safer than standing up and exposing the wet patch of vaginal discharge on your chewing gum gown.

After an eternity, she drags Fela, who keeps asking her to calm down, away from your side.

You face your laptop, and a tear threatens to escape from your eyes. You shake your head vigorously until the welling tears go back, and then you begin to type. Code after code. Line after line. Bug after bug. You’re doing well.

Your sister returns late that night visibly tired and frustrated. She tells you tales of the mistreatment she’s suffering as an intern. Then she mentions that there’s an important outing she has to attend the next day. You’ll have to sleep alone. You nod your head and say no problem. You’ll be just fine. You already know that your day would have to start as early as 3 am. You would go to the chapel or wherever you can find water, then come back to the Faculty of Art building and then find an enclosed space behind to have a quick bath. When a security man shouts, “Hey you there!” you wouldn’t look back. You would allow him to see whatever he wants to see. When you’re done, you would wrap your towel around your small body and run upstairs; get changed, then sleep in till 6 or 7 am, when the whole building would be jerked awake by a call for prayers. By that time, you would just dress up and pack your sleeping things, hide them inside your sister’s self-proclaimed cabinet, and lock them up, then walk out like a normal YabaTech student going for classes. Your sister says good; you’ve learnt well and would be fine without her. You excuse yourself to go pee downstairs. She says she will get the table set for dinner before you come back. You smile for finally having your sister back.

On your way out of the hall, you run into Fela, but you do not say hi. He tries to hold your hand but you snatch it away. Your sister must not see you. Once outside, he blocks your way and says he is sorry. You say it’s fine. And that he needs to leave the way because you’re pressed. And that you need to get downstairs quickly—three floors of expansive double-flight stairs is no child’s play. He says he’s going down to pee too. So, without planning it, you both enter a race to determine who will get downstairs first. He does. And by the time you’re done peeing and making your way back to the front of the faculty building, he is already standing at a distance, waving his hands in victory.

You catch up with him and poke him for being so petty. You both walk side by side, making your way upstairs. He tells you that that lady—whose existence you hate so much—is not his girlfriend. You ask why she behaves that way, then? He repeats that they’re just good friends. Your heart flutters as you ascend the stairs; him stopping to greet every Tom, Dick, and Harry, and you waiting on him to get it done and over with so you can continue gisting. NEPA takes light, and loud invectives erupt throughout the building. He holds your hands and asks you not to let go if you don’t want to trip and fall.

“I know these stairs like the back of my hand.” He says, but you’re not listening. Your mind is on how he made you wet hours earlier.

As you grope along in the darkness, body touching body, hearts speaking to each other, you decide there and then that should this man make a move on you, you would be all over him within a nanosecond—just like that lady whose existence you hate so much. Values be damned.

When you get to the third floor, while trying to catch your breath from having climbed all the flights of stairs, Fela twirls his body around yours and grabs your waist. “We’re finally here,” he croons into your ears. “Are you tired?”

You say no, then hold his arms. “I just feel weak.”

“Hmmm,” he moans faintly. His crotch presses against you, and your vagina lets loose again. He places a finger on your lips, and his other hand travels down to your butt. You kiss his finger, then feel his face and bring it closer to yours.

His lips part. You can sense it in the darkness. His breath takes yours away. You inch closer to lock your lips with his. Then, NEPA restores power.

“You people should get a room, abeg.” Someone jolts past you guys and hisses.

More footsteps approach, making you disentangle. Fela hunches over a bit and holds his groin area. When you look down, his bulge jerks, and you gasp. You both look up at the same time to see the desire in each other’s eyes. He winks at you, then takes the right turn into the hall, his back bearing the weight of your disappointment. You wait a while, begging your body to calm down and your heart to stop racing. After gathering yourself together, you walk into the hall—to the chastising voice of your sister asking, “What took you so long?”

It’s a Sunday. Contrary to the itinerary you’ve told your sister you would abide by diligently, you wake up late. After the previous night’s episode with Fela, it took a while before sleep kicked in. And when it eventually did, all you could do was dream about this man and how he made you feel. 6 am, and you’re still lying on the table with sleepy eyes. Any moment from now, lecturers could start poking their heads into the hall. But you remind yourself it’s Sunday morning. Nothing of such can happen.

You close your eyes and try to sleep again—to dream about Fela, but he appears in flesh and blood.

“Sleepy, sleepy,” he taps your butt gently.

You grunt and sit up on the table, your face betraying the best version of yourself you’ve always tried to put in Fela’s face.

“Fine girl,” he looks at you keenly. “Won’t you go to church today?”

Church? Fela is the last person you thought would talk about church.

Seeing the surprise on your face, he reminds you that he’s a pastor’s child.

You yawn. He covers your mouth and says, “Didn’t they teach you to cover your mouth when yawning?”

Why so many questions this early morning? You hold his hand in place and feel like licking it. But you shake the thoughts off by slapping it instead.

“Ouch.” He fake-screams.

You jump down the table and start packing the sleeping duvets. He helps fold them. When all is done, he says he’ll come back in an hour; you should be ready by then. That’s when the church bus would arrive.

Thank God it’s Sunday; you are still able to work through the itinerary despite waking up late. When you get back to the hall, it is almost empty. You dress up in time to hear Fela’s voice asking if you’re ready.

You miss the bus by a hair’s breadth and are not lucky enough to get seats. You stand next to each other through the long journey from Yaba to Victoria Island, his body brushing yours as the bus gallops.

At church, you walk out with others when they call for those born in September. The pastor prays for you lot and you return to your seat to notice Fela’s eyes following you everywhere.

It’s your last day in Lagos. You go in search of Fela but meet his absence. His friend, the lady whose existence you hate, asks why you’re looking for him. You say nothing and walk off.

“I didn’t see him,” you tell your sister when you return, but she doesn’t respond.

As you pack the last of your stuff, you wish the universe would make you see Fela one last time—he has been scarce for the past few days. But not only that. You wish you could feel him too.

Your sister asks you if you’re not forgetting anything. You shake your head and continue packing.

The universe answers your prayers.

“Hello everyone,” Fela waltzes into the hall in Superman style.

Everyone hisses. Some shout at him for scaring them. Does he not have work to do this early morning? Others just shake their heads and continue what they were doing.

You kill the urge to run to him and hug him tightly. The lady whose existence you hate runs to him with open arms. You can hear her footsteps and voice.

“See the Fela you’ve been looking for,” your sister teases you.

You want to tell her to fuck off. When did she start caring about how you feel? But you know better.

“Keji, what’s up?” Fela appears behind you. You look at him for a second, then turn back to continue packing. “This one you’re packing laidis…”

Your sister explains. “Yes, she’s going back home today.”

You pay neither of them any attention. Your sister spoilt your many chances. Fela didn’t try enough. You refuse to look him in the eye.

He waltzes off the same way he came when he realises your aloofness.

Your insides want to explode. How can he walk away, just like that? You wish he’d at least try to stay. Try to ask for 15 minutes of your time. Try to excuse you from your sister’s prying eyes. Try to peel you away from the crowd. Try to take you on a tour around the school. Try to make love to you under one of those giant staircases. Try to plant his soul in your mind forever.

But he didn’t try, and for that, you hate him. The rest of your things go into your bag, and with them, your resolve to maintain your steeze.

On cue, your boyfriend calls you immediately after you finish packing. You say you’re on your way already. Before he hangs up, you tell him you miss him. Before he replies, you tell him you love him wholeheartedly. When you hang up, you press the phone gently against your chest.

Your sister looks at you, then laughs. Grabbing your bags, you tell her bye-bye without waiting for her to see you off.