Dead Rose Flowers 2: A Foreigner

What father truly hated

Photo from Pexels by Suzy Hazelwood

I travelled to Abuja by flight. I couldn’t possibly trek. I reached there and put on my smiley face. I had to appeal. Father says to get people on our side. I looked over to the right side of me and I sight him. I looked over under the hot scorching sun and I sight a tall handsome young man standing close to a Rangerover as if he had just hopped out of it. I see he’s doing what I’m doing now. Staring. I see that my line of work is dangerous where I had to see eyes that will make me waver. But what did dad say? "Do not dare to waver."

'Yes, dad.'

I stroll along with my purse strapped over my neck. I get into the AC chilled room. I take a seat. I attend the sessions. It’s not far from what I had imagined. Old men laugh shamelessly, extorting money from the less privileged with the saying of wanting to provide them with better options. As if they could. And they still looked that way?

I get a huge apartment on one of those streets. I didn't bother to look for the name. I wouldn't be staying long anyways. Politics isn't really for me. Maybe now, I should tell dad I want to study abroad probably he'd tell his chiefs, 'She's gone for another one ooh. Masters ehn.'

I sit in a finely dim restaurant at 5 pm after this long session with fathers of children that cared for none other but themselves. I see across me a gentleman, the gentleman who had hopped out of the Rangerover. He is at the other table. It seems he has been there for a while but hasn't ordered anything. And I just happened to stroll in and gift him my presence.

I look down at my plate. With the half-sized minced beef staring at me. Steak. The fanciness of eating in an expensive restaurant. I had to hold my belly. I smell lavender faintly. I see a grey T-shirt by the corner of my left eye. I look up and see him making way for the chair in front of me. And he sits. He sits without the formality of asking if the seat was free. "What if I was waiting for my partner?"

I know I don't have one but what if? The disrespect. He sits. I make way for the dessert and I asked him what he would like to order cos he didn't seem like he had eaten anything at all. "Why come to a fancy restaurant? To enjoy the view? Go sit at the river then. The one by the Myeong restaurant."

'What would you like to order?'

'Silence.' He probably didn't hear me right.

'No sorry, I think you misunderstood. I meant what would you like to eat.' Rephrasing my words as fast as possible to clear him of any difficulty hearing me.

'You.' I was taken aback. He didn't, he couldn't have said that. My iris dilates farther than it did when dad said to take his place, to wear those coveralls that stunk! My fingers made way for the cutlery knife where the beef sat.

And I made way for his face again and I asked not again. Taking a deep breath and letting it in not bypass my lungs before I struggled to mutter under my breath. 'I’d take the first order.'

'Order him silence, please. I’ve lost my appetite.' I stormed out of the restaurant by 6 pm. I promised dad that I’d be good. That I won’t do anything out of what was asked of me. "Just attend the sessions." Think of it as a play written by my father. Starring me. All others were meant to be behind the scenes.

The trees lent me their by-product. The clouds hovered together filling the sky with its gloominess. I didn't bring an umbrella. Drops. Drops. Drops. And they continued like that until the soft sound increased to a smashing one. Like someone continuously throwing a mug cup against a tiled floor. Non-stop. My body was drenched in pours that the cloud gifted me. And then I was greeted with the warmth of a voice that sent comfort down my spine.

'I also didn't bring an umbrella. But you graced me with your presence that I felt full. I stopped. Unknowingly putting my feet in a puddle of water, I turned around. We were in front of the only Chanel shop in Abuja, in Myeong estate. Owned by a foreigner. I looked back at the familiar voice of whoever that was. I looked back cos it seemed that this was only the beginning of what my father wouldn't like. That I had fallen for Vendez's son. That I had turned out like him. That I had and will get close to a foreigner. I guess maybe that's the only thing we have in common. My dad and I. The desire to be lost in a foreigner's arms.

'Roses. Dead ones I must say. I didn’t have the t--' He says as he pulls his fair arms in front of me. We were 1 m apart. The rose let the rain trickle down its parts.

'Thank you. They're particularly my favourite.'

And he shall be brought to the grounds, right? "To be cleansed." That's the only way father would approve of him. For him to kneel by his feet and listen to him chant ancient words that his heart doesn't believe.

Father did like that. Father enjoyed that. Without my permission father took him. Vendez's son to the traditional grounds.

It happened as thus: I had just got back from one of those sessions. I had found my way to ordering an Uber to my father's house. It was Father's birthday so I had planned a surprise. To gift him.

Vendez was with the chiefs. I don’t know what prompted him to stay in this part of the world. Well, he said he did enjoy the culture; Nigerians doing their bidding. He was there too by his father’s side. And I had just walked in when they just left.

I asked Chika, the maid, where father was. Today was supposed to be an off day. After partying with his chiefs, he’d stay at home with us and we’d stare at ourselves in the mirror. But I had planned to make this different. To add colour to our lives after our mother left us.

The drive to the traditional grounds was an hour from Uromi. Father had taken him after their parting with the chiefs. And he followed. "Should I have informed him of the ritual beforehand?"

Grasses greet them as they pass through. Tall lengthy green things made way for their passing. And he was taken into thee.

And unknown to us. He’s been there once as a child. And it creeped him out as did her. And he fell by his knees and father chanted some...some words. And he fell to the floor. And I run and run till I come to where he was laid. He lay cold and hot air wasn’t anywhere near him. His eyes were still filled with warmth for me hoping that I’d be there. "Should I have obeyed father and not wavered so that poor Vendez’s son wouldn’t have been in this mess?"

"Should I have held my need to be caressed by a foreigner’s arm? Had I not been like dad when he did the same with mom?”

There and then, I strongly had my fingers over the roses. My eyes let out streams of warm tears over my round face. Father has done it again. Stripped me of whatever good was to come my way.

Is this it?

Vendez shall surely come for us.