Not All Prostitutes Are Illiterates - Pt 1

Oyin drove idly through the town with no destination in mind but to leave the source of his anger behind. He and Yewande had just quarreled again.

Pulling up at a red light, he scrolled absently through his phone and wasn’t surprised that since he had left her over an hour ago, she hadn’t called to ask where he was, or even apologize for her part in the quarrel. She was probably taking another selfie that would be shared as a good night treat to the numerous social network followers who eagerly awaited Wendy’s regular and often risqué pictures. Then the ladies would go to bed with envy in their hearts and tears on their cheeks, while the guys would go (or not go) to bed with lust in their eyes and their right hand down their pants.





Pathetic.

How on earth did one metamorphose from Yewande to Wendy? Typical Nigerian behavior, he concluded meanly.

Still on the mainland, He stopped at a quick service restaurant and finally took notice of his surroundings while he ate. He was in an area notorious for being a red light district and even as he watched, skimpily dressed women showed off their bodies to prospective customers of both sexes. His attention was however drawn to a frumpy looking teenager in an ugly purple dress.

The girl was plain looking but had a presence. He got up and walked back to his car but sat there for about five minutes staring into space. If Wendy found out what he was about to do, she would never forgive him but that didn’t stop him from getting out, leaning against his SUV and beckoning to the skinny girl with big eyes and thin lips. She strode over and said Hello.

Before he could reply, the prostitute said in clean and clear English, “one round: 1000 naira, two rounds: 2000 naira, non- negotiable.” She waited for him to reply but he was amused and just nodded his head and locked the car. Ignoring the envious stares of her colleagues, she led him into a dingy building, up the dark and broken stairs and into a tidy but shabby one room apartment with a mattress tucked away in a corner.

She undressed, lay back and waited for him to put on the protection that was part of the deal and when he was through, he went to her and slept with a prostitute for the first time in his life.

Half an hour later, Oyin paid, pulled on his clothes and was groping for the door knob when her voice floated to him softly, “what is your name?”

He paused, hesitated, then replied “Oyinade”

“Oyinade.” She repeated it with wonder and innocence.

“I like it. What does it mean?”

He was unnerved by the questions but took his hand off the door and came back to sit on the mattress.

“You speak English fairly well for a pr...” he trailed off.

“For a prostitute? Well, why not? Not all prostitutes are illiterates you know?” She countered.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound that way. I told you my name. What’s yours?”

“Bibi.”

“I’m sure that’s a nickname or short form of your name”, Oyin said nastily.

She laughed out loud. Almost like he always evilly did when Kevin Hart tried too hard to deliver a joke but only succeeded in making a fool of himself as usual.

“Of course silly! But it’s Bibi for Bibiana. Not Bibi for Bilikisu or Kiki for Okikiola”

“Or Tara for Otarakpobuno”

They both laughed but the laughter wasn't awkward as one would have expected from strangers. It was rich, easy, familiar, like they had laughed together several times before and when it echoed away, they fell into a comfortable silence during which Oyin stared out the open window and Bibi pulled at the hem of her dress.

“I have to go Bibi”

“Oh. Okay. Nice to meet you Oyin.”

“Err. Yes. Really nice”

And he was gone.

Bibi remained naked as she stared with blank eyes into the distance. She scooted over to where he had just gotten up from and warmed and wiggled her butt in his residual warmth for a couple of minutes. Then she got up and sprayed the room with Raid. She had to get ready for her next customer.