Not All Prostitutes Are Illiterates - Pt 2

Weeks after Oyin, Bibiana was closing a deal with a potential customer when someone tapped her on the back and signaled that her attention was needed elsewhere. She excused herself and sashayed over to a black SUV inside which Oyin waited nervously. She carefully composed her features and held out her hand to him. He smiled back shyly and took it. But this time, he led her up the stairs and into the familiar room where no words were exchanged but none were needed anyway, as their bodies, a modicum of privacy and the saggy mattress were the only requirements.

 
Then every Saturday night, Oyin would appear at Bibiana’s door. She no longer entertained clients on those nights, preferring instead to await Oyin with freshly washed skin clothed in a clean dress. They never discussed anything, preferring instead to take comfort in each other’s bodies but when Oyin came in one night visibly upset and made love to her so roughly that she couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her throat; he paused and was so apologetic that he almost didn’t know when he told all.

 
Yewande. Wendy. Her carefree attitude. Her lack of respect for him. Her incessant flirting and sleeping with other guys. His fear of losing her.  His increasing hatred for her. His fear of losing control one day and hitting her. He wasn’t a violent person and his emotions scared him. Oyin raved for about 30 minutes but Bibiana remained silent. She offered no advice, asked no questions, made no criticisms, but she was there. Just there. And that night, her presence was more than enough for him. 

Oyin still came to her every Saturday night after that. On the nights he was absent; she made no demands but accepted him back into her room and arms without question. When he was agitated, upset, happy, angry, whatever he was feeling or going through, Bibiana was there to listen. She didn’t know if they had a relationship but she was careful not to pry. She accepted him and what they had or seemed to have. 

When he came in victoriously one night to announce to her that he had finally broken up with Wendy, her heart leaped with hope but she just smiled as usual and remarked dryly that she was “happy for him”. 

 
Though he made no promises or commitments, things changed after that and they got along fairly well for the next three months. She was waiting at home for his call. They were going to see a movie, and then hit the Ice Cream Factory on the Island for dessert. She wanted the Baileys and Chocolate Chip ice cream and the more she thought about it, the more impatient she grew. Why did Oyin always have to come late?! She giggled mischievously at the double meaning and when Oyin walked in moments later, the smile was still on her face.

 
He was aloof and distracted however but she just let him be. As the days went by, he gradually began to pull away but she never let on to him that she was worried or scared to lose him. She just silently willed him to somehow feel the depth of her emotion for him and she hoped fervently that love would bring him home to her. But for weeks, He vacillated between attentive and distracted and one Saturday night, he walked in without previously letting her know he was on his way. 

She was perched on one end of the mattress, painting her toes a violent shade of purple and she raised her face to him with a smile. He didn’t respond but came to sit gently beside her on the bed.
There was a heavy silence pregnant with fear, regret and indecision but it was okay, the silence made your senses more alert. Bibi could differentiate between the tang of her nail polish, the acidic bite of Raid insecticide and the putrid smells emanating from the latrine situated two doors down.

Bibiana laid on a coat of nail polish. 

“I’m getting married”

“Really?”

Another coat.

“Yes. Next month”

“Whoop! Can’t wait, can we?”

“It’s not exactly like that.”

“Ahn Ahn. Don’t mind me o. you know I like to tease you. I’m happy for you by the way. Marriage is a thing of joy if I may insert that overworked cliché.”

 
There was another silence and Bibi added a heavier coat of polish with shaky and unsteady hands.

He reached out to touch her shoulder but she flinched. 

 
“You didn’t even ask who I was getting married to.”

“Does it matter?” She quipped lightly.

“No, but... well, no. I guess not. I just wanted you to know” 

He got up and walked to the door where he turned back and regarded her fondly with a sad smile.

“I’ll always be there for you Bibiana. You and me, we’ve had good times together. I’m really sorry it didn’t work out. Call if you need anything. Ok?” 

She raised her head and smiled coolly back at him. 

 
“Thanks for the offer Oh-Oh.” It was her pet name for him but only during aggressive coitus. 

“Don’t be a stranger Bibiana. I really care about you. Keep in touch.” 

His smile was bittersweet and regretful. Then he was finally gone for good.

 
Bibiana kept her head down and went on polishing her toes neatly and meticulously. Done with the final baby toe, she smiled brightly at it and only the single teardrop that fell and ruined her finished work was the contradicting emotion that belied the broad, self-satisfied smile on her face. It was confusing. Out of place. It seemed uncalled for. Like putting spit on a Rose, you know? Or smearing poop on a Unicorn. 

Heartbreak is ugly. Violent. Terrible.

 
It leaves you empty and weightless, devoid of emotion, it rips you apart savagely until you want to burst out, yell, cry, destroy, maim. And then you crumble in a heap with saliva trailing down your chin, tears in your hair and mucus on your upper lip. You stare emptily at the other party, asking "why? Why? Did you think about me? How i would feel?" But their excuses are feeble, weak, inconsistent. They turn away from you. The strength and urge to get a grip and move on has to come from you. You are your own saviour. 

Yes. Heartbreak is selfish and unfair. It’s even worse when you feel like your life has come to an end and you’ll never be happy again. Maybe that was what Bibiana felt.