People, some months into the blog I was running out of stories, experiences, memoirs and memories to share with you. I still had some left but I remember thinking that one can only have so many experiences in one life time, and I'd shared most of mine already. I still had a few in the box was I knew they were soon running out and I began to wonder what I'd have to share next. Of course I could always write stories, when inspiration strikes, and do the odd posts, ask questions, do games... But I've always wanted to share my stories, because I find that most people (myself inclusive) have a thirst for the tales of others' life encounters. Of course this concern was informed by the fact that I was running out and had nothing to fill the box back up with.
Basically I thought I was done with drama in my life. I thought that all the "interesting" things that could happen to me had already happened, I thought that the memoirs I had would be the only memoirs I'd ever have, I never counted on more happening.
I'd gotten to a point where I was playing it safe, playing it safe and playing by all the rules. If I didn't come close to the fire I wouldn't get burnt. But something began to tear me out of the cocoon I'd spun around myself. I was reluctant to leave the cocoon but eventually the forces succeeded. It's not like I was under duress the whole time, or like things happened independent of my own actions. No, I take some responsibility for it.
And I need to stop boring you and going round and round in circles, especially when I'm not eventually going to ask you to accompany me this trip. Suffice it to say that contrary to what I had thought there's still loads of drama in this life, there are still experiences, and my memoirs for the next few years are currently playing out before my eyes in 3D.
And in this midst of all this drama I got a call last night that both shocked, confused and amused me.
*Sarah is an old friend. In school we were never really close but I knew she was quite fond of me. She was one of those who married early and married rich and was the envy of so many. One day she told me how she met the hubster and how it was practically love at first sight. Over the years Sarah and I kept in touch, talking on the phone once every other month or so. She would call me from some exotic location, either Paris or Greece or Italy. She would talk, although never boastfully, about all the shopping she had done and how exhausting it had been. She'd tell me what colours were in trend that season and how much the price of Chanel bags had gone up. I'd listen patiently while inwardly wondering how the thinks she was telling me were to make any difference in my life and wondering at the poor-little-rich-girl tone; Sarah sometimes sounded weighed down by all the luxuries in her life. I never could relate...
Last night's call was most confounding. Most especially because I've not heard from Sarah in over a year. Sarah called me to tell me that she's leaving her husband. I freaked out. "Why?" I asked, and why tell me, I wondered. She explained and gave me details I can't post here but somewhere in all of this, there was "the mistress".
And how do I come in? I wondered again. Sarah soon told me.
Well apparently Sarah needed someone that could help her organize touts to go to the mistress' house and beat her up, and when she decided that that was what she was going to do to the mistress, arrange men to have her "fucked up", beat her up and disfigure her face [sic], it was I that came to mind. "So please Nwando I know you can help me. Please I need you to help me arrange 'boys' that will go to her house, I have her address, I'm ready to pay anything".
My first response was HIA!
And that's still what I think when the call replays in my head. Why me? What is it about me that would make someone think I'm the go-to girl to organize violent "touts". Why are people getting contracts to make supplies to companies and 5star hotels and I'm getting one to subcontract men to carry out a hit?
I explained to Sarah that I couldn't help but also added that this wasn't the way to go. Besides how many will you beat up? If your husband cheats, he cheats my dear. How many of his girlfriends are you going to beat up?
But heads up; if you're a single chic living alone on the mainland in Lagos, dating somebody's wealthy husband, you just might be about to get hit. Watch your back.