My First Love Affair.

by Ornguze Nashima Nathaniel.
(Makurdi, Benue, Nigeria.)

My First Love Affair

She looked 19 to me, and I would later find out she really was 19. I was 20. The first day I entered her small town, Orokam, I was with a team of young merchandisers. We had a chaperone, and our mission was to sell innovative home appliances to the townspeople of Orokam. Our products ranged from solar lanterns to non-smoking kerosene stoves to rechargeable clippers to electric warmers to low-voltage-carrying pressing irons. Our arrival was on a hot afternoon. The sun was up there, sending down heat onto pedestrians, building roofs, and tall trees. We went to our rented one-room-home, unpacked and left again on a guided tour. In the town’s heart, I found a buka to eat. I had strayed from the group but was not lost. I stepped in and sat at a blue table with four plastic chairs around it. Atop the table was a small basket containing Morning Fresh and a pack of imported toothpicks.

With a graceful stride, she approached my table, carrying an empty tray with a delicate balance. Her movements were fluid, and she meandered through the setting of chairs and tables in the buka with the ease of a slithering snake, yet harmless. As she neared, she greeted me with a welcoming smile, displaying a genuine interest in ensuring my dining experience was delightful. Her words hit my face. Then I smiled back at her and placed my order. She left and returned with it. The air around me was permeated with her nice scent. When she left my table, I felt a spark in me. She was a vision of grace, with a warm smile that lit up the room. Her eyes sparkled with genuine kindness, and every movement was executed with effortless charm. The way she carried herself added an extra touch of elegance to the local buka, making the dining experience truly memorable.

Prior to this, I was always living in fear of torture at the other end of life. No charm or smile from a lass in my age class ever moved me. Reason: I had a grandma who would call me to the kitchen and push me closer to the fluttering fire at the hearthstone and say, “I know you can feel the heat at that distance. Hell is a hundred times hotter. Liars, lewd children, drunkards, and thieves will all be thrown into hell.” The situation was different in the buka. Something moved inside me.

At last I left.

That same day, at night, our chaperone gathered us and read out commandments. You need not make friends. You need not bring people to the space belonging to the team. You need not find trouble. The rules were many. The next day, I had breakfast at the buka. The same girl served me. There was a woman with her, and it was easy to know she was the mother of the beautiful lass. At noon, I went back to have lunch. This time, she initiated a conversation that went beyond the usual seller-customer exchanges we had had before.

“You don’t eat at home?” she asked as she cleared the table, her voice low.

“I don’t have a home here.”

“Wow! You’re a visitor?”

I nodded.

“How will you cope when your pocket money finishes?”

“That is why I have you here.” I didn’t know when I said that.

She smiled and left to attend to a customer at one corner of the buka. But that was the day the relationship started. We started seeing in church after mass and at a stream

at the outskirts of the town. I would walk her home in the evenings or nights, telling her stories about setting traps for rats and birds. She would also tell her stories to me; stories about kids in her village; about a boy who fell from a mango tree and lost three teeth. About a girl who bought a sachet of OMO, thinking it was Milo. It was always a delight sharing our unedited stories.

One evening, from the stream, I was walking her home, and when we got close to her gate, she surprised me with a kiss and ran into the house. That feeling was something else. A film of sweat covered my forehead. My heart was hopping in its case. And my palms went hot as those of a malaria patient. I refused to bathe that night. I wanted the fresh feel of her lips on mine to be there forever.

The next morning, we had to make an urgent travel to a neighbouring town. I left without notice. Like her, I had no mobile phone. We stayed away for a week. It was like I ghosted her or something. When we returned, I went to her and explained everything. She forgave and fed me for free, what she started doing from the day we had our first serious talk at the buka.

Deep down, I knew the kiss was her way of telling me she loved me. I needed to also tell her I loved her. The day I wanted to say things to her turned out to be a bad day for me. I was in her buka with one of our team members. We ate and I got pressed. Our house had no toilet. We were always running into the bush to push the stool. This day too, I excused my friend and headed for a nearby bush. A man arrested me as I was about disappearing into the bush I saw perfect for my mission. He brought me to the eatery and asked me to kneel down. I did. I was the one who told him I had left my friend at the eatery. In his native tongue, he told the people in the eatery that I was heading for his shrine to wreak havoc. At first, the girl thought I got involved in a serious crime. I explained myself to the people. The man finally asked that I pay N3000 for his transporting me to the eatery from the bush he caught me. At last, I was freed. The girl was mad with rage. She apologised to me and saw me off. My intention was in detention. I couldn’t tell her anything. I could not profess love as I had planned. Going forward, she would serve me food and jokingly whisper that I should not eat and go to shit in anybody’s shrine again. We would chuckle. On days I was not in the mood to joke, I left the food untouched. She would have to plead.

After several weeks, we became more intimate. We would kiss for long. One evening, while we were kissing, I cupped her succulent breasts and she shuddered and tried to break from my embrace. I also felt a warmth between my legs. We had to stop immediately. At last, I left the town. Our mission was over. I left her world without a word. There was distance. There was silence. And inside the gap of distance was water. Our three-week-old tender love, like Titanic, sank into the bowels of the river of distance and silence.