Sunday, 29 January 2012

White Rose (True Story) Pt2

White Rose (true story)



“A convenient scenario for her that’s what happened! Right about the time I was playing Devil’s-Advocate-meets-Sirus-The-Virus in my head… the door to the lavatory clicked EMPTY and a man approached us, obviously wondering who on earth had a look of a pissed off lion staring at his two daughters.”

He inquired what the problem was and the lil sis blurted “I told her not to sit there, it’s not her seat!”

The father just gave her a familiar and disappointed look, before he could say a word and give me tactless victory the ‘convenient’ part came- I felt a familiar hand on my shoulder then the voice- “UMAR!?”

Soon as Chairman and the man’s eye met- I saw grins and laughter lines form in a second. THEY KNEW EACH OTHER!?! WELL!!

“Ha ah! Ka ce yara sun san juna ma ashe….”

Roughly translating to… “Oh! Seems the kids know each other already…”

Then their father and mine got carried away into jests and catching up in the aisle, all the while forgetting I haven’t sat yet!

I dropped my bag knowingly on their fathers feet about the same time the daughters greeted my dad, which seemed to work because right then he went- “young lady apologise to this man and give him his seat this instant!” *in a military voice*

Nothing less of a Major General.

“I was mid way unzipping a smile and smirk when Chairman whispered”-

“kaih haba… me a kujera kuma? (“Oh no! What’s in a seat?”)

 “Umar can sit anywhere; no problem.”


"I'D ‘LOST’!!!"

At this point I laughed out… cuz knowing what I’d heard then about his father being a very judicious and morally bound man- he said few words. But meant them all the way.

Kinda felt pity for him. Because I have had this habit of putting myself in peoples shoes as long as I’ve been able to remember. I knew that if I was him I wouldn’t sit in the aisle seat, would wait till the parents went to their 1st class seats, the curtains got drawn, then go as far away and outta sight from them, I would resent her for being that hot, witty lipped, making a fool of me in front her lil sis, all while holding a 17kg bag for 10mins and eventually LOOSING. Yeah I would do that.

Funny enough… he did the same thing! Well not exact same thing. He sat in the aisle chair in the middle section till the parents went ahead. Then called a stewardess and had her help him with his luggage and whispered something in her ear. Then disappeared from Aisha and Yasmeen’s sight.

Of course Aisha was curious about his whereabouts and her sister’s look made her wipe off that smirk of victory she had put on earlier. But what really humbled her to the rumble, was when she asked the stewardess where he was what he’d said to her. She found out he was in fact sick. And that he wanted a seat where he could actually sleep throughout the whole flight without being bothered to shift/move a lil for other passengers to go in and out all the time or worst of all have a person's butt in your face every other time (well... that's one of my dislikes), etc.

She felt terrible! But not as terrible as Umar would have her feeling had he had his way.




Umar was a patient one when it came to boarding a vehicle. Like me, that was one instance he liked being last; which was okay with his Chairman. It wasn’t their 1st trip together after all, so he knew they would meet at the terminal.

As he made his way out, the hostess bade him farewell, asked him ‘hordes’ of questions (that’s how he put it) ranging from his health status quo, the flight, its food and the lil arrangement she made him. She’d gotten him the ‘backseat-of-the limo’ to lay and stretch.

Being an airline policy that a minimum of 6 seats were reserved for the crew besides the fold-up seats they had, it wasn’t much of a hassle for her to please her ebony Adonis. Well at least that’s what Umar called himself (then).

In not so many words he implied she’d hit on him by doing her job WELL and showing some humanity?! Of course I let it slide with a smirk. After all it did seem pretty convincing when she even gave him a blanket as a souvenir. :-)

He got down and into the shuttle bus where there was no more than 11 people and no sight of that… that… that… GURL *said with a growl*

To his surprise and dismay then surprise all over again, soon as he stepped into the Arrivals he saw her scooted in a submissive and somber pose holding onto something glisseny and cone-shaped. 

He thought it was some type of ‘girl-feed’ and ‘simply’ looked the other way.

It was then he saw his dad who told him to sit there and have the porters load up their luggage before he comes out of the loo.

While midair trying to land his tired bum on the alloy chairs he was met by the most immersing cynosure for a face he’d ever seen, but the problem was he did see it more than once, actually. First at Abuja airport. Second in the cabin. Only now it was somethingelse. Aisha was now Aphrodite.

If he had been walking- he would definitely miss a step. Thank god!

She charged at him with that look, that pose, that comport that sprung wells of poetry in his earlier clouded and grumbling mind. She got there just in time to scoot right beside him as he landed holding what he might have now thought was a weapon (if he was me i.e.).

It wasn’t.

It was a rose!


In mind (again), I’m like- “get outta here!”

It was a pure white rose like none he’d ever seen, still breathing its last breaths, holding in it this mulatto’s words and a promise to live on forever if only water would manifest. She wrapped it in a cone shaped giftwrap that only God knows where she got it from because in his peripheral he couldn’t see any gift shop.

This was what she did

She bowed her head just right enough and murmured-

“I’m very sorry for what I did, it was childish, I ‘kinda’ embarrassed you, and certainly inconvenienced you a lot more than I intended/hoped to. Please accept this flower as a symbol of peace and my candid apology.”

 I, personally, had my mouth opened. What about Umar you wonder?

Well… suffice to say my guy was awestricken. Rapt. His virtual jaw dropped. Got temporally visually-impaired. Heart pounded like a mallet against his sternum. Pushing all the blood towards his face- nigga blush.

He was a mess!

It was the last thing he’d expected. Hell…! It was the last thing I expected too. (window seat, mulatto, white rose, what next?)

At this point of the storytelling he smiled a familiar smile that had hidden vestiges of mementos in it. Then sipped the now cold tea he had by the desk as the screensaver kept juxtaposing the words SIRUS THE VIRUS (his nick name).

I was now on my stomach with a curled pillow under my chest and face pointed right at him!

He smacked his lips and continued.

Right before he said a word, deep down inside me, I was silently praying regarding a past event being told present.

This was my prayer-“ I HOPE HOPE HOPE HOPE AND HOPE UMAR DIDN’T fuck up and do something in tune with his traits of effrontery.”

Well folks… I’d have you know…



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