So a brother, Hammed Olabisi finally linked me up to a female soldier. He said he’s discussed my issue with her and I only had to close it up by sending a friend request to her on Facebook and discuss the monkeyshines. Her name? Ruqoya Sanni. Where does she live? Adekunle Fajuyi Cantonment, Ojoo Barracks, Ibadan. Hmmm… it’s okay naw. Ruqoya Sanni, seems a beautiful name. Sanni is even one of my ogas’ surnames.
I found her on Facebook without dallying, in uniform, and I sent the friend request which she accepted thirty minutes later. Kíá-kíá báhun ni? Ah, iré wolé dé o.
I rushed into her picture gallery and started to scroll through. She looks nice enough, gallant except for her eyes which seem like she’s feeling sleepy or just waking up, bloodshot, but she’s okay naw, who cares about her eyes?
“Buoda,” I told Hammed Olabisi. “The girl has accepted my friend request on Facebook o.”
“Ahn-ahn,” exclaimed Hammed Olabisi. You know, even in Buoda’s written English, Oke-Ogun accent always show, but Buoda is my benefactor now, he found a beautiful soldier for me, how could I laugh at his dialect? All the people that have been mocking me on Facebook, thinking I cannot find a soja, Buoda has helped put them to shame. Buoda’s mouth is longer than a kettle’s, kòsíyàn nbè. “Oya, go and talk to her judiciously.”
Àh, Bùòdá tún dé o! Which one is judiciously again?
“Okay,” I said and ran off.
So, I opened my Facebook Messenger and clicked on an icon in whose circle her picture was. “Hi, Ruqoya,” I messaged.
It delivered, the picture icon ran down beside my message. I waited, twenty minutes passed, nothing.
“Hi Ruqoya. I’m Moshood. I’m Hammed Olabisi’s friend,” I said again.
“Hi dear,” she replied, thankfully, and I was like, ah-ah, èmi nìkan tán, hi dear? Àsé orí tí yóò d’ádé, inú saworoide ní tií wá! Olórun mò tóbi ò.
“Hi, how’re you?” I asked.
“I’m fine. Moshood, right?”
“That’s my name, yes.”
I waited o, what next to type o? If it was Yusuf Austine or Popoola Ayobami Isaac Oluwanifemi now, those ones are devil’s playmates, they would’ve known how to engage her better, but me, omo Jesu, SU lèmi. What to type again o?
“I went through your pictures,” I finally started. “You’re very beautiful. In fact, you’re the most beautiful soldier in the world.”
I sent it before I realised how stupid it sounded. Most beautiful soldier in the world? But she replied with the emoji of a toothless demon laughing.
Ehn-ehn! E be like say she like am o.
“What are you doing currently?” she asked.
“Ah, I’m just sitting in my room o.”
“No, I meant, what do you do for a living?”
“Ah, I’m not working yet, I’m on NYSC Service.”
I regretted saying that the moment I sent it. Shouldn’t I have said something like, my dad is Saraki, my mum is Folorunsho Alakija, my sister is Linda Ikeji, my brother is Shina Peller and Hammed Olabisi is just our driver?
“How old are you?” she asked.
Ghen-ghen-ghen! I started counting my fingers. I had to say something big so that she would respect me. Who will be mentioning nineteen-eighty-owo-isale something and she’ll be thinking I’m a small boy like Morakinyo Oluwatosin and Bankole Temitayo Samuel.
“I’m just thirty-five,” I said.
“And you’re serving?”
Ah, which kind wahala be this now o? Shouldn’t I have said Year 2000 sef? But shey my head that have lose hair wee noh reveal the truth if I lie? Ayérayé Olórun ìyanu, teach me how to be a smart servant of yours faa!
“Actually, they already made my birth certificate before they remembered when I was born. Official is 29, unofficial is 35, that’s it.”
Fifteen minutes passed, I didn’t know what to say again.
“So, you’re Yoruba, right?” I asked.
“Yes,” she responded.
“Abeokuta, Ogun State.”
“Oh, right. How’s Ebora Owu?”
“Obasanjo, former president, how’s he?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Ah, is this what I’m supposed to be saying sef? Oh, I should have sought Folasade Ogedengbe or Duyile Bisola Omolaiye’s counsel before doing this o. Those ones are relationship experts.
“I’d love to meet you.” I went straight to the point. “With the little interaction I’ve had with you, I know you’re very intelligent and cool.”
Na so so so lies we guys dey tell girls, most of them no get sense, na to take pictures alone dem sabi, but who wan tell dem the truth and suffer loneliness in this kind weather? Dem all fine and intelligent naani. I no go commit that kind suicide.
“Where are you now?” she asked.
“I’m in Ilorin, it’s where I’m serving.”
“Okay, when will you be chanced to come to Ibadan?”
“Where in Ibadan?”
“Barracks naw. I’d love to meet you in person.”
Han-han! Ibi awí ladé yìí. Barracks! Barracks awon soja! Sé nti dóko délé Dánímó báyìí? Sé Bùòdá Olábísí òti kó sekésekè bòmi lówó báyìí?
“When would you like me to come?”
“Can you come this Friday?”
“Friday is okay. I’ll come.”
“0813354… that’s my number.”
“Okay, I’ll save it and call you later today.”
“No problem. Discharge me, duty calls. Laters.”
She went offline.
I called Bolaji Olabode, shey u go follow me go barracks? He said no, nonsense boy. I phoned Adekanbi Fathiu Phartkhay, naughty boy said no too. Prince Ademola Ajayi no dey fear, lemme call him, so I did but the moment he heard barracks like this, he said he’s not feeling fine, oniranu boy. So I come dey think, who get muscle among my friends o? Oh, okay, Sam Aiyesoro, e be like say he looks like a very bad person in his pictures, he should be bold like Rambo. I dialed his number but he wasn’t reachable. Na one yeye girl who talked like a chicken answered my call in his stead, she talk say he dey field dey play one useless campus celebrity football like that. So I just abandoned all of them. Are these ones friends or sontin ess?
Well, Hammed Olabisi has finally killed me. Friday is near and I can’t run from this. But who knows, the sweet dream that my neighbour interrupted few weeks ago might finally come to pass. I’m so nervous.
…to be continued.