Mark. Pot-bellied. Short (when you consider my height), with a Hippo kinda look. He had a huge crush on me – an unnerving, lust-filled desire. He was in love. And I didn’t even like him. I had no interest in him whatsoever.
Mark is a typical Igbo business man (if you know what I mean). He agitated me with the way he chatted and talked. And Mark, God love him, could like to call and talk nonsense! Tufia!
Anyway, I was aware he genuinely liked me. I’d used this a little to my advantage while he was still in the country (he’s out to look for a greener pasture). So, he was chatting me up on 2go one time; a time when I was in need of a better phone. (These times come often though, as I always find myself owning one palasa or another. :|).
Mark: fyn bobo, hw r u
Me: M fine. You?
Mark: I dey. I’ve miss u
Mark: what is it? Ur nt happy
Me: Cause m not happy.
Mark: what is the problm? Tel me
Me: Would you solve it if I tell you?
Mark: jst tel me…
And tell him I did, adding sugar and spices. I told him my choice, but received information about CNN and BBC as reply. He can chat like rubbish. But I played the Rubbish Chat Game too. In the end, he promised to get me one of his HTC phones. I was happy sha.
Mark: you know I luv u
Me: But Mark, I don’t love u. (I always made sure he knew this)
Mark: I luv u, fyn bobo
Me: Hope you r not expecting scratch my back I scratch your back…
Mark: no dnt worry. But I lyk u
Me: K. Thanks
Mark: what wud u tel ur mum if she ask?
That one na issue, but I wasn’t going to let that HTC android phone pass me be. I would lie! Duh. Everybody lies.
Me: I’ll say my friend dashed me, that he bought a new Tab.
So we were going to have to meet. He wanted to see me badly. I needed to have that phone badly.
And then, the day was upon us. It was to be our first meeting. Although shorter that I’d imagined, he was as I expected him to be. Not an eye candy. I couldn’t look at him. But he kept staring at me. I had a huge pimple on my cheek, and yet he stared, entranced. I was shy, even though I didn’t let that show. That is, until we got into the eatery that was our meeting place. The prying eyes inside there sef. Chai. Shame catch me. What would be going on in their minds? This short man and this tall, small boy. I told myself that some boys come into eateries with their uncles na. No biggie.
He ordered lunch and soft drinks. I wasn’t interested but he insisted I eat. I nibbled at first, and then ate hastily, wanting to get it over with. He talked and talked and talked, and I smiled and nodded accordingly.
I was bored. Then I interrupted his monologue. “Mark, I need to get on home. My dad is at home… I need to go and cook.”
“Eiyaa…” he replied.
And he brought the phone out of his pocket. My eyes gleamed at the sight of it! Chei. After blah-blah-blah about the phone’s quality, he handed it over to me, and I slipped it into my pocket. I smiled – a real smile this time.
The HTC was mine! Just like that. Just. Like. That!
But Mark can talk! He still talked. When we were leaving, I rolled my eyes at his back. One of the eatery’s customers saw me doing that, but I didn’t care. I had a HTC toy to show off.
That was the last I saw of Mark though. But we’re in touch and he’s still head over toes for Yours Truly.
Dear old Mark.
Written by Kizito