AFLOAT E. 2

 previously

“We forget to live today when we keep fretting about tomorrow” Nikky

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“Again!” Mabel shrieked.

Exhausted was an understatement. Beads of perspiration ran down my face and underarms as I tried to catch my breath. The AC unit was obviously overworked as it was now making a weeping sound and spewing hot air. 

I must confess that in all the twenty five years of my existence, I never knew wriggling my waist would someday be a dreadful chore. My feet felt sore as I tried to gauge the time. It should be 5pm, I guessed. My stomach rumbled as if it was scolding me for neglecting it again. In truth, my hunger had gotten to the level where I was beginning to perceive the aroma of my mother’s food. The taste was calling out to my poor, tired soul to come home and devour my share. I grunted and the other members of our troupe groaned and whispered as they stretched as if they could read my mind. On my part, I was tired of groaning. What use was it when it wasn’t getting Mabel off our backs? 

We were inside a mini hall. Our troupe comprised of six ladies and five young men who would rather pretend I am not part of the troupe or should I say they are not interested in talking to a newbie like me. Either way, I was beginning to wonder if I had the ability to be invisible. It was my second week of joining them and I was already having second thoughts. If anyone had shown me a vision two weeks ago, that dancing and prepping for the Christmas carnival would end up being a torture chamber, maybe I would have fled instead of jumping and dancing with glee at being accepted. If only I had known. But looking back, I guess the timing was perfect. 

At the time I needed a break, something to distract me, anything to take my mind off the fact that I was yet to get a job eight months after serving my beloved motherland. Passing out parade was lit for me. My Facebook page would testify to that. Those lucky corpers who served in the big cities got to know that serving in a village had nothing on my shine. Pictures of me flaunting my certificate took up all the space on my timeline. My IG page was buzzing with congratulatory messages as if I had been awarded a ministerial position. 

Sincerely, being free of NYSC was, at the time, more appealing than a ministerial position especially since It meant that neither the CLO nor the bitter principal of the local secondary school where I served could claim to have a hold on me anymore. I saw my life beginning and I was in control. 

Finally, Dapper (my dream clothing brand) was going to be a reality. I could see celebrities walking the red carpet in my brands. The sketches in my laptop would shake  the international brands and I was eager to leave that village and take on the world. Financing it was all covered as my dad had my back and had promised to sponsor me. Notwithstanding, I had saved almost all my allowee by starving myself just to make sure I could add to whatever he would give me.  The local community and the fact that I preferred my company to chilling with others at the popular goat meat joint made saving for my big dream easier. I had it all covered, or so I thought until life happened.

“IRENE! Get your butt off the floor. I don’t have all day!”

Mabel yelled out, snapping me back to reality. I turned in time to see Irene, our lead choreographer dragging her weary limbs off the floor where she had flopped her beautiful body  after several gruelling hours of repeating the same routine. Her supple and radiant skin always left me amazed and tired of looking at mine. Some people were indeed created on a Sunday;(note to reader: I am not into women). I only find it hard not to praise a deserving sister or brother and Irene's vibrant and glowing beauty had not only won her the lead title but also the hearts of the men on our troupe and the envy of some of the ladies. Watching her dance was a joy and she had mastered all the moves and was living up to her title but Mabel expected perfection and nothing less. The woman was a tyrant and she no de taya! 

NEXT

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PicCredit: Freepiks.com

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