THERE'S a man staring at me from across the street.
He'd been talking to his friend, a tall man that looked on the verge of disappearing, until he caught sight of me as I prepared to cross the street to his side.
He leers at me now, the look in his eyes becoming more predatory as the seconds tick by. That look can only mean that he is about to do three things . . .
One, he's about to start catcalling me.
Two, he'll catcall and approach me.
Three, he probably would just keep staring at me.
I hope with all of my might that he chooses option three.
As a break forms in the traffic ahead, I take a precautionary look left and right before I cross the road, careful to ignore the leering man.
Ignore him Lily, and he'll ignore you too.
Boy, was I wrong.
No sooner have I crossed the road, when I see the man move in my peripheral vision. I exhale quickly and move my legs faster, but not fast enough to make it look like I'm trying to run away. My mom always told me that perverts played on their victims' fear, and since I'd seen such attacks in movies and read them in books, I knew enough to know that she was right.
I squeeze the handle of the nylon bag in my hand tighter, and bring my free hand out of my pocket in case I need to use it.
I take a quick glance behind me, and to my mortification the man waves. He's left his friend behind, or rather his friend didn't find anything interesting in following an eighteen year old girl.
"Fine girl, I dey greet you na," Comes the deep, slimy voice of the man from behind me.
Ignoring his words, I take a left turn and breathe a little sigh of relief when the street to my house comes into view. Just one last crossing and I'll be home free.
Hopefully.
Just as I'm about to cross a hand wraps around the arm holding the slightly heavy nylon bag. The man squeezes my arm so tight it borders on painful.
"I dey greet you and you no fit answer, you dey mad?"
My heart rate speeds up, and the world seems to get a little bit darker. Passers-by seem too interested in their own businesses to notice me.
I try to pull my arm away but he holds on tightly, smiling in a way that exposes yellowed teeth, probably from years of smoking, hiding behind blackened chapped lips.
I read somewhere that in a case like this, one should try to avoid violence, because the attacker could have a weapon and might hurt the victim.
My other hand is free, and I have nails I'd been keeping for a week. If I scratched him, would he let me go? Or would he get angry and hurt me even more. Right now anyone passing by would just think that a man was just having a playful conversation with a girl, because of his slightly relaxed stance and smile.
I realize that he could really hurt me before someone came to my rescue, but at least I'd be free.
As scared as I feel, I swallow it all, look him in the eye and say. "Leave me alone. I don't know you."
My words seem to shock him, I guess people rarely speak in situations like this.
Making use of the opening, I pull my arm away with all my might, breaking free of the man's grasp. The force moves me away from him so fast that I almost fall flat on my behind, but I quickly regain my composure and cross the street, almost getting squished by a motorcycle.
Now on my street, I risk a backward glance and see the man making a waka gesture with his hands, lips flowing with words I cannot hear over the sound of a busy street.
I walk the short distance to my home, praising God for protection. You truly cannot depend on others.
Once I get home, my twin brother turns away from the scene of a woman getting disemboweled on the TV and focuses dark brown eyes on me.
"What took so long?"
When I don't respond immediately, he vaults over the arm chair and comes to stand in front of me, the rosary on his neck catching the last rays of sunlight coming through the living room window.
"Lily, answer me, what happened?" His eyes beckon.
"W-water please." The words have barely left my lips when my eyes start to release salty water.
In a flash, he returns, a glass of chilled water in his hand. I take it from him with trembling hands, and drink slowly.
"Why are you crying? Tell me what happened."
So, in the hour of dying sunlight, I started to tell my story, and as I did, I began to feel lighter, unweighed.
By the time I was done, my eyes were completely dry. My twin, Lewis, looked calm, but I could tell he wasn't happy with what he heard. He took my hand in his and rubbed it gently with his thumb. It was something he'd always done, even when we were younger.
"If he ever approaches you again, and I'm not there, scream as loud as you can, you hear?"
I nod.
"Good, he can't harrass you in broad daylight unless you let him," he says.
I nod again.
He pulls me up. "Mom said she'll be back later in the day, and that you should use the turkey you bought to cook jollof rice."
The thought of eating jollof rice instantly warms my belly, and lightens my mood considerably.
Lewis I think notices the change in my demeanor, because he smirks and folds lean arms across his bare chest. "Hmm! White Lily, you love food."
I roll my eyes and start to walk to the kitchen. "Don't continue the movie without me."
