Diary Of A Deltan Kuffa

Chapter Nine

THE GIRLS NEXT DOOR were one too many, one had the charisma of a thousand fireflies and the energy of a buffalo. She was loud and her presence electric. She had this woolen cap that always sat atop her head and wore an oversized shirt that reached her thighs. Her laugher, stellar, in the attention it drew. Her name, Nosa-, like many generic Nigerian names meant God, In full it was: Nosayaba, 'a combination of God's blessings.'

The other was Diana, an introverted extrovert, spending more time with her phone, typing, scribbling and observing, with ears plugged in, half the time listening to Enya. The space between her incisors dazzled when she smiled, it reminded me of my mother, people say it is a sign of beauty. Although she was loud like Nosa, her composure reeked with innocence. Her demeanor changed like the shifting winds, quiet and inquisitive at one moment. A rising Phoenix the next, alive and rekindled. Her other name, Nwamaka, meant: my beautiful child when translated.

We lived beneath the same roof, the hallway at the entrance forked in two directions, the boys to the left, the girls to the right but that was only after you were assigned a room, until then the common room that sat between both wings would be your dwelling.
In this room, we were packed like sardines, yet separated by a wooden-board partition that almost touched the ceiling.
While this eliminated the chance of either of us spying on each other, we still could with our ears, not even a fart would go unnoticed. The girls next door were a noisy bunch, but that's just the tip of the iceberg, their conversations centered on boys, sex, money and often marriage. This would keep them up in the late evenings, each girl sharing an idea or two, while the boys actively listened on till it pricked our ego, such that one of us would smack the board partition not once but till they felt disturbed and the girls would return the favor. No sooner or later the flames of war would light up the air as we exchanged words sharp as a dagger.

On other days, it was a boy professing love to a girl on the other side, or the boys making loud jokes, loud enough to get the girls laughing. With the passing of time, our shared humor would grow into something more, not friendship but fondness. The hallway had a TV that faced the entrance, during the evenings after work the girls would tune-in to their favorite soap operas, Twist Of Faith, Maheek if I recall correctly. And each time I did seat to watch, a certain face stuck to mind as did mine to hers, in the weeks to come we would refer to each other as "Maheek", this fondness became a friendship. But if any of the leagues had a match scheduled that evening, the boys flooded the hallway. One time, Messi and Ronaldo faithful's went teeth and nail as to who was a better player. While I didn't pick sides, the one who's name started with the 'M' was to me, the G.O.A.T.

The first party I experienced, for the Corpers passing out, had us all keenly interested in the next person, this burning need to groove and jive to the blaring music. A seamless stare and gentle dance steps in the direction of that person, if she locked eyes she was sure to dance. I did dance with one of the girls-next-door, it took a while but this Phoenix did rise and I kid you not, I couldn't compete. Like every party, most would drink to stupor, their crooked steps and flamboyant displays had everyone laughing with a tinge of pity. For others, the wine was the fuel they needed to dance till bones ached. The fresh palm wine reminded me of a certain December in a land far away, home—this time it came in a cup of wine, each sip bringing back memories. It wasn't December, the air wasn't dry and it rained a night before, they say when the moon decorates the night sky, not a drop of rain would fall, but nature is wild and untamed. A few drops pelted the earth, the seconds that followed, the hallway bubbled with sweaty bodies attuned to the DJs mix.

Many more nights like this came. A new party always lingered, another night to taste the sweetness of the wine, and dance till you dropped. On one of those nights, Dianna and Nosa were celebrated as 'passing out Corpers' among the others. They would no longer live next-door, the thought of that must have caused teary eyes, for them and all who held them, dear. Soldier come, soldier go, but the barrack remains. These two soldiers like the rest, had served their fatherland and were freed of that piety, but not of that to friends. The nights leading up to that day had them outside beneath the glow of the moon, sharing final moments and secrets—as their tongues reeked with the tang of gin,—with two lads who lived next-door.

©Mariobee