….16th century playwright- William Shakespeare once aptly described man as free but everywhere in chains. That was me – the ‘free’ undergrad.
Freedom is scam. The scam of roaming freely the cage of a four-walled institution.
It’s life’s pseudo-sweet, bitter-sour taste of freedom. Yea! – freedom’s insipid taste to my already scarred and scalded taste buds. Well then, life as well is scam.
Life set me on a ‘free-spree’ –a loose wandering sail on its hostile brackish waters, at the mercy of the most inclement elements, with anything in semblance to a moral compass long lost somewhere in my distant behind. Freedom again I say, is scam.
I was out of the woods, out of the dungeon of sex slavery. I had my life in my hands. LOL. My life – a delicately intertwined complicated web of complexes –broken pieces of nothing held together by something of threatened integrity.
My hands –marred, scarred and scourged, with a murderously venomous mind of their own; the most unsafe harbour for any life.
But really, I cared less. I was going to sap sour freedom dry. I was determined to explore my freed state to the most dreaded ends of the earth; to fare life’s unfair oceans in reckless abandon. If I perish, I perish. At least it would be said of my remains: she was treated to a most befitting palliative care.
The compulsory 1 year on the main campus preceding Pharmacy school was for me almost totally uneventful. My grades shone expectedly, I had a couple of very casual friends, and did attend quite a lot of social engagements, viz: a handful of house parties, a couple of cinema raves, and my all-time favourite – the high point of my first year in school: the renowned Greatest of all time party(GOAT), at the Elegushi beach. It was BAE.
In those days, I was still nice enough to honour invitations to fellowship. I would say I was still spiritual, though I had already lost faith in Faith altogether. Bible made no sense, but I still did say my prayers regularly. That relieved me a whole lot.
I actually disliked the very sight of miniature groups of tongue-ranting fellowship folks, in crowding clusters around the Chapel premises and Amphitheatre every evening. They made a hell of noise!
But I still attended a few fellowship meetings as invited. Those guys can pester for Africa. Haba! Just to drag you to church. They would pester you to death, pestle you back to life, only to pester and pestle you to death all over again.
I gave no commitments to any fellowship, made sure of that. It was supposed to be a ‘one night stand’ thing, with no strings attached. At such, untoward intense ‘follow up’ attempts were dealt with accordingly – clinically and decisively, ‘politely’.
My last day in any fellowship was towards the end of my first semester. I had attended this campus fellowship of a popular fire-spitting, demon-damning church in town. (Can’t even remember what dragged me there sef). Service was cool, though fierce.
And all was really well until I was made to see Pastor after service as a first timer.
Pastor was one 300level Economics dude like that.
Pastor was meant to just say ‘Welcome’. And he was doing well at it, until he suddenly ‘went off’; something had definitely cracked up in his head.
And in what had looked like fits of convulsion, he started babbling nicely, up until I heard something that sounded like “…lady, lady!… I see the cloud of darkness already descending… overshadowing you… give up that dark secret..yes..else 7 days…7 days..you’ll be destroyed…”
I just picked my bag, spat “to hell with you” in his face and damning prophecy, and stormed out. That was it! Good riddance to bad rubbish. I was done with Church!. Mtcheww.
Crossing over to Pharmacy school in the College of medicine campus, on a stellar CGPA of 4.76 was in all ramifications big deal to me. It was a fair reward to hard work, and a very hectic schedule of intense preparations for the exams.
Pharmacy school had started out on a rather too serious and grim note. What with the angry-looking run of lectures coming in turbulent busts. No chills. Well, thankfully we had a most apt comic relief – the Freshers’ pool party. It came right in time.
At the pool, I was one of those girls who would shy away from the water, and rather lurk indecisively around the pool, though clad in my swimming trunk. But then suddenly, someone pushed me from behind, Wham! I went right in headlong.
From inside the pool, I had turned to cast my vengeful eyes on the unfortunate whosoever that had such effrontery, and just unleash venom on the fellow. Oh my, I turned to behold the face of Adonis. Perfect, flawless, yellow pawpaw.
I just melted, right there in the pool. Anger fled. His name – Clem.
He was a 500Level medical student of the College.
Clem and I clicked almost immediately. We became friends from thence. In no time we got involved, yeah, really involved. It was an affair of sex, sex and more sex. I gave it to him at his bidding. He was the dominant, I was submissive. I never enjoyed sex, and I detested the male folk. I had rather come to hate my body and its sanctity. I was only using sex to get back at myself.
Clem had a couple of other girlfriends. I knew about it. He was only using me. But I never gave a damn. He had me the more, at will.
And really things could have continued steadily cool had the idiot not messed up.
He had invited me over to his room in the male medical students’ hostel for the weekend. His roommate was out of school, and he had gotten the hostel porters settled in advance. I would be indoors the entire weekend, while he feasts on me, and I satiate his rapacious libido.
Friday evening, I moved in. We were having drinks, and midway through my glass, I had felt dizzy. Things were getting hazy and fuzzy. I passed out. He had drugged me. I did retain a bit of consciousness though. I was conscious enough to know 4 of his friends took their turns on me. The stereo in the room was blaring loud, to arouse no suspicions from neighbouring rooms.
I was way too numb and weak., couldn’t mount even the faintest resistance.
But the fools forgot to dispose my tumbler. It was the piece of evidence I got hold of in my petition to the student affairs division. The content of the tumbler tested positive for Rohypnol. That nailed their coffins. They all bagged rustication respectively, in adequate doses – 6 semesters each, nothing much.
And so I was done with men for good. My hatred for them only multiplied a hundred fold. And If I had had my way right then, I would get them all slaughtered.
As at the end of my 200level, I was best in my class. I would gladly relinquish my place to anyone other than a guy. Hell no! I would rather die than live through it.
My closest rivals were males, so my grip on the top spot only got firmer.
At this time, I did have a few girlfriends though. Cynthia was particularly close. She was then my roommate. She was about 4 years older. She just took me up as a younger sis. She practically mothered me. We did go out a whole lot. And she literally spoilt me rotten with much gift items.
She was kind of over protective and possessive of me. I found that a bit threatening. But it was fine, I was loving every bit of the cuddling warmth of sisterhood.
I normalized everything in my head – ‘this is gonna be good’, I’d say.
And all was supposed to be well, until I landed in a strange well one blessed afternoon.
Cynthia and I were alone in room, we were on my bed together, and then she suddenly started acting funny.
She had taken my hand, and was using it to bare her chest and caress her bobs already, while making moves under to finger me. Hehehe! Just like that. My head was pounding in tons already.
And just then smacking her lips seductively , she had gestured to me- “Come home to mama…”, Right then, I knew fire was no longer on the mountain, fire was right there in my bosom. I was done for! “‘Cynthia was a les..?’. I fled, faraway.
I couldn’t stay in the room any longer. The imagination of it all was way too scary! I just gave mum a call in the heat of the moment, and she had ‘wired’ me some money almost immediately to get a room outside school(I never disclosed the true reason behind the sudden arrangement to her though, lie was all I need do, and lie I did lie).
It was a good enough arrangement for me, I maintained the apartment till my final year. I was a lone wolf.
In my penultimate year in school, I met Sandra – moi sweet pie. She was to me the sweetest soul alive. Sandra was a year my junior, in the faculty of Pharmacy. She had warmed her way into my heart almost effortlessly. She carried this aura I couldn’t just resist. There was this ambience around her I couldn’t fathom, but was ever looking forward to experience.
Moments with her were just heavenly, in every sense of the word. And I’d kill to have it all over, again and again.
Sandra and I became very close friends, ‘blood sisters’ more like. It took a Sandra to finally get me out of my shell; out of the miserably lonesome path of a ‘sociopath’.
She had introduced me to her small clique- the soul sisters. They were a group of 6 ‘soulmates’, as they fondly called each other.
They met on most evenings in Sandra’s room just to reflect, to unearth burdens, and engage each other in sincere soulful discourses, proffering real solutions to real life issues. All these in an unmistakably paradisiacal atmosphere of blissful peace, in a milieu of worship and some really rigorous ‘kabashing’.
I was in one of such meetings once, and I was ‘caught up’. I lost myself at once, and I’ve never found ‘her’ till date.The experience lingered on. It was nothing I’d ever felt before. And so I went again and again and again. I found home. I became the 7th soul sister. My life just felt so right with them. They were a rare breed. A crop of simple, plain, down-to-earth, passionate, sincere seeking God-lovers.
Needless to say Church failed me, whilst they got busy trying to size me up and fix me.
But with the Soul sisters, I found church for what church should be… I found God….My wrecked existence was salvaged…. and my healing began…..….”
She was done. She had been reading for some intense 55minutes. She had closed the diary – her book of horror, and looked me up straight in the eye. Me. I was just transfixed to the spot, dumbfounded and mute.
Strange lady. She had dropped no tear, not once through the reading, not even a grim through the most horrific details.
She gave me a sly smile, and pursed her lips. She knew what she’d done – she had shocked all manliness out of my marrows already.
She was way too relaxed, with this intimidating air of confidence and calm, that looked nothing like what she’d been through on the hellish pages of that diary. This was She defined and refined. The She I’ve gotten involved with over the ensuing years as Counsellor and mentor.
I’ve been privileged to have watched with bated breath over time, the uncensored streaming of her intriguing life events, as they unfolded in a suspense-filled epic, only obtainable in a terrific Hollywood script.
Meet Mabel Omotayo –the strongest woman I know, and do enjoy her sensational unravelling, in the twists and turns inherent in the acts and scenes of this tricky plot- DEADLOCK…..
The story I tell you, just got started.
(to be continued)