As I
stepped out of the plane at the Nnamdi Azikiwe International airport in Abuja,
I turned to see that a hunky Mulatto guy behind me had his eyes glued to my bum
in a chiffon mini skirt. I mischievously twerked it and he gasped audibly. I
glared at him disapprovingly and pulled my sun shades on. As my feet touched
the tarmac, I felt a strange mixture of trepidation, anxiety and excitement.
Today I would be meeting my biological mother again after 25 years. I walked
towards the arrival lounge, I let the mild heat brush my face; yes this was my
home.
My
name is Cassandra Bisong and I am 32 years, this is the second time I’m coming
to Nigeria. First time was when I was five years old and my parents were still
happily married. My parents are both from Obubra in Cross River state. I am
fair, petite but well proportioned in the way Calabar women are known to be. I
chuckled to myself as I remembered how my Jamaican professor had described me
when he was hitting on me back then in school. “Tiny waist fanning out in
reckless abandon to juicy hips”.
I was
born, and grew up in the quaint town of
South Orange in New Jersey, 14 miles from Manhattan. After my high school, I
went on to Seton Hall University where I studied International relations and
majored in diplomacy. After graduation I worked in the Embassy of the Federal
Republic of Nigeria in Washington DC for 6 years.
Well!
My dream had been to become an Ambassador but I ended up there as a Public
Relations officer, after shuffling papers and dealing with wide eyed,
desperate, somewhat cunning Nigerians or Naija, as they called themselves. I
can say I’m very fascinated by their confidence and notorious reputation.
Enough to want to come to this very controversial but intriguing country to
experience it firsthand. There is more to it anyway though, my father told me
that my mother abandoned me and fled to Nigeria 25 years ago. This is puzzling
because the Mum I remember is gentle, beautiful and loved me with her life. The
story just didn’t fit and I had looked forward to hearing her out. Now I was
actually going to do it.
At
the arrival lounge I located my luggage and headed towards the exit. As I made
to take a trolley for my luggage, a dark lanky youth with some sort of tribal
marks lining his face appeared from nowhere and grabbed my hand. I felt like
spiders were crawling down my back. Don’t get me wrong, I am not a snub or
anything like that, but a stranger had never grabbed me like that before. Was
he a sex offender?
“Fine
Aunty, well done ooh, you want trolley? I go help you carry your bag, na only
100 naira”
I
snatched my hand back in confusion; why was he renting the trolley to me? Was
he trying to con me? I had been warned of opportunists in Nigeria and really I
have never been to an airport where trolleys were rented out. I took a deep
breath to fight panic and looked at him fiercely.
“Get
your hands away from my luggage Mister! Before I get security.”
He
left my bag but still held the trolley. What? I turned around and saw a man in
security uniform and beckoned to him. He took his time before strolling lazily
over, looking angry that I had called him.
“Na
wetin dey happen here? Wat happen?” He said
“This
man sexually harassed me and wants to rent the trolley to me, isn’t it for
free?”
The
security man snorted
“Which
kind free? Ol’ boy wetin dey happen here” he turned to the guy to get the gist
“See
this ashewo ooh, common 100 naira, wey I tell am say na for the trolley, she
begin dey speak grammar.”
I
knew that ashewo meant prostitute and couldn’t believe the insult and drama
that was unfolding in front of me. I simply snatched my bags and without
another word started rolling them along clumsily as I walked out. The security
man raised his voice so that I could hear and abused me further.
“See
her legs like free trolley, upon all the money wey she carry come from America,
common 100 naira she no fit give for trolley. She dey find oshofri.”
He
hissed loud and long.
I was
stunned, Jezz!!! This was my country? Everyone was rushing, oblivious of the
next person. As I walked towards the cabs lining the sidewalk, more hands
grabbed my luggage
“Sweet
sister, Aunty you dey find taxi?” one cooed
Someone
else pulled me from behind.
“No
mind am, my car get AC, come this side.”
Tears
stung my eyes. I looked around and discovered I was not the only one mobbed.
Cab drivers grabbed at passengers all around, jostling. I suddenly felt a tap
on my shoulder and turned. I was about to give the person a piece of my mind
when I saw him. The same half caste guy that was checking me out while I was
leaving the plane smiled at me. He told them that I was with him and they
dispersed. He grabbed my bags and led me to a Toyota Camry 2009 model, parked
some feet away. He put my bags in the boot and walked around to open the
passenger’s door for me, I found my voice.
“Hey
Mister! You don’t even know me.”
He
laughed, his laughter was seductive and he looked me in the eye.
“Is
this your first time in Nigeria?”
“Yeah
except you count when I was five years.”
“From
your accent, you are American.”
“No I
am Nigerian–American, why are you helping me?”
He
laughed. “I am just being nice Ma’am”
“Why?”
He
laughed again and gestured towards the open car.
“At
least, take a load off your feet, sit down; I promise I’m not driving off to
kill ya. Here! Have the car keys but for Christ sakes just sit down. I promise
I’m harmless.”
“I
smiled and sat down, grateful to rest my tired legs.”
“So
what’s your name fair lady.”
“My
name is Cassandra and you?”
“I’m
Muna, short for Munachi” He said
“Muna
thanks for rescuing me back there but do you want something from me?”
“NO”
he responded dramatically, slapping his forehead.
“You
know people always want something” I said, pouting.
“In
this case, trust me I want nothing, you looked ready to burst into tears back
there. Could never resist a damsel in distress.”
He
walked over to the driver’s seat and sat.
“Okay
I forgive you for staring so hard in the plane.”
We
both laughed and relaxed and he touched my arm slightly
“Where
are you headed? To a hotel? Was someone coming to pick you?
“I
have reservations at Chelsea Hotel.”
“So
Chelsea Hotel It is.”
He
tugged at some sheets of paper that I was sitting on.
“Babe
let me just get these document, they are my client’s receipts”
I
apologized profusely and lifted my hips for him to ease the document from under
me.
He
tilted towards me and in a bid to grab all the receipts, his palm got trapped
under my bum. His touch was electric and I gasped as a delicious feeling washed
over me.
“Mu…
Muna, what…?”
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