February 14^th, 1982

 By Phil Tam-Al Alalibo

I was reorganizing my basement just before Christmas of 2006, pouring over tons of boxes, when I came across my tattered secondary school dairy I had mysteriously kept all these years. Opening it with abundant nostalgia, I found an entry I made on February 14th, 1982 as an innocent and annoyingly ignorant teenage secondary school student at Enitonna High School in Port-Harcourt. In retrospect, I could not help but laugh aplenty at my almost nauseating innocence and pathetic oblivion as pertaining to girls in those days. What is even more laughable was my unforgivable and grossly atrocious misconception about reproductive science. How could I have thought that a simple kiss could get a girl pregnant or fondling itself will result in pregnancy? How could I have possibly thought that because a girl looked at me in a nice way meant she loved me? Who gave me such a laughable idea? Such was the height of my piteous knowledge of sex education which, I must aver, was glaringly missing from our secondary school curriculum. The more I think about it, the more I am overwhelmed with laughter, and the more I realize how times have changed, for the worst, I must add. Today, in America, and even in Nigeria, fourteen, fifteen and sixteen year-old boys have already had canal knowledge of the opposite sex multiple times, drank alcohol and done drugs, all well before graduation. What a shameful commentary on our moral report  card. The world has truly denigrated to the sad level of doggy morality and it appears to be irreversible, if not, irreparable.

 In the diary whose pages could barely hold together, I had carefully catalogued the “love” or was it deep crush, I had for Tamunonimi (Nimi, for short) who was at the time a second year student at the neighboring Government Girls Secondary School in Port-Harcourt. On this Cupid appointed day, I had carefully written down the events leading to the crucial Valentine’s Day dance (or social dance) that everyone looked forward to; it was indeed an event that gained increased popularity each year. In the intervening days before the dance, I remember telling my friends about my meeting Nimi at a bread kiosk outside our campus. Nimi, for the record, was a notorious girl, but not in the bad sense. She was notorious for being very careful of the type of boys she "dated" (for lack of a better word) and since she was an astonishingly beautiful damsel complimented by a uniquely charcoal-like dark skin that would make an avouched priest turn and take a second look except those with stiff necks, she got boys’ attention to last a lifetime. Thus, any guy, in our crude and warped estimation, whom she gave some attention was considered very lucky and seen as someone with some charm. My friends asked how I did it; how I was able to converse with such a beauty to the point of asking her to the dance. Confused, I solicited their assistance on how I could ensure that she was truly my date for the dance aware of the immense competition. My friends, three of them, all of whom I later found out had an even deeper crush for the same Nimi, instantly became psychologists, therapists and advisors, providing all manner of advice. I wondered why I even listened to them.

Omo, advised that I go to the market and buy certain charm oil from a famous Mallam who had a store in the Central Town Market. He told me of how his older brother had been successful whenever he wore that oil and spoke to a girl. Karibo, another friend, advised that I go and touch a statue of an old soldier who was standing in front of our gated campus. He claimed that it had been known to give many guys good luck during exams and even when it came to girls. And my other friend, Prince, promised me his mouth spray to ensure fresh breath on the day of the big dance and continuously preached the gospel of fresh breath. He warned that it was very crucial and I risked falling out of favor with this damsel if I approached her with soured breath.

In the midst of all these preaching and unsolicited advice, February 14th, 1982 came and with it all the beautiful girls from other secondary schools trooping to our campus for the big dance. Nimi was amongst them, for her, it was a short walk. She was with a few of her friends, the gatekeepers, if you will. She was in the inner circle making it difficult to talk to her without first reckoning with her friends. I was determined to break the barrier. I approached her and when she noticed me, she called out my name, I was encouraged. Her friends gave way since she had indicated a willingness to talk with me by calling my name. I asked her how she was doing and as well stated in my diary, she asked for a soft drink to quench her thirst. As if to show the magnitude of power I had on campus, I looked around and found an unlucky junior boy. I ordered him to go to the kiosk and buy a bottle of cold Fanta. I felt good instantly and I could see that she was impressed by my authority.

The Fanta came and she satisfied her thirst with a queenly ambience that enhanced her appeal. Emboldened by my Fanta investment, I ushered her into the packed dance floor. I could remember the music that was playing; O’ Woman No Cry, by the veritable Robert Marley. Everywhere I looked, boys were dancing with their dates and since that music struck a special cord in the hearts of many, even today, the scramble for the girls intensified and every girl who was standing alone was approached. There must have been an aggregate of more than three hundred teenage girls bussed in to the gala from the various secondary schools in Rivers State . I remember well, even without the benefit of my diary, that I was about to lead Nimi to the dance floor when a senior boy came and asked her to the floor. How dare I protest; I stood the risk of being disgraced instantly. How would I ever recover from such a disgrace? And what would Nimi think of me after my display of authority only a few minutes ago with that Fanta episode? All these thoughts went through my mind as the senior boy was snatching the girl I had worked so hard to be with on this day. As he asked her, Nimi looked in my direction as if for approval, a move that indicated to him that I and I alone stood between him and Nimi.

I looked away to give the impression that I did not care and by the time I looked back, Nimi was gone. He took her in his thieving arms and led her to the dance floor. I watched as she collapsed in his arms as they obeyed the slow rhythms of O' Woman No Cry. I was crushed and helpless; how about the Fanta I bought her, didn't it mean anything? Didn't that gesture score some points for me? How many boys would buy her Fanta without first requesting if not demanding a kiss? Why did she hurt my feelings in such a way? Was it true that nice guys always finished last? It was about 11 p.m. and the night was still very young when a bus load of secondary school girls arrived to add much vitality to the proceedings. My spirit was revived; perhaps, I could talk to another girl and forget about Nimi. Perhaps, I could begin the recovery process; perhaps, I could be lucky again. I stood waiting for the bus to come to a stop while at the same time making sure my shirt was still tucked in. As it were, I remember, again without the benefit of the diary, spraying my mouth to ensure fresh breath and taking out the wooden pick comb to straighten my overgrown afro.

The bus came to a complete stop and the girls started to alight; they were from the Federal Government Girls College at Abuloma and they certainly had a chip on their shoulders. After all, they were THE "Federal Girls". I set my confounded gaze on one of the shapely ones like a lion fishing out its prey. I waited for her to shake off the rigors of the trip before making my move, as you can see; I was a gentleman even in my desperation. But that proved to be a grave mistake (again, nice guys always finish last) as a rough-looking boy whom she apparently knew gave her a warm hug and rushed her to the dance floor.

Frustrated, I retreated to my dormitory to begin the painful process of leaking my wounds when I heard a female voice through the open window calling out. At first, I ignored it, but the voice called out again. It was Nimi, standing there, ever so beautiful, so lovely in all her enchantment. I could not ignore her. She hugged me and cried on my shoulders, apologizing for hurting me. She explained that she obliged the senior in order to prevent him from punishing me later. She confessed further that she missed me and wanted to be with me. I melted and pronounced forgiveness instantly. To quickly maximize the moment, we went back to the dance floor and danced away the night to Michael Jackson’s offerings not to mention Cool & The Gang, some Tina Turner, too.

As I wrote lucidly in my diary, after the dance, we took a walk along the river that crested our vast and beautiful campus allowing the south Atlantic breeze to cool our bodies and blow away our worries. We held hands walking along the seashores listening to the soothing whistling of the seas and the timely ebbing of the shores. The innocence and the seemingly juvenile “love” were exhilarating, untainted; like the salted snow of the glazed artic; pristine to a fault. I dare say liberating, and an epiphany, of sorts. It appeared, even momentarily, that ignorance was bliss, to  be maintained in accord with divine orders. But when it was time for her to leave, having walked her to the gates of her campus, she gestured through her facial expressions and body language for a parting kiss, of some sort. But I was too scared out of my wits and thought about pregnancy.

O', what a paramount fool I was...

The next day, through a friend, I got a note from her, I opened it excitedly and selfishly, if I might add. But my excitement quickly evaporated like air from a punctured tire when I read the contents, 

                                                    "Thanks for a good time and bye forever." 

And I collapsed.

__________________________________

The author can be reached at alalibo@gmial.com

Robot  # 1 | 14.02.2007 04:22

February 14th, 1982 ...Read the full article.

planet1899  # 2 | 14.02.2007 05:05

Naija women even at this young age dey make shakara....na wah OOOOOOOOO

blondie  # 3 | 14.02.2007 05:45

Sorry Phil, you were the last Nigerian virgin!

Anike  # 4 | 14.02.2007 08:35

Confused, I solicited their assistance on how I could ensure that she was truly my date for the dance <...> all these preaching and unsolicited advice :confused: Ouch! The senior boy jus chance you like that. Well, No Nimi, no cry. Instead of you to just jejely show that you cared, you were doing shakara.

NWA-DIKE!  # 5 | 14.02.2007 10:10

This Na Fiction, Abeg Play Another Tape For Me......

planet1899  # 6 | 14.02.2007 10:31

Indeed, the last Nigerian secoandary school virgin.....

ELAWALO  # 7 | 14.02.2007 11:38

I like that ... Quite a number of us learnt the birds and bees the hard way ... In deed it was a way to smarten up ..

tatafo  # 8 | 14.02.2007 12:06

O', what a paramount fool I was... The next day, through a friend, I got a note from her, I opened it excitedly and selfishly, if I might add. But my excitement quickly evaporated like air from a punctured tire when I read the contents, "Thanks for a good time and bye forever." And I collapsed. Chineke!!:D :D :D Nna Ndoo. What else can one say. Those days were the simple but yet highly complicated days. Sorry oh!!! But you jounced oh. How could you not have tried to kiss her. Of course she might have acted coy and pushed you away or pretended that she did not want you to kiss her. But by not trying at all, you gravely insulted her. Abi what what do you want her to tell her friends when she goes back to her dormitory later at night! Brings back memories sha.

planet1899  # 9 | 14.02.2007 12:32

Indeed, what a waste not to have kissed such a beautiful girl...as they say, opportunity comes but once.....