50 Shades of Afam

It is an interview for the Student Newspaper and I am late. It isn't my fault that I am late, I blame the interviewees secretary for not taking Black Man's Time into consideration. He should have told me that I was expected for 6am that way I would have been in for 9am. 

Who is this mysterious interviewee? Her name is Maki Williams. She's a 26 year old millionaire headmistress of Chronicles Academy. I walk through the big thick oak double barrel doors at the entrance of the Academy, and I am struck by the opulence of it. The heavy stone walls and wooden floors have no place in Lagos, I half expect to be boiling then I hear the low whirr of an air conditioner not too far away. Immediately I expect to be fanned by the cool artificial breeze. Oh my! It doesn't disappoint. I walk towards it and let it blow down on me for a bit. I smile in delight as the beads of sweat that managed to form between the walk from my car to the door dry. Once I'm dry I walk towards the reception. I doubt that she'll see me now but one can always hope.

As I take a pleasant stroll through the halls, I am struck by how cool, calm and collected the students are. They don't pay any attention to me. I am even more shocked when I realize that not one of them is unattractive. Is being handsome a requirement of this school? I look frantically for an ugly one or a fat one but there are none.  I look at the members of staff too, but even they are all physically gifted. I feel very insecure. I haven't ever been in the company of so many good looking men. Of course I'd never say this out loud because it's not cool to be insecure. I arrive at the reception. The man at the table a 6 ft 5 beast with close cropped hair. His haircut is unbelievable. Is this the difference between a hundred naira haircut and a two thousand naira one? He gives me the up and down so thoroughly that I find myself examining my clothes as well. I'm dressed in a white shirt, my oldest sturdiest faded blue jeans and my aba Chuck Taylors, Chucks Taylorings Ball Stars. But this is hardly noticeable. They look just like the real ones. I feel the dismissal coming. My editor and wealthy flat mate Ade Pearse will kill me. He was meant to be doing the interview but he came down with Malaria yesterday and was still too unwell to do the interview. I know for a fact that if he had agreed to take my anti malaria combo of agbo, lemon grass and dogonyaro leaves he would have been fine instantly! But he doesn't approve of my village methods.

My mind snaps to attention as he says, "I'm sorry but Miss Williams is extremely busy today innit. She'll be unable to fit you in." He says this with a very fake British accent. I know this because Ade's accent is the real deal. This guy's own pales in comparison. I turn to leave when she bursts through her big thick black double oak doors. My mouth opens slightly as I take her in. She is a force to be reckoned with. I can't look her squarely in the eyes so I lower my gaze. She's wearing a slim calf length black dress that accentuates her long, lean, lithe and supple figure. Her 6 inch black patent leather heels ensure that her head touches the 6 foot mark. She's exactly my height in them. I'm surprised that she doesn't have a weave. Instead her head boasts a full head of kinky African curls. To say that she is merely pretty would be an insult. She is beautiful in way that can't possibly be imagined or described. Her nose is strong her brow is high and wide, her cheek bones are like paper cutters and her lips are stately. It is unfair that this much perfection should be stored in a face.  As she stands there it's almost like the door way is a wind tunnel. I blush deeply. Because I'm a white coffee sort of brown this results in me becoming a cherry brown. She too gives me the once over as I quail before her tremendous presence. "Kasali! cancel my next two appointments I will see Mr Pearse now." 

"Sorry I'm Afam Odiachi. Ade... Ade Pearse couldn't make it in today"


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