SILENCE IS WAR

When a man loves a woman, there’s nothing he won’t do to win her attention. He buys her clothes and jewelleries, calls her often and sends her texts. He tries to keep her happy all the time. Sometimes he borrows money to do shopping with her. Anything to convince her that he is Mr. Perfect.

There is a certain girl who lives in the next street. She is about nineteen by your observation. Her father is late and her mother owns a shop where she sells her wares. In the scale of public opinion, she is the most adored girl in the whole neighbourhood- a supposition you dare not dispute, owing to the fact that you too are a passionate admirer of her.

It is a Saturday evening and you are returning from a friend’s house. Approaching the bend where you usually stand to wait for a keke, you find yourself standing face to face with her and you can almost hear your heart beating. She is carrying a blue plastic bag, which is filled with what you suppose are her mother’s wares. Being in female company has never been an easy thing for you. It always demanded maintaining a flawless manner of articulacy and composure. Every nerve in you falters but having full remembrance of the Englishman’s saying: Faint heart never won fair lady, you brace yourself for the worst.

‘Hi,’ you say in a nervous voice, much to your chagrin.

‘Hello,’ she responds, smiling or rather, forcing a smile.

‘May I know your name?’

Again, your voice is not as bold and confident as you had planned. Having a conversation with this girl seems real hard work for you.

‘Afrika,’ she says. ‘And yours?’

‘Europe,’ you reply, trying to wear a serious expression but an unchecked smile betrays you. ‘My name is Europe.’

‘I’m serious,’ she says laughing. ‘Afrika- that’s what everybody calls me.’

‘All right. I’m Kamsi.’

‘Kamsi. Your face… Have I seen you before?’

‘Possibly. I’ve been to your mother’s shop a number of times.’

‘Oh! Now I remember.’

Twelve minutes pass and the both of you are still talking, although you do more listening than talking; it appears she’s rather a talkative girl- an attribute which quite contrasts with her childlike countenance. You marvel at how easy it is to start and progress with a conversation. There was nothing to fear after all.

Finally, it is time for the both of you to part ways. In this last minute, you try to divulge your feelings but the words get stuck in your throat. You reach for your wallet and slip a one thousand naira note into her hand. She hesitates but after some persuasion, her hand finally closes upon it. She smiles her thanks.           

****

You visit her mother’s shop often in the guise that you want to purchase this or that but in all frankness, all you want is to snatch a few minutes’ conversation with Afrika. But on most occasions, her mother is around and so you cannot fulfil your wish. However, one afternoon, to your delight, she is attending to her mother’s trade alone. You both get talking and you ask for her number but to your surprise, she says no. Afterwards, her attitude towards you begins to seem a bit hostile. Sometimes when you visit, she pretends to be busy counting the money she has realized from her sales, or attending to more serious customers. You are not in the least surprised. You know she’s a very beautiful girl and has thousands of admirers, and that you stand a very slim chance.

Afrika has a friend Ejiro, who attends the same church as you. The both of you are not very close. You only exchange ‘hellos’ and ‘good mornings.’ But in your desperation, you approach her and tell her everything. You ask her for Afrika’s number and bribe her with a five hundred naira note.

You dial Afrika’s number in the evening when you’re quite certain she is no longer in the shop. After a few delays, you hear that silvery voice:

‘Who’s on the line, please?’

You swallow hard.

‘Afrika, it’s me Kamsi.’

The line goes off immediately. You slap your hands against the wall. Why is she making everything difficult for you? You decide to send her a text.

Afrika, I am really sorry for being a nuisance but I swear I can’t stay a minute without thinking of you. Give me a chance, please. I promise to make you happy always.

You wait for her reply, but you wait forever. Despair begins to set in. Maybe you should forget about her; maybe she already has someone.

Valentine’s Day is next week Thursday. You buy her earrings, bracelets and a pair of shoes. You send her these gifts through Ejiro but she refuses to take them. You are beginning to lose your mind. It’s obvious she doesn’t like you but at least she should have the courtesy not to reject your gifts.

‘Afrika is a nice girl but sometimes she can be quite weird,’ Ejiro tells you. ‘If you really love her, do not let go.’

But you do not take her advice. You are tired of flogging a dead horse.

The next few days, you decide to stay indoors and watch movies or read novels or play video games. Anything. Anything that would make you not to think of Afrika. When you finally step outside, you receive the most shocking news of your life. Afrika and her mother have moved out to God-knows-where.

 ****

Africa is lying supine on the bed. There are tears in her eyes. There’s something she wants to tell you- something she should have told you a long time ago. But she can’t, and it makes her all the more miserable. Well, a text might be just fine.

Kamsi, I know I’ve really been mean to you. I’m sorry. I know you think I do not like you but that’s false. The feeling is mutual- I assure you, but we can never be together. I have a confession: I am HIV positive. I was raped some months ago and this is the fate that befell me. I pray you find love again. Someone better than me. You are a very nice guy, Kamsi. I do not deserve you.’

Her heart thumps against her chest as she awaits your response. Silence. She is not surprised at all. HIV positive! That confession is sufficient to keep any man on the run.

In the evening, she summons enough courage and dials your number.

‘Hello Kamsi.’

A female voice replies her. Just what she had expected. She knows you must have found someone else and moved on. But wait a minute! The voice at the other end of the line is choked with emotions. It is your younger sister.

‘Kamsi died yesterday afternoon. He was hit by an over-speeding car.’

The phone falls from Afrika’s hand as she slumps to her knees. The tears pour without restraint. You had died, thinking she never liked you. You will never know the truth.