She tried to pull away from him as he thrusted through her more deeply, but all her strength could muster could barely afford to unbind her hands from his firm grips. Every action she took seemed utterly useless, because the more she tried to resist him the more violent she felt him between her thighs; it was as though mother fate had already shut her door from her. When she made to scream he pounded his hands on her chin in streak concession and spoke in a hoax voice: “if you open your mouth again I will kill you…bitch!” Scared, and shivering she was pressed to the bed as she felt the sour test of his ruthlessness limping in and out of her like the charge of a ruthless dog. “Please, stop this; I beg you in God’s name.” She implored him as the bitter sour taste of his perspiration loitered graciously on her lewd skin. He wouldn’t have her beg him, because there was no way he would let go of her without having his way; he was going to make sure he ate from every bit of this apple of lust. Like a deaf conscienceless man, he thrusted into her, accompanying every drive he gave her with a slap. She could barely see the world, because everything began to fade like an old man who could see death but could not reach it…she longed for it; for she could never have any comfort greater than death in this time of torture. She wished he could just dig his hands into her stomach with a knife and spare her the agony of watching him take violently her flower as though it were a mere dry leaf that had fallen from a burnt tree. Subdued and powerless she watched as he ran and drove through her naked body as though he owned it; hitting her as he pleased, like a beast that feasted with his fist.
Even the clouds rejoiced as Tumini walked through the ever busy street of Agwalamgbu on that pale Monday morning; for she was a beauty to behold. It was her third lecture day in Nasarawa state University, Keffi and everything still felt new for her. Tumini was not just a beautiful girl who wore a black silk gown that cupped her breast in a protruded manner and made her structure seem desirable, she was a girl with a class that oozed of admiration. As she walked majestically to school that Monday morning, she could feel the eyes that admired her glowing dark hair, she could see them mumble about the purity of her skin and how it radiated like the sun; she could feel them staring at her ass and discussing on why it was so jutted out. She was usually used to this sort of admiration; but in Angwanlgu it was different…they were like bees waiting consciously for a bee tree to infest on. Angwalangbu is notorious for bluntness, people would stare at you openly and lustfully not minding that you noticed; they made it seem like making their admirers aware of their stare simply put them into the admirer’s heart…as if to say being rude was prude. In fact, the previous day and the day before, Tumini had been approached by four different guys who came to her with their own version of their love stories that she found very gibberish in style. She had found all four of the guys outrightly unattractive and annoying and she had simply ignored them all through their wooing spree. One of the guys that approached her yesterday, who she noticed had an eggon accent had asked her why she was being obtuse when he couldn’t get any replay from her. And when she asked him what the word meant he simply said, “hard to get”. She knew what the word meant, because she had first heard the word used in the 1994 Hollywood movie Shawshank Redemption, the scene where Andrew Dufresne asked the warden why he was being obtuse for not trying to understand his innocence…she found the word extremely beautiful even though the meaning wasn’t, and would from time to time use the word when she required its service. she had simply walked home smiling that day, not saying a word as the guy juggled after her, narrating to himself how he would pull down the sky for her. And so, when he realized that she was not giving in to any of his bunkum, he gave her a piercing sting with his eyes and then yelled in a manner that seemed rehearsed, “bitch…na who you think say you dey form for self? In fact, your father.” As if to say he had said these same words to about a dozen of girls that had rejected him that day.
Tumini was a very selective individual who knew what she wanted and could recognize it when she saw it. For her, one could tell good and bad by simply using appearance as a yardstick. She didn’t think it is necessary to try to know people separate from their physical appearance. She lived in the stereotype that the bad people were those ruggedly dressed and those who had several relics stamped upon them that indicated this stigma. While the good folks were those who draped in the adornment of fine suit and decent fabrics; those who would simply pass as decent and good because they tucked in all the time and looked like pastors.
She got to her faculty after a long walk, but was told by a course-mate of hers’ who she barely knew that the lecturer wasn’t coming. For three straight days she had been coming to school only to be sent back home with the same narrative that explained less about the lecturer’s reason for being absent. And so, she walked home angry and downcast, taking the same Angwanlamgbu route she walked through to school. She had just gotten to the small gate that stood as an exit out of the university and an entrance to Angwanlamgbu when she saw what gave her heart goosebumps. “Hello, am Bayo” he said as he stretched out his hand for a hand shake. Her body was engulfed with a crepitated joy that seemed confused. The last time she felt this way was the day she met her ex Oghenevo at the movies. When she first saw him, she thought he was as innocent as a dove. She later discovered he was the direct opposite of what she thought him. They broke up two weeks into their relationship because she couldn’t give him what he wanted.” I am Tumini”, she responded in a jumpy voice as she placed her hands graciously into his soft crispy palm as though she was dedicating herself to him. “I have never seen a woman in my life this beautiful; I think you are a goddess of beauty…what did you say is you name again?” “Tumini,” she said, as she tried to avoid the stare that galloped from his eyes. She was out-rightly floored by his tranquillity and confidence, and she couldn’t understand why her buoyancy had slipped from her at this grave moment. She knew that she wanted him, and she would say yes if he asked her to be his girlfriend; but she knew he wouldn’t, because he understood how unwise that would be. “I like your jacket”, she said. “Thank you”, he retorted with a glow of smile parting from his cheeks. Dapo was on an ash colour double button Italian jacket. He was dope like Jazzy’s musical beat: tall, dark, muscular and handsome…he had all the qualities any girl in the world desired of a man. It is best to say that he was a fine guy; the sort of guy that Tumini saw only goodness in. So when he asked her if he could walk her home, she obliged without even letting him finish. They walked through Akwanlamgbu discussing about virtually everything that didn’t matter; from school to entertainment and sport…forgetting what should matter most at this stage. She found herself so free as they conversed, as though they knew each other all along; even though that notion was just a crass conception of motion.
“This is where I stay”, Tumini said as they got to a building with the inscription, “BANANA ISLAND”. “I think I would have to leave you here”, Bayo said as he made to leave. “No, you don’t have to…just come in and relax for a bit; you know the sun is too hot for your skin, moreover, I don’t want you looking darker than this.” Bayo’s facial expression showed clearly that he didn’t want to go in with her, but he had no option than to trip to her pressure. Even as he went into her house there was an afterglow of reluctance in his face as though he was being pushed into a place he so despised. She courteously gave him a sit and asked him to feel free while she went to the kitchen to put something quickly for him. “Tumini you don’t have to, I need you to keep me company,” he said as he grabbed her left hands and drew her close to him. In her eyes resurrected a flash of an avid confusion that was bereft of contrition. She looked into his eyes and playfully said, “leave me jare”. But as she made to unfetter her hand from his grasp, his facial expression changed, he drew her to himself more violently and then cupped his hands against her behind. “Bayo, what is the meaning of this? Get away from me; what do you even take me for!” She yelled as she tried to unchain herself from his both hands. “Don’t you want this? Don’t you want this? Let’s do it now…” he bellowed as he forced and hit his body against hers’. “Do I even know you…who are you; is your name even Bayo!” Tumini exclaimed as drapes of tears watered her succulent cheeks. She tried to make for the door but could not. He shoved her to the ground and pounced on her like a hungry wild lion. “Help! Help! Help!” She screamed; but all her screaming could get her were the comfort and torture of his hands and body shackling like whispers into her blinkers; what then seemed like a cadaver of a murdered innocence. And on and on he dug into her without pity or piety, just filthy. What a world we live in! Where everything that looks good cannot be good and everything that looks bad must not be bad.