STORY FROM http://gistarena.ga
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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 knowingly twerked it and he gasped. I glared at him and pulled my sun shades on. As my feet touched the tarmac, I felt a strange mixture of trepidation, anxiety and excitement. Tomorrow I would be meeting my birth 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 my second time of 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 townof 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.
At the arrival lounge I located my luggage and headed towards the exit. I made to take a trolley for my luggage, a dark lanky youth with a sort of tribal mark 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 on him, he took his time to stroll over looking angry that I called him.
“Na wetin dey happen here? Wat happen?
“This man sexually harassed me and wants to rent the trolley to me, isn’t it for free?”
The security snorted
“Which kind free? Ol’ boy wetin dey happen here”
The boy turned to him.
“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 dragging them along as I walked out. The security 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?”
Someone else pulled me from behind.
“No mind am, my car get AC, come this side.”
Tears stung my eyes, I looked around, I was not the only one mobbed. Cab drivers grabbed at passengers, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned. 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..

Watch out for EPISODE 2. Or follow this link http://gistarena.ga/forum2_theme_111458515.?tema=36

Hmmmmmmm...